The Demon Read online

  The council held back any anger or fear they felt, worrying that Artemis would fulfill his threat. One by one, the council members disappeared, going back to what each angel was doing before the council summons. The last angel stood once the rest had gone and lowered her hood.

  “I hope you are right,” she said, a sad look in her golden eyes.

  Artemis nodded, his face holding a grim expression. “I should be. Although, you should know already what will happen.”

  The woman nodded grimly. “My future sight shows me many outcomes, though. I am not sure which will come to pass.” She placed her hand on Artemis’ armored chest. “I never am where you are concerned. Anything you have a hand in always gets so obscured and hard to see. You are shrouded in so much secrecy.”

  Artemis took her hand and gently moved it from his chest. He knew she loved him but he did not share her feelings. “I have my reasons, Ariel. Go back to your home and keep an eye out for anything important regarding Victor and his demon hunt.”

  Ariel nodded, reluctant to leave but obeying Artemis’ wishes. She disappeared, leaving Artemis alone. The archangel shook his head, surprised by the audacity of the council. Never before had they threatened him with banishment, even when he first came to Heaven from Hell to train with the angelic army. The angels were growing bolder.

  Dante stared in disbelief. Just the day before he was in a small town, now he was in a bustling city. Tall spires made of marble reached toward the heavens and the streets were paved with smooth stone. People brushed past him, hastily going to wherever they needed to be. Various smells wafted across Dante’s nose. He could smell bread from a bakery down the street, refuse from a butcher shop, and even the heavy perfumes of women looking to part lonely men from their coins. He knew he was in the poorer district, but he couldn’t fathom how he knew that. All he knew was that he was not where he was supposed to be.

  “I do apologize,” Alighier sighed at Dante’s left. Dante jumped in surprise, shocked that his honed senses didn’t point out the High Priest sooner. “It appears you were followed when you went to Massalia.”

  “Okay…” Dante muttered. “Then, where am I?”

  “Sparta,” Alighier replied flippantly. “We’re not in Gaul anymore. I was forced to bring you closer to where the demon started his rampage so many decades ago. Demons don’t generally retrace their steps, so we should be safer here.”

  Dante’s head swam in confusion. He didn’t understand most of what Alighier had said. “I… what?” was all he could sputter.

  Alighier rolled his eyes. “I suppose I should clarify… I am not as simple a human as you believed.” He slid his robe open to reveal a strange marking on his chest. The symbol, a cross with a loop at the top, drew more memories to Dante’s mind.

  “That’s… an ankh,” he stated. “That’s the Egyptian symbol of… was it life?”

  Alighier nodded, pleased to see Dante’s memories were beginning to return. He closed his robe and motioned for Dante to walk with him. “Yes, it is. You see, I was not entirely honest with you when I spoke with you last wee… uh, yesterday…”

  “Last week?”

  Alighier sighed heavily. “I suppose the trip here had more of an effect on you than I realized when we arrived. Magic does not work for humans as easily as it does for demons or angels. You’ve been asleep for a week. It happens sometimes, best not to worry about it.”

  Figuring he’d get nothing more from the old man on that subject, Dante dismissed it. “Fine… Then, tell me who you really are. Why do you have that mark? And why did you transport me here in the first place? Who was following me?”

  “I am not a High Priest. I don’t even follow the religion the Greeks have adopted. It all seems like some demon or angel decided to be revered as a god and made it all up, if you ask me. I am actually a man who was chosen decades ago to act as a liaison between the angels of Heaven, the demon lords of Hell, and the humans of Earth. Believe me, it is not as exciting as I once thought it would be. However, it has afforded me more security than I thought I would ever need. There were such dark days…”

  Feeling Alighier was about to go off on a tangent, Dante decided to snap the old man back to what he needed to tell him. “Focus. I have need of information.”

