Page 98 of Soulmarked

The Prince's smile turned almost pitying. “Oh, child. You still don't understand what you are, do you? What happened to you that night in the snow?” He stepped closer, reality bending around him. “You were never meant to be a hero. You were marked to be a weapon, a perfect conduit for power beyond mortal comprehension.”

Heaven's Lash hummed at my hip, responding to the darkness. But even its holy power felt small against what radiated from Asmodeus.

Sean moved closer, his shoulder brushing mine in silent support. I could feel the tension in him, the way his hunter's instincts screamed at the wrongness before us.

“Whatever you think I am,” I said, finding strength in Sean's presence, “whatever you think I was made for, you're wrong. I make my own choices.”

“Do you?” The Prince's smile turned cruel. “Then choose now. Help us willingly, or watch as we tear the life from these hunters one by one. Their deaths will fuel our ritual either way, but you could spare them considerable pain.”

For a moment, I saw through Asmodeus' human disguise to something vast and terrible, ancient beyond comprehension. Something that had been planning this moment since before I was born.

My hand found Heaven's Lash before conscious thought could intervene. The weapon hummed to life, its holy power cutting through the wrongness around us.

“Cade, wait!” Sean started, but I was already moving.

The Lash sang through the air, its light cutting through the wrongness like a star being born. But Asmodeus moved like smoke, flowing around the attack with impossible grace.

“One,” he purred, his perfect smile widening. “Shall we count together, marked one?”

I struck again, pouring more of myself into the weapon. The Lash blazed brighter, but sweat beaded on my forehead from the effort. The Prince simply stepped aside.

“Two.” His voice dripped amusement. “Already feeling it, aren't you? The drain. The cost.”

“Stop playing with him!” Sean snarled, moving to flank the demon. Blood ran from a cut above his eye. “Fight fair, you bastard!”

Asmodeus bent backward at an impossible angle. “Three. Oh, but this is such a valuable lesson. He should understand what his father's desperation has wrought.”

The words made me falter. “What are you talking about?”

“Four.” He gestured at the Lash with elegant disdain, sliding between my increasingly desperate attacks. “Such a clever design. Holy silver and celestial fragments, all bound with sacrificial magic. But nothing that powerful comes without a price.”

My next strike went wide, frustration making my movements sloppy. The Lash's light flickered slightly, and a deep ache spread through my chest where the mark burned cold.

“Five,” Asmodeus counted, yawning as he avoided death by inches. “Do you feel it? The way it draws from you with each swing?”

“Six.” His features arranged in mock concern. “Like a battery slowly running dry.”

“He's lying,” Sean called out, but uncertainty threaded through his voice. “Don't listen to him, Cade!”

“Seven.” The Prince's laugh made reality shudder. “Am I? Look how its light dims. How each strike costs more than the last.”

My arms felt like lead now, every movement requiring more effort. The Lash's glow had definitely diminished.

“Eight.” Asmodeus danced away from another attack. “Your father was so desperate to protect you. So willing to pay any price.”

“Nine.” His voice carried centuries of cruel patience. “But he never told you the cost, did he? Never had the chance before they tore him apart.”

The Lash felt heavier with each swing, its light guttering like a candle in strong wind. My breath came in ragged gasps, and spots danced at the edges of my vision.

“Ten.” The word fell like a death knell, and suddenly I understood. This hadn't been a fight, it had been a demonstration. Each strike had weakened the one weapon that might have made a difference.

“Are you quite finished?” Asmodeus asked, examining his nails with theatrical boredom. “As entertaining as your little light show has been, we do have an apocalypse scheduled.”

The shadows erupted into chaos. Possessed bodies surged forward like a dark tide. Juno appeared beside us in a blur of vampire speed, her blade already dripping black ichor.

“Well boys,” she called out, decapitating something that might have once been human, “this is certainly livelier than our usual hunts.”

We fought as one unit, three hunters against an army of nightmares. My blade found demon-flesh while Sean's silver sang through corrupted air. Juno moved like death itself, each strike devastatingly precise.

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