Yes, I said I cared about Ishmael. And I do. More and more. No, he isn’t much of a talker, but his actions speak louder than words. The man—or angel—would be by my side through hell or high water.

  Literally.

  Though the water down here isn’t really water.

  Whatever.

  Hades could only point in the direction he’d last heard the god-eating monster could be found. Apparently, anything or anyone considered a god was fair game to this thing. Including Hades. Especially Hades.

  I asked what it looked like, and Hades said I would know it when I see it. He didn’t even want to think of it, so worried was he of its presence.

  Conversely, not all gods down here feel the same as Hades. Some want to end their diminished existence, and this monster is their exit point, so to speak. Their way out, since they are incapable of ending their own lives.

  Quite a conundrum for these lesser gods.

  What would drive a god to want to end it all? Hades hadn’t given me a satisfying answer. Likely, he didn’t want to think about. As one of the few gods down here who was actually thriving, he has it pretty good, compared to the others. Maybe ‘fading into irrelevance’ was a painful process? Or maybe the boredom drove them mad, having nothing to do for centuries on end?

  In a way, I don’t blame Dis Pater/Rex Infernus. Actively recruiting souls to harass down here is a way of keeping busy and staying relevant. I don’t approve of his methods, but then again, he is a god of the Underworld.

  Meaning, the dude has a dark side.

  Meanwhile, I wonder if Hades will uphold his end of the deal. Not like I’m asking for much. Just asking to be shown the way to whatever part of this hellscape that Rex Infernus oversees. Which can be anywhere, apparently. Flying over it now, it’s so much bigger than I ever thought. Sure, I can stop and try asking, say, another god. But so far, I haven’t seen anything god-like or human-like or even bipedal.

  I’ll stick with the plan for now, unless Hades forces me to change it. Then I’ll go rogue, which I’m pretty good at, too.

  Ishmael flies next to my side and points to a twisted cornice coming into a view. This strange mountaintop is our first marker, a spot where we are supposed to veer left, which we do now...

  It’s been a while since I’ve done long distance flying. Generally, I teleport when possible. Or call on Talos and his massive wings. Pretty sure the dragon can’t cross into the Underworld, being that he’s alive and well. That said, it’s nice going on this really long flight, even if something monstrous is waiting at the end of it.

  My wings are tireless, powerful, and nearly silent. I’m a bit like an owl that way. They beat steadily, rhythmically. I can go faster, but I don’t want to. I’ll get there soon enough. The land sweeps past me, none of it livable by any ‘above ground’ standards. It looks hot and uncomfortable; in fact, there are patches of legit lava pools, connected by lava streams. There doesn’t seem to be any movement of wind over the land. The twisted trees far below neither move or sway. No birds either. Nothing to change the monotony of the scenery.

  We come across the next marker.

  This is an ancient and dead tree, taller than the others and even more twisted. Hard to miss it, too. We angle slightly to the right, according to our directions. Slightly, of course, is subjective.

  We continue at a steady clip. Black, gray, and white smoke belch randomly into the sky. The plumes break up the monotonous landscape, but with no wind to speak of, the smoke just sits there, unfurling and dissipating slowly... to be replaced by more bursts of smoke.

  The silence here was nice at first, but now, it’s feeling a bit overwhelming. At least the River Styx makes rushing noises. Out here, with no river to speak of, and not a lot of animal life, sound is a premium. I almost want to shout just to hear something.

  I have a mental image of Talos letting out a great, ground-shaking, bone-rattling roar. Methinks the vibration would carry for many hundreds of miles.

  Which is about how far I think we’ve flown.

  More and more plumes rise into the sky, some literally exploding directly below us. It’s magnificent and a bit scary. Scary, mostly because it’s so foreign. I might as well be flying over another planet, not somewhere beneath our own, which I kind of question at this point if it is. I mean, how does the surface world not come crashing down on here? What’s supporting the land above? It’s not like I’m seeing rocky columns holding up the world above.

