Page 69 of Demonic Cage
“Alright,” I whisper to myself. “Now come back!”
I watch the blood on the ground. It’ll move soon, turn black, and the child will come back to life in his demonic form.
But nothing happens.
I wait. Not just me, everyone does. Even Léthé stares sternly at the spilled blood. The liquid doesn’t move. I can’t bear it anylonger and instinctively jump out of my chair, holding my breath as I watch for it to happen. Perhaps a little later. Maybe we have to wait. Every human is different, maybe demons are too. He’s just slower.
But no matter how long I wait, nothing happens. I step down the stairs, not knowing what drives my legs downward. I can’t stop my tears – they burn my face.
This face. Lifeless blue eyes. Just like my brother’s were.
I stop where Kripot is. His features are inscrutable, just like the Demon King’s.
The child doesn’t come back to life.
I tremble, but the hatred the boy handed over to me with the last of his strength doesn’t allow me to collapse. The hatred tears me apart.
I hate myself. I hate Darya so much. I feel like the anger becomes a part of my inner self, and that I can’t live without it anymore. Like I’m burning from within. I would kill.
He was like him.
He was likeBengt.
My stomach tightens. I would kill for the boy. I would kill just for the amusement.
What happens next is even more horrifying.
Darya stands beside the child and plunges his sharp claws into the boy’s chest. He rips out the child’s heart. He bites into the no longer beating, bloody organ. The red liquid drips down his chin like wine.
Heat surges up my legs. It reaches my hands, enveloping my brain.
“No!” I scream, and everyone stares at me. I collapse.
“No, no, no!”
Everything’s a blur. I can barely see, and only the dead boy’s eyes drill into my view. I’m so hot, I can feel the burning from within. Kripot tries to pull me up, but suddenly jumps backwhen my skin burns him. Nárs tries to hold me, but with a hiss, he also stops, groaning as his flesh is seared. I sense noise around me. No one knows what’s happening.
The boy was right in front of me, and I didn’t help him. I lied to him that everything would be fine. And he died. Darya killed him. Slaughtered him. And I trusted him. Trusted this monster that everything would get better.
More arms grab me. More palms burn as they try to drag me away. I just scream, and I’m even hotter. I smell scorched flesh. In my field of vision, Sylla’s serpentine hair sharpens, but the boy’s face is so deeply imprinted on me that it doesn’t affect me now. The woman can’t cause me more pain than I already have.
This child was someone’s son.
Someone’s brother.
I scream. As another hand touches my shoulder, an uncontrollable groan breaks from my lungs. Not only do I burn, but I also disintegrate the interfering demon’s skin.
The room seems emptied, and it’s just me here with the little boy lying on the altar, hacked apart. His eyes are wide open, marveling at the world – at this horrible, messed up place. Where they killed him. Then he gets up and rushes to me. His image is so blurred, and I’m screaming so much that I scorch him when he touches me. He shouldn’t be here. He’s dead. And I didn’t help him.
The blue eyes are so familiar.
Likehis.
Darya’s stern face appears before me. He calls Léthé. I hear the sound of rushing water as it pours from the walls. I feel my body cooling down, my strength leaving me. I’m suffocating.
I start to see clearly. The mermaid stretches her two arms out, holding a huge water bubble. I’m in it. I can’t breathe, but Darya doesn’t say it’s enough, only when I’m almost outof strength. He gestures, and the mermaid instantly lowers her arms. Within the water bubble, I crash onto the marble stairs.
My skin cools down. I’ve never been this exhausted. I can’t move a finger. I look at the altar.
