Chapter 21
Rys’s vision cleared and he found himself standing in the cavernous cylinder outside the chamber.
Except this wasn’t the same dwarven citadel that he, Fara, and the others had fought their way through.
Thousands of infernals occupied the walkways. Hulking demons patrolled alongside stout dwarves, wearing the uniforms of the Infernal Empire. All the doors stood open and countless knowledge devils scribbled away at paperwork. Imps and human messengers ducked along the walkways.
The knowledge of what this place was struck Rys all at once, as if his memories had been restored.
This was the central support column of the dwarven city-fortress of Marnn. It was built into the Marnn mountain range, which sat less than fifty miles from the eastern coastline of southern Gauron. The dwarves had hewn this fifty-story cylinder from the rock centuries ago.
The Infernal Empire used it to project power over the region. Rys had commanded a battle front during the Cataclysm from here alongside a demon lord known as Ironspike.
Oddly, Rys found himself standing at the very bottom of this fortress. Five noble devils stood in front of him on the raised platform. They glared down at him. Sneers decorated their faces.
Rys wore full armor and a general’s uniform in the Infernal Empire. His runic axe hung from his belt.
This was the past, he realized. He was seeing events from the Cataclysm, when he had defended Gauron on behalf of the Infernal Empire.
Why had he forgotten this memory until now?
A noble devil opened his too-pretty face to speak. Fury rose within Rys, unbidden.
“The reapers are retreating. The battle is won and our armies are depleted. Our duty to the Empire is done and all is safe. Nobody is sending our armies to attack the offshore Reaper fleets or attacking the angels,” the devil said.
The reapers. That was a name that Rys hadn’t heard for some time. The other divine race that had been destroyed in the Cataclysm.
“We have our orders, General Talarys,” a hooded noble devil added coldly. “And you will follow them. Are we understood?”
Blinding rage threatened to overcome Rys. It took every effort he had not to reach out and cave the closest devil’s skull in. He gritted his teeth, but his glare intensified.
The war council returned his fury with disdainful looks, although one of them looked nervously at the nearby guards. A pair of Arcas devils stood nearby. Their faces expressed gleeful optimism that Rys would step out of line and let them fight him.
This anger was an old foe of Rys’s, he recalled. Lacrissa used it to control him. Bind him to her will. His emotions were shackled to her desires. Whatever she wanted, Rys would be pushed to achieve. Anger had proved the most effective motivator. Rys’s temper had been deeply amusing to her.
Lacrissa loved the story about how he killed his first love, because her family defrauded him.
“I have my orders,” Rys ground out.
The five devils shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, as if suddenly aware that Rys served a greater master than them.
“My duty is to protect the coast and the Empire,” Rys continued. “I’m not here to preserve your pets or fulfill your dreams. The reapers will return, as they have every time. Archangel Samael destroyed two legions yesterday. This war will not end with handshakes and infernal contracts, but millions of dead. I’m trying to make sure we have a smaller share of those millions.”
“Know your place, mortal,” one of the devils snapped. He wore a suit with plenty of frills. “Her Majesty placed her faith in us to command. You are only here to assist General Ironspike. We command, you follow. Understand?”
“No.”
Rys clenched his fists and every knuckle in his fingers popped at once. The noises reverberated throughout the entire cavern, causing many infernals to stop. Some had already been subtly trying to eavesdrop, but now many more watched the proceedings.
“My mistress gave me my orders. I follow them. No others,” Rys said. His vision wavered. If he didn’t suppress or unleash his fury soon, then Lacrissa might intervene directly. “Do you think you can stop me from commanding my own armies?”
Every movement in the cavern stopped at once. Knowledge devils peeked through doorways, mouths agape. The guards gulped, wondering if they were expected to fight against a rogue general.
A mere human “pet” threatened five noble devils appointed by the Devil Queen herself. To many infernals, what they witnessed was impossible.
A minute passed. Moisture dripped onto one of the walkways, breaking the silence.
Plip. Plip. Plip.
Rys opened his mouth to give one final warning.
Then the crack of magic filled the chamber, overwhelming all of Rys’s senses. A surge of red light eclipsed everything for a moment. Rys tried to use his magical senses to detect the intruder.
Power slammed down on Rys when he found the intruder. Unyielding, absolute power hovered above him.
A shiver of dread ran down Rys’s spine. He knew what this was—both in the past and the present.
