Immortal Rider

Three

Kynan Morgan freaking loved being immortal. Yeah, he bore a lot of weight on his shoulders because of it, weight in the form of the crystal pendant around his neck. But immortality was worth bearing that little piece of Heaven—literally, Heaven. Given the choice, he’d make the same decision to be charmed by angels in order to protect the pendant.

Today, as he surveyed the half-dozen injured demons lying on the floor of the underground Las Vegas pub where he and his new fellow Aegis Elder, Decker, had beaten them into submission, he was more grateful than ever for the charm. The gray-green reptilian bastards hadn’t been able to lay a finger on him, which was great, seeing how their fingers were coated in a sticky acidic substance that bonded them to you like Superglue while they dissolved your flesh.

Decker was currently peeling himself out of his black BDU pants, which were attached to one of the creature’s hands. Just the hand… since Decker had amputated it from the demon’s arm with his KA-BAR.

“Mother. Fuck.” Decker got h1emis pants caught on his combat boots and did some kind of crazy dance as he tried to extricate himself. “God… damn, these demons are nasty.” He tossed the pants away and made a sound of disgust. The vampire bartender, one of the few people who’d remained in the pub when the fighting started, laughed, but shut up when Decker flashed a wooden stake at him.

“I’m just happy you’re not a free-ball kind of guy.” Kynan winced at Decker’s Dale Earnhardt Jr. boxers. “Not that what you’re wearing is much better.”

Decker drew his Aegis sword from the sheath at his back, and hacked off one of the demons’ heads. “Some of us aren’t all charmed up the ying-yang.”

Ying-yang did not sound right with a Texas twang, but Ky kept his mouth shut as Decker separated demon heads from necks, stopping with his blade poised over the heart of the last surviving demon. When the thing reached for his leg, Kynan used his single-handed modified Aegis crossbow to nail the demon in each palm, pinning its hands to the blood-soaked wood floor.

“Thanks, buddy,” Decker said.

Decker had never called Kynan “buddy” before Arik went missing, and the reminder of why they were here pricked at Ky’s temper. With a growl, he kneeled at the demon’s side and held the tip of his double-ended, S-shaped stang to the creature’s throat.

“Where is the human being kept?” he asked.

The demon rolled his lizardlike eyes up to meet Ky’s gaze. “How… would I… know?”

“Because you and your scaly friends have been taking bets on how long it’ll take him to break.”

“Fuckers,” the demon hissed. “We are… what do you call them… bookies? We hear things.”

“You do more than hear things.” Kynan used the tip of his blade to impale a demon tick the size of a damned quarter that was burrowing beneath one of the lizardman’s scales. “You’ve also been taking human form and insinuating yourself into human gambling operations.”

The breakage of Pestilence’s Seal had thrown off the delicate balance between good and evil that had, for so long, kept the worst of the demons at bay. Now scum like these demons, who had once been relegated to the depths of hell, were breaking loose and finding their way into the human realm, where they were wreaking havoc, either directly, by killing and maiming, or passively, by radiating evil like a dirty bomb. Humans whose souls were truly good were only mildly influenced by the hell-bombs, but evil humans and those who were on the fence became drunk with violence and possessed by evil thoughts; chaos was beginning to reign on the streets.

These particular demons had spread the gambling bug like one of Pestilence’s viruses. Not only had organized crime tripled, but the stakes had increased. Nothing was off the table in the back rooms of even reputable establishments. Money, drugs, children, human organs… all becoming disturbingly common as currency.

The lizardman was unrepentant. “Humans are stupidly blind. We can’t be held responsible for their weaknesses.”

Ky snarled. “Where. Is. Arik?”

The demon’s nose, two black holes in his face, twitched. “We don’t know where he’s being held.”

Kynan threw aside the stang and gripped the demon’s throat in his bare hands. “Listen to me, you fucking Sleestak creep. You spill, or I’m going to turn you into a pair of boots and a belt. And then I’m going to hunt down every one of your family members and do the same thing. Got it?”

