Lucifer had been right. At least fifty fighters were arrayed in the arena, each one bristling with weapons and muscle in equal proportion, with more flowing in. They all looked up as I approached the balustrade with Vyra at my side.
My Chainlings were arrayed along the arena walls like an honor guard, keeping them from wandering further. I swallowed past a nervous lump in my throat at the weight of all those eyes on me.
Before I could speak, a large demon with green, scaled skin went to one knee. “My Lady Wrath!” he called, placing a hand over his heart. “I dedicate my blades to your cause!”
“You haven’t heard my cause,” I said, nonplussed, but his striated eyes didn’t lose a speck of the blind adoration he held.
Several others had the same look. It was disconcerting that so many demons were free to declare allegiance to whomever they chose after living for years in the tightly-knit ranks and hierarchy of Heaven.
“My arena is not like the Prince’s,” I said, holding the balustrade in a death grip. My palms were already clammy. “If you wish to be here, you’re free to stay. If you wish to leave, that’s on you. This arena is not here for entertainment. It’s for a purpose.”
“Any purpose,” the scaled demon declared fervently.
I smiled thinly, wondering if he’d regret his words. “This is an army. I’ve hunted many beasts, from lamias to dragons, but now I want the head of the largest one of all.”
It was as close as I could come to saying “I’m going to rip Satan’s head off” without outright shouting my treachery.
To my surprise, only a few blinked, but no one so much as shifted.
“If you want to join me, you need to prove yourselves.”
They did shift now, glancing at each other from the corners of their eyes.
“There will be no killing today, but we’ll hold a contest. This arena is your battlefield. The first three demons to third blood will become my generals.”
Almost on cue, every single one of them drew a blade, dispersing across the arena floor like a tide, arms raised defensively.
“Now shed some blood for me!” I shouted, and the fight commenced without preamble. Blades struck blades, the high clear sounds ringing through the room. My scaled devotee moved like liquid, slashing his way through the crowd.
Vyra shifted, leaning over the balustrade. “He’s an enthusiastic one.”
One of the Chainlings reached out, handing him a black cloth embroidered with feathers. The scaled demon tied it around his bicep, clambering over the side of the arena wall.
“One down, two to go.”
My plan had been simple: whereas Belial couched his army under the guise of entertainment, my arena would be for those who had a passion to fight. Anyone was free to join, as long as they had the fire of war burning in their heart.
My Chainlings would serve as my guardians and highest advisors, but I needed competent demons to keep my arena in check while I was hunting the Sword of Light. They would be the ones to gather new recruits and train them.
A female demon with a shaved head and silver rings lining her ears joined the scaled one, accepting her armband and tying it on.
To my surprise, a familiar face waded into the fray, cutting a swath through them all. Lady Savage’s lips were drawn back over her teeth as she nicked and scratched, turning killing blows into bloody kisses.
She climbed up the wall, tucking her bloodied daggers away, and held out her hand for her armband.
Her eyes met mine from across the arena. I read the message in them as clearly as if she’d spoken it: you know what you promised.
I nodded. The next time I saw Belial, I was taking Blind Luck with me, or I’d die trying. They weren’t my first choices to have at my back, but with Lady Savage to keep them in line and whip them into flawless form… Satan wouldn’t stand a chance when the time came.
Without thinking, I stroked Lucifer’s feather, drawing comfort from its presence. This was a very deadly game I was playing. Any one of these fighters could slip out and whisper in Satan’s ear, and yet…
I had no fear. With the princes and Grigori backing me, I’d make sure I had the Sword before Satan sent another rose my way.
“You have your generals,” Vyra said. “Now, I think we need a Nephilim.”
“I agree,” I said softly. “I think I should go win him.”
“Maybe you should win Belial as well,” Vyra said, just as quietly.
I couldn’t stop a cold smile from crossing my face. “If he apologizes first, he can have whatever he wants.”
Despite my flawless façade of contempt, I ached for him. I needed Tascius, but when it came to the Prince of Wrath, there was almost nothing I wanted to win more.
I’d caused him terrible pain, but as long as he kept Tascius away from me, my anger would never cool.
We were just two people, full of pride and wrath, who couldn’t seem to stop wounding each other.
It was a match made in Hell.
8
Melisande
I strode into Belial’s arena with my head held high and a small army of Chainlings around me.
Mist shimmered around me and Azazel appeared at my side, materializing out of nowhere. I paused mid-step, looking up into violet eyes, and he smiled and held out an arm.
“I thought you might want some moral support,” he said quietly.
I looped my arm through his, trying to ignore how my heart fluttered at the warmth of his body even through his black coat. “You know I’d never turn down the pleasure of your company, Azazel.”
He pulled me a little tighter, leaning over me as we approached the dais where my Chainlings had already draped my raven-feather banners, announcing my presence. “Then I’d like the pleasure of yours later tonight.”
I licked my lips, unable to stop the uneven thud of my heartbeat. “Let’s be clear.
