From Heaven To Earth (The Faith of the Fallen) (30 page)

He fought me like he knew every move I was going to make. He had
counters prepared before I even executed my attacks,
she thought.

Before the battle you made a plan to use a whimsical style to catch me
off guard,
the ensynae thought at her.
Was that plan yours? Were the
executions yours?

Riell’s cheeks burned with embarrassment when she realized the teacher
had implanted every move she was going to make into her own head.

“I trust you’re ready to learn the art of deep meditation now?”

He smiled at her.

She nodded and tried to sheathe her sword again. This time it slid back
into its scabbard.

“Welcome to my class. You will find a change of clothes and a tub in your
room.”

“I will return soon then.”

He nodded at her and left her to bathe and prepare.

“I sense something different about you, lover,” Marylza said. Gerald
tried to scoot away but he could not. She touched her lips to his, and in that
instant she gazed into Gerald’s mind.

“You... you love another? Eliza?”

Gerald squirmed out of her embrace and scooted out of her reach. Marylza
crawled for him on her hands and knees and grinned: perfect and white.

“No matter. You’ve never resisted me before, and you won’t start now.
You’ll forget this human after an hour with me.”

I have to resist, I have to.

Gerald tried to look away from her.

“Everything has an end, Marylza,” he said. “My heart is Eliza’s, and it
will remain with her till I fade.”

She paused for a moment, a look of doubt on her face.

“Look into my eyes, Gerald. Remember.” She grabbed his chin and twisted
his face toward hers.

“Your hallucinations won’t work on me!” Gerald yelled.

Her undaunted green eyes flashed. Gerald’s filled with fright, relaxed,
and he stared past her in a state of induced somnolence.

* * *

Gerald heard the door of his room creak open. He had dozed off in the
chair he had been sitting in. He opened his eyes to see his succubus for the
evening enter the room in a black robe. She closed the door behind her and
sauntered into the middle of the room. He wanted to yell at her for being late,
but his anger settled and boiled back up as lust after he saw her. He knew
immediately the extravagant cost had been well deserved.

He saw her green eyes glow through the hood of the robe. They remained
focused on his. Her eyes flared. Her robe unraveled. As it did Gerald wondered
what she wore beneath it: a lavender lacy bra and thong. Gerald thought they
complimented her fair, purple skin perfectly. Marylza’s wavy black hair was
tied up in a bun with two long red chopsticks.

She fluttered her small wings. Torchlight reflected off of their black
scales before she folded them behind her.

She’s so beautiful. The most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid my eyes
on,
Gerald thought as he gazed upon Marylza’s body for the first time.
She’s
got curves and confidence.
He licked his lips.

She danced for him. Her voluptuous chest and hips moved to a slow,
unheard rhythm. Marylza danced closer and leaned over for Gerald. He surveyed
the curvature of her body. She rolled up gradually, spun her body around and
rotated her hips. Gerald could not look away from her.

If only I could touch her, have her for my own. I can only afford a
dance though.
Gerald shifted in his chair.
Why should I hesitate? She’s
no different from any other woman.

She turned back around, smiled at him and moved closer. She danced only
inches away from him.

Gerald’s loins stiffened. Every fiber of his body drove him to take
Marylza.

Gerald tackled her, pushed her on the ground and ripped her meager amount
of clothing off. She showed no signs of panic.

“Don’t even make a sound. Or you’ll get it. I promise you that,” To
Gerald’s surprise her smile widened into a grin.

She hurled him into the air. Marylza flew after him, above him, wrapped
her legs and arms around him and suckled his thin lips with her full ones
forcefully. Gerald felt her long tongue enter his mouth and caress his own.

Her wings slowed their descent to the bed. She tore his shirt off, threw
it aside, dug her nails in his chest and gyrated on him as they landed on the
bed.

Gerald moaned and tried to push her over to get on top of her. Marylza
held him down firmly.

“Bitch...” He was cut short by Marylza’s slapping him across the face,
the connection was like a thunderclap.

“Call me by my name,” she demanded. “Marylza.”

“Marylza,” Gerald moaned.

Marylza’s nails shredded his jeans as she tore them off.

“A commando huh? One less thing to take off.”

She slid on top, held his arms down and leaned back. She teased him
momentarily by rolling her hips over him in a circle before allowing him
completely inside.

They moaned together.

“Yes.” Gerald breathed.

She pulled herself off of him again and ran her hands up and down her
sweaty body. He reached to touch himself.

“No need to do that, love,” she said.

She sauntered to the end of the bed, turned her back to him and spread
herself on the bed.

In a slow deliberate motion, she rolled backwards and opened her legs
wide for his lusty eyes before settling on her knees. She laid her head on her
folded arms.