  As we fly, I angle over to Ishmael and ask the question, wondering if an angel has any thoughts on the matter.

  “Though many on earth believe in hell, few actually believe that hell itself is literally beneath the surface world. Most view such a place as outside the earth, even if they can’t explain where. This space is a collection of such thoughts. Neither here nor there. But existing nonetheless.”

  “And you know this how?” I ask.

  “Angels talk among each other.”

  “You mean gossip.”

  “Not quite. It’s an exchange of experiences, thoughts, and ideas. All guardian angels know the innermost thoughts of their charges. As such, we can gather a general consensus of humankind’s thoughts and beliefs about anything, really. Yes, I knew your thoughts, though I don’t anymore...” He pauses, looks away, his blond hair whipping behind him. “The loss of which has been harder on me than expected.”

  Whoa. I hear the emotion in his voice. “I’m sorry,” I say, and reach out and take his hand in mine. It’s colder than I expect. I squeeze it and try to let go, but he holds on for a few seconds longer, rubbing a thumb over the back of my hand. Finally, I pull it free and immediately feel guilty. Okay, that was a bit more intimate than I was expecting. Worse, his tender touch felt real and perfect.

  Or was it simply familiar? After all, I have felt his presence since the beginning of my existence.

  C’mon, Sam. Focus.

  Indeed, I have quite the task before me. Take out a god-killing monster, so powerful that the strongest deity in the Underworld fears it.

  And all I have is the Devil Killer, my wings, my wits—and my angel.

  Because of Hades’ fear of the thing—and his lack of description—I literally don’t know what I’m getting myself into. What can make the strongest god of the Underworld quake with fear?

  I don’t know... but I’m about to find out.

  After all, far below, I can see the ground shaking and trees shuddering. Rocks fall from nearby cliffs. And the few signs of animal-life—large rodents of most unusual sizes—flee into holes in the ground.

  Before us is a rocky hill that nearly qualifies as a mountain. It rises up to a broken point, which might be an oxymoron. Whatever is causing the earthquake is just behind the slopes of this hill.

  Like the fools we are, Ishmael and I fly directly toward it...

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Another palace comes into view, tucked behind the hill.

  This one is notably different than Hades’s opulent fortification, namely that it’s not covered in gold. Instead, this one gleams white, despite there being no sun down here, or anything for it to reflect, but gleam it does, as if glowing from within.

  Ishmael glides next to me, flapping smoothly, as if he’s been doing this his entire life, which he very likely may have. “I suspect each palace is a reflection of the god’s own personality, along with representing the culture from which the god sprang forth—each representing a different culture, god, and set of beliefs. In essence, the Universe created a sort of catch-all landscape to give space for the many belief systems out there.”

  I nod. “Makes sense, and lines up with what we’ve been told. Say, any idea why the ground is shaking?”

  Just as I ask the question, the entire palace shudders, as if someone set off some dynamite within. A moment later, something long and slimy-looking slithers out of one of the palace’s many windows. Screams come from within the structure. As if suffering in some godforsaken dungeon isn’t bad enough, here comes a god-killing monster wrecking the place.

  And yeah, I think I officially found the damn thing.

  More appendages appear out of a half dozen more windows, each waving wildly and smashing into the palace’s facade. I don’t care about the damage to the building, but I do kinda, sorta care about those screaming within. Then again, aren’t they already dead? And hadn’t they done bad things to end up here in the first place? Also, hadn’t Hades told me the monster only went after the gods and goddesses? That other entities were safe?

  Yes, he had.

  A small figure suddenly dashes through a ground-floor door and makes a break for it across the rocky surface. The fleeing individual sports small wings on his back that don’t seem to really work, though not for lack of trying. They buzz like crazy, but only barely manage to lift him a few inches off the rocky terrain. Pretty sure the wings are only decorative in nature as he runs more than flies. Instantly, one of the slimy limbs crashes down on the fleeing entity as black ichor explodes in all directions. Whatever that thing had been is no more. Not even a lump.

