After all these centuries, the Malachai would exist as a fully balanced creature.
Regression to the mean. It was, after all, what the universe ever endeavored to achieve. And as one of those chosen tools it used to maintain such a balance, Thorn was well used to the games the universe played.
But no one really believed in the legend. Mostly because of how a Malachai was conceived.
They were born from acts of extreme and utter violence. It was why their mothers were almost always demons. Humans rarely survived sex with their hated breed, and the Malachai avoided the gods because divinity tended to heap even more curses upon their already damned bloodline.
So the concept of a birth mother born on the side of light, loving her Malachai child, was inconceivable and about as likely as Thorn embracing his father and having a beer with the beast.
Of course, it didn’t help that as soon as any child of Adarian’s reached the age of puberty and showed any signs of holding a Malachai’s powers, Adarian slaughtered him and ate the boy’s abilities whole.
The last time that had happened, it’d been bloody enough.
Now …
“How is Adarian so strong if he’s not living with Noir and Azura?”
Gabriel grimaced as he killed the demon in front of him and swung around to face Thorn. “Like the parasite he is, he feeds on human hatred and violence. God knows, there’s plenty of that to go ’round. He’s found a way to channel it to his own powers, so when he slaughtered this most recent child, some of the gates crashed.”
“And his generals?”
“So far, none of them have escaped their prisons to rush to his side. Let us pray it remains so.”
Definitely. That was the last thing they needed on top of this mess—the release of the Riders of the Apocalypse.
Yeah, he’d like to avoid dealing with those pissed-off bitches for a bit longer.
“I have to warn Bane and the others.”
Gabriel caught Thorn’s arm as he started to withdraw. “You know the rules. You interfere now and you’ll end their parole.”
Thorn’s jaw went slack. “What of Michael’s medallion?”
“You can return it later. But for now…” Gabriel swept his gaze over the desert battlefield where they were slowly losing more ground. “We need you here.”
Thorn scoffed. “Sarim asking for my help? Seriously?”
Yet this was what he’d always wanted. For them to accept him as one of them. Still, he knew not to put any faith in this day or their truce that wouldn’t last. This was nothing more than necessity. There was no true camaraderie here. No love.
He wasn’t one of them and they all knew it. But it was a chance to prove to them that he wasn’t the backbiting piece of his shit his father had been.
So he’d stay and fight.
However, as stated, he wasn’t the backbiting piece of shit his father had been. And he wasn’t about to leave the Deadmen out to hang either. Not with what was coming through this gate, or with the Carian. Not while they were depending on him to keep them notified and safe. He would never abandon his own men. In spite of his genes and what others thought of him.
Rules and codes be damned. They were his friends.
More than that, his Hellchasers were the closest thing to a family he’d ever known and he’d die before he let any of them down.
Falling back into the shadows of a palm tree, he used his powers to summon his sharoc companion. “Sorza!”
As dark as the sorrow she was named for, she appeared by his side. A mere wisp only he could see.
Thorn pulled the medallion from his pocket and handed it to her. “I need you to take this to Devyl. He’ll know what to do with it. And tell him that I haven’t abandoned him. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”
She scowled. “You’re bidding me to do good?”
“I am.”
That only baffled her more. But she faded away and left him to continue his fight.
Thorn lifted his shield and chased after a demon that was flying for Adidiron’s back. He didn’t get far before the demon turned to face him with a snide grin that was all too familiar.
Paimon.
Damn him.
“Hello, my son.”
Thorn shuddered at his “friendly” greeting. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why? It’s what you are, aren’t you?”
Thorn curled his lip. “Just because you carried my father’s sperm doesn’t make us related. Really, Paimon … you’re just a two-bit pimp doing whatever you’re told.”
“That makes your mother a whore, does it not?”
Thorn dodged the sword strike that would have severed his head had it made contact. “Your words are as clumsy as your fighting skills. My mother sold her soul to conceive me. That’s an undeniable fact. Call her what you will. Makes no never mind where I’m concerned.”
Mostly because his mother had hated him the moment he’d been born over said bargain. And Thorn hated everyone who’d had a hand in his conception—his mother, father, Jaden, Paimon, and Lucifer. End of the day, they’d all taken turns screwing him.
Which was nothing compared to what his stepfather had done the day he’d learned of their bargain. And the fact that his “beloved son and heir” wasn’t really his, but rather a cruel hoax played on his gullible stupidity by a conniving bitch and her demon lover so that she could maintain her position and her lover could connive to steal his throne.
Aye, Thorn still had those scars.
Outside and in.
It was why he fought so hard now. No one should be used by others for their own gain. Damned because someone else was selfish and had sold them out without any regard for what it would mean to them once the truth became known. He’d had no choice in what had been done to him.
That anger and hatred had turned him into a monster at a time in his human existence when he should have been carefree and looking forward to a life well spent. Instead, he’d become the very thing his stepfather had wanted him to be—had trained him to be.
The fiercest warlord to ever lead his army over blood-saturated fields. And his stepfather’s head had been one of the first Thorn had claimed as a trophy—payback for the betrayal of casting him aside so very brutally over something he couldn’t help.
There, for a time, Thorn had been content and happy to play the beast, and slaughter everything he came into contact with.
Until the day he’d seen himself for what he really was. And that sight still haunted him in a way no demon or monster ever could. For he knew the truth.
He was the scary thing that gave grown men and ruthless demons nightmares.
But never again.
Thorn raked a sneer over Paimon’s horned, ghastly form. “Crawl home, you fetid bastard. Slither into your pit and stay there until you find some semblance of decency.”
Paimon laughed in his face. “You’ve been corrupted by humanity. How can you put faith in something so pathetic and weak?”
He smirked. “We live by faith. Not by sight or proof.”