“Give it to me,” she whispered.

She felt Gerald’s hands grip her buttocks and groaned when he knocked
against her again and again.

“No!” Gerald snapped out of the spell and found himself naked with
Marylza riding him. She was lost in ecstasy, eyes closed, with a smile on her
face.

Gerald pushed her off, and the back of her head crashed against the
ceiling before she fell to the floor.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I have changed. I’m your lover no longer.”

A low grumble came from the foot of the bed. Marylza’s head rose over the
end of it. Her eyes were aflame. Her skin wrinkled as it aged, boils formed,
her teeth blackened, hair fell from her head in clumps. Saliva dripped from her
snarl.

Gerald could smell her fetid breath from the end of the bed. Her
parasitic magic had been turned against her by Gerald’s victory. If she did not
feed soon it would kill her.

She pounced on Gerald and held him down. Gerald tried to push her off but
could not best her strength, and she kissed Gerald’s lips. She forced her
tongue into his mouth and he felt one of her rotten teeth enter with it. His
body shook and grew feverish as she devoured his Inner.

He grew cold and his vision dimmed.

“It seems I’m needed elsewhere.” She dropped Gerald onto the bed. “I’ll
be back for you though. I promise.” She kissed Gerald’s lips once more, bit
down on his bottom one and drew blood.

“Perhaps your angel friend will be more forthcoming.” She felt a wave of
ecstasy flow through her body when she saw Gerald’s appalled face.

“Drean, no,” he rasped. He passed out.

She checked herself in the vanity mirror. Her skin was young and supple
again except for a cold sore on her bottom lip. She tried to ignore it, opened
a drawer pulled out a brush and brushed her hair until she calmed down. The
sore healed. She smiled at herself.

“Mmm, Drean. What a nice name.” Marylza closed her eyes and disappeared
in a puff of perfumed smoke.

Drean and Obe came to a stop in front of the west wing’s door: muscle and
vein that pulsed, and bled profusely. The free-floating blood circulated around
the entire door in perpetual motion.

Drean cringed at the acrid smell of the living gateway. Obe turned to
him, and even though the ghost could not speak Drean saw Obe’s concern.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your sympathy,” Drean said.

Drean took a deep breath and the headless ghost moved in front of the
door. Its pulse quickened and intensified its blood flow. Bile and saliva built
up in Drean’s mouth.

Beyond the door were the innards of a giant animal, at least to Drean.

A stream of blood was the hall’s floor. Chandeliers fitted with human
skulls of different shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling. Red light flickered
in them. Its walls and floor constricted and loosed like an artery: it was like
standing inside of a beating heart.

His senses overloaded, he vomited, and his ghost escort slowly turned
around to face him.

“I apologize.” Drean blushed.

Obey handed him a small white handkerchief and floated through the doors.

“Thank you.”

Drean wiped his mouth and the tips of his white hair. He slipped the
handkerchief in his pants pocket. He swallowed, covered his ears with his hands
and stepped into the hall.

All at once the hall ceased to move: its flesh turned to stone, its
veins, paint and the blood, carpet.

“What happened?” Drean ran his hands over the blue streaks that had been
the veins on the rough, deep pink walls as he walked down the crimson carpet.

A loud hiss came from the end of the hall, followed by heavy footfalls.

“Angel!” a gruff voice yelled from the end of the hall. “Where are you? I
know you’re here.”

“I’m here!” Drean called out, thinking the dean of the wing was greeting
him as a guest.

Drean heard metal bang against stone at the end of the hall, and he
caught a glimpse of a bal’dir’s orange-red scales as it stepped under a
chandelier.

The demon ducked his head beneath the chandeliers. He made no attempt to
fold back his wings, and their talons scraped chunks of the wall away.

Drean’s sword hand went instinctively to his side, but he found nothing
there.

I’m a guest here, and so I’m charged with being civil,
he thought.

He tried to crack a smile but only managed to smirk.

“Mocking me are you!” The bal’dir broke into a run. He did not pay any
mind to the chandeliers, and his scales heated and burst into flame. He reached
Drean, grabbed him by the neck with a long, gaunt arm and thrust him against
the entrance. Flames on the demon’s claw squelched when they made contact with
Drean.

“I am just a guest here. My name is Drean,” Drean choked out, “I mean you
no harm.”

The demon’s claws sizzled from touching Drean’s skin, and he growled at
the pain. He spit on Drean’s face. His saliva popped on Drean’s skin and
evaporated.

“I am Ran’nok. I welcome no angels into my wing!” He dropped Drean on the
ground, flexed his injured claw and walked away. “Learn that well.”

“Why am I labeled as such when it’s obvious I’m different?” Drean said,
startled by his own voice. He hadn’t meant to protest out loud.