  So much for this monster going after only gods and goddesses. Unless that thing had been a god, which I doubt. Pretty sure its wings would have worked a little more efficiently otherwise.

  Then again, what do I truly know about anything down here?

  More screaming from within the palace, which concerns me first and foremost. The guy with wings didn’t deserve to be pancaked. I don’t like innocent (and even not-so-innocent) people getting killed, especially in front of me.

  I point to where I think I hear the screaming. It’s coming from the rear of the structure. Ishmael, probably due to his predilection toward helping me—and knowing my need to help others—nods once, understanding immediately.

  We tuck in our wings and dive down...

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Though this palace isn’t quite as big as Hades’s gold-covered abomination, it’s still plenty big enough to imprison and torture an untold amount of souls.

  I wonder, much like the Christian hells, did the lost souls down here have an ‘awakening’ of sorts, an epiphany to just... leave? Hades seemed to suggest this to be true. Their limiting beliefs kept them down here... until they finally had enough and wanted something different. It’s a nice thought. I have a hard time believing the Creator of all life would allow his creations to suffer in torment for all eternity. But that’s just me, and from the evidence I’ve seen, there is a way out, eventually. Let’s hope.

  For now, I have a job to do. No, I don’t have to do it. It isn’t like my kids are down there. Or that there are super-innocent people down here. Likely, whoever is doing the screaming is a bastard and a half, and probably deserved a little discomfort. But that’s not for me to decide.

  If there’s a chance I can help anyone, anywhere, I’ll do my best to do it.

  Which is why I draw the Devil Killer sword as we dive down. Ishmael’s own blazing weapon is leaving a black trail behind us. From what I understand, few beings can withstand a blow from the Devil Killer. But the thing pouring out from the fortress below seems to have tentacles, octopus-style.

  And don’t octopi have like eight brains, one in each arm? Or do they have eight hearts? I’m not sure.

  Except the flopping tentacles below, one of which is presently smashing a high, surrounding wall, doesn’t have suction cups. Pretty sure it isn’t, say, a giant mollusk from some inner earth ocean. But it looks damn close; at least, from what I can see of it.

  I ignore the damage the structure is presently enduring. It’s the people—be it gods, lost souls, or something with little, worthless wings attached to their backs—that I care about. With that thought in mind, I angle away from the destructive appendages and head toward the rear of the structure which, so far, seems to have escaped much of the creature’s wrath.

  As we flash across the landscape, one of the sentient arms seems to spy us and stops smashing a section of the roof and orientates on us.

  Just as I think, “Oh, crap,” my inner alarm explodes in my head. I instantly twist my shoulders as something rockets past my chest. Not just any something. It’s one of the tentacles, stretched to the max and into a sharp point.

  I turn in time to see the spearhead drive through Ishmael’s stomach and out his back. I’m already swinging my sword—and sever the narrow tentacle. It retracts, clearly in pain, and from somewhere down below, I hear an odd screech. Yup, definitely in pain.

  If it hurts, it can be killed.

  Meanwhile, a torpedo-sized stump juts from my angel friend’s stomach and out through his back. Yikes.

  “Ishmael—”

  He shakes his head, grimacing. “Will take more than this to kill me. I’m immortal, remember?”

  I fly over to him and grab hold of the bloody stump of tentacle. I pull as Ishmael reverses his flying motion. I do the same without much luck. Finally, I brace my shoes on his bare pectorals and, grunting, the thing pops out with a disgusting, sucking sound. I look at the still-moving appendage, then toss it aside and watch as the hole in Ishmael’s torso closes before my eyes.

  “New plan,” I say. “Don’t let that happen again.”

  “It surprised me, Sam.”

  “You don’t have like an inner alarm or something?”

  “I did, once.”

  “You lost it for me,” I say, feeling weirdly guilty, even though I had nothing to do with his decision.

  “I’d give up far more than that for you, Sam—behind you!”

