Idess had been prepared for this. Taking a deep breath, she summoned every ounce of fury she’d ever felt, let it condense and build until she felt like a shaken bottle of champagne. When the pressure became an unbearable pounding behind her eyes, she let it out in a painful release.
All around her, the black-streaked ground trembled as her skin split and her body doubled in size, morphed, and erupted in glowing light. The demon wheeled away in terror and the things guarding the archway cowered. Within seconds, Idess was a winged, skeletal creature that no one, demon or human, could look upon without thinking of Death incarnate.
She was, in fact, a perfect cross between Azagoth’s true form and an angel.
“You represent the Guild, and I represent Death.” Her voice was a dark, deep rumble that put fissures in the sheer rock faces on either side of her. “Take me.”
The female bowed, making the bone beads in her hair clatter. “I’ll deliver your message.” She disappeared into the gate, squeezing through once more. Idess returned to her preferred form, and turned to find Lore gaping at her. Oops.
“Ah… is there something you want to tell me?”
“Not really,” she muttered, and amused herself by hissing at the creepy things milling around the arch and making them skitter away in terror.
“Idess? Who is Azagoth?”
Oh, hell. “You’ve never heard of him?”
“I’ve heard the name, but I figured he was some regional baddie warlord in Sheoul.”
She snorted. “Hardly. He was once an angel. Back before there was such a thing as death.” She hissed at the creepy things again when they inched too close. “But then that idiot, Cain, killed Abel, and because humans could die, demons had to lose their immortality as well. Some species, anyway. So after that, human and demon souls were running around all willy-nilly and wreaking havoc. Angels were assigned to escort human souls to Heaven, but someone needed to be in charge of the other souls.”
“So, what… this Azagoth guy volunteered?”
“Apparently,” she replied, keeping an eye on the Crest Gel Archway. “Better an angel than a demon to handle the work. So, according to legend, Azagoth willingly fell. He created the holding tank, Sheoul-gra, and all the while, he tried to maintain his goodness, but eventually, he was corrupted. Maybe because he started feeding on demons, or maybe because dealing with demon souls and seeing everything they’d done in their lives chipped away his purity. In any case, he presides over souls his griminions escort to Sheoul-gra.”
“Griminions? As in, the Grim Reaper’s little helpers? Those griminions?”
“Yes. Azagoth is the being humans know as the Grim Reaper.” She glanced at the portal, which began to shimmer. “He’s also my father.”
Lore made a strangled sound, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything, because a seven-foot-tall male Neethul squeezed through the gate and came straight at them.
The Neethulum were a beautiful race, elven in appearance, which made them all the more terrifying. They were proof that evil was not always ugly. This one had emerald eyes and long white hair, with several jagged facial scars that marred his perfection.
“If you are lying about who you are,” he said pleasantly, “you will be skinned and disemboweled while still alive and hung from the rafters until you die.”
Lore casually peeled off his glove, exposing his killing hand, and his cold smile matched the Neethul’s. Except that on Lore, it was sexy. Sexier than it should be, but she was rapidly realizing that Lore was a lot of things he shouldn’t be.
“Follow. And know that you cannot summon weapons inside the Guild Hall.” The Neethul led them to the portal, kicking one of the slithering demon things on his way through.
The gate flashed them to something that resembled a small, underground medieval village. Spiny hellrats scurried under the feet of various species of demons, some of whom appeared to be there against their will. Actual balls and chains dragged behind them, and near a hovel next to a black, steaming pool, an imp in stocks was being whipped.
“See?” Lore whispered. “We’re healed.”
Sure enough, Lore’s injuries no longer bled, and when she touched her cheek, where the scale had sliced it, her skin wasn’t even tender. Neat. But her back itched like crazy.
Lore took her hand in his left one and followed the Neethul into the largest of the buildings, a keeplike structure made of bone-colored stone that bled a black substance. Inside, everything was gray, from the hard-baked clay floor to the ceiling, from which hundreds of heads hung, some fresh, some so old they’d rotted to nothing but yellowed skulls.