Or I could take my chances with the wall.

  Going up isn’t an option, I thought to myself.

  I’ll have to go through.

  I moved up against the wall again and considered it carefully; I didn’t know how deep I had to go, but I did know how wide it would have to be for me to squeeze myself through—that, at least, would save me some energy and Light.

  Seeing as all I had was time, I dug slowly, checking my hands for signs of damage as often as I could. It wasn’t easy. Some parts of the wall required more work than others, and those were the ones that left wounds for me to heal.

  I couldn’t heal them all. Or, I could, but I chose not to.

  I chose instead to stand the pain, to work through it instead of using my Light to seal the wounds and stop the bleeding. Wherever this path was taking me, wherever this tunnel I was digging into the wall let out, it was not Heaven. I had a feeling, deep down in the pit of my stomach, that I knew where I was going, and—it wasn’t a place I’d ever wanted to step foot in.

  But Lucifer was free.

  I could only hope Abaddon was still alive.

  And I had made a promise to help those lost souls in Heaven, not to mention all the angels trapped on Earth.

  I couldn’t do that if I was withering away at the bottom of the Pit. Damnation be damned, I was going to get the hell out of this place and fulfill my promises.

  “Almost there!” came the voice, much louder and clearer. I hadn’t expected them to stick around, but the fact that they did meant perhaps the wall wasn’t as thick as I had originally feared. The thought spurred me on, giving me a second wind, and I continued to dig for what felt like hours.

  I was bleeding, cut up, and hurt. The pain I was in… I couldn’t even have begun to describe. It wasn’t just my hands anymore, but my knees, my shoulders, even my wings. There wasn’t a part of me that wasn’t receiving cuts as I bore my way through the wall of the Pit.

  But I couldn’t use my Light. Not yet.

  Not yet.

  Just a little more, Sarakiel.

  Those were the words I told myself, the small comfort I had in this dank, dark place. My one last flame of hope. Then it happened. My hand went right through the wall. I almost collapsed right into the wall, and I would have toppled over if I had not been grabbed from the other side and pulled straight through the wall.

  I shut my eyes as I pierced what was left of the thin rock, grinning and bearing the biting wounds I took on the way out. I hadn’t just been grabbed and pulled, I had been thrown easily ten feet across a hard, stone floor only to land on my shoulder and go tumbling wing over arm.

  I came to a stop on my side, gasping for air that—I had hoped—would be easy to breathe. It wasn’t. There was still ash in this hot air, even if there was less of it. Opening my eyes, I couldn’t make sense of where I was. My vision was blurry, and bright, glowing light smeared itself across what little I could see.

  Green light.

  It was difficult to make out shapes, but I thought I could see mountains, or hills.

  I heard heavy footfalls approach. Instinct pushed my body to move, to roll onto my front so I could pick myself up. My arms were heavy and sluggish, I could barely breathe, and I couldn’t see very well—but I could hear.

  “Look at that,” came a deep, baritone voice. “Finally, another one made it out of the Pit.”

  A second voice; nasal, and high-pitched. “Been a while since the last one. Looks different though…”

  Then a third voice that sounded like the crunching of iron. “Yeah, it’s wearing armor,” it said, “They ain’t supposed to be wearin’ armor—what if it’s part of an army or something?”

  They were little more than dark, humanoid shapes to my blurry eyes. Three of them; two keeping their distance, and one of them approaching. All I could make out was the light from the eyes of the one walking up to me; orange and fiery, the same light that shone out of his throat when he spoke. I knew full well where I was, and whose company I was in.

  I heard the ring of metal, then felt the tip of a blade touch the soft underside of my jaw.

  “Not an army,” said the demon with the knife to my throat—the first one to speak, the one who had pulled me out of the Pit. “But maybe something much, much more interesting.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The demons surrounding me cackled.

  I was still weak from my escape from the Pit, bleeding, injured—and now I was being harassed by demons to boot. Of course, it was demons. Who else would’ve been calling out to me from the other side of that wall?

  Who else was I going to encounter down here but the foul creatures that called this broken, prison dimension home?

  “Look at it,” came the one with the voice like twisting iron. “It’s tryin’ to get up. We should break its wings so it can’t fly away.”

  “Now, now, Gharol,” said the closest demon to me—the one with the deep voice and the eyes of fire. “Let us not be inhospitable to our newest guest. We have not had one for a while, after all.”

  I had pulled away from the demon’s knife, but I could still see it in his hand, the gleam of its eyes and mouth reflected on the blade.

  “Stay away from me,” I croaked.

  The demon with the high-pitched, nasally voice cackled. “Is it trying to threaten us?”

  The first demon angled his head to the side, and though my eyes were still unfocused, I thought I could see the makings of a crown on his head. “What is your name… angel?”

  Despite the smoothness of his tone, he struggled through the word angel. Had I not been able to see him at all—and had I not known what he was—the unsettling way in which his voice had faltered just then would have given him away for what he really was.

  “I won’t tell you again,” I warned, “Don’t come any closer.”

  “You’re not in a position to demand anything. And, as far as I can tell, you owe me for pulling you out of the Pit.”

