Page 82 of Demons In My Head: Exposing the Exiled
A low rumble echoed across the battlefield—a growl from one of Asrael's surviving beasts lurking in shadows nearby. It sensed weakness and fear now that its master was gone; it would soon realize how foolish it would be to challenge me.
With deliberate steps forward, I maneuvered through remnants of armor and weaponry—trophies from the battle—but found myself drawn back to where Asrael's body lay crumpled on the stone floor beneath me.
I kicked aside a jagged sword lodged between two bricks—its sharp edge gleaming dully—and leaned down for another look at my fallen, headless foe.
"You underestimated everything," I whispered as if he could hear me still—though deep down I knew he wouldn’t rise again to meet my words with indignation or scorn. “Your downfall has only begun. I'm better than you. I always fucking have been.”
The winds shifted once more, and the temperature surrounding me suddenly plummeted, sending chills down myspine as something crackled in my core. Every strand of hair on my body bristled upright, causing me to whirl around, scanning for the unseen observer that I knew was there. I could detect a presence nearby. I hadn't gotten this far in my life without trusting my gut.
“Who's there?” I called out, my voice dripping with arrogance. The shadows clung to me like a second skin, and I had no time for phantoms. My victory felt too palpable, too sweet, to be spoiled by some wandering specter.
A flicker caught my eye at the end of the platform—just a shimmer at first. I blinked, wondering if fatigue was finally catching up to me after all that chaos. But as the figure solidified before me, I recognized it from Palmer’s ramblings about spirits—wispy forms with an ethereal glow that pulsed like a heartbeat in the dark.
“Seriously?” I scoffed, leaning against the stone railing, a cocky grin spreading across my face. “You think I'm afraid of you? Look around! Asrael is dead. So let you be the first to hear, this place, all of this, is mine.”
The spirit floated closer, and the glow emanating from it pulsed angrily, and I felt a strange shiver run down my spine.
“Pathetic,” I sneered, though deep down, something twisted in my gut as I watched him approach. “I can't imagine how weak you must feel right now.” I laughed as the figure vibrated violently with rage. I was familiar enough with the emotion to easily identify it in any form.
"I'll let you in on a little secret, you angry little spirit. Asrael always thought he was better than everyone else. That he was ten steps ahead. Now look at him!" I pointed to the body. "He's certainly well decorated in death, but not with what matters. To be the most powerful, you have tobethe most powerful. Defeat isn't an option. He was weak."
The spirit moved a step closer to me, and energy crackled in the air between us. I didn't think it was possible, but the air got even colder. Wind picked up with ferocity. The confident grin on my face began to fall as my bravado wavered for just a moment, as realization struck me. "Fuck—"
Before I could react, the spirit slammed into me like a freight train, sending shockwaves through my body. Pain radiated outward from where we connected—a surge of power so fierce it stole the breath from my lungs and knocked me off balance.
I stumbled back against the railing, grasping at thin air as confusion clouded my mind. This wasn’t just some petty ghost seeking revenge; this was fury manifesting into raw energy—a culmination of everything that had been and everything that had been lost.
“You should have known better,” his voice echoed around us, deep and rumbling like thunder after lightning strikes.
I struggled to maintain my footing against this unexpected force pushing into every corner of my being—invading thoughts I thought were mine alone.
“Get out!” I gasped, teeth clenched as I fought against it.
But Asrael only pressed harder—remnants of his darkness consuming me whole in a whirlwind of fury and regret that spiraled toward oblivion.
Chapter eighteen
Misha
Ileaned against the railing of the cabin's small porch, staring into the darkness. I'd made sure Palmer was tucked in safe on the couch before heading outside. I needed some time to myself to process what the actual fuck had just happened. Glancing through the window, I saw her parents' spirits hovering nearby like anxious little butterflies. She was the perfect blend of both parents—her mother's dark hair and deep blue eyes, her father's strong jawline and infectious smile. Even the way her lips curved upward when she laughed was his, unmistakable.
I couldn't blame them for being anxious. What she did back there...
Fuck.
My fingers drummed against the wooden rail as I replayed the scene in my head. The way she commanded those spirits, the raw power pouring off her small frame. It was like watching a supernova up close—beautiful and terrifying all at once.
And now she was mated. To Jasper.
Jasper.
The name still felt like a blade between the ribs, even after all these years. Losing Jasper was the catalyst for so many things. Asrael thought it would put us in line, bring us to heel, slow down the uprising—it did the opposite. Eventually, they had no choice but to banish us from Besmet. We were too influential, too good at moving in the shadows, and now we were reunited with the very spirit of the demon who started it all.
A bitter laugh escaped me. The universe had a sick sense of humor sometimes.
Inside, I could hear the others talking in low voices. Rhodes' particular tone caught my attention—strained, like he was being slowly strangled. Part of me wanted to go in there and introduce my fist to his face for threatening Palmer the way he had, and then not even telling us about any of it. The other part... Well, fuck. I got it. Knowing what I knew now about everything… I couldn’t smash his face in.
I pulled one of my smaller blades from my thigh sheath, letting the familiar weight ground me as I flipped it between my fingers. The metal caught what little moonlight filtered through the trees.