“You’re no different, angel. Your existence promotes mindless unity under
a tyrant. Your free will makes you unique, but you are what you are.”

“I’ll be leaving then if I’m not allowed to stay here.” He turned back to
the door. “I’m sure Obe will take me to a new room.” The ghost was gone.

“No, angel, you’ll be staying here.” Ran’nok opened a door at the end of
the hall, held it open with one claw and pointed into the room with his other.
“Where I can keep an eye on you.”

Drean walked to the end of the hall. He kept his eyes on the floor.
Ran’nok watched him all the while.

“This house fears you, angel.”

Drean glanced up into the demon’s large green eyes and held them in his
own.

“It knows you’re up to something.”

“Maybe this house has its secrets, but I keep none.”

“Yes, I know you’re here to speak with the headmaster,” Ran’nok growled.
“Something about traveling to Hell to give Satan what’s coming to him.”

Why am I charged with this? What can I do if God Himself could not
prevent Leoran from banishing Him from existence?
Drean asked himself.
Why
did this demon say that Satan has it coming to him? Don’t all of these demons
now owe their allegiance to him?

“Possibly,” Drean said.

“You keep no secrets, eh? It seems like you may not be so certain of
yourself.”

“Truthfully, I’m not. Although I feel awkward talking to you about this,
since you hold me in such high esteem.”

“Are you afraid, angel, is that why?” Ran’nok chuckled. “Do you fear the
depths of Hell and facing the Deceiver? He and his band of squatters that dare
to call themselves demons...”

“Who am I to change the way these people think?” Drean said. “To tell
them their faith is misplaced?”

Ran’nok let the door close and folded his arms.

“I’ve lived among them for little more than a week. I’ve learned about
them more than you would think, but they’re a complex people.”

Ran’nok growled at this and stomped a clawed foot into the floor.

“They’re sheep, angel. To be raised, sheared and consumed. Some stray
from the flock but only some.”

Drean put the implication of the demon using humans for sustenance aside
but took a mental note.

“They live, unlike what we once were...”

“As sheep,” the demon interrupted. “They are confined just as we were,
but in duty’s stead it is vanity that blinds them. Their spirits are trapped in
flesh, damned from the start.”

“But they do have immortal spirits,” Drean argued. “If only the minute
few that rise above temptation could teach them all to see that.”

“Bah!” The demon stomped the ground again and folded his wings. “They are
deaf, angel, like you it seems. You are proud and selfish, like your Father.”

“Am I?” the angel wondered. “Am I doing this for my own selfish reasons?
Is my desire to live selfish? Is that not what He would want?”

Ran’nok opened the door again and pointed inside. “This conversation has
been interesting, angel, but I have a class to teach. I have to start over.
Your entrance ruined my summoning ritual.”

“I apologize.” Drean walked into the room. It was completely dark.

“Don’t disturb us again,” Ran’nok said.

“I...”

Ran’nok slammed the door.

“...won’t.”

Heat radiated inside Drean’s room, and he couldn’t see anything. He felt
on the wall for a light switch and found none.

Why is the darkness in this house so absolute? I cannot see past it.

He considered using some of his Inner to light the room but thought
better. The house would be afraid. The heartbeat of the wing gained strength
with every second that passed. Drean’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.

His room’s carpet and walls had not reverted. He saw a bed of straw in
the corner, a sink and bathroom to his right. An AC unit about half his size
was on the wall near the foot of the bed. Its vent was level with his head.

“It’s sweltering in here.” He walked over to the unit to investigate it
further. On the left side of the vent was a small knob. One side of the knob
read “Cold”, and on the other side it read “Hot”. Its knob was currently
switched to the “Hot” side.

“Well colder would be nice.” Drean flipped the knob over to the cold
side.

The AC hummed to life. Cool air washed over Drean. He smiled. A groan
issued from the unit, and the hum grew louder.

“What is it doing?” Drean put his ear to the vent.

Soon Drean thought he could hear a man yelling inside the AC. Air blasted
Drean’s face.

“Frigid!” He rubbed his face to try to warm it back up. He reached for
the temperature knob, and flipped it back to the “Hot” setting. The AC turned
itself off.

“Make up your mind will you!” a voice from inside the AC called out.

Drean jumped back.

“Why are you inside the air conditioner?” Drean asked.

“You fool, I am the air conditioner! Kind of. Look on the right side of
the vent. There’s a lever,” the voice said.

Drean was uncertain but curious about the being within the AC. He felt
down the right side of the vent and found the lever the voice had mentioned.

“Pull it.”

Drean pulled the lever and the AC cover released. Inside was the spirit
of a middle-aged man. Three metal clamps fettered him: one across his chest and
two on each of his wrists, his arms pulled taut. Soft white light glinted in
his eyes. His body was opaque and gray.