  “I don’t owe you anything, demon,” I spat.

  “Even after I did you the courtesy of helping you cross the finish line?” he taunted.

  “Stop playing with her, Azaroth,” said the high-pitched demon. “Let’s just take her back already.”

  The demon, Azaroth, turned his head to the side to address his companion. “Patience, Skrix,” he said, “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a fresh angel to play with.”

  Azaroth.

  Gharol.

  Skrix.

  Those were their names. The idiots had given me their names. I scampered back a few feet and fought to stand. Azaroth watched me as I pulled myself up to full height, the fire behind his eyes crackling with the excitement of a possible fight.

  He was a fair deal taller than I was, and, despite the stubborn haze around my vision, I could see more of the details on his body. For a moment I had thought he was wearing armor the color of charcoal, but it wasn’t armor he was covered in.

  They were scales.

  Scales that looked as hard as metal, and so dark that they would absorb all light; not that there was much light down here to begin with.

  “What is it going to do, I wonder?” asked Azaroth, his voice low, his knife held by his side.

  I licked my lips, scanned all three of the demons around me, and took a sharp breath. “Azaroth, Gharol, and Skrix,” I said, unfurling my wings, “Demons of Hell. I, Sarakiel, Lightbringer of the Seventh Choir, Tenth of Her Name, banish you from this place and send you back from whence you came!”

  Despite my injuries, I managed to speak with intent. I had wanted to command them, to use the power of their names to send them away from me. This… usually worked, but this time I was met with blank faces. And then laughter.

  Gharol’s laughter sounded like bits of iron scraping against each other. Skrix’s laughter came as a distorted hissing sound, like a snake choking on its own breath. Azaroth’s was a deep, deep laugh like the rumble at the core of the Earth itself.

  Clearly the use of their names meant nothing down here, or—judging by their riotous laughter—these weren’t their real names, which meant it was time for Plan B.

  If ever there was a moment to use what was left of my Light, it was that one. I was injured, cut up, bleeding, and surrounded by demons. Worse, demons who were laughing at me. I was a joke to them, and that just wouldn’t do.

  The flash of my Light caught them by surprise. It shone from the space between my wings, illuminating the ground and the rocks around me. The Light should have been far more potent than it was, I was having trouble manifesting it, but it made the demons shriek and retreat all the same.

  Gharol roared, covered his face, and ran far enough away that the Light couldn’t touch him. Skrix scurried behind a rock, hissing and hurling obscenities as he went. Azaroth shielded his eyes and fell back a few paces. I could hear his skin sizzling as the Light burned the scales on his arm, but he stood his ground.

  At the same time, I felt my wounds begin to knit together and seal. After this there wouldn’t be much more of my Light left; if there was any left at all. But it was worth it to feel refreshed, to feel strong again, and to feel like I had some kind of power down in this wretched place.

  I bid my Light to dim and snuff out as soon as the deepest and worst of my wounds were healed. When it was gone, Azaroth lowered his arm and inspected the damage. I could see him clearly now. I could see all of them and the broken, barren land I was in.

  All around me, as far as the eye could see, were hills and mountains with jagged peaks. The ground was the color of coal, pockmarked by spots of burning green fire that shot out of cave mouths and from the tops of flowing rivers. I realized quickly that the rivers weren’t water, but molten hot magma that slithered and rolled, sending puffs of noxious gas into a yellow and purple sky that looked more like a mantle of bruises than anything else.

  The demons in front of me were also a sight to behold.

  Gharol was a hulking behemoth covered in thick, rusted iron plates that scraped against each other whenever he moved. Spikes and barbs protruded from his body at sharp angles, he had a jaw that looked like it could bite through solid steel, and a single cyclopean eye bulged from the center of his head.

  Skrix was a lithe, shadowy thing with slick, oily, skin and an elongated face. A long, forked tongue poked out of his mouth to whip the air, giving him a snake-like appearance. It was his eyes, though, that drew the most attention. There were six of them, each pair larger than the other, going up and along his entire head.

  Azaroth—the leader of this trio—was a demon of coal and fire, with bat-like wings that extended from his shoulders and ended in mean-looking hooks. His eyes were alight with orange flame. When he spoke, that same light would shine out of his throat. Covering his body were charcoal-colored scales, some of which were burned and singed now thanks to my Light.

  It was his crown, though, that caught my attention, because it was a crown of bones and bits of broken skulls adorned with what looked like… feathers.

  Azaroth snarled as he inspected the damage to his arm. “Bold,” he said, in his baritone voice. “And stupid.”

  “I warned you,” I said.

  “Kill it, Azaroth!” yelled Skrix. “It’s not worth the risk!”

  Gharol, standing as far away as possible from me, cupped his hands around what passed for ears and yelled, “What’s happening?”

  “Tell me, angel,” said Azaroth, ignoring his companions. “You come here wearing armor and wielding Light… you are not like the others. Why?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I snapped.

  “Oh, but it is. Angels clawing their way out of the Pit is most certainly our business. Or do you think we helped you out of the kindness of our hearts? Some come through entirely broken, ready to be remade in the fires of this place. Others are… defiant, unwilling to accept the truth of their circumstances. Most do not live long past their escape, one way or the other.”