An archangel hovered in the air high above Rys and the council. Ethereal hawk-like wings formed of blood red energy spanned the width of the cavern on either side of the archangel. He wore golden armor and white robes over every inch of his body, and his face was shrouded in magical darkness. An eight-foot greatsword intricately crafted from silver, steel, and gold occupied their right hand. It glittered menacingly with red angelic runes.
Azrael, the Archangel of Vengeance.
Each archangel came color-coded for easy identification, was the joke.
In truth, Rys suspected their different wing colors were so that he knew how badly to shit his pants when he saw the archangel. Raphael was white, so he might have survived. By contrast, Samael’s black promised death and little else.
Azrael killed everyone he encountered—hence the blood red. He was the warrior of the archangels. One of the five most powerful beings in Harrium.
And he had just teleported past every protection in the citadel, right into the safest chamber, where the region’s war council was currently meeting.
“Infernals of Marnn, you have been judged for the disruption you create within Harrium. I, Azrael, shall carry out your sentence of destruction,” a deep, lyrical voice intoned directly into Rys’s head in an infernal language—Low Devil, to be precise. Whispers of the original voice echoed at the edge of Rys’s hearing.
The Angelic Tongue. The special ability that angels possessed to speak in the native language of everybody listening. Words spoken in the Angelic Tongue translated themselves within the target’s head to whatever language was most familiar to them.
Like a hammer striking in Rys’s head, something ushered him into action. Fury blanketed his mind, shoving any sense of terror away.
Every infernal remained still, transfixed by Azrael.
Who did that archangel think he was? The judge of the fucking world? Rys’s thoughts blazed as he forced himself into action.
“Lock down the fortress!” he roared. “Guards, sound evacuation alarms. Everybody take shelter.”
Azrael ceased his preening in the middle of the cavern upon hearing Rys’s words. The archangel looked down at him, as if confused that somebody is capable of fighting back.
A moment later, Rys was in the archangel’s face. His muscles seared from the infernal energy rushing through them, and his legs ached from the leap he made to jump this high so fast.
The runes of Rys’s axe glowed as he swung it at Azrael’s head.
The air itself shuddered, then Azrael blinked a step backward. His sword snapped upward instantly, meeting the axe with a thunderous crash. Hellfire exploded from Rys’s axe and was met by red light from Azrael’s blade.
The impact numbed Rys’s arm. He hovered in the air for a moment, his momentum keeping him next to Azrael.
The runes on the sword lit up, and every alarm bell in Rys’s body went off at once.
With a shout, he stretched his arm out and fired a blast of wind at Azrael. The force propelled Rys backward.
Azrael’s blade flashed red and an explosion rippled out from behind Rys. He looked backward to see a scar in the wall across the entire wall where Azrael had sliced through the air. Walkways fell apart, sending people tumbling. Debris rained down on those below.
The wind blast barely ruffled Azrael’s robe. In response, he pointed his spare hand at Rys, palm open. Without speaking, the angel cast a spell.
Still in midair, Rys couldn’t react. A blast of force slammed into him. His ribs shattered and his arm snapped cleanly along his forearm, leaving the end dangling only by flesh and sinew. Every rune in Rys’s armor lit up in an attempt to protect him.
He slammed into a wall, then tumbled down to the bottom floor. The remains of a walkway collapsed on top of him. Pain filled every inch of his body. The runes on his armor fizzled out, completely spent.
Rolling over, Rys watched as Azrael returned to his earlier pose.
“Vengeance Annihilation,” Azrael boomed.
Thousands of red astral lances appeared around Azrael. They swiveled independently of one another and pointed in almost every direction. Each lance had the power to blow apart a noble demon.
Azrael had summoned enough to kill every person in the chamber.
Screams and explosions became Rys’s world a second later. Azrael filled almost every corner of the fifty-story citadel with death and destruction. He summoned more lances after the initial barrage, blowing open every room afterward.
The councilors tried to flee, using their powerful Gifts to protect themselves. Dozens of lances vaporized them. The Arcas devils exploded into mist.
Humans, infernals, elves, and dwarves alike were mown down like wheat. Rys watched, unharmed by the barrage for an unknown reason, as soldiers he commanded were slaughtered in front of him.
Even the runic protections of the citadel failed. The external barriers collapsed, threatening the safety of the entire city.
White hot fury filled Rys’s mind. Even the current Rys struggled to accept Azrael’s wholesale slaughter of every person in the same room as the council. What was the archangel avenging? The very sanctity of Harrium?
