Angelbound

“Uh-huh.” My shoulders constrict with anxiety. Something about this feels off. Normally there’s only one kick-ass quasi on the Arena floor, along with a bunch of lesser demons. Why are all the part-Furor Arena fighters in Purgatory—every top warrior we have—gathering in the Arena today?

I scan the Arena grounds. More weirdness is afoot. Usually, there’s at least one extra ghoul on the stadium floor. Today, there’s only Walker and Sharkie. The exit archways sit empty as well, except for the one directly across from me. In there, Lincoln paces in the shadows, his body tense as a coiled spring. He turns in my direction. Our gaze meets. There’s no joy of lovers connecting, only the focus of two warriors waiting for…What?

Sharkie thumps his staff on the ground. At each of the four points of the compass, a member of the Oligarchy appears along the lip of the stadium. Turning as one, they open four massive portals along the Arena’s top tier. Angels and demons pour into the stands.

I catalog the crowd. The angels look as they always do: white wings, linen robes, and blue eyes. I inspect the demons and gasp. This group isn’t the usual grab bag of colors, shapes, and sizes. Today, the demons are all tall, bulky, and ripped with muscles. Great wings, as dark and angled as a bat’s, hang off many of their backs. Without making a sound, they take their seats with military precision. At least five thousand of them pack the towering stands.

I’m used to a howling jumble of demons. Over the years, I’ve stopped noticing them. But today’s silence sets my nerves on a knife’s edge.

I look to Sharkie. He’s panting out his nose-holes, black sweat dripping down his cheeks. Walker steps to my side, setting his hand on my shoulder. In the distant archway, Lincoln turns his baculum into a fiery broadsword.

Unholy moley. Whatever’s coming, it’s bad.





Chapter Twenty-Five


The crowd of angels and demons take their seats in record time. Verus and Armageddon are last to process into the stadium. Angels in white armor flank either side of Verus. I recognize Rhiannon and Levi. Extra protection for Verus; not a good sign.

Squinting, I examine the dark balcony. Armageddon’s surrounded by massive stone-skinned demons. Clementine sits there too, a satisfied smirk twisting her piggish face. I grip my hands behind my back to hide how I’m shaking.

The match is ready to begin.

Sharkie thumps his staff one more time. “Angels, ghouls, and demons, I bring you–”

Armageddon raises his pointer finger, his voice echoing through the stadium. “I request the presence of the Scala and Scala Heir.” He shoots a snide glance at the Oligarchy. “Do you agree?”

Huh. As if they’d ever disagree.

The Oligarchy speak in unison. “Call the bearers.”

Minutes tick by. I hop in place, cracking my neck from side to side. Man, I hate waiting around. Pisses. Me. Off. My inner wrath demon awakens, sending my tail in arc over my shoulder. New emotions—rage and frustration—combine with the terror that overwhelmed me before. Makes me feel better, actually. My shoulders loosen, getting ready to hit something.

Finally, a long portal opens in the center of the Arena floor. Out of it steps six ghouls carrying a stretcher. The Scala lies atop it, deep in sleep. Nearby stands the Scala Heir in her white robes. Her head is held high (a little too high, in the opinion of the real Scala Heir) as she scans the crowd.

Adair raises her hand. “I’d like to say something, if I may?”

Sharkie bows. “Of course, oh, Scala Heir.”

“I was so touched when this random ghoul visited me and asked if I could join you people today. It really shows you’ve come to revere me. Thank you. Really.”

I shoot a glance toward Lincoln. His gaze shifts between me and Adair; he shakes his head from side to side. I know exactly what he’s thinking: she should never be here without any thrax to protect her.

Dingbat.

Sharkie pounds his staff onto the stadium floor. “Now we shall–”

Armageddon sniffs. Sharkie and the stadium fall silent. “I was not finished.”

My muscles tighten as fear crawls up my spine. I don’t like the smug grin rounding Armageddon’s mouth. What could he possibly have to say? Get on with the match already.

Muscles twitch in the emcee’s gray neck. In her balcony, Verus grips her throne, her blue eyes narrowing into slits. A long pause follows, then Sharkie stammers out one word: “Ye…Yes?”

Rising to his feet, Armageddon shoots his thin arms high. “ATTACK!”

My body freezes with shock. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

What happens next takes seconds, but each one ekes by in what feels like years, beginning with demons streaming out of the stands and onto the Arena floor. I gasp, suddenly realizing why all the part-Furor fighters in Purgatory—every top quasi warrior we have—were brought together in the Arena today:

To wipe us all out at once.

I scan the top lip of the stadium. The Oligarchy stand stunned, their skeletal heads wagging. They stumble about for a bit, then step into their own portals and disappear. The main exit goes with them.

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