The Pleasures of Hell
Copyright© 2023 by Novus Animus
Chapter 89
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 89 - An epic fantasy adventure through Hell, with demons and angels, and a couple humans with targets painted on their back. David and Mia didn’t want to be a part of this, but their unexpected first deaths land them in the middle of events grand and beyond knowing. Why are they in Hell in the first place? Why don’t they have the mark of the Beast, like other souls do? And why does everyone either want them, or want them dead?
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Paranormal Demons MaleDom FemaleDom Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Anal Sex Double Penetration First Lactation Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Size
~~Day 146~~
~~Keziah~~
High upon a great tower in the Heavenly Island Sinev, Kelila guarded Keziah from angels who suspected her, as they entered the topmost floor. Several angels hovered outside, watching, but no one dared interfere with a muse.
Othrael and Oriyah sat together in the strange room, both with their hands set upon a gold orb. For a fleeting moment, the sight of the orb lit a memory of God within Keziah’s chest, and she set a hand on her sternum. Kelila guided her into the enormous, beautiful, terrifying room, and Keziah could not help but stare up at the ceiling.
The room, colossal as it was, pressed down on her, overwhelmed her, and Keziah’s wings drifted around her shoulders as shields. The walls, the ceiling, none of it held the usual gold metal, white stone, and white see-through silks of most of the gold cities. Instead, the walls flowed with images, with silvery edges that rippled.
Scrying pools.
Keziah stared at the wonders of the surface world displayed in roiling chaos across the curved walls and ceiling. Men and women fighting, copulating, stealing, dying. The images never held still, forever dancing across the liquid walls and morphing into new images.
“You have never seen the greater scrying room?” Kelila asked.
“No,” Keziah said. “I know the exarchs use them. We regular angels would never presume to risk interfering with an exarch’s business.” In truth, she and the other angels could not handle them. The madness above did not stop, humanity laid before her, not the past, but the present and all its glories and horrors. A small village in Japan. A bustling city in India. A shack in the Arctic. A basement in Canada. An empty home in Russia. A tree being climbed in Indonesia. A street driven in Australia. The images flowed into each other, seamless, with no breaks, demanding that any angel within the room either brace themselves against the unstoppable information of humanity, or absorb it.
Scrying pools, marvelous windows created by the Great Tower itself, were more than simple viewing windows. They showed the heart and soul of a moment. The truth. The power. All angels — and demons — knew that resonance existed, a strange energy that permeated everything, and was something souls collected while on the surface and brought to the afterlife. But the Great Tower and its scrying pools knew exactly where to look to grant the viewer a glimpse of that very resonance being collected. A crying baby being soothed by its parent. A dying soldier. The bliss of a musician flowing in the moment, or the agony of a musician struggling to master their craft.
Two exarchs sat in the room’s center upon chairs of flowing white, as if grown by white plants. Their eyes were open and staring into the gold orb, with both touching the orb; no, not quite touching it, but almost, their palms hovering an inch away from the strange ball. Kelila came closer, and Keziah risked a step closer herself to look into the orb. Within the soft gold glow, was yet another scrying pool, a reflection of the curved walls that surrounded them. Both exarchs were looking at all of humanity being displayed at high speed.
“Kelila,” Othrael said, and he stood up from the orb and nodded to the muse. “Hello.”
“Hello, Othrael. Oriyah.”
Oriyah took a slow breath, released herself from some hidden burden, stood up, and nodded.
Oriyah looked similar to Keziah in a way. Dark skin, but with short, curly black hair, and white eyes, gypsum eyes, that almost looked clear, as if Keziah could see through them and into her grace. And she was tall and muscular, as rapholem always were. But rapholem wore white silks, as all angels did. The exarchs wore unique potram runes, adjusted to fit the seat of their great power. Oriyah, with her cold and quiet glare, wore red silk.
Othrael was smaller than Oriyah, and Keziah for that matter, not shorter, but indeed a lighter man. He was deathly pale, with sunken eyes and a hint of black mascara and eyeliner his potram clothes gave him. Long, straight black hair fell to his shoulders. A thin physique, with muscle definition, but he looked a touch frail compared to other angels.
And his potram silks were blacker than the darkest night. His eyes, too.
