Page 55 of The River of Fire

“My Liege.” The demon bows deeply to Ashtaroth, not even looking at me or Sariel on the ground. Judging by the power output I can feel from him, he’s a demon lord, likely a general. Ashtaroth’s next words confirm my speculation.

“Take a detachment Above to the dwellings of the humans Sariel and Armaros observed. Slaughter them all. Kill any human that sees you. Do not leave a trace of your presence behind for Heaven to find.” His voice grows colder with every word.

The warrior bows again. “It will be done.” He confirms that he understands the order and doesn’t ask for the reason behind it.

“They have something like hellfire,” Sariel croaks. The demon nods after a beat, then disappears into an implosion of that black smoke.

I clear my throat of the viscous remains of my stomach’s contents and speak up softly. “If we kill them all, we can’t question them about Asmodeus and Simone, or this fire.”

Ash still hasn’t looked at me once. “Go to the bedroom,” he finally says, voice low and contained.

“I’m not saying don’t kill them, but maybe wait to see who could be useful?” I’m trying to keep my voice as steady as I can.

Ashtaroth finally turns towards me. His eyes, still laser-red, pin me to the spot and my lungs seize. He’s never looked at me like that; with such hatred. “Leave!” he roars at me. I flinch and can’t help the burning I feel behind my eyes, in my flushing cheeks. I place a hand on Sariel’s shoulder and give him one last comforting squeeze. After standing up on shaking legs, I hold my head high as I turn to leave. No doubt he can feel the hurt he caused, but I’ll be damned if I react.

I walk back to the quarters I’ve been living in these last weeks, unable to stop thinking of that image Sariel painted. Of the friendly fallen angel burned beyond recognition. I grew close with both Fallen since coming here, and I’m mourning him, so I can’t imagine how it must be for Sariel and Ashtaroth, who spent hundreds of years with him.

This time I don’t encounter anyone: not a servant, or Kevinand Naamah, or little Puck. I wonder if the demons felt the fortress tremble enough times to not go prying when it does.

After cleaning myself in the bathroom, I pace the sitting area for a couple of hours, then lie down on a sofa when I can’t keep myself upright anymore. I can’t go to his bed – I may be able to empathize with the pain he’s feeling, but it doesn’t take the hurt of his shouted dismissal away.

The sky lightens infinitesimally as my eyes close and I fall into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 40 – Ashtaroth

“Father?”

Sariel’s wary voice barely registers on the periphery of my awareness as scene after scene flits in my mind, as if I were watching one of the silent late nineteenth-century films Sariel and Armaros used to bring Below.

Armaros…

Cutscene: a millennium ago, the first time I saw the fallen angel. My son had instantly taken a liking to the handsome male who exuded a boyish charm. The two immediately became inseparable, one rarely found without the other.

Cutscene: Sariel and Armaros made a wager as to who can seduce a greater number of sex demons in afortnight. Leaving lovesick demons unable to perform for Lupercalia in their wake, Lamia, the mother of all succubi and incubi, decreed their punishment should entail imprisonment in her bedchambers for a moon. Neither sought out a partner for decades after being released from captivity.

Cutscene: the boys decided Samhain should be celebrated as my birthday and threw a masked ball, where they attached Batman masks onto the most grotesque demons serving under me.

Cutscene: Armaros vowed to protect Lana with his life once it became obvious she was important to me.

“Father, Aim is here.”

I lift my head and seek out my master of intelligence. My army commanders loiter near the edges of the room, and my son stands beside my throne, bracing an arm on the backrest to balance on weak legs. I stand and clear the seat.

“Sit.”

Sariel flinches at the gravelly sound of my voice. “Father, no –”

“SIT!”

My voice fills the throne room, shaking the chandeliers until candles pelt the gathered, none daring to move.

As Sariel limps towards the seat I vacated, I approach Aim.

“Report.”

Aim begins speaking without preamble. “The humans acted on Lord Belial’s orders.”

My soldiers begin voicing their outrage and demands for revenge until it sounds like we are encased in a hornet’s nest.

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