Decker casually lit a match and touched it to the end of a tiny capsule, a nasty little R-XR weapon that could be dropped on a demon, where it would immediately burn its way into flesh. The thing caused excruciating agony as it passed through the victim’s body, its white-hot shell cauterizing as it traveled, preventing a total bleed out.

Fear flickered in the demon’s yellow eyes. “I don’t know,” he said quickly. “Is the truth, slayer.”

“Rumors, then. I know you’ve heard rumors.”

“The… Iblis’s torturing grounds are in the Doom region of Sheoul,” the Sleestak said, using one of the many names for the big bad demon Christians called Satan. “But the human is said to have been handed over to experts.”

Arik’s torture had been contracted out? Fuckers. “And these experts are keeping the human where?”

“They have many chambers. All located near hell-mouths.”

“Which one should we focus on?”

The demon said nothing. Ky squeezed his throat, and Decker crouched on his heels, holding the capsule over the lizardman’s crotch. “Which. One.”

“Erta Ale,” it rasped. “The rumor is… Erta Ale.”

“Isn’t that an Ethiopian volcano?” Decker dropped the capsule on the floor and crushed it with his boot.

Ky nodded. “I’ll search it. I need you back at R-XR headquarters in D.C. You have to convince the R-XR to hurry up with the weapons they promised us.”

The R-XR and Aegis had been working on weapons that could deliver doses of hellhound saliva into the Horsemen—specifically, Pestilence. But Ky wouldn’t hesitate to use it on any Horseman who went bad.

“The R-XR is doing their best.” Defensiveness crept into Decker’s voice as he hacked off the lizardman’s head with a little more force than was required.

“The R-XR is doing what they do best, which is being overly cautious.” Kynan knew, because he’d been dragged into the secret Army unit, the Ranger-X Regiment, back when he was an Army medic who’d been attacked by a demon. The demon had nearly ripped out his throat, leaving him scarred and with a voice that made him sound like he was always chewing on gravel.

Decker’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “The R-XR is proceeding with necessar="2ith necy caution, and you know it. Someone has to balance out The Aegis’s tendency to act first and think later.”

Decker was right, but Kynan’s temper was on edge, just like the relationship between The Aegis and the R-XR. For years, they’d been allied, backing each other up in operations and sharing information, but when Pestilence’s Seal broke, the relationship went south. The military preached caution and was still trying to cover up the growing threat, while The Aegis went in weapons-hot and was of the belief that it was time humans were let in on the existence of demons and the coming Apocalypse. The difference in approaches had caused a rift between the two organizations, and as a member of both, Decker was straddling the gap.

Kynan often wondered if Decker regretted signing on as an Elder three weeks ago. It was an unheard of move, bringing an outsider into The Aegis’s top echelon, but they’d wanted to bring the military on board as fully as they could.

“I know that.” Kynan stood. “But they need to do more to help us find Arik.”

“I want Arik found as bad as you do.” Decker wiped his blade clean on a dead demon’s clothing, his movements jerky, edged with irritation. “But the military can’t put all its resources into it. They… we… are busy trying to head off Pestilence’s damned plagues and putting down the demonic outbreaks. So don’t give me any bullshit about how we’re sitting around and doing nothing.”

Ky eyed Decker as he considered taking this little disagreement to the next level, but screw it. Their teams might be rivals, but they played on the same field. They needed to save their blood for demon battles.

“Come on,” Ky said, slugging Deck in the shoulder. “Let’s get you back to DC.”

After that, it was off to see a Horseman about a volcano, and Ky had a feeling things were about to get hot. Sheoul hot.

“Want some water?”

Hell yeah, Arik wanted water. What kind of dumbass question was that? His throat was too raw and swollen to speak, so he merely nodded at Tavin, a blond Seminus demon Arik’s torturers had hired to heal him.

Tavin frowned, and gripped Arik’s shoulder with his right hand, which was marked all the way to his throat with tribal glyphs that all Seminus demons possessed. Apparently, they were a history of paternity, with the top symbol being personalized for each individual. Tavin’s seemed to be some kind of worm. He must take all kinds of shit from Sems who had cool symbols, like weapons or hourglasses or lightning bolts.

