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ELAZAR STOOD BEFORE the opened doors of the Forbidden City’s Hall of Supreme Harmony. Two sentries tipped their heads, pounded their spears once on the concrete, then stepped aside to let him in. He scoffed under his breath. It seemed somebody was compensating for something. More guards in similar helmets lined either side of the rich carpet. Dragon etchings curled around massive golden pillars. Incense urns smoked black, and Yakum himself sat elevated with the splendor flanking him above, behind, and below. His rolling dark mists encircled him.
Yakum extended a hand to Elazar. The opulent patterns hidden in his silken sleeve revealed themselves in a fleeting sheen. “Welcome, Elazar, to my principality.”
Elazar cocked an eyebrow. “The pleasure is mine,” he droned. “Tell me. When did ‘hiding’ mean mustering armies and sheltering in the most obvious landmark possible? Hardly subtle.”
Yakum’s eyes narrowed. “I have my reasons.”
“Sure you do. Because Destroyers, as your kind are so aptly called, require backup,” Elazar said as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
Cocking his head, Yakum gave a strained faux grin. “Whatever happened to your smashing headdress, Huitzilopochtli? Ran out of chicken feathers?” he asked.
“You know. I actually reserved some level of respect for you,” Elazar remarked. “So don’t ruin it with cheap-shots.”
“Oh?” said Yakum as he raised his chin.
Elazar smirked. “Don’t get too excited, smokey. I still don’t like you.”
Yakum rose to his feet. Mists that billowed from under his robe floated him down. The guards pounded their spears twice in sync, then dispersed to the far corners and the walls.
Elazar inspected Yakum’s stance. He honed his empathic sense and sensed Yakum’s irritated killer instinct. Elazar shielded his hand and captured the pellet Yakum aimed at his chest in a round shield. The pestilence popped. Ink swirled and filled the sphere, and Elazar threw it at the closest guard. The caged fumes burst, and the unfortunate sod clawed at his throat. He dropped to the floor, writhing and kicking.
“Interesting,” Yakum said, smiling at Elazar. “Seems rumors of your talent weren’t completely unfounded.” He gave a head nod to one of the guards. The dutiful demon nodded back and dragged the convulsing victim out. “So. Have you found Jediah yet?”
Agitated, Elazar crossed his arms. “If I did, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to you.”
Yakum fingered the platinum buttons of his collar. “I thought you wouldn’t, hence why I requested your presence. I hoped you might hear out my proposal.”
“Your proposal?” Elazar huffed. “First you insult me; you chuck poison at me, now you want to make deals?”
“You accepted prince Lucifer’s deal,” Yakum challenged.
“His interests simply suited mine.”
“And you’re interested in Jediah’s humiliation, right? Well, consider this a bonus deal. An extra cherry to throw on top, if you will. How would you like to double Jediah’s suffering?”
Intrigued yet cautious, Elazar folded his hands behind his back. “I’m listening.”
Yakum gestured toward the vacant spot where the infected guard once stood. “You just witnessed my latest and finest work.”
“Yes,” Elazar replied. “Lucifer mentioned you were cooking something in your kitchen.”
“It’s near perfect, but—” Yakum stepped closer. “I need the perfect specimen for a final trial.”
Elazar stepped back, minding the distance between himself and Yakum’s fog. “And that’s what you want Jediah for.”
Tilting his head, Yakum spread his lips in a crooked smile. “Exactly. If my plague can utterly wreck a spiritual being like him, the human populace won’t stand a chance.”
“M-hm,” Elazar said. He nodded and rubbed his chin. “And I suppose his wings, the key to the Abyss, doesn’t interest you whatsoever.”
Yakum shook his head and answered, “None whatsoever.”
Elazar’s energy boiled as he sensed Yakum’s deceiving heart tip its hand. Yakum was lying. No question about it, and he had mustered his armies so he could hog Jediah for himself too. Elazar ground his teeth beneath closed lips. Jediah was his. If Yakum intended to deprive him of his revenge...
But knowing it’d be foolishness to upset a demon lord in the middle of his base, Elazar played along. “And what are your terms for this ‘arrangement’?” he asked.
“Simple,” Yakum said. “Once Jediah is ours, we’ll take him to my caves deep in the western mountains. I finish my experiment. You deliver him to Lucifer. Lucifer gets his key. Everybody wins, and you’ll get to enjoy the ‘fun’ every step of the way.”
Elazar stroked a hand through his hair. “Tempting. Very tempting,” he replied. “But I’m going to have to decline.”