  He brushed one of the feathers on his crown.

  “Murderer,” I hissed.

  Azaroth’s burning grin widened as he approached me once more, tightening the grip on his dagger. “We are in Hell. There are far worse things than murder here.”

  “Stay back!” I yelled.

  “Or what?” He asked. “You’ll spend more of that precious Light trying to hold us off, and then what? Save your energy, Sarakiel, Tenth of Her Name. An angel with Light is a valuable commodity down here. Come with us, and I’m sure we can find somewhere… comfortable for you to spend the rest of your damnation.”

  Skrix and Gharol had regained their confidence and started creeping back in behind Azaroth; their toothy grins reminded me of hyenas, slowly backing their prey up as they prepare to pounce.

  “What’s left of your power would fetch a good price in the city,” said Azaroth. “What say you, Lightbringer?”

  “I won’t be sold off by some demon like a prized pig,” I snarled. “If you want my Light, come and take it.”

  I was bluffing.

  I had never faced a corporeal demon before in my entire existence—let alone three of them. Before now, I had only ever encountered demons while they were in possession of a mortal host. That was the only way they could venture out of Hell; they needed to ride a human body, or they couldn’t exist on Earth.

  Demons were once angels, yes, but they had been stripped of everything that made them so. Crushed, broken, and thrown into the Pit, where they became little more than parasites. Sad, damned things that were easily exorcized by even humans.

  Down here, though… these three beings looked formidable. Any one of them was likely a match for me. Maybe if I had the full use of my Light, I stood a chance. But now? I knew I didn’t have a winning hand, but I had to do something.

  Azaroth lowered his head and sighed. “You choose violence, then,” he said. “So be it.”

  Stars exploded in front of my eyes, and I toppled to the floor. My last thought as I fell was that someone had smashed me across the back of the head, but I had no idea who, or with what.

  I should have figured there would be more of them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My head was pounding again. I opened my eyes to absolute darkness, and in that moment my foggy brain considered that so many recent knocks to the head had finally taken their toll. It took a sudden jolt for me to realize I was in motion; laying on my back, being pulled or pushed along on something with wheels, and that a bag had been put over my head.

  The ground underneath was rocky and uneven, the air heavy and hot, and there were voices all around me. The demons. They had knocked me out and were taking me somewhere. I tried to squirm, to wriggle, but my hands and feet were tied up—as were my wings. I wasn’t going anywhere on my own power.

  Even my Light, what little of it was left, wasn’t going to help me here.

  “I think it’s woken up,” came the high-pitched squeal of the demon I had come to know as Skrix.

  “It’s definitely wriggling,” said Gharol. “Maybe Okaras didn’t smash it hard enough.”

  “Quiet,” came Azaroth’s voice, low and deep. “It’s tied up. Even if it did get out it has nowhere to run to.” I heard a thud and the cart I was on rattled—one of them must have kicked it.

  Gharol chuckled, his voice like the crunching and twisting of metal. “It wouldn’t last a minute out there, with the hellhounds and the harpies.”

  “Not to mention the Hellions,” Skrix put in. “They’d love a chance to have a go at an angel, wouldn’t they?”

  “Especially one that can actually fly,” added Gharol.

  I couldn’t take hearing their ridiculous conversation any longer. “If you’re trying to scare me, it isn’t working.” I said, though my words were a little muffled by the bag.

  Someone slammed me across the shoulder with what felt like a club. I was lucky I was still wearing armor, otherwise that could’ve hurt. “No one said you could speak!” hissed Skrix. He then hit me again. “Keep that trap shut.”

  “Now, Skrix,” said Azaroth. “That is no way to treat the merchandise.”

  “One of us’s gotta keep it in line, and I don’t see Okaras stepping up to do it.” He said the other demon’s name more forcefully, as if he was further away.

  “If you damage it, I will make sure the Overlord knows it was you.”

  The threat seemed to be enough to quiet Skrix, albeit reluctantly. In all this time I had managed to just about wriggle my fingers, and that was it. There was no getting out of the bindings keeping my arms and legs together, no way for me to free myself. The only thing I could think to do was talk, especially now that clubbing me had been taken off the table.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said.

  In truth, I wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing. Taking me somewhere, sure—to some city, they had said. But where that city was, or for what purpose I was being taken there, I didn’t know. The most I had managed to glean was that I was considered merchandise, and my Light was possibly a valuable, rare, commodity.

  I didn’t want to think about what they’d do to me when that Light ran out.

  “Is that your play, angel?” asked Azaroth. “Plead with us?”

  “I won’t beg,” I replied.

  “You know, Pride is a sin. Normally I would encourage sinning, but I need to keep you as fresh as possible. You’ll fetch a much higher price that way.”

  “And what do you think you’ll get by selling me off? What’s so different about any other Pit angel and me?”

  “Light, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is not something we have access to down here. And most of the Pit arrivals are already tapped out by the time they dig their way through. You seem to have held on to yours, so, I find someone interested in paying a high price for you, they get your Light, and I get my own castle and a legion of subordinates. What else could a demon want?”