Goth. Keziah had heard more than a few souls refer to the strange reaper as a ‘goth’, a tall, thin man with black silks and silver jewelry instead of the usual gold, and black tattoos instead of the usual gold. His wings were white, but if they had been black — unheard of — Keziah would not have been surprised. Though she was surprised by the number of women who found the sickly-looking man terribly attractive.
“Othrael, we are in need of your power,” Kelila said, stepping closer to the man.
Othrael raised a black brow and looked between the muse and Keziah. He spoke, voice soft, gentle, and flowing.
“Exarchs fight each other and have slaughtered thousands of angels. The rest of us stay our hand and do what we can to keep this civil war from destroying Heaven. You come to me and ask me to worsen this madness?”
Kelila shook her head. “The goal is not to worsen, reaper.”
“You know I cannot—”
“Please, Othrael, listen to my friend here. This has grown beyond a civil war.”
Othrael and Oriyah looked at Keziah, and waited. Two exarchs, eyes locked on her. What world had Keziah found herself in?
“I am Keziah, and—”
Oriyah tilted her head and aimed a wrist-flick at Othrael.
“Yes,” Othrael said. “Keziah. We know the council has used the greater rebirth ceremony upon you.”
Keziah fought the desire to wince. “How many know of this secret ceremony?”
“Not many, young rapholem. But we exarchs keep our eyes open. I am sorry to know the council tried to fight the dread in such a brutal fashion.”
“Brutal?”
The pale man blinked at her. “Yes, brutal. They killed you, Keziah. They tried to bury the memories of who you were, extract them, let the Great Tower absorb them, and free you of their burden. The council killed the woman you were.”
He was a reaper. He knew what the word meant more than she ever would.
“The council failed.”
Othrael sighed and nodded. “Your memories return?”
“Yes. I am Ariyael of Yathael, general, and one of the first.”
A whistling sound filled the room. The reaper whistled? Othrael took a step back, hooked a wing around his shoulder, and stroked it like a human man petting his cat.
“You are billions of years old, young rapholem,” he said. “You make the exarchs look young.”
Keziah laughed. A weak and sad little sound, but it felt better than silence.
“Ariyael was. I am me. Ariyael would not come here, begging you to stop the angels in Hell from killing the unmarked. She would lead the strike.”
“I see.” The reaper nodded and slowly paced in place. “For all our power, Keziah, we exarchs have a specific duty, more specific than that of normal angels. You know it is our place to affect the surface world, not Heaven or Hell.”
“I know,” Keziah said. “But I have seen the unmarked myself. Ezekiel was right. They — or at least David — do not deserve to be in Hell. If he is in the land of the damned, then there is something wrong with the Great Tower, exarch. Something is broken, and the council would rather see the unmarked killed than address the problem. They hide! They hide from this terrible truth and refuse to explain it to us.” Words bubbled out of her, driven, given voice and power by someone else. “I say again, the council is broken! You must see that. Even as we angels kill each other, the council does nothing.”
Othrael set his chin in his fingers and slowly walked around the greater scrying pool orb, eyes aimed up at nothing. “We know, Keziah. But what would you have us do? Ezekial is weakened. Six exarchs have gone to war since. Seven total exarchs are now depleted and will spend years recovering, and the surface world will suffer for their absence. The nine muses, bless their graces, will save as many angels as they can and not waste their power on shortsighted actions.”
“Shortsighted? Reaper, please, there is no time to simply watch. The alien is here. We must act.”
“We exarchs are young,” Othrael said. “The council is ancient. Do you trust your wisdom over theirs? Our power over theirs?”
“I refuse to be bound by mindless dogma, reaper! I will not let the Great Tower die because we cannot see past the failings of our leaders! Our duty is to Heaven, not the council!” Why could they not see that? How could they bow to the orders of rulers that said nothing and did nothing? Keziah grabbed the smaller man by his shoulders. “The time for sitting and watching is gone, Othrael. The Great Tower will change, whether we want it to or not. The alien is here, and they seek to destroy us. The council must be removed.”
The guardian Oriyah flared her wings, and Keziah froze. But no strike came. The silent woman matched Kelila’s sigh, stepped back, and lowered her head. Bowing, or in thought, Keziah could not tell.
Eternities ticked by until Othrael finally cast a sad glance at the muse. And Kelila, forever smiling, let her smile die as she nodded. What great history had death and art shared?
The reaper set his eyes back on Keziah. “What would you have us do?”