  He didn’t have to say anything. With my alarm already exploding inside my head, I spin around and bring the black blade up before me. The racing tentacle hits it hard enough to knock me back a dozen feet in the air. But I hold the vibrating blade firm as the tentacle cleaves in two, splashing me with superhot blood as the thing peels away as surely as if I were cutting a hot dog down the middle.

  Inky blood covers me from head to toe. So gross. Some of it splatters on the nearby Ishmael. When the thing realizes it’s made a critical error and retreats, I slice this way and that and promptly cut off the majority of the tip. Severed chunks drop away as the appendage retracts.

  Flying, I wipe my face, using my thumb to clear the corners of my eye.

  So very gross.

  If this thing is somehow in the cephalopod family, it still has six good arms to wreak havoc with. Ishmael and I fly over the high outer wall, skim over a shorter wall, and land on a second-story windowsill. I make room for Ishmael, who drops smoothly next to me. We both tuck in our wings and slip inside the palace.

  As we step down, dust sifts from above as the floor shakes. Screaming seems to come from everywhere. Which makes sense if the thing has six more arms. What this room is for, I haven’t a clue. But it has a high ceiling and thousands of square feet of smooth, wooden floors, which we presently dash across. I’m pleased to see Ishmael can keep up with my supernatural running speed.

  At the door, the screams come again, from the right. Seeing nothing alarming in the hallway, we dash along it, though I soon find myself eating the wall when the floor explodes up. Stumbling, I gather myself and continue.

  More screams.

  I run faster, often leaping over the furniture that has tumbled over.

  These palaces are so weird. Any given room can be a torture chamber, or a ballroom, which is what I think the prior room was. I have to remember, many of the underworlds depicted in literature and history books are not exclusively hellscapes. Real gods live down here. As such, they likely preferred some luxury.

  Whatever. Need to get to the screaming.

  I pass another humanoid with tiny wings. Except he’s dead, having been smashed into the wall so thoroughly that his wings have been ripped free. Ouch. Really, really don’t want to be smashed into a wall like that.

  C’mon inner alarm. Do your thing.

  I’m guessing the beings with wings were created by the resident god here, much like the devil topside had created his own demons, and Hades with his servants. Such creations can be killed. They’re not immortal, though their lifespans might be pretty damn long. A good whack from, say, a blue tentacle can definitely end these entities.

  I might be in for the fight of my life, judging by its ability to launch a tentacle up into the sky—and directly through Ishmael. Which gets me thinking... how did this thing even know we were up there, and how did it strike so perfectly?

  I don’t know, but this thing is no joke.

  I am the furthest thing from a joke, Vampire, says a voice in my head. Oh, you are surprised I can hear your thoughts? I was created by gods, to kill gods. Reading minds is the least I can do. How else do you think I find the damnable deities in the first place?

  “He has a point, Samantha,” says Ishmael as we pause at a four-way passageway.

  “You can hear him, too?”

  “He looped me in, so to speak.”

  Of course I looped you in, Fallen One. Are you not here together in an attempt to destroy me? Fair warning: I kill gods. A vampire and a neutered guardian angel are of little significance, if any. I will give you both a chance to flee for your lives.

  Screams from down the tunnel to my right are enough for me to ignore his terms. I make the turn, running as fast as I can, even as the floor shakes violently, causing my legs to wobble. My supernatural reflexes, however, keep me running in a fairly straight line, though I did ricochet off a wall.

  Fools! Now you die, too!

  I ignore the words exploding in my head. Pretty sure Ishmael does, too, as he’s right behind me, step for step. These hallways are epic, perhaps even magically long. The palace from above didn’t look this big. Maybe that’s why the creature utilizes stretchable tentacles. Makes sense.

  Of course it makes sense, Vampire. I have a job to do, and I will not be denied. And any and all who get in my way, will be destroyed.

  “Is that why you killed the winged being who ran for his life outside? Seemed his murder was beyond your intended purview.”