Reveling in his war and conquest, he’d been terrifying. His ferocity such that even the trained war hounds had fled, yelping, at his approach.
Indeed, the air around him now, as then, sizzled with his unholy power and raw determination. It reached out like a living, breathing entity to cause the hair on the back of her arms to rise. The mere fact that he could effortlessly hold a witch as powerful as Strixa …
I’m a corymeister. Du’s words went through her head. He was the strongest sorcerer of his kind. No one could touch him when it came to the ability to bend the natural laws.
Mara went ramrod stiff as that brought a new, horrifying thought in its wake. What if her feelings were nothing more than another spell he’d cast? How would she ever know the difference?
Was any of this real?
He glanced up and caught her gaze. “Mara?”
She offered a smile and prayed he couldn’t sense it was false. “Aye, sorry. Was lost in my thoughts. Did you ask something?”
Suspicion clouded his gaze, as if he knew she was lying, but wasn’t quite sure about what.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. Worried about that coming conflict.”
That seemed to placate him. He glanced toward Strixa. “No fears, my lady. So long as you put your faith where it belongs, all shall be well.”
Mara wanted to believe that. Desperately. Yet she couldn’t shake the ill feeling inside her that warned things were not what they seemed.
And that Vine had something in store for them that neither of them could predict.
*???*???*
Thorn cursed as he pulled back with his men before he lost another one to the demonic horde that was pouring through the breach from their realm into that of mankind.
Thankfully, this rupture was in the desert where no human was around to witness it. But it didn’t make the dusk-lit battle any less bloody or intense.
“Gabriel!”
The Seraph general ducked barely before he would have lost his head to a sword stroke. Slightly taller than Michael, Gabriel was a huge bastard himself. In Seraph form, his darker complexion looked almost ashen, but his hair was every bit as white as the others’, as were his wings and weapons. His gold armor was blinding in the dim light—a tactical advantage when battling demons whose eyes were sensitive from living in flame-lit darkness for so long.
And a damn annoyance for Thorn, who was one of them and yet on Gabriel’s side for this conflict. Lifting his hand, he squinted to see past the brightness that sent waves of agony through his skull.
“They’re slipping through to the right,” he called out, warning Gabriel’s soldiers to shore up the area where Thorn’s men were growing thin.
Thorn cursed again as he realized how right Michael had been. This was far worse than he’d imagined. It wasn’t just the Carian Gate that had failed.
Three had gone down.
The Cimmerian forces were stronger now than they’d been in centuries.
Thorn drove his blessed sword through the demon closest to him and took an unnatural pleasure at the sounds of its screaming. Normally, he’d only banish them back to their prisons. But today, he wasn’t feeling merciful.
Today, he wanted blood and soul.
Most of all, he wanted to hear their cries of agony.
“What happened to cause this surge?” he asked Gabriel.
“The Malachai killed his son and absorbed new powers. When he did so, he broke the seals on the gates.”
Growling, Thorn renewed his fight. That would do it. “Who was the mother?”
“A demon whore who wanted to get back into Noir’s good graces. After the Malachai attacked her, she sought to barter the boy and Adarian’s soul for her own freedom. Sad for the child when he tried to kill his father and learned firsthand that Adarian didn’t let his fatherly devotion get in the way of his self-preservation.”
Thorn rolled his eyes at that bit of common knowledge about the Malachai, and at the clichéd ploy too many she-demons had used throughout the centuries to try and bring Adarian down. It was what had made the Malachai demon so incredibly powerful and dangerous. Because the Malachai alone took on the memories and powers of all his predecessors whenever he came of age and assumed his role as head badass, he became stronger with each generation. The current Malachai, Adarian, had lasted longer than any before him.
Lucky for humanity, Adarian hated Noir and Azura—the two primal gods he served and was bound to—and had escaped them to hide in the mortal realm. So long as Adarian remained free and apart from them here in the human plane, the world wouldn’t end. But if he were to ever make amends with them, or a she-demon ever mothered a Malachai son who could take down Adarian and assume his father’s powers and those of the previous Malachai …
Thorn would definitely kiss up to his father and sell out the world. It would be the only way to survive the ensuing holocaust.
That was what they all feared. The one Malachai who was prophesied to end the world and bring about the eternal reign of the demons.
Still, with that being said, the thought of Adarian absorbing new powers was even more terrifying to Thorn. Because sooner or later, whenever Adarian thought he had enough strength to pull off a coup, he’d go after Noir and Azura to get his complete freedom from the two of them, and that battle wouldn’t be any better for the world.
Might even be worse, given Adarian’s inherent sense of entitlement and hatred.
Worse still, his bloodlust.
And Thorn ought to know. He’d been caught up in the previous such war that had almost ended all existence as humanity knew it. Because win, lose, or draw, the Malachai would not go back into his box, and Noir and Azura lacked the powers to kill him. They could only enslave their favorite pet.
Which was also part of the prophecy.
One day, the Malachai would slay the gods of old and replace them all. And once they were gone, and their curse with them, their Malachai demon would reign as the supreme power of the universe and rebuild his bloodline.
Another army of Malachai would rise and no one would be able to stand against them.
Neither god, nor man. Nor any preternatural creature.
They would all burn and kowtow to him.
The only hope was an obscure legend of the Excambiare Malachai. Like the firstborn Malachai, known as Monakribos, this one would be conceived from an equal share of the light and dark powers. Whereas Monakribos held a father of light and a mother of dark, the Excambiare would have a mother of light and a Malachai father of utter darkness.
The Excambiare’s birth would complete the Malachai cycle and restore the balance that had been shifted by the thousands of Malachai who’d come along after Monakribos. It would break the curse that had been placed on the Malachai bloodline by the primal gods, and shatter the Malachai’s Cimmerian bonds. He would be free to serve himself, and no longer be bound solely to evil.