“Come with me to False Gate.”
“It will be a slaughter. The other exarchs will stop us.”
Kelila raised her right wing. “We will not bring the forces of the Heavenly Islands with us. It will be just us, reaper. You and Oriyah.”
But Othrael shook his head. “The others will stop us.”
“We have no choice,” Keziah said. “If it will be a battle between only the exarchs, then ... what else can we do? We must save as many lives as possible, but saving the Great Tower comes first.”
Keziah would never have done this. Like a good, young rapholem, Keziah would have stayed on her wall and guarded Heaven. She would have listened to her general and fought to stop the angels of Avinoam and Ravid. Who was she to usurp anyone? A first-rank rapholem, barely fifty years old?
The answer stabbed her in the chest, and burned.
“Keziah,” Othrael said. “Or ... Ariyael.” The knife twisted deeper. “You ask Oriyah and I to spend our power in this battle. But we both work the surface more than any other guardian or reaper. Do you understand that what you ask will affect more than Heaven and Hell?”
Keziah clenched her eyes shut. “I ... I am saying living souls will die before their time. I know. But this must be done.”
“It will be a battle, Keziah, no matter what. We cannot enter Hell without shedding blood. And you say other angels will not take part, but they will.”
“I have only one idea, reaper. It may see me damned, but we must see it done.”
Othrael looked into her eyes, the black depth of them tearing into her grace, like a deadly poet with a knife for a quill. What did hers look to him? What did it mean to look into the eyes of an angel who had seen God?
Before she could speak, Kelila raised a wing.
“Keziah,” the muse said. “You know what Othrael and Oriyah were doing before—”
“I know, Kelila. But what choice do we have?”
The flight back to the vortex did not go as planned.
A hundred battalions awaited her, mostly mikalim and rapholem. A hundred thousand pairs of wings flying toward the vortex whirlpool. This far from the Heavenly Islands, only clouds awaited them below.
“Halt,” the general said, a rapholem herself.
Keziah did as ordered and hovered up to her. “I am Keziah, first-rank rapholem of Yathael. I am heading toward the vortex.”
The general tilted her head and looked at the three exarchs. Even wearing their batlam runes, there was no hiding that her three companions were a reaper, guardian, and muse.
The general sneered. “I am Sheela, rapholem general of Sinev. You shall not pass.”
Keziah blinked. Oriyah snorted.
“Sinev joins the battle?” Keziah asked.
“We must. The council is silent, and the Great Tower is under threat. We can no longer stand idly by while our impotent leaders let everything come to ruin. We will stop—”
“We are not here to kill the unmarked,” Keziah said, unable to hold back a small smile. “We are here to help them.”
Sheela looked past her to the exarchs, and her eyes widened with recognition. “Othrael! Oriyah. If you’re here...”
“This is important,” Othrael said. “And Keziah has convinced us. We can stay our hands no longer.”
From surprised to overjoyed to deathly concerned, Sheela winced, turned, and looked to the distant whirlpool of the vortex, and the awaiting angel armies there. A blockade. They had not been there before.
Othrael was right. The other angels were getting involved. This would be a slaughter.
“It has only been a day,” General Sheela said, “since the last battle between Avinoam, Ravid, and Yathael and Azoryev. As you know, Yathael and Azoryev won, and their forces scour False Gate as we speak, attempting to kill the unmarked. And those waiting for us”—she gestured to the new angel forces hovering over the vortex whirlpool—”are forces from Ayaloram. Somehow, they convinced the guardians Ashkariel and Malchiel to stand guard. I suspect they hope to stop another battle.”
Keziah flew closer and touched her fellow rapholem’s shoulder. “You were going to attack, knowing two exarchs were there to stop you?”
Sheela met her eyes again. Emotion gone, the general became a pillar of stone, as all rapholem should.
“Our lives are meaningless compared to the existence of the Great Tower. It must be saved.”
“Then...” Keziah hesitated. Ariyael would not have. The first angel would have told Sheela to fly into battle, and to embrace their holy duty. What could Keziah say? “We ... must save the unmarked. No matter the cost.”
And as if she had known Keziah her entire life, Sheela held out her hand. “To battle, then, Keziah of Yathael.”
Keziah took the hand. “To battle.”