Sucked to be Tavin.

Sucked more to be Arik, though.

The demon channeled his healing gift into Arik’s body for the second time in the last ten minutes. The first time was to heal Arik’s broken ankles, his lacerated spleen, and the evisceration that had left his intestines hanging out of his navel.

Arik really fucking hated demons.

He’d been pretty solid on that point even before he’d been tortured to the brink of insanity, but the word “hate” wasn’t strong enough anymore. The English language needed a new word to describe how he felt about demons now.

Still, he supposed Tavin was okay for a demon. He wasn’t overly friendly, but he gave Arik more water than his captors ever did, and he always brought a new pair of scrub pants—black, as Arik requested—to replace the ones the demons destroyed during their torture sessions. Tavin had even presented an argument to his captors; the clothing protected Arik’s skin from infection that could kill him.

And, if Arik played his cards right, the pants would get him out of this hellhole.

Heat burned through Arik’s body, a byproduct of the Seminus healing ability, which allowed the demons to either repair injuries, affect bodily function, or tweak the mind. After a few seconds, Tavin’s energy had repaired damaged tissue and zapped Arik’s throat back into working order. It was still sore—hell, his entire body was sore—but at least now the pain was bearable.

“Thanks.” Arik rubbed his neck, mapping out the new scars. The demon had done an adequate job, and even the mental damage, the horrific memories, seemed to have faded. As always, after Tav was done with him, Arik felt whole again, not just physically, but mentally. “You’ve been patching my mind, haven’t you?”

Tavin’s expression was a whole lot of blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. I should be a head case by now. Fuck, I’m so damaged after a torture session that I don’t even know my own name. But when you’re finished with me… I dunno. You’re doing something.” Arik narrowed his eyes. “And don’t lie to me. I fucking hate liars, and I kinda think you’re all right for a demon. Don’t disappoint me.”

There was a heartbeat of hesitation… two… three… and then the pathetic moan of some nearby creature seemed to break the lock on Tavin’s silence.

“Seminus demons have only one of the three abilities.” His brisk tone made it clear that the discussion was over as he handed Arik a clay cup containing a few tablespoons of muddy liquid. Tasted like piss and mold, which it probably was, but it was wet, and he’d learned to take everything he could get.

Well, not everything. Sometimes the demons tempted him with things like fluffy, moist slabs of cake; thick, juicy, char-grilled steaks; and frosty mugs of beer. But he’d learned to never, ever touch the offerings, no matter how much his mouth watered and his stomach ached. Doing so earned him hot pokers in places not meant to handle molten iron rods.

Tav’s green eyes flashed with pity, and great, how pathetic were you when a demon pitied your sorry ass?

“Do you know why the demons want me to say the Horseman’s name, Tav?”

“Nope.” Bitterness dripped from Tavin’s normally level voice. “I’m just the hired help.”

“Why’d you take the job?”

Tavin took the cup from Arik and tucked it into his duffle of medical supplies. “No choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not when you’re an assassin locked into a contract.”

“Assassin, huh?” Arik’s rusty wheels started turning. “Don’t suppose you know a couple of half-breed Sems named Sin and Lore? They’re sort of extended family. They were assassins not long ago.” Lore was now Underworld General’s chief medical examiner, and Sin had taken a position in the demon hospital’s infectious disease department, since her mutated Seminus gift had given her the unique ability to cause disease. Apparently, there was hope that she could also learn how to destroy it.

Tavin reached into his medical bag for a tube of ointment. “I used to work with them.”

A sickly little flame of hope flared. “Can you get them a message?”

“Not until the demons who hired me no longer need me.”

At which point, Arik would probably be dead. “Come on… the R-XR and Aegis will compensate you nicely if you do this.” He couldn’t believe he was trying to make a deal with a demon. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time. At least in this case, his soul wasn’t on the table.

Just his life.

“I can’t risk it.”