Yakum gave an insulted, bewildered look. “Decline?”
“Lucifer made himself clear when we struck our bargain. Jediah and his key are to be turned over to him immediately. No exceptions.” Elazar shot a firm glare. “And I will honor our agreement.”
“Pfft!” Yakum scoffed. “What’s this nonsense I’m hearing? ‘Honor your agreement’? I thought you hated Lucifer. You’re not loyal to him.”
“But I am loyal to my word,” Elazar growled. “I made a promise, and I am keeping it. Something a backstabber like you could never understand.”
“Look who’s talking!” Yakum convulsed in a roaring laughter. His face turned red, and he wiped his tearing eyes. “You turned on Jediah, your closest friend, centuries ago, and you wanna talk about backstabbing.”
Elazar clenched his fists. Glowing red filled his fingers, lighting the underside of his face. His scar throbbed. “I didn’t betray anyone,” he insisted. “He betrayed me.”
Pressing a hand over his chest, Yakum pushed out a breath and stopped chortling. “Oh stop. I heard the stories about your falling out. You might be an independent, Elazar, but you’re every bit a demon as I am.”
Elazar’s hands shook. “I said, ‘I betrayed no one,’,” he growled. “And I am nothing like you.” His anger reaching its peak, he relinquished his compounding energy and pivoted around to leave.
“Then who struck first?” Yakum called out. “You? Or Jediah?”
Elazar stopped at the doors. A regretful sorrow, the kind he spent centuries trying to kill, strangled his throat. “My original deal with Lucifer stands,” he finally said. “I settle my score against Jediah. Lucifer gets his key. You get to keep your freedom. And you’d best hope it doesn’t change.”
Elazar stepped into the chilled air, but something was off. The two sentries from before had abandoned their posts. Elazar’s chest tingled. His attention turned to two human workers. Faces careworn, they swept and collected the plastic cups and paper scraps close to the inner court’s western walls. One wheeled the trash bin. The other collected the junk. Elazar scowled. Whoever attempted this trickery were was an absolute moron. No human cleaned trash at three in the morning.
Elazar tailed them one step at a time. The janitors quickened their gait, and their trash barrel’s rumbling wheels curved around a small gateway. Elazar slowed. He bent his knees, deepening his stance. Then he turned into a walled-in pass—likened to a hallway without a ceiling. The janitor’s abandoned broom clunked against the lonely trash barrel. Lifting a glowing hand, Elazar walked further in. The two men were nowhere to be seen, but his empathic sense picked up a presence.
Elazar snapped around and caught an airborne spear in his shielded hand. Hot energy coursed through his fingers, and the oaken shaft snapped. His attacker, one of the two guards he met at the palace door, rushed him. Elazar dodged, then strangled him with a force-field. He lifted him higher by the neck. The soldier’s pointing feet gyrated in frantic efforts for the ground.
Elazar’s limbs buzzed in a euphoric rush. “If you or your master Yakum throws something at me again,” he said. “So help me—” Elazar banged the sentry around hard enough to split stone, but then he spotted red and gold colors hiding under the demon’s burgundy cloak. Confused, Elazar slammed him on his stomach. His helmet rolled off.
An angel glared back. Gold dripped from his nose, lips, and temples. A braided, sandy lock hung in front of his right eye.
Elazar chewed his lip. It was one of Jediah’s wingmen. The smallest one. “Ah. A familiar face,” he commented. “It’s Laszio isn’t it?” He used another shield to pull the stringed sticks off the angel’s belt and tossed them out of reach. “Well now, little sparrow, am I a dog that you come at with sticks?”
Though winded, the angel grinned through pained breaths. “Interesting choice of words.”
A golden flash came at Elazar from the side. Elazar bent backwards. The second disguised angel’s fist brushed the tip of his nose, scorching it with its coat of hardened feathers. Stepping aside, Elazar faced him directly. “Which makes you Eran,” he guessed.
Eran leaned to swing another punch, but hesitated. His feather gauntlets were raised, yet an anxiety belied the fighting spirit from his eyes.
Elazar grinned and waved his shielded hands in mocking circles. “Come now,” he goaded. “You’ve thrown your hat into the ring. Now do it!” Noticing Laszio’s hand reaching to grab his ankle, Elazar stomped on it. Eran lunged, but Elazar grabbed and twisted Eran’s arm until it popped. Eran screamed. He plopped on his side and clutched his mangled shoulder. Elazar then stripped off his helmet. A black braid similar to Laszio’s flipped so hard with it, its silver bead hit the pavement. The angels laid there silent.