What absolute bullshit.
The angels sat on the sidelines for years as the Cataclysm built up to the global war it had become. The reapers and infernals fought each other bitterly, as they had many times before, but this time it escalated far beyond previous wars. Their entire continents turned into a massive war machine, each bent on the destruction of the other.
Then the angels showed up and tried to put a stop to the war by killing everybody that was part of the fighting. What a great way to restore order and balance to the world.
A roar of guttural fury ripped out of Rys’s throat. He drew on every Gift he had and pumped sorcery into his body. His arm repaired itself. His muscles rippled with raw magical power.
Rys exploded upward at Azrael. The archangel only had a moment to react before Rys tackled him. Hellfire exploded around them upon impact, singeing the edges of Azrael’s robes.
Their momentum carried them onto one of the few intact walkways. They crashed into the stone, flames licking at everything within reach.
Azrael hurled Rys away with his massive strength the moment they hit ground, then stood up.
Rys rolled, then charged straight back at Azrael. He slammed his fist into Azrael’s face with every ounce of magical energy he had. The impact knocked his hood off.
Azrael stood dead still, not reacting in the slightest to the punch. Long blonde hair fluttered behind the handsome face of a middle-aged man. A pair of piercing red eyes glared at Rys, holding a depth of utter rage and fury that froze him in his tracks.
The anger in Azrael’s eyes felt bottomless. As if Rys was looking into the fury of Harrium itself.
Then the plaintive cries and screams of the wounded reached Rys’s ears. His previous anger returned, and he cocked his fist back for another strike. But it felt weak.
If Rys were stronger, he could have stopped this. He wouldn’t have his future controlled by some self-righteous ass of an archangel.
None of Rys’s remaining punches harmed Azrael. Eventually, the archangel responded by knocking Rys down with a single blow. Azrael then snapped his fingers.
Bindings of red energy burst from the ground, holding Rys against the floor. He fought back furiously, trying to break free.
“A piteous fellow you are, more so than any other I’ve seen, perhaps,” Azrael said, speaking in Low Devil instead of the Angelic Tongue. “Your soul is a ragged mess. Your power so far beyond a human’s that I question your very mortality. And your mind… Lacrissa truly deserves her reputation. Death would be a release for you. Freedom from this cage of rage that she has trapped you in.”
The archangel kneeled down next to him and met Rys’s eyes.
Rys looked away. Rage threatened to shatter his mind. Lacrissa herself might come. He desperately tried to calm himself down, chanting to himself over and over.
“Ah, I see. You have not truly lost yourself. I question whether I or any of my brothers possess a force of will so great as yours,” Azrael said. He almost sounded happy. “To let you go to waste would be the greatest of all failures. It may only be a small victory, but those are precious few now.”
A long pause. Rys continued to meditate within his mind, eyes closed. If the archangel killed him, so be it.
“With just a slight nudge, I can take you beyond her grasp. Weaken her control over your emotions,” Azrael said. “We shall see if you awaken to Vengeance, or ignore the influence I awaken within you.”
A hand pressed down against Rys’s forehead. A moment later, he felt Azrael’s power reach deep within him.
Right to his soul.
Then, as though Azrael flicked a switch, the anger in Rys’s mind almost vanished. It felt muted, like trying to listen to a loud noise through a thick wall. Or feeling heat over a long distance.
Azrael stood up. Shouts filled the air as more infernals charged into the chamber.
But rather than destroy them, Azrael glowed for a moment. An instant later, Rys felt his connection to the magical plane be cut off. He couldn’t even feel his Gifts. The infernals screamed in panic and fled.
Azrael looked down at him. “Farewell, Talarys of Ruathym. Our paths will not cross again. At least, not as I am now. May you find fulfillment.”
Blood red wings closed over the archangel’s body. Power surged around him and he teleported away, leaving behind a ruin and Rys.
A Rys that had been freed from Lacrissa’s mental control for the first time in decades.
The vision faded and became a mere memory in Rys’s head.
He didn’t know why he had forgotten about this, or about Azrael. The seal had stolen this from him. Denied him the truth of how he escaped Lacrissa’s influence.
It left him with many questions. Deeply troubling ones.
But Rys knew one thing for certain.
He sincerely hoped he could replicate some of Azrael’s abilities using infernal sorcery when he regained his power. The balls it took for that archangel to say the name of his attack seconds before using it.
Then Rys blinked and he returned to the present day.