~~Mia~~
The great bridge wasn’t a bridge at all. She’s seen the shape before, in some tunnels that connected to spires, walls lined with white snake ribs. No head, just a long ribcage and spine. And black instead of white, made of blackstone and other minerals in Hell Mia did not have the skill to manipulate yet. A snake skeleton tunnel.
With the amount of spikes and strange statues growing out of the black ribs, she almost expected to find ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here’ written at the top of the strange archway of black bones. Human skeletons, again made of blackstone, grew from it, lined the ribs, hugged them, each with open-mouthed skulls, silently screaming into the void.
The strange tunnel of ribs lined the ocean floor, leading from the beach, across the depths, and supposedly to the Forgotten Place at the other end. Too far for Mia to see, sixth sense or not.
It was big, but not super big. The opening was a hundred meters tall, and wide. An Old One wouldn’t be able to fit, but if she guessed right, they’d be able to change the shape of the tunnel with music.
The Red Sea remained parted, two titanic waves of red water that reached high into the sky. The defy rune kept the water from falling upon the tunnel, and good thing, because a snake’s skeleton wasn’t exactly airtight.
A heavy blast of heat yanked Mia around. She turned, jaw dropping as Molech slammed half a dozen hands into the edges of his canyon and roared up at the sky.
An aura. The Old One had been using an aura before, but this was different. It crashed over the battle, drowned it in the thick hunger of it, a need for violence and death. More than a demon aura, the new aura grabbed every angel, every demon, and silently screamed at them, demanding they partake in the bloodlust. Not a spire aura; those permeated the world around them like an earthquake, and like Mia’s. Not a demon aura; those were like attacks on the mind, direct punches.
But Mia had felt this aura before, multiple times. Last time, a man in full plate aera armor had come for her, wielding hellfire-imbued, bronze-colored axes. This was that aura, a howling hurricane that filled the air and overwhelmed everything. And like moths to a flame, the angels came for Molech, threw themselves at him, and the giant roared with glee as it swiped them out of the sky.
How was Molech using Cain’s aura?
Azreal lowered his shield and took a step toward the battle. Behind him, Mia, the beach, and the snake tunnel. Before him, Molech, thousands of dead betrayers, and tens of thousands of dead, dying, fighting angels.
“Azreal!” she yelled. “Don’t! We have to run! And James! We need to get James and—”
The ground ripped open, but not from underneath Mia. Her sixth sense showed her, long stretches of jagged ravines that exploded in Molech’s canyon out of sight. The dragon let out a high-pitched shriek and its multiple mouths engulfed the battle in ear-splitting agony. The angels above, dodging fire from only James now, took advantage and unleashed a new bombardment on everything below them.
Molech drowned in holy energy, gold beams, gold arcs, and arrows that shone like mirrors and exploded like grenades on impact. But the dragon could not be killed. It could barely be wounded. It snarled up at the sky, reached out several dozen invisible hands with invisible fingers, and plucked the invisible strings of existence.
Nothing.
The sky settled. The firestorms, red lightning, the massive waves that’d reached from the flames like an angry ocean, the oppressive bloodlust aura clouding Mia’s mind, it all died away, silenced, as the depths of Hell cracked open, and the alien reached up from oblivion.
Azreal stumbled back, looking around, and his eyes widened on spotting Mia.
“Mia? What ... What happened. I was—”
“Molech’s aura got you! But the alien’s here! We have to—”
False Gate trembled. The hellquake tore through the beach, scattered sand to the air, and toppled nearby ruins. What was left of structures, piles of rubble and debris, fell under their weight as new tremors turned the province into a vibration plate of rock and stone. New splits ripped the ground apart, and the edges of the fresh canyons fell into the nothingness below as a hundred ravines splintered across the landscape like cracked glass. Corpses fell into the depths of Hell, disappearing from Mia’s sight, and even Molech stumbled and sank deeper into his canyon as a strange alien scream followed the quakes.
Shrieks that made no sense. Sound, but no sound. High-pitched and deadly, like a banshee’s cry, but something underneath it crashed into her mind, gave her vertigo, and she clutched her stomach as she stumbled back. Like someone had weaponized silence and stabbed her with it, her inner-ears flipped and made her eyes roll.
Azreal was on her in an instant, kneeling beside her and catching her.
