02 Awaken-The Soulkeepers (4 page)

Michael trembled violently from the cold, but pointed a shaky finger at the candidate and shook his head, hoping the guy would understand.

Follow orders. Do. Not. Descend
.

At Michael’s silent instruction, the candidate stopped and reconsidered. Shivering uncontrollably, he returned to his position. And for the remaining two hours, all five candidates stayed aloft to endure whatever torture the Halo Masters could devise. Through it all, Michael used his vision of Sophia to calm his center, find his balance, and control his energy. Everything he’d wanted was coming together: enduring the trials to join the Halos, and being with Sophia. Always Sophia. It seemed her Awakening was not going to happen after all, and if they could keep their forbidden love a secret, they could have it all. With Dante and his dregs out of the way, Michael saw no reason to fear for Sophia’s safety. They would finally be together.

Bone-crunching screams echoed down the stone corridors of Hell’s Death Bunker. Blazing whips of fire snapped through the air, striking flesh already shredded to ribbons. Black blood pooled on the gritty stone floors and seeped into the groves. Now and then, a chain rattled against bony wrists and brittle ankles. And night after night, the condemned suffered.

The Death Bunker was a maze of chambers with iron cages where nefarious henchmen lurked in shadows, eager to do their dirty work. Only the wailing cries of their victims drowned out their sadistic laughter. No one but the henchmen enjoyed the Death Bunker, and Dante was no exception. The moment he, Vaughn Raider, Wolfgang, and Santiago failed to Take the souls of Pastor St. James or Sophia, they were dragged back to Hell and locked in the Death Bunker. The daily torture had begun without a word from Lord Brutus, the leader of The Order of Reapers.

Truthfully, Dante had expected some kind of personal reprisal from Lord Brutus. Perhaps a verbal lashing at the very least, before the real torture began. It was a curious thing that weeks had passed with no visit from any member of The Order. Dante feared they had finally had enough of his lies and deceptions. They had finally judged him and his men unfit to reap. There was nothing left but unmerciful suffering until they were stuffed down the chute that dumped into the Nether Region. Once there, the torture would continue because they were Demon Knights, cursed with personal demons living inside them. Trapped in the Nether Region, their demons would devour the Demon Knights from the inside out until nothing remained and they faded into the crispy ashes of their former selves.

It was not pretty.

But Dante wasn’t going down without a fight. Even now, with his wrists and ankles chained to the wall behind him, he peered through the bars of his cell and scanned the chamber for a way out. Day after day, he searched as he suffered.

A particularly loud cry from an adjoining chamber pierced the air, making Dante twitch. He couldn’t feel sorry for the poor bastard because he was next; he could feel it, and his skin crawled with fear. Black blood and grime coated his naked torso. Little
remained of the clothes he’d worn in Haven Hurst; his black shirt hung in rags at his waist, and his black riding pants were sliced open, allowing a steady stream of blood to run into his tall riding boots.

One of the torches along the wall sputtered unexpectedly, adding light to the dim chamber. Dante’s eyes shot across the aisle. It was finally bright enough to see his old friend. Vaughn Raider was in the opposite cell and bound to the wall like a man crucified, but for a few exceptions. Vaughn’s shackles were softly padded and offered no pain whatsoever. Vaughn was never whipped. Vaughn was never cut. Vaughn was dying.

“You awake?” Dante called softly.

Vaughn’s head sagged in defeat, and his dark hair covered his face. With the Demon of Affliction living inside him, Vaughn needed to inflict pain on others or himself. Denied these past weeks, his demon had already started the process of consuming him from the inside.

“Talk to me, Vaughn,” Dante ordered. He used his demon, Persuasion, to tap into Vaughn’s subconscious. “Tell me what to do.”
As if he could do anything
. The sight of his friend slowly dying before his eyes was gut-wrenching. Dante took full blame, again. Well, perhaps he would share the blame with Wolfgang this time; after all, Wolf had tried to Take the pastor’s soul too soon. He had succumbed to the nature of his demon, Impatience, and ruined everything. But Dante knew he could’ve stopped Wolfgang. He could’ve controlled the situation if he hadn’t been so devastated by Sophia. Her failure to remember their past life had shocked him. The way he saw it, two possibilities were at work: She’d had help keeping the memories at bay, or she had remembered and still refused him, an idea he couldn’t take seriously. No, someone in the spirit world must be helping her, and in his book, that just wasn’t playing fair.

