Page 44 of The Morning Star
He scowled again. “I don’t fucking care. Samael says to do it, and I do it. He’s our leader, and once we kill off all the angels, this world is ours. Humans that aren’t dead can be our toys, our slaves. That’s the future, not some fucked-up place where demons have to follow the rules and hope some angel doesn’t kill us in a back alley and claim self-defense.”
Clearly there was no winning this dickhead over to my side, so I might as well get what information I could from him and either kill him or…
Or what? I remembered the freaky naked-and-restrained cell up in Aaru for rehabilitating wayward angels and got an idea.
“Where is Samael? What exactly does he have planned, and where the fuck is this army he supposedly has?”
He eyed the hands in my pockets, his posture tensing. “I don’t know any of that shit. I’m just supposed to stay here in Oregon with my household and hold my position until he tells me otherwise.”
“How many others are doing the same, and where are they?”
He shrugged, still watching my hands. “Probably five or ten thousand. I don’t know. We didn’t come through all at the same time, and he’s got us in different spots, awaiting his command.”
Five or ten thousand? That was it? I frowned, realizing that if there had been a mass exodus of demons from Hel, word of it would have been everywhere. Beyond that, I would have felt it. Again, that connectedness sensation lit up every bit of my spirit-being, faint but there, assuring me that the majority of demons were still safely in Hel. Five or ten thousand? No other Ancients enlisted to support his cause? And I still had the sword? If this was Samael, and I still had some doubts, he wasn’t anywhere near the archangel he’d once been, no matter what Caramort said.
“You’re convinced this is the Samael of legend, not just some Ancient who’s gone off the deep end and thinks he’s the former Iblis?” I asked, because I was still undecided.
“I’m positive. He’s powerful. He’s charismatic. He’s got a plan that will put us on top, where we belong, and the angels in their graves. No one doubts him.”
No one but me, it seemed.
“You really believe he’s the Iblis? I know I’m not exactly respected in Hel, but you guys are really going to believe any asshole who stands up in a crowd and claims to be Samael?”
“It’s him, I tell you. He’s powerful—far more powerful than any Ancient I’ve ever met.”
“And you’ve met a lot of Ancients?” I rolled my eyes.
“He’s got an army.” Caramort looked at my hands again. “And he’s got the sword, or you would have been swinging it around in my face right now. You’re not the Iblis. You’re not even an imp with a sword. You’re a nobody with wings.”
He launched a blast of energy at me. I should have been prepared, but I wasn’t, and in the fraction of a second I had before he fried me to an uncomfortable crisp, I acted instinctually to save my sorry ass—I summoned my sword. With my hands still in my pockets because I had no time to pull them out.
I’m sure it looked like the world’s biggest metal, pointy-tipped dick ripped through the crotch of my pants, glowing and humming like some fucking light saber as it sucked in his blast. The thing had saved me, but I quickly realized it was difficult to launch an attack with a sword that was sticking out of the front of my pants.
The good thing was that Caramort seemed just as unsettled about fighting a sword-dick as I did wielding one. I lunged forward, using the blade to tear upward through my waistband, then I did a lovely hopping maneuver to shake my legs free of the fallen, ripped pants. The demon sent another halfhearted energy blast my way, which I blocked before jamming the sword through his midsection, driving him backward to pin him to the wall.
Don’t fucking kill him, I instructed the sword. The weapon had a nasty habit of taking that decision into its own hands—or blade. Sometimes the blow just bruised my opponent, sometimes it acted like a normal human sword, sometimes it went full-throttle and transmuted a demon into a pile of sand. Not that I’d be overly sad if the sword took the latter action and killed Caramort, but I’d been trying to get it to obey me and not make those decisions on its own.
Surprisingly the sword listened. Caramort could have easily jerked free of a regular blade, and continued the attack while recreating his damaged flesh, but the sword was clearly doing something interesting because he froze as if I had him by the balls and stared at me in fear.
“Guess Samael doesn’t have the sword after all,” I reached forward and flicked his nose. “Now what kind of Iblis can’t call back his own sword from a lousy imp, huh? What kind of mighty, powerful Ancient pulls together an army made up of only five or ten thousand demons without including any of his old, powerful, buddies, and leaves an imp in possession of the one weapon that can cut through a choir of angels like they were tissue paper? Maybe someone who isn’t really Samael after all?”
“It’s him. I swear it’s him. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He’s Samael, I swear on all the souls I Own, it’s him.” He took a ragged breath. “I don’t know why he doesn’t have the sword, but the small army is to do some preliminary stuff. Once we kill off a few key angels and are in position, he’ll pull together his Ancient allies and empty Hel for the bigger battle.”
Prelimary stuff, like kill off thousands of angels and seven Grigori, or something else?
“Specifics,” I told Caramort. “I need specifics. What’s he doing exactly? What are his plans?”
“I don’t know,” he lied. “I’m just a flunky up here to keep watch on this section and kill any angels I see.”
“Really.” I leaned in. “That’s too bad.”
He swallowed hard. “Are you going to kill me?”
I looked down at the sword. “Maybe I’ll devour you instead. I haven’t done that in a while.”
Now he looked absolutely terrified. “Use the sword. Please use the sword. Don’t devour me, please. I’ll tell you anything. Samael, the Iblis… I mean the Ancient calling himself the Iblis is going to seize part of the human world in the next few weeks. I don’t know which part. He wanted to take out as many of the angelic host as possible without anyone realizing they were being murdered. We were supposed to make it look like accidents. Thin the herd. And for every set of wings we brought in, we got a bounty.”
I stroked his cheek, sending my spirit-self in to probe Caramort’s.
