Page 68 of Angel's Smoke

“Enough of this.” Cyro gritted his teeth and ducked out of the way, avoiding the head of the mace and sending Iron to the ground with the force of the feint. Startled but not stymied, Iron rose to his hands and knees, furious. The asshole was playing with him, letting him flounder and bob like a goddamn lure on a hook. Meanwhile, the press of charmers around him was churning, growing increasingly impatient with their lack of orders.

Already, his strength was waning. His muscles screamed in protest as he turned over, but he’d been far too slow.

Cyro jammed his glowing bone blade into Iron’s thigh and pushed past his armor, past his femur and tendons and muscle, until the tip popped clean through to the other side. Then an added striking force of dark magic shot into the weapon, dragging it deeper through Iron, finding an anchor in the ground beneath.

Iron roared and reached for the hilt, determined to pry it free, but when he grabbed it, the enchantment coating the weapon singed his hands with acid, which had already begun to eat away at his leg.

His vision dimmed at the corners. He tried to call upon his fire, but the pain drowned out his ability to focus.

Cyro stood next to Iron’s head and leaned his forearm over his knee. The relic at the bastard’s throat swung like a pendulum counting down the minutes until that army would be unleashed on the Empyrean. It was a taunting affront, and they both knew it.

“This has been a long time coming,Daegan. You fought well. But well isn’t good enough against me. You know that.”

Iron pursed his lips and spat blood all over Cyro’s chin. It was a weak parting shot, but it was all he had available.

Cyro smiled, letting the tracks of gore paint his features into a gruesome battle mask, and returned the favor, twisting the blade in Iron’s leg as a reward for his efforts. Breath ripped from him, and the chaos around him flickered in and out of focus.

When he tried to sharpen his gaze once more, Cyro turned to face his minions like a king holding court. “My children, I do believe we are late for an appointment.” Then he cocked his head back at Iron and grinned. “Give my regards to the rest of the sentinels. You shall see them soon enough.”

The swiping arc of Cyro’s long arm toward the Empyrean’s gates was the battle charge that had made up so many of Iron’s nightmares. Swarms of charmers fell upon the barricade with those damn enchanted shields chipping away and snuffing out the protective fires that had been erected so long ago. Anywhere a shield touched the sentinels’ celestial magic, the flames fizzled out and died down. Blood mixed with bile in Iron’s gut as entire rungs, now cleared of their wards, were being hacked to pieces and sawed through.

Iron let his head fall on the stone supporting him and couldn’t even feel the pain of the acid ripping through his leg. He just lay there, frozen, helpless.

Whether it was the pain or despair that forced his eyes closed, he didn’t know, but when the darkness stole him from his agony, the first thing it showed him was Anna, all smiley and sunny and wearing the new glasses he had given her.

Horror gripped him more tightly as he recalled her beauty, her heart, and the beating heart of her child. All perfect. All gone.

The truth of his realization dragged him further down into his pain, even as the victorious shouts grew louder beyond him.

“She was perfect,” he gasped around a mouthful of blood. “She and her child. They were perfect together. Perfect for . . .”

A sharp tug at a burgeoning thought pulled him away from the unconsciousness he so greedily sought. It was just a kernel, an immature seed of something, but the thing grew weightier the longer he latched on to it.

Mother. Child. The bond is always there, no matter how far apart they are.

He thought of the bond that brought him there, of his connection to the Empyrean that had stretched wider than anything could, despite the pervasive weakness of the link.

It had always been there.Wouldalways be there. Calling the child home. The message just needed a vessel.

Iron’s eyes flew open, and he called forth the shard of the relic that had been absorbed into his armor and kept safe against his heart. Cyro still hovered near him, but his attention was diverted, held by the massacre at the gates. Working quickly, Iron palmed the shard and then, with his good leg, hooked the toe of his boot behind Cyro’s ankle and yanked him down. The demon tumbled forward, landing on top of him. The impact jostled the blade in Iron’s leg, spiking his pain and clouding his vision further.

But he didn’t need his vision.

He held Cyro by the neck and growled, “If you’re going to come for a sentinel, you better fucking kill him.”

Shard in hand, Iron swiped the remaining relic dangling from Cyro’s throat and summoned every ounce of fading strength into his muscles. Blue flames balled around the pair of relics in his fist. Then he pushed his power out so hard and fast, commanding his fire to carry the relics toward the Empyrean’s gates.

The long-forgotten pieces of the gates connected with their source, finally returning home. Fueled by Iron’s celestial powers, the gates exploded with magic and light. A fireball of Empyrean energy burst forth, incinerating every charmer on contact who had been attacking the gates and blowing Cyro off Iron. There was no time for any of those demons to scream, only die in a blazing blue inferno.

But a foreign sound of terror exploded through the mist around him. Cyro was on his hands and knees, trying to scramble toward the ashen remains of the charmer contingent that had just fallen. “No!No!”

“Yes, motherfucker.” Iron reached out and grabbed Cyro by the ankle. The meager wisps of his fire were just enough to bond with the celestial power pouring off the gates. He pulled it all toward himself, every last ounce, using his body like a beacon. The connection was a thunderclap of power that left him and Cyro twitching and gasping, but for different reasons. The demon ruler writhed in Iron’s grip, bucking and bending to avoid the oppressive light any way he could.

But it was no use. Iron had seen this show before and knew how it ended.

Cyro, the creator and ruler of all demon charmers, gasped and shuttered as he twitched beneath the light’s onslaught. Blue flames curled up his body before the thing disintegrated into a puddle of ash at Iron’s feet. Across the misty acres cowering in the Empyrean’s shadows, more cries from charmers rang out, until the battlefield settled into a deathly silence.

The air buzzed around Iron, culminating in a jarring pop. His impaled leg twitched, and he sighed as Cyro’s dark magic that had fastened Iron to the ground steadily faded away. Relief kissed his temple like a cold towel to fevered skin, but he couldn’t lie there and soak it all in. Not yet. Able to touch the bone sword once more, Iron bit down on the handle of his mace and screamed as he yanked the weapon free of his thigh.

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