He was surprised at how little emotion he felt regarding thoughts of his own demise. He had once loved hunting, had lived for the pursuit of prey and reveled in their terror when he caught them, as if they’d actually believed they could elude Hell’s Hunter. He hadn’t even minded the brands so long as Paimon continued awarding him assignments.
But in recent years, he’d been haunted by his victims’ screams and cries for mercy. Knowing they were rule-breakers did not lessen his guilt. And his hatred and resentment of his mistress had grown with it, until finally, he could pretend no longer to be something he wasn’t.
“Here we are,” the gargoyle announced, halting the unceremonious progression. With their pig snouts, underbite fangs, and bat ears, gargoyles were not only ugly, but exceedingly dim-witted. Their skulls were exceptionally thick, which was an added challenge in a fight but meant their brains were barely acorn sized.
They were outside the heavy gate to the Pit. Within, he could hear the characteristic squelching of the slimy goraths and the dull hum of the excited crowd. There would be a large one for this. Everyone would want to see the fall of Mishetsumephtai.
“Mistress said to take the chains off so you can put up a good fight, but the cuffs stay on.”
He’d expected as much. Without them, he’d simply turn to mist. Not much fun for the spectators.
Mist held out his wrists dutifully, and the gargoyle unlocked the chains. It grated his pride that this lowly creature could remove them when he could not. Though only a simple locking bolt connected them, the magic of the brands made it so he couldn’t budge it.
The chains disappeared as soon as they were unlinked, and Mist straightened and stretched his wings, discarding the pretense of weakness. He considered his options.
He could go into the Pit and fight the goraths tooth and nail. He could hold his own, certainly, but there were half a dozen of them and one of him, and with the grate over the top preventing aerial escapes, he wasn’t getting out of there until Paimon let him. Eventually he would tire, and the ghastly feeding would commence.
Or he could fight now and escape.
Though he might be free for a time, Paimon would just summon him again. If he ignored it, the brand would eventually kill him.
Not a bad plan, all things considered.
There was a chance Belial might actually be able to find a way to remove the brands. And if not, well, as long as he tied himself down so he couldn’t obey the compulsion, he would escape being eaten by a gorath and die on his own terms.
Flexing his fingers, his claws lengthened, and he struck out at the gargoyle, slicing its thick neck open. It fell to the ground gasping and clutching its throat, but the blood flow dried up in seconds and then it lay still.
He looked at Shaheen, who blinked lazily at him. Just as Mist sank into a crouch, prepared to fight the demonic camel he’d always loathed, half a dozen more gargoyles stepped out of the shadows.
“Mistress said you might try somethin’.”
“So she sent only six of you?” He was almost offended.
“No,” a cool voice said from the darkness. “She came herself.”
Paimon stepped out of the shadows. Standing at full height, she had nearly a foot on him, and her wingtips scraped the tunnel ceiling.
“Are you ready to tell the truth, Mishetsu?”
He said nothing, but he felt his stomach hollow with despair. Until this moment, he realized he’d held onto hope that he would fight his way out of this predicament. Besides Paimon herself, there was no one in this lair that could best him.
But here she was.
“I guess not. It pains me to lose my loyal Hunter, but alas. It’ll make a good show.” She flicked her fingers. “Open the gate!”
Behind him, the metal barrier creaked and groaned as it slowly lifted. The dull hum of the audience increased to a roar of excitement.
“Throw him in the Pit!”
The crowds roared in approval. He was seized around the arms by the gargoyles flanking Paimon and tossed unceremoniously backward. He could have fought, but he was going to end up there either way, and he’d rather do it with his heart beating properly. It had only just regenerated, after all.
He climbed to his feet just as the metal slammed to the ground, never taking his eyes from Paimon, who stood behind the safety of the bars with a cruel smile twisting her lips. Beside her, the camel smiled too.
A low hiss had him spinning around.
And there he was. Face to face with one of the nastiest creatures in all of Hell.
They were like enormous centipedes, with long scaled bodies and hundreds of legs, each a curved scimitar. A circular mouth took the place of any sort of head, complete with countless rows of sharp teeth, spiraling around the death trap.
