“CUT HIS WINGS. Now.”
Pox shuffled his shitkickers back and forth a couple of times before opening his trap to argue. “Are you sure you want to do that, boss? Won’t—” Lowering his voice, he glanced at the clouds gathering above the garbage dump and swallowed hard before finishing the thought. “—You Know Who sense it?”
Seth sighed before unsheathing an old family heirloom. The obsidian athame had been his for ten centuries. Before that, it had belonged to his father. Dear old dad had given it to him right after Seth carved out his heart. Gripping it now, he dropped a hard kiss where the blade left the haft. The weapon was exquisitely carved. Heavy. Balanced. Magical. Perfect for this job. “What? Are you Harry Potter now? Who the fuck is You Know Who?”
Flushing at the insult, his lieutenant, Pox, dropped his voice to a choked whisper, “Michael.” The big tough demon shot his eyes skywards again as if mentioning his name would conjure him in the flesh (or whatever substance the angel was made of). Shifting his feet nervously, he grunted, “I’ve heard he’s got a bad temper.”
It didn’t matter if the high and mighty Michael knew or not. The deed would be done. It would be too late to undo it, and that suited his boss’ plan perfectly. The piece of shit sprawled on the ground wasn’t much use without wings. Sneering at the pathetic excuse of celestial power who was about to become earthbound, Seth growled, “Never mind. I’ll do it myself. Turn him over first. I want to look at his face one more time.”
“It’s your funeral.” Pox snatched their prisoner by his shoulders and rolled him onto his back.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t make a single sound. Lying face up, covered with mud, bits of garbage and blood, he wasn’t much to see. Oh, he’d been powerful once. Massive. Strong. Arrogant. That had been weeks earlier. Now? Not so much. When the moonlight hit just right, bits of white bone shone through the tatters of what used to be muscle. Breaking the creature had been the highlight of his year. Thinking back on the past few hours, Seth nibbled a stray bit of flesh from under one of his claws and smiled with only a bit of satisfaction.
Their orders were clear. Get information by whatever means necessary then clip his fucking wings and leave him for dead. The job should’ve been easy, but they’d hit a snag. The interrogation hadn’t gone as planned. Sure, Seth was an expert at torture. He was one of the best in Hell—that’s the main reason he landed this particular gig—the boss knew he could be depended on to get the job done. But despite his legendary expertise, the dickwad hadn’t said much. Nothing they did worked. He’d been beaten, starved, beaten some more. After weeks of torture, he’d simply closed his eyes and emptied his mind, before finally drawing his energy into his core to shut himself down completely. Seth practically flayed his skin off with his own claws. But, still, he was unresponsive. Like dead, but—not. The meatsuit still bled, the heart still beat, lungs still processed oxygen; but other than that? He wasn’t being helpful at all. They were still answerless. So now? They’d moved on to the wing cutting part. Easy? Not so much.
Where were the goddamned wings?
As if sensing their intentions, the prisoner’s eyes popped open. Already nervous, Pox jumped a foot into the air with an un-demon-like shriek
“Oh, for Satan’s sake, Pox. Are you a demon or a twelve-year-old girl?”
“Just hurry up. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Let’s get it over with and get out of here. I really don’t want to be ash.”
Seth rolled his eyes and kicked the naked carcass in the ribs. “Where are your wings?”
No response.
Crouching down, Seth peered into the open eyes. Pupils dilated. He waved his hand across them. Unresponsive. Fuck me.
Shaking him by the shoulders, he shouted, “Where are your fucking wings? Answer me! I know you can hear me, asshole. Where are they?”
No response.
“God damn it! You piece of shit!” They weren’t going to need to worry about Michael smiting them if they failed to follow orders. Michael would be a mercy compared to their boss. After kicking him again, he whirled away to think.
There had to be another way.