Chapter 25 - Fallen's First

Saer lay like a dead thing, his shallow and broken breaths the only indication of viability.

From the corner of his vision, he witnessed Runeak’s original form sink into her body, crimson flesh darkening, wings collapsing and disappearing into her naked back. She stumbled with the change, though she refused to collapse, even as she leaned on a single, bloodied leg. By the time she finished, her followers brought dozens of lit torches near, as well as a blanket to cover her sweat-and-blood-slicked form. The firelight flickered towards her, and as her Daemoenic flesh absorbed it, her exhausted tremors lessened.

Runeak cleared her throat and gave orders with an authoritative rasp to her nearest captain. Saer understood but a handful of the words. Fire. Tent. Bring him.

Distant human voices approached with caution, their language equally incomprehensible.

The first touch of true fire on Saer’s mangled tissue brought a spasm. He gasped, though the sound erupted as more of a gurgle, and startled shouts rose.

Someone piled logs next to him, the sounds of their clattering discordant in his throbbing head. Crackling soon followed as they caught flame, and Saer turned his maimed body towards the heat.

Saer metaphysically wrenched at the flames as he gained more awareness, devouring their warmth. The fluid in his lungs cleared, the damage to his bronchi sealed, and he took in a full, relieved, trembling breath.

Shadows of early morning greeted him when he opened his eyes. He hadn’t sensed any man-sized heat signatures near him, and so the handful of humanoids standing watch over his body startled him. They stood in a circle, conversing in low voices, and he extended his senses with renewed purpose their way.

Not one carried warmth in their veins.

Something was wrong. He was wrong. Had to be. He’d sustained too much damage to read the situation right. Saer closed his eyes, intending to shake his head, but dizziness overtook him. He blinked to push the sensation away.

He tried again, heat sense activating.

Not even a hint.

What in all the Hells…

The human shapes grew agitated, one of them pointing to the sky as it lightened. Their impatience became clearer when a trio approached Saer’s still-prone body and prodded him. He stiffened, intent on warning them.

They touched his wet blood without burning.

What are you?

The three—two women, one man—spoke in hushed and urgent tones. Saer just faded from consciousness when a sudden and intense, horrific pressure slammed into his stomach. Pain and umbrage ripped a roar from his throat, eyes shooting wide open.

His intestines were shoved back into his body.

With ragged breaths, Saer’s gaze snapped to the nearest raven-haired female.

Her hands were still buried in his abdomen. She stared down at him, challenging. Saer bared his teeth to bite her head off at the neck…

The pain in his guts had lessened.

His breath left in a steaming huff as he growled at the female. The sound clipped short when he registered she, too, growled in return.

Growled?

Humans didn’t growl.

Saer had trained himself out of the habit whenever he tried to blend in.

The girl, whatever she was, dared him with her glare. This tiny, insignificant, delicate humanoid matched his ire without a sliver of fear. Touching his blood. Carrying no heat of her own.

Bafflement, then—to his surprise—amusement flushed through him. Saer settled his lips over his bared teeth and changed the tone of his growl to one more assenting. Dipping his head in a movement made difficult by pain and stiffness, he offered a faint nod to the female. She leveled him with her gaze, then withdrew her hands from his abdominal cavity, her pale skin slick and dark with his blood. No blisters. Not even a hint of pink shining between the scarlet trails.

Her two companions leapt into action after the exchange. The man brought a blazing torch forward and, after a brief glance towards Saer’s bestial face, he angled it towards the egregious wound at his torso.

Saer concentrated on the fire and siphoned it. The gaping injury sealed with fire, even if exhaustion remained. After consuming the torch, he fought to sit. The wings at his back hung, broken and shredded, more hindrance than help.

Hellsfire.

He’d heal faster in this form. He knew that. Yet, he despised the thought of feeling better in the shell Lucifer originally crafted for him—though hadn’t the mind to wonder why.

Saer grimaced and made a sweeping motion, gesturing to the non-humans to step away while he willed his Daemoenic form away. The mangled wings sucked into his flesh, drawing a hiss from his lips, but he endured.