Vaughn’s head stirred as he tried to lift it. The task seemed a great effort, and he gave up, letting it fall forward again. “I’m done,” he whispered hoarsely. “They’re letting me fade. It’s over.”

“No!” Dante jerked against his chains. “Lord Brutus will not let that happen. He has always liked you. It’s me he hates now. Trust me, you will be released soon.”

Vaughn scoffed, and Dante grimaced. Okay, perhaps “trust me” was a poor choice of words. It was Vaughn’s trust in Dante that had gotten them into their current situation. But he wouldn’t let Vaughn give up. Not yet.

Dante glanced around, looking for a distraction, something to change the subject or make small talk. Anything to divert Vaughn from the unbearable weakness he must be feeling. Demonic fading was particularly agonizing for most Demon Knights but Vaughn had described his experience as slowly growing numb, inch by inch. His muscles could
not ache. His stomach could not growl with hunger. Nothing was allowed to make him uncomfortable. Vaughn would cease to feel anything and eventually collapse.

Dante failed to find a distraction because they were alone in this part of the Death Bunker, not even Wolfgang or Santiago to argue with.

And then footsteps scraped along the stone hallway. A key was thrust into the lock, turned, and the outer door opened. Skaw, the Demon of Torture walked in.

Skaw was a retired soul seeker who found the work of chasing lost souls too exhausting. He’d been relegated to the Death Bunker, where he preferred to punish stationary targets. Skaw loved his work and always wore a sadistic smile.

Dante stiffened and eyed the 6’7 albino in a black robe. More specifically, he stared at the coiled whip at Skaw’s side. It glowed with fire and hummed with dark energy.

Two attendants scurried in behind Skaw. They were twins who had been stripped of most of their skin centuries ago. Hideous creatures, they barely reached four feet tall and were covered with patches of red, raw muscles. Their organs and veins were visible, and here and there a bone poked through. Each had a crop of black hair protruding from the top of their gray skulls. They sloshed when they walked and were always losing organs. Plus, they reeked.

The twins crept forward, nervously fumbling with the key to Dante’s cell. Vaughn struggled to lift his head. “Why don’t you send Thing One and Thing Two over here tonight? I’ve been a bad boy. Could use a good spanking.” He laughed but it turned into a coughing fit. Skaw stared through the bars with greedy eyes.

“Believe me, Demon Knight, there is nothing I’d like more than to beat you senseless, but since you would enjoy it too much, I’ll give your share to your friend.”

The twins chittered with approval and then slid open the door to Dante’s cell. Dante bared his teeth and snarled at them. They twitched and bumped into each other in fear. One dropped an organ, and they scurried away, jabbering and arguing.

Dante leaned into his chains and tried to kick the squishy liver. “You’re not leaving that thing in here.”

One of the twins scooped it up and screeched incoherently as he shoved it awkwardly under his ribs. His brother tried to help, but they ended up slapping and hissing at each other.

“Not hungry, then?” Skaw asked with a greasy smile. As he stepped into Dante’s cell, his whip began to unfurl on its own. Dante’s chin went up. He stood proud but his muscles twitched involuntarily.

“Why don’t you put aside the whip and let us go at this like real men?” Dante
taunted. “Oh, but wait. You can’t. You were never a
real man
.” He smiled cruelly, knowing his insult stung worse than any whip.

There was a general hierarchy in Hell; entities that were once human but turned evil thought themselves above entities that were created from darkness by the Master. Since everything in nature had an opposite—Heaven to Hell, angel to demon—soul seekers, like Skaw, were created as a dark opposite to compete with spirit walkers who were Awakened to the light. Problem was that most dark opposites become rather jealous of their light counterparts. As a soul seeker, Skaw had spent decades fighting spirit walkers for lost souls and grew envious of their ability to walk the earth as humans. So Skaw, like most who were created in Hell, hated anyone who had been born human.

Skaw’s expression hardened, and his whip pulsated with the need to strike. Dante knew better than to provoke a henchman like Skaw, but what the hell, he might as well get a bit of pleasure before the inevitable pain.

