When Angels Fall (Demon Lord) Read Free Page A

Majelin, adding to his misery.
    R osy light brightened the cavern as five fire demons entered it, and a dozen earth demons followed, some using the entrance, others rising from the floor. They gathered around Majelin, sniggering, and two of the fire demons raked him with burning eyes, blistered his skin and made him grit his teeth. He would not give them the satisfaction of making him cry out, and he would fight them to the bitter end. An earth demon stepped closer and scraped its fist down Majelin’s cheek, the sharp stones slicing his skin.
    “Time for you to be of more use, angel,” it grated. “The ones who let you live for their sport are all cast down into the Land of the Dead, so you belong to us now.” It gave a gritty guffaw, revealing stone teeth in a vile grin.
    “Who cast them down?” Majelin asked, curious despite himself.
    “A dark god, of course. Did you think one of your pathetic lords of light could prevail against the darkness?”
    “Why did he close the world gate?”
    The demon’s expression blackened, and the rest muttered. Evidently the gate’s closure was a sore point, and he wondered why, but knew he would get no answers. Majelin drew himself up, calling upon the white fire at his core for strength, and summoned the Sword of Vengeance. The fiery weapon appeared in his hand, and he swung it at the closest demon. Even hampered by the chains, he could do considerable damage, but the fire demons’ burning eyes would defeat him in the end. The earth demon jumped back, part of its arm lopped off, and growled a foul curse. The rest closed in, eager to spill an archangel’s blood, as they had longed to do for five centuries.
    Majelin slashed at another earth demon that struck him from the side, slicing off a chunk. The chains limited his reach, and the demons knew they could strike him with relative impunity. They toyed with him, enjoying his suffering and hopeless defiance, and many more crowded into the chamber to partake in his torture and eventual demise. Fire demons raked him with burning glares, inflicting blistered lines across his chest, arms and face.
    A blow on the side of his head dazed him, and he slumped, losing his grip on the sword. He was vaguely aware of the demons ripping the manacles from the wall, then one scooped him up and carried him out. A blur of dark tunnels passed as he struggled to clear his mind of the red haze that clouded it. The demon bore him through a door whose frame was decorated with runic symbols and dumped him on a stone slab at the centre of a fair-sized chamber.
    The demons fastened his manacles to the slab’s corners, spread-eagling him upon it. The angel raised his head as his senses sharpened and surveyed his new prison, noting the lines of runes on the walls. Four torches burnt in sconces in the corners, and the place stank of rot and death. He sensed a powerful and ancient magic at work within the chamber, the sort that only a god could have cast. Whatever the demons planned for him, they evidently did not intend to kill him yet, and he contemplated that with a mixture of relief that he still had a vestige of hope and dread at what horrors might lie ahead.
     
     
    The Demon Lord roused softly from the deep arms of sleep, as if swept onto a wakeful shore by gentle waves. He snuggled closer to his wife and inhaled her hair’s sweet fragrance. She squirmed and turned to him, and he opened his eyes. Mirra met his gaze and smiled. He returned it, then closed his eyes again.
    “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said.
    “Mmmm. Why?”
    “It is time to get up.”
    “Why?”
    “We have things to do.”
    “What?”
    She giggled. “Are you not going to visit Kayos today?”
    “Not now.”
    “You cannot lie abed all day.”
    “Yes, I can.”
    She sighed. “You are like a grumpy bear in the morning.”
    “Then do not nag me.”
    “I am not!”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “Sleep then. I will make breakfast.” She tried to rise, but he held her tighter.
    “No.