“What are you doing in here?” Drean asked.

“I told you. I’m the one that cools this room,” the ghost snapped.

“How?” Drean looked him up and down.

“These clamps are enchanted with a spell that agonizes spirits when
they’re activated,” the ghost said. “When I cry out my breath cools the room.”

“I need to get you out then.” Drean put his hands on a clamp.

“No!” the ghost bellowed.

“But why? You’re a prisoner here,” Drean said and stepped back from the
unit.

“You truly are innocent aren’t you?”

“I’ve only lived on earth for a short time if that’s what you mean,”
Drean said.

“I’m one of the damned.”

Drean regarded the man with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said after a
moment.

The ghost burst into laughter.

“You don’t need to apologize on my behalf,” the ghost said. “More than
likely I deserve my fate. Do you believe in fate, angel?” he asked.

“I believe we’re all part of a plan,” Drean answered. “At least I used
to.”

“What changed your beliefs?”

“My Father died.” Drean looked away from the ghost.

“A death in the family? Those can be traumatic,” the ghost said. “I’m not
really sure what drove me over the edge. I was like you. Devout. Had a healthy
fear for God. But one day all that did not matter. I stole the innocence of so
many women...”

I’m not really sure how to respond to that,
Drean thought.
Maybe
he does deserve what punishment he has been given if he’s committed all those
atrocious crimes.

“What I was getting at is, if you believe in fate you believe you have a
purpose,” the ghost said.

“I still believe I have a destiny,” Drean said. “That we all do. It’s
just without my Father’s plan I feel lost.”

“Well, but you have a memory of him, and if it’s his plan that’s driven
you all this time you can remember where he left off,” the ghost said.

“He was a mysterious person, my Father,” Drean said. “Do you mind if I
lay down? I’m exhausted.”

“By all means.”

Drean fell back onto the straw mattress.

“This straw is more comfortable than I thought it would be.” Drean yawned
and stretched out on it.

“It’s not straw,” the ghost said. “But yes, that’s what most of our
guests say.”

“Well, what is it then?” Drean asked. He ran his hands up and down the
mattress.

“It’s processed human flesh,” the ghost stated. “Which parts I’m not too
sure, but I know that much.”

Drean jumped up with a look of disdain on his face.

“Now, angel, settle down!”

Drean glared at him. His eyes burned with a soft white light.

“Those demons...”

“Are your hosts, Drean! Don’t provoke their wrath.”

Drean’s eyes darkened. He sat in a corner and gripped his knees with his
arms. He could feel the beat of the wing through the wall. “And that infernal
beating,” he said. “It’s a byproduct of whatever sadistic rituals they perform
in that room.”

“They have to survive, just like you and me,” the ghost said.

“But to take an innocent life!”

“Humans that trespass on these grounds are fair game,” the ghost said.
“You must realize that.”

Drean remembered the corpses outside the house.

“I’m sure they didn’t even know they were trespassing. They could have
been tourists.” Drean rocked back and forth in time to the hall’s beat.

“Are you alright?” the ghost asked. He craned his head to look at Drean.

“They were innocent, killed in cold blood.” Drean rocked. The beating
outside quickened. “Killed only because they were human.”

“You’re being unfair, angel,” the ghost said.

“You would defend them. Killer, murderer.”

“I’ve gotten over that side of myself,” the ghost said. “Fate drove me to
kill those people and it brought me here. I was meant to leave a bloody path on
the world and power this AC. That was my purpose. At least I’m not in Hell.”

“You chose that route,” Drean said.

“There was no other route for me to choose,” the ghost decided. “Just
like the one you’re about to choose.”

The beating stopped. Drean still rocked. The door to the hall opened.
Marylza stepped inside and faced Drean. When the ghost saw the succubus he gave
her a nervous smile.

“Top of the morning to you, mistress.”

“Don’t worry, wretch, I’m not here to chastise you,” she said, she could
not keep from smiling as she looked upon Drean. She wanted him more than any
man, woman, demon, fallen or half-breed she had met in her life.

“My path. My path,” Drean said this mantra over and over.

Marylza glided into the room. Her long, nearly transparent black robe
slid across the ground as she walked. She knelt down before Drean and let the
low neck of her dress move deliberately by his face for a full view of her
cleavage before she was face to face with him.

Hmph. He’s so worked up he didn’t even flinch. He must still be
asexual,
she thought.

“Angel,” she breathed.

“My path.” Drean looked at her, unconcerned.

“Stubborn angel, rest. You will be mine when you wake.” She touched
Drean’s forehead. The contact left a red mark on her fingertip that stung.