  Alighier looked up at him as if he’d startled him, and said, “Oh, yes, right. Anyway, I am a liaison between the worlds. One of them want something done or conveyed to the other, I make sure it happens. I wasn’t lying about being contacted by Heaven to recruit you for the task of slaying the demon. This mark was given to me by an archangel of Heaven. He said it would be proof of who I am to the others. As for why I transported us here, I told you that you were followed. Honestly, it’s easier to simply show you what happened. Here, let me place my hand upon your head, and I’ll implant the occurrence in your mind.”

  Dante lowered his head and allowed Alighier to show him what happened in Massalia.

  A man strode toward the gates of Massalia, anger driving his steps. He approached the guards - the same guards Dante had spoken to earlier that same day.

  “Where is he?” the man demanded.

  The guards looked at each other in confusion. “Who do you mean?” one guard asked timidly.

  The man glared at the stupid men. “There was a man who came to this town not long before me. Where is he?”

  “Do you mean Dante? He entered the town just this morning.”

  The man, still without his memories, though of the name the guard had said. ‘Dante’ sounded very familiar to him. “Yes, Dante. Will you let me in to search for him?”

  Gaining courage, the guards tightened their grip on their spears. “State your business.”

  The man was growing tired of the games. He held up his hand and shot a bolt of lightning through the chest of one of the guards. Leather and flesh sizzled and burned, leaving a fist-sized hole through the dead man’s torso, right where his heart used to be. The guard screamed once, then fell to the dirt, dead before he landed.

  “Let me in, I’ve no time for games,” the man commanded.

  The remaining guard, fearing this killer more than he loved his home, immediately opened the gate. His hands trembled and he fumbled with his spear as the man casually walked past.

  The man was inwardly confused about how he knew magic, but decided to simply go with it. Magic would prove to be helpful during his hunt.

  Several more guards approached the man, brandishing weapons. One soldier emerged from the group, wearing iron armor bearing an insignia denoting his rank of captain. These men had heard the dying guard’s scream and came running.

  “Halt or be killed,” the captain commanded.

  The man stopped walking and placed a hand on his sword. “You are harboring my enemy. Bring me to him or I will kill every man who stands in my way. My only wish is to kill Dante. None of you need to come to any harm.” The anger in his voice seemed to betray his words, leading the soldiers to advance a step. None came near the man, but waited for a signal from their captain.

  “The man whom you seek is under the protection of our High Priest. If you wish to see Dante, you’ll need to speak with him.”

  Thinking he could gain more information, the man moved his hand away from his sword and nodded. “Then lead me to your priest.”

  Still surrounded, the man was escorted to the temple. Once there, the captain called to the soldiers guarding the entrance to summon the High Priest. Within moments, the old man shuffled out of the building.

  Alighier looked at the man amid the soldiers and gasped.

  The vision cut out and Dante was left confused. “What? That’s it?” he asked in surprise. “Surely there’s more.”

  “Oh there is,” Alighier replied. “However, I am a bit embarrassed about the next bit…”

  “Speak up, old man.”

  Alighier looked ashamed and held out his hands in a supplicating manner. “I may have been a bit mistaken about to whom I was to appoint the task of killing
the demon. I thought it was you. Not many people came to Massalia as it was, especially someone with no memory of who they were. How was I to know two men like that would show up in one day?”

  Dumbfounded, Dante shook his head. “You are inept! You are a buffoon! How could you dare to think that he would be the right person? I came peaceably into the town, only wanting food and shelter. I willingly let them take me to see you. He murdered a man to get in, then demanded to see you on the pretense it would lead to my death. Who do you think is the one you were supposed to give the task to?”

  Alighier shook his head in defeat. “How am I supposed to know? I was never given a physical description of who I was supposed to appoint. How am I to know?”

  Dante shook his head in irritation. “You are so inept… Did you put him on the task of hunting the demon too?”

  Alighier nodded sheepishly.

  “Obviously your emissary is not privy to your idiocy,” Dante hissed. He shook his head again, but a thought occurred to him. “He believes I am the demon, does he not?”

  “It is possible, though I told him you were already on the hunt,” Alighier shrugged.