“Mia, we—”
The raised walls of water crashed onto the snake tunnel with a million metric tonnes of weight, and for just a moment, Molech’s roars of rage and the alien shrieks of invasion disappeared under the apocalyptic crash of water hitting water. Mia screamed, but there was no sound, only waves of red water smashing into her, Azreal, and Cerberus. The world tumbled, and white wings surrounded her as momentum spared no favorites and sent her and the angel rolling over the beach.
The water pulled away, and Mia got to her knees. Nothing broken, and Azreal lay on his back, his arms and wings slowly spreading out as Mia patted his soaked chest.
“I’m fine! You fine?” she asked, giving his helmet a few slaps. “Cerberus!” She spun her head. Cerberus lay not far off, getting to his feet on shaking legs. Before Mia could sigh with relief, her eyes caught the shape of something black sticking out of the crashing waves of the settling Red Sea.
The snake tunnel was still there! But the split down the Red Sea was fighting against the alien presence. The bridge runes were still resonating, pushing through the silence, and pushing the water back up and exposing the tunnel’s depths again, but only barely.
Mia wasn’t strong enough to play music through the alien presence, and James wasn’t either.
Mother Hell, the warm presence in the invisible ocean of music, plucked at the runes, made them resonate, and the Red Sea frothed as it fought to stay split apart and keep the tunnel free of water.
Success! Sort of. Now all Mia had to do was to get it. Get into the tunnel, run, and—Vin! Kas! Romakus and Julisa and Belor. They were still—
A comet of yellow light shot past her and into the dark tunnel of black bone. Mia stared, and the angel stared back at her for just long enough for her to see what was happening.
Yosepha! And she had a man in her arms, someone wearing black armor and wielding a black staff. James. They disappeared into the depths of the tunnel in seconds.
But the flyby was too much. That single moment of closeness made James and Mia resonate, their background songs of existence pinging off each other and growing louder just for being near each other. Loud enough to punch through the alien shrieks and the silence they brought. Like a radar blip saying ‘here I am,’ and with the alien already so close, they had no trouble locking on.
The alien shrieks rose to a crescendo. Summoned by her resonating presence, the ground beneath Mia tore apart. Every crack and splinter in the area came for her, twisting and zigzagging through the rock and sand until it opened underneath her.
“Cerberus! Run! Tunnel!” She pointed to the enormous, circular opening sticking up from the water and sitting on the shoreline.
Cerberus froze, staring at her
Azreal clicked in his mouth and throat. Mia barely heard it, her head only inches from Azreal’s as the angel scooped her up in his arms. It was enough for Cerb. The hellhound bolted for the tunnel, jumping over widening cracks, dopey-head looking back at her and whining, while serious-head and boss-head guided the hellbeast into the dark after Yosepha.
A black, glistening tentacle as thick as a bus shot up from the cracks, swiping for Azreal. The angel swerved, took one look at their demon friends still hiding under the corpse of the dead alligator creature, and flew toward the tunnel instead, Mia in his arms.
“Azreal, don’t you dare!” she screamed. “We have to save the others!”
“No. We have to get you to the Forgotten Place.”
“No! We have to—”
A hundred white wings fell on them. Azreal swung Mia over his shoulder, and she squeaked as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as the rapholem brought up his shield. Dozens of arrows crashed into the huge slab of metal, and a dozen beams of gold energy followed, each a crashing impact that forced Azreal back from his goal.
“Azreal of Ravid!” an angel said, a man hovering in front of the others. The angels formed a wall of bodies between them and the tunnel. “Traitor! You will stand down and submit to judgment, and the death of the unmarked! You will—”
A dozen more tentacles shot up from the cracks in Hell, her poor body split apart and bleeding liquid amber into the depths, while the strange alien reached up and swiped at anything alive. Azreal had been looking for it. The other angels hadn’t, eyes locked on Mia and her guardian. A dozen holy warriors fell to the ground, some crushed by the tendrils as the alien grabbed them out of the air, squeezed, and pulled them down into the black.
Azreal flew higher, and Mia squealed as a tentacle brushed past her legs.
“Azreal,” she said, “we have to get the others! The aliens are going to...”
The strange alien invaders poured up from dozens of enormous canyons, and Mia wanted to scream. She couldn’t. She stared down, eyes wide at the strange work of art that False Gate had become. For several kilometers in all directions, the province was broken, like a shattered clay pot, with a million black ants pouring through the seams.