Battle over, Elazar shook out his hands. “You are those two pests who interrupted my reunion with Jediah,” he said. “Honestly, I half-expected more from Jediah’s wingmen, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re both from the bottom of his barrel, either. He’s always had a soft spot for pet projects.”
“Save it,” Laszio, the blonde, retorted. He propped himself on one elbow and tried to stand.
Elazar grabbed his knife, and a scream ripped from Laszio’s mouth as he stabbed his hand clean through.
“Laszio!” Eran cried. The ferocity in his glower would frighten a bear into her den.
Elazar yanked the blade out, grabbed Eran by the hair, and pressed the wetted edge against his neck. “What’re you two doing here? Out breaking curfew?” he interrogated.
Before Eran could answer, Elazar heard hands and knees shuffling behind him. He looked to see Laszio’s shoulders shaking in another attempt to get up. Gold dappled the pavement beneath him from the ruined hand he sheltered.
Elazar kicked him in the head. “Stay down or I’ll hurt you again.”
Laszio laid still, but his right eye opened to a slit. His hoarse voice rasped with harsh intensity, “May God deal with me, be it ever so severely, if I ever willfully stay down to the likes of you.”
Elazar peered into Laszio’s emotions. Anger, borderline hatred, fueled his stubbornness. This wasn’t a mere mission to them. This vendetta of theirs was personal. “All this fury,” Elazar commented. “You two must be real desperate to get rid of me.”
“We know Lucifer hired you,” Eran gasped.
Elazar’s eyebrows raised. “Hm, smarter than I thought,” he acknowledged.
“S-smarter than y-you’d ever be.” Laszio added.
Elazar addressed Eran. “Your buddy isn’t looking so good.”
Eran lurched, but couldn’t free himself from Elazar’s grip. “Why do all this?” he demanded. “What has our captain ever done to you?”
“Interesting,” Elazar mused. He cocked an eyebrow as he slipped into a strange calm. “So Jediah’s never told you about me. Never mentioned me.”
Eran’s scowl turned to pure disgust and said, “If I knew a traitor like you, I wouldn’t mention a peep about you either.”
Elazar threw the knife aside and shook Eran by the collar. “I’m not the traitor,” he shouted. “Jediah may pretend like he did nothing, and I don’t matter to him. It’s just like him to shove his old shames under the rug, but he knows I’m the hatchet he can’t bury. The sin he can’t wipe. Because I’ll always keep coming back.” Elazar called upon his force-fields to retrieve the knife and poise it over Eran’s face. “And neither of you can fix me for him.”
Elazar’s knife scraped a dome shaped shield as he struck. The dome then expanded bigger. It shoved Elazar off Eran with such force, he tumbled and hit the left wall. Pain racked his lower back. His stunned arms wouldn’t move, and Elazar hungered to rip the angel responsible apart.
Behind the shimmering veil, a copper-haired ministry angel slipped out of the bird he previously possessed. He rushed to Laszio and Eran’s sides. His eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to help first. Pulling out a waterskin, he unscrewed the cap.
“Won’t do you much good, little one,” Elazar remarked. He got his bruising self to sit up. He balanced with a hand on the wall. “Shield or no shield, none of you are leaving here.”
The ministry angel’s eyes snapped to him. Anger tainted by apprehension dimmed his aquamarine eyes near grey. His eyebrows furrowed. His lips pursed tightly, but he unhooked his shawl, poured silver water in the fabric, then dabbed Laszio’s wounds.
Elazar rolled his eye at such wasteful sentiments. “There’s no point in using up your healing water,” he advised. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“With all due respect, sir,” the ministry angel replied, his tone grave. “I’m not the one who made an enemy out of the Alpha and Omega.” The angel’s eyes regained a luster so vibrant, their former green and blue pigments tripled to include violet.
A sudden loathing for the angel so overwhelmed Elazar, that it shocked even him how quickly it came. Crimson energy burst red sparks from his eye, and his face contorted so tight it split the edges of his mending scar wide open. “You listen, you piece of—”
Waves of black mist socked Elazar in the temple. His head snapped, and a weird, burning twang shot down his neck. He hit the floor. His consciousness wavered, but seconds before he went under, he heard Yakum’s voice. “Pardon the interruption, whelp.”
Yakum’s boot, wreathed in living black, appeared in Elazar’s tunneling vision.
“But I’ll be needing them more than you,” Yakum said. He knelt beside him. “You should have taken my offer.”
The tunnel shrank, and all Elazar could do was slur the most repulsive insult that came to mind.