Raising his staff, Sharkie brings the long handle down on the Choker’s chest, spiking it straight through his heart. The human twitches, then falls slack. A ghostly version of the Choker appears above his lifeless body.
Sharkie turns to me, his beady black eyes flaring bright red. “Next time, my staff skewers your heart, too.”
I open my yap, ready to tell Sharkie exactly what he can do with his staff, when the hairs on my neck prickle. Raising my head, I scan the stadium. Every face is focused on me. Verus’s eyes glow bright turquoise while a satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Armageddon watches me with a curious interest, his right eyebrow cocked.
Time to vamoose. I don’t need any attention from those two.
“Excuse me. It’s time to call the Great Scala.” I bow low, turn on my heel, and jog into a nearby archway.
Walker waits there for me in the shadows. “Nice work.” He winks. “Hogtied is new.”
I bow slightly. “I’m trying to mix it up a bit.”
“On behalf of your audience, I appreciate the creativity.” He rubs his hands together. “Shall we depart?”
“Hmm.” Right now, I fall into the category of ‘incredibly late for school.’ I might as well make it count. “Nah.” I peep around the edge of the stone archway. “I want to see the Scala move a soul.” We don’t get monster truck rallies or boy band tours in Purgatory, so this is the closest to a spectacle that I ever get. No way am I missing it.
A muscle twitches along Walker’s jaw. “I promised to keep you out of danger.”
I roll my eyes. “Every time I finish a fight, you pull out the old ‘I promised your Mom I’d keep you safe’ speech, and try to talk me into going home. And every freaking time I talk you into letting me stay.” I elbow him in the arm. “You need some new shtick, my friend.”
Walker chuckles. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Sharkie’s staff thuds on the ground, the noise echoing through the stadium. I peek toward the Arena floor. Sharkie stands alone on the grounds, his gray-skinned head bowed. “Bring him out.” In this case, ‘him’ is the Scala, the only creature that can permanently move a soul to Heaven or Hell. Otherwise, they can (and mostly do) escape.
The Arena falls silent, the air thickening with anticipation. My heart rate quickens. We’ve had the same Scala for hundreds of years now. He’s like the human’s Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and Tooth Fairy all rolled into one. Seeing him is a huge deal. Picture the oldest, most wrinkly guy possible, then add a hundred years, a white robe and mind-boggling levels of power. That’s the Scala.
The sandy floor trembles beneath my feet. In the center of the Arena, a group of eight ghouls appear through a large portal, carrying an old man on what’s basically a fancy stretcher. The dude is ancient, crinkly, and only five feet tall. His white beard winds around his entire body.
Armageddon leans back into his dark throne, his eyes narrowing. Pure hatred rolls off him in waves. The King of Hell fathered the Scala, but the child chose to embrace his mother’s heritage as a thrax demon fighter. Armageddon never got over it.
Bit by bit, the Scala opens his eyes. Angels and demons alike fall silent. In a reedy voice that somehow carries throughout the stadium, the Scala asks in Latin: “Qui turbat Scala?”
A ghoul beside the Scala translates: “Who disturbs the Scala?”
The ghostly Choker looks still and disinterested, although beads of sweat glisten on his spectral cheek.
Sharkie bows low. “This soul has been defeated in a fair fight.” He gestures to the Choker. “We ask he be sentenced to Hell.”
The handler translates the response. The Scala nods feebly, raising his hand. Small bolts of lightning dance about his three-knuckled fingers.
“Parare ad ad infernum,” whispers the Scala.
“Prepare for Hell,” comes the translation.
Dozens of tiny lightning bolts whirl about the Scala’s withered hand. Igni. Miniscule elements of power that only he can summon.
So. Badass.
I lean against the stonewall and hug my elbows. “I love this bit.”
A smile sounds in Walker’s voice. “Me too.”
More igni appear, whirling about into a shaft of light about two feet high. A soul column. The pillar of brightness slides off the Scala’s stretcher, growing wider as it spins across the Arena floor.
The soul column surrounds the Choker’s ghostly legs. The spirit stands stunned as igni slowly climb up his body, each tiny lightning bolt swirling and diving around its neighbors like so many silver fish. For a moment the igni flare bright about the Choker’s body, then they all disappear. The damned soul vanishes to Hell.
I brush-slap my hands together in a gesture that says ‘my work here is done.’
Walker taps my shoulder. I turn my attention away from the Arena floor.
“Time to get you home, Myla.”
“Not so fast, mister.”