The invader vanguard. First, the aliens that ran on all fours, with the strange black and purple armor that covered their too-human bodies and onyx, glistening skin. Their squid faces were exposed, tentacles dangling over their mouths, and they aimed their black eyes up at Mia, Molech, and the angels.
Second came the warriors, standing upright and wielding glorious tridents. They walked like humans, fully upright, heads turning and scanning for their target. And their full body armor was almost as bulky as a rapholem’s, made of the strangely beautiful black and purple metals that flowed with the strange architecture of a seashell.
Third, the mages, if that was what they were. They wore no helmets, and instead of armor, wore long black and royal purple robes. They hovered, defying God’s law, and joined the angels in the sky.
Even through their helmets, Mia saw the angels stare in surprise as the human-like aliens soared up toward them. And she saw the shock when the aliens launched strange orbs at them, each only maybe a meter wide, and half invisible, distorting the surrounding air. The orbs hit the angels and ripped through them, shattering bodies, breaking off limbs and wings, and sending the angels to the ground.
“You bring this doom to us!” Molech yelled. Not at Mia. At the angels. “The unmarked are how we stop this invader, and you seek to destroy them!”
Having an Old One on her side, sorta, was probably not a point in Mia’s corner, but at least the angels were distracted. Molech reached up for them again, but with the hellstorms gone, the angels were free to stay out of his range. And before the titan could breathe waves of hellfire up at them, a dozen vast tentacles reached up from around Molech, slithering up from the blackness of his own canyon, and wrapped their lengths around his limbs.
Molech would not be denied. The monster faced down, aimed his mouths at the very canyon he was trapped within, and unleashed red death. For all the aliens’ strange powers, hellfire burned them, worked its way through their skin, peeled it to reveal white blood beneath, and melted them. The tentacles fell away, but new ones replaced them, bigger ones, as thick as buildings and far longer. They wrapped around Molech’s throat, snout, horns, wings, arms and legs—everything.
They pulled the wriggling titan down into the depths of his canyon, and their battle raged.
Aliens poured up from Molech’s domain. A thousand. Ten thousand. Numbers Mia couldn’t wrap her mind around. They blanketed the ground beneath her and blocked out the red and black dirt, a teeming wave of onyx flesh and shiny ocean armor. Most of them went for Molech; the obvious target if their goal was to kill anyone who played the music. They jumped into the canyon, ran up the tentacles, climbed onto Molech’s body, and began tearing into him with black claws, tridents, and their strange orbs of destruction.
Worse followed. Larger aliens climbed up the ravines to join their kin, each as big as the biggest dinosaur, each a lumbering mass of unarmored obsidian flesh. Its feet looked like human hands, each step practically grabbing the ground rather than walking on it, as it marched across the paths of ground between ravines.
Below, some red things dashed over the ditches and between the flowing bodies. Vin and Belor, with Romakus, Julisa, and Kas right behind them. They tore through the aliens, ripped them apart and sent their white blood splattering in all directions. They were running toward the beach and the tunnel entrance.
Mia looked down the beach to where James had been. The aliens were everywhere. Angels flew overhead and unleashed their holy beams and arrows, and the rapholem blocked alien orbs of death, futile efforts to put a dent in the swarm. Azreal didn’t hold still, kept dodging and weaving as either a gold arc flew by, missing by inches, or a strange alien orb did the same. One orb passed Mia by inches, and for just a brief moment, she heard absolutely nothing, like she’d held her ear up to a vacuum that was trying to suck her brain out through it.
Azreal spun, flew straight down, and Mia failed to scream as her lungs betrayed her. But upside down meant she got a glimpse of more moving bodies dashing across the beach. That had to be Adron, with James’s half of the crew: the tetrad Livian, the four incubus boys, Yulia the bat girl and her unnamed, mute brute, and the tiger Silvina. And Noah! The angel led the charge, sword flashing bright as the holy warrior carved a path through the aliens.
Everyone was alive.
Mia reached out with her mind and plucked a string. Nothing. She plucked as hard as her aching soul could manage. Nothing. The three bridge runes were wavering.
Last time, the rider had shown up, pulled some giant sercano hellbeast out of his ass, ridden it, attacked Beelzebub, and given Mia the opportunity to escape. Cain wasn’t here this time. Even if he were, what could he do against these numbers?
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