  “Did this man leave Massalia?”

  Alighier nodded.

  “Then why move me hundreds of miles away?”

  Alighier started to say something, but found his logic failing. “In case he came back?” he asked as much as said.

  “Idiot… Wait, let me see an image of him. I may recognize him from before I lost my memory.”

  Catching on, Alighier placed his hand on Dante’s head. Dante was shown an image of the man who hunted him. The image elicited feelings of hatred and anger, but nothing else. No name. No relationship to Dante other than as an enemy. Nothing. He pulled away from Alighier and sighed.

  “He may just be the man I fought on the beach outside of Coitat,” he muttered. Another thought occurred to him. “There are other humans who have contacted denizens of Heaven and Hell, correct?”

  “Well, yes, of course,” Alighier replied. “Why?”

  “Could a human be taught the use of magic?”

  Alighier nodded. “It was my spell that brought us here.”

  Dante nodded, thinking. “I figured as much. Could it be that this man is simply a man who holds a grudge against me for some reason?”

  “I suppose it is possible.”

  “Then it is possible he is not the demon I seek, and I wish no fight with him anymore since I cannot remember what our fight was about. I say we ignore him and resume our hunt for the demon. Surely the safety of others is more important than a personal war with someone I cannot remember.”

  Alighier smiled, clapping Dante on the back. “Wise words, young man,” he said. “I will work to keep your trail hidden from him nonetheless, lest he become too much of a distraction.”

  Dante nodded and grinned. “Good. Now, let us begin our hunt. Where did the demon begin his rampage? Starting at the beginning seems like the smart thing to do.”

  Alighier nodded in agreement and led Dante toward a nearby tavern.

  “If we’re to discuss hunting a demon, I’ll need a stiff drink,” Alighier quipped.

  Outside of Massalia, the man hunting Dante took shelter in a shallow cave. He mulled over what Alighier had told him, about the emissary, about Dante hunting a demon, and about his own agreement to hunt the same demon. If Dante was hunting the demon, then surely the man could follow his trail. Maybe if the demon was dead, he could finally kill Dante and be done with the feelings of pain and anger in his chest. The thought of the pain caused him to unconsciously clutch at the pained area as if his heart burned. Dante did something to him, something he could not identify. What had he done to him? Why couldn’t he remember? Some of his memories were slowly coming back to him. He remembered fighting Dante, if not the actual outcome of the fight. Something nagged at the back of his mind. What was it? It seemed like a single word was trying to force its way out of obscurity.

  “V-… Vi-… Dammit what is that word?” he hissed. “Vict-… Victim? Victory? No… Victor… Is that my name?” The name sounded as familiar to him as Dante. Perhaps Victor was his own name, perhaps not. “Victor… Maybe it is my name…” The revelation did nothing to sate his anger. Oddly, the name carried much weight with it and seemed to anger him more, as if mocking him. He decided a different name would suit him better. If Victor was his name, it belonged to his past. He needed a new name, one to fit his goal of killing Dante. If he was to bring death to a demon in order to kill Dante, he would need a fitting name. For some reason, the name of the angel of death came to mind, as if calling to his own inner purpose.

  “Azrael.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Azrael left his cave and went back to Massalia under the cover of night. His keen eyes pierced the darkness, allowing him to see in the dim moonlight. He snuck over the ramshackle wall around the town and slunk in the shadows, avoiding the patrolling guards. The guards spoke lazily about the day’s events, none of them worried about Azrael’s return. As far as they knew, the man was far away from their home. Most of them even dozed at their posts, content in the relative safety inside the wall.

