With a groan, Thornblood removed the sling his arm was in. God damn stupid kid had gotten him in the shoulder, shattering the ball joint. The pain was nearly unbearable, but he was used to pain over the years. In addition, he pulled essence from all the demons in the immediate vicinity, sending two beyond death, taking the essence of their souls as well as their bodies.
Reynard looked at the huge shoulder, swollen, red and angry. Reynard pursed his lips impatiently.
“I will heal,” growled Thornblood.
“At what expense? My nanites can heal you five times as fast as your magic.”
Thornblood shook his head. Who knew what would happen with those nanites? Would they stay in his body? Could they control his mind? Thornblood wanted to deal with the devil he knew. He worked with the Technomancer, that didn’t mean he trusted him.
“I need some time,” said Thornblood, slipping the sling back on. He grunted and winced. He needed more poppy.
“In the meantime,” snarled Reynard, “You are weak. Your demons will see you as weak and will try to destroy you.”
“I can destroy them first.”
“It’s better to deal with technology. You control it from birth to grave.”
“They’re all slow and stupid.” He wondered, though, what happened to the one that went missing. Surveillance cameras showed nothing but a bright light moving around near him, and then the light disappeared off-frame, taking the creature with him. Was it a hero who took in stray demons?
“Suit yourself. But the offer stands, until I make it an order. You have three days.”
Three days! His mind worked wildly. Even if he drained all the demons that he had, it would be enough to keep the swelling down, not to reform bone and muscle and tissue. He had to do a hefty ritual for that…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mike walked barefoot down the stairs, holding a single lit candle. He wore only a linen skirt, shirtless, as he went to the depths of the library. The chill hardened his nipples as he got closer to the demon.
He had fasted all day, meditated for most of it, wrote out the ritual and memorized it. He would not use his own blood. He would not leave anything behind. He would not remain in that creature’s hell. He would open the portal and shove the creature through. That was the plan.
He carried his athame, a blessed dagger slung on a rope belt, just in case the plan went awry.
Mike walked around the corner and saw the demon chained, still bloody. He stood at the very edge of the circle. He tipped the candle and let some wax drip onto the floor, then set the candle in the wax pool. He pulled out another candle, catching it wick off the other candle. “Home,” said Mike.
“Home,” said the demon, standing up as best as it could with the chains.
“If you attack me, this Library will destroy you,” said Mike. “And I will destroy your soul.”
“I want to go home,” said Zaphriel.
Mike crossed the circle, sliding one foot over the boundary. It crackled around him, and swallowed him. He was within arm’s reach of the demon now. He felt rather than saw the fitful light of the candle outside of the boundary, the candle which would direct his return. Mike walked over to the demon, ignoring the horrible sewer-brimstone stink of it, the horror of its tentacles on its face, its long claws and bent legs. It had patches of fur and skin, in a haphazard way, as if it had been injured and the patches of fur never grew back. This, Mike knew, was the angel’s doing.
Zaphriel’s yellow eyes looked up at Mike. Mike had seen and conjured worse. While Mike kept an eye on it, he took out another candle, lit it from the wick. The candles were holy and blessed, so their light reflected their purity. He set the candle down between the two of them in a puddle of wax.
Mike began the incantation, summoning the portal to hell. This was a different hell than where he got his demons; this was the hell of King Solomon, where there was eternal war and eternal night, where there were Dukes and Earls and many Princes other than Lucifer. Where there were legions of demons constantly fighting each other and dying, but their souls would always return and fight another day. They fought each other, and fought to be ready to fight the heavenly host when the time came.
The portal formed behind Zaphriel. It swallowed the light of the candles’ flames, bringing more darkness into the room and warm, humid air that smelled of iron and fire.
“Go,” said Mike, when the portal was open half-way.
The creature turned to him. It hissed at him, all the tentacles of its face rising, showing razor teeth beneath. At the same time, he slashed at Mike, who danced back, but the candle slashed in half. He was plunged into darkness. There was a roar, as something big and heavy hit him.
Mike was on his back, and felt himself get dragged. He yelled, “LUX!” and fire exploded from his fingertips, illuminating Zaphriel, who held him by the waist and was dragging him toward the portal. The fire struck Zaphriel in the face, and he howled, but didn’t let go.
“Fiore!” Mike cried, opening his hand palm out, and a gush of fire shot from his palm, setting Zaphriel’s face on fire this time. Zaphriel screamed, letting Mike go.
Mike kicked at him, his feet hitting flesh but the creature didn’t move. The flame went out, Zaphriel reached for Mike in agony and raked his claws down Mike’s leg.
Mike inhaled sharply, kicking Zaphriel in the head. Then he tried to scramble back, yelling, “Velefar! I bring your wayward servant!”
Zaphriel yelled, “This is for the angel,” and he punched Mike in the groin.
Mike groaned and almost passed out, but was able to see through half-lidded eyes something grab a hold of Zaphriel and drag him through the portal.
Mike whispered the closing incantation, and the portal slammed shut.
Son of a bitch broke my nuts... then he passed out.