Chapter Nineteen: The Cauldron of Wrath
A.N: Thanks to my writing partner, Stevo, for helping me out with this chapter. I was stuck for so long. And an additional thanks goes to Tweety for helping out in the last section. I wasn't sure how to go about it but she greatly helped me out.
You guys get a longer chapter this time, and you can expect it from now on. There's much more of a story to tell now, so I hope you enjoy it! Unfortunately due to the length and my medical stuff, it's taken a bit longer to get this out. Thanks for being patient with me guys. I really do appreciate it. Also, fight scenes suck to write for me. Love you! ~Chasing the Spotlight
Brooke awoke to the sound of tweeting birds. When she opened her eyes, she spotted them on the window ledge, using the water in the guttering to take a bath. She had to smile. The pair of birds were blue and off-white, with a little bit of red on the neck and chest. They were small and could barely be seen over the flowers in the planter. They tweeted happily at Brooke as she watched them.
The bed under Brooke shifted as James began to wake. She raised herself up to look at his handsome face. He'd styled his beard recently, into a goatee that surrounded his mouth. His hair, cut to his shoulders, hung down into his eyes, stuck to his forehead with sweat. Even though they'd been sharing a bed since that beautiful night of passion, he'd still been having nightmares, though he was less likely to thrash about if she was with him. Instead, he held tightly to her and refused to let go. She didn't mind; anything she could do to ease his mind while he slept was never going to be a problem.
James turned his head to watch the birds before smiling.
"Hirundo rustica," he said sleepily, reaching up to yawn. She raised an eyebrow at him and looked back at the birds. They flapped their wings and tweeted happily. She looked back at James. He smiled and kissed her forehead. "They're barn swallows. Very common in Santa Monica. Good morning."
She smiled and pushed herself up.
"Good morning. Sleep well?"
"As well as I usually do. You?"
She shrugged. Truth be told she'd been tumbling in and out of sleep for most of the night, dragged back and forth between the mortal realm and her own realm. Marcel and Blake had both been trying to bring her home, but she had wanted to stay with James. He loved her brother and respected her adviser, but they didn't need her right now; James did. She knew where she needed to be.
"Come here," he said, tugging on the hem of her shirt. She smirked and leaned down, capturing his mouth in a kiss.
His hands wandered, as they were prone to do, and cupped her hips, pulling her onto his lap. His legs were warm against her thighs, his chest still baring the scratch marks from the night before.
Before it could go any further, a bang from down the hall drew their attention. Brooke pulled away, staring at the door. James immediately reached for his bedside table. She knew he had a knife in the drawer on the off chance someone did break into his apartment.
Another bang, closer this time, forced him to his feet. The knife from the drawer appeared in his hand as he leaped into action. He stood beside the bedroom door, prepared to strike.
"James!?"
This made James roll his eyes. They both knew the voice belonged to Willa. The knife returned to the drawer as he opened the door and poked his head out.
"Good morning to you, too. You nearly got shivved."
"Cut the small talk. You have a problem," Willa said, pushing past him into the room. She gave Brooke a withering stare that proved that she still hadn't warmed up to her. Brooke just smiled in return; Willa was allowed to feel however she wanted.
"Yeah, I'm awake before noon," James said, climbing back into bed. He threw the duvet over him and covered his eyes with his arm. "Unless you came bearing coffee, I'm not moving out of this bed. Nothing you say or do can-"
"Charlie."
James shot to his feet faster than Brooke had ever seen him move. He threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, following after Willa. Brooke watched them go, feeling her brow pinch together. Who was Charlie and why were they the sole thing to get James out of bed? She reached for her dressing gown and dashed after James and Willa.
She found them in the living room. James was rummaging through the trunk under the window while Willa stood near the door, arms crossed, her foot tapping impatiently while she waited for James.
"Come on, dude; he doesn't have all day," she said, eyes rolling as Brooke entered the room.
"If he makes the full transformation, I'll never forgive myself," James said, throwing a dagger into the duffle bag at his feet.
"What's going on?" Brooke asked, stepping to her partner. He gave her a worried glance before reaching into the bottom of the trunk and retrieving a second dagger, this one appearing to be made of gold. A sinking feeling ran through Brooke as she watched James. "Love, who is Charlie?"
James' ever-familiar pained expression crossed his face again as he stood, handing her the dagger.
"Magic runs deep in the Calavera family," he said slowly, appearing to choose his words carefully. There was a darkness in his eyes she hadn't seen before. It was the same grief as before, but something else was there, a pain she couldn't quite pinpoint. James took a breath. "You've met Ava, Maya's twin. But they have a little brother named Charlie. He'll be eighteen soon."