The other female brought a thick, scratchy blanket and draped it across Saer’s shoulders. The man, pale of skin and with dark brown hair just past his ears, leaned down to put an arm around his torso.

With a grunt chasing another quiet growl, Saer allowed himself to be assisted to his feet.

Some of his ribs shifted uncomfortably with stabbing, crunching pains. His innards cramped and twisted. Arguably the worst headache he’d ever experienced roared behind his eyes, one of which had almost swollen shut. His left forearm had fractured up next to his elbow from a particularly vicious blow Runeak landed after they’d each shifted. These were the worst of his injuries, though she’d covered the rest of his body in a multitude of deep lacerations and bruises.

Collapsing next to a roaring bonfire for several days sounded exceedingly appealing.

Perhaps because of the hurried insistence of his entourage, Saer managed to limp to Runeak’s tent before the sun crested the horizon. They ushered him to a cot against one of the walls with the blanket thrown over his body. The three non-humans left in a rush after giving him just enough time to recline and groan. Next to the cot, more torches blazed, yet not enough to quicken his healing.

“You almost made my blood drinkers late.”

Saer released a sound—somewhere between pain and annoyance—and rolled his head to the side. For the first time since entering, he saw his sister leaning back in a chair at the war table. She’d been silent upon their entrance, and while he hadn’t scanned for anything or anyone with his heat sense, he should have expected her—careless of him to have missed the presence.

Runeak appeared untouched and clad in another set of armor, save a swelling of her lower lip with scabs overlying. Trace outlines of a few bruises shown on her visible flesh.

“Blood drinkers?” Saer’s voice sounded like he dragged it through a pasture of razor blades. Was she talking about the cold humanoids who brought him there?

Something flashed across her onyx gaze, and he couldn’t tell if it was mirth or alarm. “You don’t know them.”

Saer grunted. “I’ve been preoccupied tracking you down, not focused on what new tricks humanity has concocted.”

“They are not a human trick.” Runeak’s tongue tapped at the hard syllables with delicacy, the simple words dripping with correction and quiet umbrage.

When he attempted to lift an eyebrow, his headache soared. He barely stopped from wincing for fear of the same result.

Embracing the pain would clearly take more practice.

“If not human, I request you explain,” Saer muttered.

“They were human once.”

“You’re impossible to get information out of.”

Wrath stared at Pride, and Pride stared back. Had he the care or patience to learn more? The way Runeak looked when she realized he didn’t know anything about the blood drinkers goaded him enough to try. “Who turned them into blood drinkers?” he asked.

“Father. They made an oath to him.”

More of Lucifer’s army. The wheels in Saer’s mind screeched to a halt, then kicked into overdrive an instant later.

“They seemed eager to complete their task before the sun rose.”

Runeak didn’t blink, and Saer’s jaw tensed with aggravation.

“Does the sunlight hurt them?”

“It kills them.”

Ah.

“Why?”

“It is part of the oath.”

Hellsfire, how he despised she answered everything in as few words as possible.

Saer took a slow, measured breath. “What else is part of the oath?”

The edge of her ebony lips moved, the closest Runeak ever came to showing amusement. “Beheading. A wooden stake to the heart. Fire. These will all kill them.”

It seemed oddly specific, though he doubted he’d have any luck getting her to elaborate. “They touched my blood without burning.”

“We are dedicated to the same maker.” She said it as though it explained everything—and in a way, it did.

“And you call them blood drinkers, because they must drink blood to survive.” He’d seen Lucifer exhibit the same behavior—the choice of sustenance didn’t surprise him.

Runeak gazed on, but didn’t deny the claim.

“Anything’s blood?”

“It must come directly from a creature with a heartbeat.”

“With a heartbeat?”

“Dead blood poisons them.”

So far, this didn’t sound like a deal worth making.

“What do they get in return?” Saer asked.

“Supernatural speed and strength. Eternal life, unless destroyed otherwise.”

Saer imagined that would persuade a healthy number of humans. Although...

“What happens when they die?”

A malicious gleam flickered through Wrath’s gaze. “Their souls go to Father as part of their oath.” She craned her neck in a partial tilt. “He asks about you.”