Skaw snapped his fingers, and the jittering twins rushed into Dante’s cell. They approached cautiously and grabbed the chains. Tugging and shuffling, they released the slack and turned Dante around, raising his arms so Skaw could enjoy his handiwork across Dante’s back.

The Demon of Torture growled his displeasure. The long gaping wounds from the last beating were already regenerating. It appeared that Dante had richer demon blood than most Demon Knights. Perhaps two beatings a day would speed along his demise.

Skaw wrapped a pale hand around the whip but the sadistic weapon sensed its target and uncoiled on its own. Wave upon wave like a ribbon of fire, it moved through the air, eagerly searching for Dante’s bare skin. Skaw licked his lips, savoring the impending pain he would unleash.

With a sudden jerk, he snapped the blazing whip across Dante’s back. A streak of flames sliced him open from shoulder to hip. Dante’s head flew back and his body shuddered in pain. He bit off the scream in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. Skaw’s hollow laughter echoed in his ears while the twins gurgled and clapped with delight.

Again and again, the fire whip cut into Dante’s back. Black blood poured from the wounds as his skin was slowly flayed like a steak. Dante trembled but remained quiet.

Determined to provoke some sound from the arrogant Demon Knight, Skaw hauled back, gathering all his strength behind the next blow. But before he could strike, the chamber door was thrown open with a resounding boom. Skaw whirled around to Lord Brutus standing in the doorway.

Shrouded in a gray cloak, the leader of The Order peered from beneath his hood and scrutinized the two Demon Knights. Vaughn was slumped forward and unresponsive
in his chains, while Dante’s back sizzled like orange lava. Lord Brutus’s ashen face and black eyes showed no sign of emotion. He moved over the stone floor with his arms crossed and his hands tucked inside the opposite sleeves. Behind him came six members of The Order like a trail of monks. Skaw withdrew from Dante’s cell and bowed submissively to the Demon Lords. The twins hid behind him, nervously peeking around his cloak.

“Leave us,” Lord Brutus ordered, to which Skaw hurried from the chamber with the twins in his wake.

Dante heard the commotion behind him and struggled to lift his head. His back pulsated with white-hot pain that sparked whenever he moved. Hair fell across his forehead, dripping sweat into his eyes. By sheer will, he forced his shaky arms and legs to turn the chains.

Lord Brutus and six members of The Order stood outside his cell. Even shrouded inside their hoods, Dante recognized them as Viperon, Kruell, Malachi, Hailu, Stivell, and Sultar. They were the six who had voted in favor of Dante’s petition to resurface. Lord Brutus had given the final vote, tipping the odds in Dante’s favor. It was their first appearance since his mission had failed, and he eyed each one in turn. It didn’t take a genius to guess their mood. Even so, Dante would make no assumptions.

“So, you have finally come to release Vaughn Raider, yes?” Dante struck his point like a hammer. He forced a strained smile while his back sizzled and smoked.

Lord Brutus lowered his hood, revealing a face so pale it appeared gray. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips as flaky as dry leaves.

“How very touching that your first concern is for your friend,” Lord Brutus said, his crackling voice thick with sarcasm. “Better for you to worry about your own fate, I should think.” He stepped into the cell while the others moved to the bars to watch.

“Very well, I will worry about myself after Vaughn is released. Are we in agreement?” Dante pushed his shackled hand forward as if to shake hands. Lord Brutus did not find him amusing.

“My servants tell me that you have not mentioned the name of your
other
friend since your return. No concern for him?”

Dante became still and stared with dead eyes. Wolfgang had betrayed him by going after the pastor too soon. He had nothing but contempt for the Demon of Impatience who could not control his demonic urges. Dante had heard Wolfgang was locked in solitude several chambers below them. With any luck, his demon had already destroyed him. As for Santiago, Dante wasn’t surprised that he’d gotten off light. After all, Santi was an underling sent to the surface to watch and learn. There end the lesson.

Dante lifted his chin defiantly. “I would think you would have more concern for him than I. After all, it was Wolfgang who lost the pastor’s soul for you. No doubt he is receiving your special brand of punishment?”

The old man’s crusty lips curled against his teeth as he snarled, “If not for Wolfgang’s attempt at the pastor’s soul, we would never have known
your
true intentions!”

Dante’s jaw muscle flexed violently. If the old man thought to provoke a reaction, he would have to try harder.