Inhaling deeply, Idess flashed to the realm where her father resided, where only his children and his griminions were allowed. She appeared on the steps of an ancient Greek temple, a great ebony building flanked by black pillars and set amongst other black structures. Once, she’d run her hand over a wall, only to have it come away covered with a sootlike substance. Where her hand had been, dirty white marble peeked through the oily grit.
The massive buildings and pillars and statues had once been pristine white. Now they groaned under the weight of taint and corruption. The entire realm was a giant replica of Athens, but in the dark. Athens, in her nightmares.
Still maintaining a grip on Roag, whose struggles were mere whispers against her skin, she climbed the steps and entered through the double doors big enough to allow King Kong passage. Inside, polished ebony floors stretched endlessly. Grim, dark statues of demons and humans in pain lined the walls, and in the center of the great room, a fountain ran red into a dark pool at the base.
She dragged Roag down a mazelike corridor, making dozens of lefts and rights, and finally, two of her brothers, one of whom she vaguely recognized, opened the huge iron door at the end.
Idess was nearly blinded by the bright lights blasting through the opening. The entire realm was set in a back-drop of gloom, but Azagoth liked his color, and, she noted with a wince, he apparently liked his Beatles music.
He turned to her from where he was standing before an archway, where griminions paraded by, leading the souls of dead demons. The moment he turned, the griminions halted in their tracks, unwilling to move forward to their final destination, Sheoul-gra, until their boss had seen and approved every soul brought before him.
Azagoth was the epitome of male beauty. Appearing to be in his early thirties, he was tall, with black hair, chiseled cheekbones, and a strong, square jaw. He wore a button-down emerald shirt that matched his eyes, and black, slim-fitting pants that emphasized long legs. In his hand, he had a cup of Starbucks coffee.
“Daughter,” he said, his smile one that would make any human woman swoon but that only looked cold to Idess. “It’s been centuries.” He cast a glance at Roag, who, once inside the room, had become solid. “And you brought a guest.”
“Where am I?” Roag shouted. “What have you done, you stupid cunt?”
Idess released Roag and wondered how many showers she’d have to take before her skin stopped crawling from the feel of his touch. He careened around the room, but when it became clear that there was no way out, he rushed her. He swiped at her, but his clawlike hand passed harmlessly through her body.
“As you can see, you have no power here.” Azagoth casually crossed his arms over his chest. “Or anywhere.”
Roag’s eyes bulged as he stared at his hand. “Am I… dead?”
“Unfortunately not,” Idess said. “Why am I here?” The demon rounded on Azagoth. “Who are you?”
Oh, this promised to be good.
Her father had a flair for the dramatic, and he allowed a few moments of tense silence to tick by before saying, “I’m the being you know as the Grim Reaper.”
Roag made a strangled noise. “Wh-what do you want with me?”
“I don’t know. Daughter?” Azagoth moved to his desk, a modern oak monstrosity next to a fireplace that was lit, but didn’t give off heat. His chamber was freezing. He took a seat, kicked his feet up on his desk, and waited for her to say something.
“Father,” she said, prepping herself for the formal speech he preferred, “I humbly request that you put an end to this vile creature. I would have done so myself on the earthly realm, but he is cursed to formlessness, and has no body to kill.”
Azagoth put down his coffee. “Truly? Interesting curse.”
“Interesting?” Roag screeched. “It is suffering of the cruelest kind!”
“Please,” Idess scoffed. “Hearing you whine about cruelty, given what you’ve done in your life, makes me sick.”
Roag sneered at her. “So you brought me here to kill me. Do you think that scares me? Do you think I’m pissing my pants? Death is welcome.”
No doubt death was much preferable to the fate he was suffering. After death, he’d be taken to Sheoul-gra, where he’d hang out with other demons until he was reborn.
“Father, I don’t want him dead.” She stepped forward, shoving Roag aside. “I want him destroyed.”
Roag’s gasp echoed through the room, and in the tunnel, even the griminions shuddered. “You can’t do that,” he rasped. “You have no right!”
Azagoth steepled his fingers over his chest and pinned her to the wall with his cold gaze. “What you ask is rarely done. In all my time, I have destroyed only a handful of souls, and not without consequence. So why, dear daughter, should I risk Satan’s wrath for this one demon?”