The change in topic was enough to catch Saer off guard, his heart rate doubling. He turned his head back to stare at the ceiling, avoiding Runeak’s gaze, and replied with as little caring as he could muster, “Oh?”

“He asks us why you have not been back.” Runeak’s low voice resonated with accusation.

“Our maker can come ask me anytime.” Pride’s biting reply rose with more certainty than he possessed, though something in him was mystifyingly gladdened to know Lucifer cared enough to ask. And he hated that.

Runeak, always one to speak and listen in black and white, nodded. “I will let him know.”

Saer shook his head as he shut his eyes. “I...no. Runeak, don’t.” Once more rolling his head towards his sister, he met her gaze. “Don’t insert yourself into this. I’ll go back when I’m ready. That’s a truth you won’t be harmed for sharing.”

Observing Runeak and the way she sat with such impassivity, he pivoted away from their maker. “Where is Errshek?”

“I don’t know.”

Rage ignited through his body, tightening his chest with a ferocity that reignited the throbbing at his temples. Their fight. The blood and eviscerations and broken limbs…

Runeak’s nostrils flared, and he swore a glimmer of satisfaction shone in her fathomless eyes.

Damn her. She got exactly what she wanted. Would she give him nothing?

“When did you last see him?”

“Not long after you unmade our kin.”

So you wouldn’t suffer the same fate! An old, familiar pang dug at his insides which had nothing to do with their recent battle. He forced himself to sit a little straighter. Saer shoved the hollow feeling aside. “What did he want?”

“Protection.”

Saer made a derisive sound. “From me?”

The demoness nodded.

“Well, he’s not a complete idiot.”

Runeak didn’t respond.

“I gather since he’s not here, you declined his request,” Saer said.

“Correct.”

“Did he say where he was going next?”

Runeak leaned back in her chair, muscles tightening. Her lips thinned as she apparently attempted to hide any discomfort the movement brought. “He asked if I knew where the Twins were.”

Her answer prompted Saer’s subtle eye roll. “Of course. Did you tell him where to find them?”

“They prefer to be near water.”

“I don’t suppose you could be a little more specific?”

“No.”

“Great.”

Silence stretched between them while Runeak observed and Saer stared at the floor of the tent, contemplating. He had no better leads.

Astonishingly, she broke the quiet first. “You fought well.”

Saer smirked and lifted his gaze to Runeak. “Quite high praise, coming from you.”

“You should have done better.”

“Well, that ruined it.”

Her expression didn’t change, though a glint of laughter sparked in Runeak’s coal eyes.

Pride himself couldn’t leave it alone. “I almost had you.”

The edge of Runeak’s lips twitched again. “You did not, Eldest.”

Saer snarled, and his sister angled her head to the side in a fine tilt. “After you heal, train with my soldiers.”

“Why in the Hells would I waste my time with that?”

“I want a challenge at our rematch.”

* * *

In his days spent with Runeak’s encampment, Saer learned more about her blood drinkers, though they might as well be labeled the damned, in his opinion, for the price they’d pay in exchange for immortality. Others referred to them as vampires. Alive in some ways, dead in others.

They had been presented to her as a resource and gift, and represented a new creation from their maker who imbued them with their powers. The non-humans were adept at stealth, making them perfect spies for Runeak’s position as a war leader. As part of their connection to Lucifer, they remained immune to the burning properties of Daemoenica blood and—in fact—their blood equivocated to a drug for their kind, or perhaps a very fine and luxurious spirit. The loyalty and balance Runeak achieved with her vampiric followers rose from an agreement to provide them with consensual tastes, straight from her arteries.

The blood drinkers could thin the ranks of her opponents with ease, but their true value lay in convincing humans on either side of the conflict to join their ranks—if they could be coerced to undergo the change. The more who took the oath, the more guaranteed souls Lucifer procured.

Saer had nearly recovered from his battle with Runeak, and the pair resumed a familiar routine they’d known prior to his years with Neyu—plotting alongside Wrath in her war room, strategizing for the greatest victory. The itch to chase down Errshek persisted. Runeak wanted him to train with her men, but he couldn’t be hampered. The instant he came to full strength, he’d resume his quest to find the Twins. Another day. Perhaps two.