  He stepped silently through the alleyways and slipped up to the tiled rooftops. There he was able to avoid detection much more easily, so he quickened his pace. He did not know for what he was searching, but he figured he would know when he found it. Something was off about how quickly the High Priest wanted him gone. Across rooftop after rooftop, Azrael searched, looking with more than just his eyes. His sharp ears listened for any loose lips trading gossip about Dante. He sniffed for anything that could jog his memory and concentrated on anything that would give him a clue. Within moments, he was on top of the inn. He could feel a strong emanation coming from one of the rooms there - a magical aura that seemed to call out to him. Concentrating, Azrael could recognize the spell-work. It was a teleportation spell cast by a human. Could Dante have cast it, after sensing Azrael’s arrival? Was Dante still in command of his memories where Azrael was not? It did not matter much to the man; he simply wanted to end Dante’s life, memories or not. He mentally felt the spell’s emanations, like a trail that led far away from Massalia. It was easy enough for Azrael to follow and he smiled as he called forth the magical powers within himself. He replicated the spell, copying the magical aura.

  Azrael suddenly found himself in a large city, bustling with the local nightlife. Some residents gasped in astonishment as he materialized in front of them without warning, but they soon went on their way, leaving the man to his business. All the better, Azrael thought. He did not want the distraction. He looked around, trying to identify his surroundings.

  “Is this… Sparta?” he asked himself. It felt familiar and his mind brought the name to the front of his consciousness. “I haven’t been here in a long time…” He struggled to figure out why he had said that, but decided to ignore it for the time being. His answers would come eventually. He continued his scan of the area hoping to find anything useful. His gaze stopped at a nearby tavern, filled to capacity with patrons. The place was where the spell’s trail continued.

  Azrael stalked over to the doorway and entered, ignoring the stares from the patrons. He walked straight up to the bar where the bartender was casually wiping the bar with an wine-soaked rag. He was not doing any good at cleaning the bar, but he did not seem to mind that fact.

  “I’d like a drink,” Azrael stated as he leaned on the bar. He conjured a few copper coins in the palm of his hand for payment and slid them to the barkeep. A few seconds later, the fat man behind the bar produced a mug of stale fermented spirits and handed it over. “There’s something else,” Azrael muttered, slipping a few more conjured coins into the barkeep’s pudgy hand.

  The barkeep kept his demeanor casual as he slipped the coins into his apron pocket. “And what is that, good sir?” he asked, his gravelly voice rumbling out seemingly from his gut.

  Azrael leaned closer, prompting the fat man to lean in, thou
gh such a feat was difficult due to his girth. “I seek someone,” Azrael whispered. “I’m looking for an old man, possibly a high priest of sorts.”

  The fat man nodded, eyes narrowing in thought. “Aye… I may’ve seen a old man. Last one I seen weren’t no priest, though…”

  “Was his name by chance Alighier?” Azrael asked quietly, slipping the man another coin.

  Again, the fat man nodded. “Weren’t alone, neither. Was with a man, young like yerself, and carryin’ a sword, too.”

  Azrael smiled, offering more conjured coins, these made of gold, to the barkeep as thanks. “Now, if you could only tell me where they went?”

  Alighier hiccupped again, for what seemed to Dante the thousandth time. They walked along a well-used road outside of Sparta, heading southwest along the coast toward Aktio. According to Alighier - before his drunken stupor - Aktio was the first city ravaged by the demon in his most recent string of attacks. They were headed there to find any clues as to the demon’s methods. If anything, walking among the ruins could jog Dante’s memories. Dante somehow knew that he was linked to the demon’s attacks, though whether he was a cause or a witness was still a mystery to him.

  “As I was sayin’,” Alighier slurred, still drunk even after hours on the road with no alcohol to drink since they left the tavern, “the demon seemed ta like burnin’ the towns he went to, leavin’ none alive. Well… usually…”

  Dante rolled his eyes, growing impatient with the old man and his drunken ravings. “Fine, I’ll bite…” he sighed. In a monotone voice, he asked, “What do you mean ’usually?’”

  Alighier looked at Dante as if he’d just said something profound. “Eh?” he grunted. “You listenin’? I said he usually kills ever’one in the places he went. There was one person once, who got away. Well, two technically… there was an angel what followed the demon. Seemed the angel wasn’t too good at protectin’ the folk…”