“If you’re an assassin, you’ve got to be all sneaky and shit.”

“I am. But the answer is still no.” He smoothed a thin film of the greasy medicine over an abrasion on Arik’s chest. Tavin’s healing ability always tapped out before he could get to all the minor injuries. “Betraying this contract means an extremely long, painful death and possible eternal torment.”

“Sort of like what I’m going through?” Arik muttered.

“Pretty much.”

Arik glared. “Okay, so if you’re an assassin, why are you healing me?”

“Your captors paid a shit-ton of money for my services, whether that be killing or healing.”

“So you’d kill me if they asked you to?”

“Yep.”

Nice. “Look, if you’ll pass on a message—” Arik shut up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Tavin stepped away as two ugly-ass motherfuckers stopped at the cell door. Six-inch claws wrapped around the steel bars. Arik’s pulse leaped. He never knew if the demons were going to torture him, feed him, or merely taunt him.

“Human scum,” the tallest one said, the tusks protruding from his lower jaw dripping saliva. “We’re going to discuss your last ng s your meal.”

Well, this couldn’t be good. Arik rolled his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, even though his heart was going ballistic.

“Last meal? How about surf-and-turf, medium-rare on the steak, fettuccine alfredo, and those amazing garlic cheese biscuits from Red Lobster? Could I get a Harp, too? Cold, though, not that room temperature crap they like in Ireland.”

Two sets of humorless black eyes stared back at him. “Your choice is putrefied meat with maggots or fish skin.”

“Awesome.” Arik tapped his chin, appearing to consider his options. “Hmm… gross or really gross. Tough decision. I’ll go with gross.”

The shorter ugly-ass motherfucker clicked his claws in agitation. “Which is?”

“Fish skin. Yum.” But hey, if it wasn’t rotten, it would actually be the best thing he’d eaten down here, so things weren’t all bad. And it sounded like they were actually going to kill him. He doubted it would be a quick death, but it couldn’t be worse than anything they’d already done to him.

The beasts spoke to each other in a language Arik didn’t understand, until about the tenth word, when his translation ability kicked in. They were discussing how much to tell him about how he’d die. They were also speculating about what would happen to his body afterward. Would they be allowed to eat him, or would his corpse be preserved and displayed somewhere? Maybe his body would be dumped outside of a hellmouth for his colleagues to find.

Right, okay, so Arik didn’t like any of those options.

He watched the two demons lumber away and wondered if prayers could reach Heaven from here. “Whatcha think, Tav? Is my death going to be quick or slow?”

“Slow, definitely.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Maybe this one time, Arik wouldn’t have minded a little white lie. He ran his hand up and down his chest, wincing at the feel of his rib cage. He’d lost so much weight down here. He’d tried to keep some muscle by doing pushups and sit-ups when he could, but scrounging up the energy wasn’t easy. “At least it’ll be over soon, I guess.”

“Don’t look so relieved, human.” Tavin stared at him, his eyes somber. “Death isn’t a good thing.”

“Spend a day in my shoes—you know, if I had them—and you’ll change your mind.”

The Sem heaved the duffel over his shoulder. “That’s not what I mean. For you, it’s not an escape.”

Man, demons and their tendency to circle an issue. “Straight shoot it, Tav. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that when a human dies here in Sheoul, his soul is trapped. You can’t get out, and the most vile demons in existence will be able to torture you for all eternity. And trust me, what they’ve done to you so far is nothing compared to what they will do to your soul. You think you’re in pain now? Just wait until you’re dead. The soul is much more sensitive than the physical body.”

More sensitive? Arik eyed the corner, his escape plan taking on a new, desperate note of urgency. Every time an opportunity had arisen, he’d carefully dug the thin, black elastic strings out of the waistband of his pants and stored them, scattered, in the crevices that defined the dark chamber. He didn’t have nearly as many as he’d hoped, but it would have to do.

He waited for Tavin to leave, and then he sat down on the floor with his dozen little treasures and began to braid them together. This had to work.

Or he was worse than dead.