The knowledge Runeak already possessed of war and combat had only expanded. Runeak exhibited astounding cleverness in the arts of offense and defense. Maneuverability and security. Surprise and simplicity. She commanded without any doubt of her subordinates following orders.

He’d hate to find himself on the other side of her ministrations.

Angry footsteps thudded outside Runeak’s war tent. A rustled sound of struggling. The flap pulled back to reveal a pair of blood drinkers dragging a bound and gagged man.

The restrained enemy spy was thrust on the floor of the general’s tent. He couldn’t have been more than twenty human years.

The young man’s gaze held both terror and pleading, as though he knew his end neared. His gaze darted between Saer and Runeak, finding little solace in their impassive stares. Sweat dripped from his brow, dampening his dark hair and carving streaks into his dirt-coated cheeks.

Saer raised a brow and angled his gaze to Runeak. Her territory, her mission, and therefore her call. He wouldn’t aid in her harvests, but also didn’t intend to stand in her way.

She didn’t spare him a glance, addressing her blood drinkers while she fixed her predatory focus on the captured spy. “Can he be turned?”

Turned to their side of the fight, Saer assumed.

“He is willing to take the oath.”

Or...

Runeak offered a curt nod and waved her hand in dismissal. “Drain him.”

Drain him?

Before Saer could ask the question aloud, the vampires each dove for a side of the young man’s throat, and he screamed. The sound cut off after their fangs sank past skin, and blood flowed.

His shriek melted into a groan.

A rich, decadent rush of flavor slid over the back of Saer’s tongue from out of nowhere—unexpected. He growled and shook his head, taking a step from the scene.

What in all the Hells?

Saer cleared his throat, attempting to rid it of the taste, though he couldn’t say it was bothersome in truth. Unforeseen, certainly. Though not unpleasant.

Quite the opposite.

Pleasant.

Pleasure.

Desire.

His heart skipped.

Neyu...

It reminded him of when he’d first labeled Asheda’s pride, like a warm sunbeam on his skin.

He could feel pride.

In that instant, he tasted lust.

Runeak’s words when he first entered her encampment leapt into his mind. ‘I could smell you.’ Because the sin of wrath carried a scent for her. How did the other Daemoenica sense their respective sins?

It seemed he’d absorbed more from his beloved than her Hellsfire.

If he was right, it also meant the blood drinkers’ bite evoked a sensual euphoria, and that desire called to him.

Saer forced it down with a hard swallow and focused his efforts on quashing the sense. He didn’t want it, or the reminder of what he’d unwittingly stolen from his match. What else had he gained from her destruction?

An agonal gasp threw Pride out of his thoughts, and he jerked his eyes back to the young man. Runeak went on scouring her war maps without pause.

The vampires pulled away, revealing streams of leftover blood slipping down the sides of his neck. Their victim’s eyelids fluttered, and one of the blood drinkers curled herself over his body. “Invite him in,” she whispered.

A wave of uneasiness curled through Saer. Without taking his eyes off the pair, he aimed his question at Runeak. “Who?”

Saer knew before his sister brushed off the inquiry with a single head shake, but answered anyway. “Father.”

Saer moved back another step, and then Runeak lifted her attention to his face.

The spy cried out. His eyes flew open; the orbits bathed in endless black.

No.

Fear rooted Saer in place, lodged in his throat, choking him. He distantly noted Runeak tipping her head in vague fascination.

The drained man’s head snapped towards the First at an unnatural angle, neck cracking, and those onyx pools locked on Saer.

Saerkhanum. The hissing voice whispered in his head, desolate and enraged all at once. Under it all, a sense of delicate surprise.

No, no, no.

He wasn’t done. He hadn’t located Errshek. Had barely begun seeking his revenge.

And now Lucifer saw him. He’d be unmade for his disobedience.

Saer couldn’t voice any of it, stuck between begging and fighting in his terror. All he managed was a diminutive shake of his head.

The man’s eyes shut, then his entire body seized.

The instant Lucifer took Its eyes off him, the force holding Saer in place released, and he shoved past the vampires to flee the war tent.