The sinking feeling in Brooke's stomach grew tighter as the pieces of the puzzle fell in place in her head. If magic ran deep in the entire Calavera line and the youngest was still grieving the loss of a sibling two years later...
"Charlie is a banshee," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked up at James who smiled sadly.
"Not yet," Willa chimed in. She smirked. "Kid still has a few things to do before that happens. But the problem is the target of his rage is well hidden."
"Well, I was," James said, sighing. He looked at Brooke and smirked. "I was perfectly hidden until Sammie gave you my warding stones."
Brooke felt the color drain from her face. Sam had given her the stones months ago to keep her safe from her mother, to keep her hidden. She kept them on her person at all times because she wasn't sure what their range was.
"So what's happening?" she asked, turning to Willa. The Horseman of Death smirked.
"I take it you know the process to become a Banshee?"
Brooke nodded. Of course, she knew. A Banshee transformation began when a witch suffered from grief and refused treatment. Most of the time it was a treatable condition, but on the very rare occasion, when the witch was in too much pain, or when their grief was tied with a severe amount of rage, the magic inside them would rot. That rot would then corrupt them and force them into a new form; the winged demons from Treachery would take flight from within them, consuming the human soul left behind. It was a terrible thing to happen, but it was so incredibly rare that Brooke had never even seen one before, only heard stories.
"Has the rot taken its hold completely?" she asked. Willa raised an eyebrow for a moment before shaking her head.
"We still have a few days. We've tried everything to bring him back."
"Except have him confront me," James said, pulling on his coat. "Truth be told, I wouldn't mind having a pyromancer in my corner when this happens. Banshee's don't like fire."
Brooke nodded. Of course, she wasn't going to let James do this on his own. If he needed her, she'd be there.
"Give me five minutes."
~X~
Kane sat against the vault door, turning the dagger in one hand, the vial in the other. At least Mark had been smart enough to give the two items to him before the challenge in Greed. If he hadn't, Kane was almost certain he wouldn't be able to get out of here. The vial's contents swirled as he rolled it around. The dagger felt light in his hand and he couldn't help noticing the bejeweled hilt. These items were important somehow, but he had no idea how, and without Mark there, he had to admit this entire situation was incredibly futile. Unfortunately, he couldn't finish the trials without him.
He sighed and hoisted himself to his feet, staring up at the vault door. He'd figured out by the pattern of the other trials that the way into the next layer was through this door. It was as if the path was leading them further and further into the bowels of Hell itself. The problem, of course, was that Mark wasn't with him.
"Do you know where he went?" he asked a passing Demon. The golden imp, holding a crate full of gems, looked at him and shrugged.
"Ain't nobody fallin' down that hole and gettin' back out without Boss Lady knowin'. Ya friend is a goner."
Kane glared as the imp fluttered away. He turned back to the vault door and groaned. Gamira had disappeared after his platform had returned to the other side of the canyon. She hadn't said anything other than 'well done' before flying away, so he was just as confused as before.
He leaned his head against the vault door, his shoulders sagging. This is not how it was supposed to go down. He and Mark were supposed to finish this and go home. Now, because his brother had failed, he was stuck here, away from his crew and away from his main goal. Doctor Stevie had to die by his hand, and if he was stuck down here, he'd never be able to complete his task.
He was about to slam his head against the door when his ears picked up a sound. A grunt, coming from the canyon. He turned, eyes on the gaping pit. The only movement was from the imps doing their jobs, the only sound the clanging of pickaxes against gems and stones. Had he been hearing things? Was he so wrapped up in his need to escape that he'd imagined it?
A second later and a pair of hands appeared over the side of the canyon; pale and human. Kane took a step forward, just as Mark's head appeared over the lip of the hole. He raced forward, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and hauling him up. Mark, covered in dust and sweat, collapsed on the ground, panting, fingers bloody and red.
"You..." Kane shook his head as Mark's gaze fell on him. Those deep green eyes stared back at him, darker than usual. "You just refuse to die, don't you?"
"I'm not gonna die. Not here, not yet." Mark forced himself to his feet, fists clenched. "We have a job to do."
Kane watched his brother head for the vault door.
"What happened down there?"
Mark stayed silent, looking up at the vault door. He reached across to touch it, running his fingers along the bottom of the gigantic bolt. His brow furrowed when he turned back to Kane who kept staring.
"Did you not try to open the door?"
Kane rolled his eyes and stepped to his brother's side.
"Of course I did. Before the golden bitch left, Gamira said the bolt needs a lot more than my strength to open it."
Mark smirked and turned back to the golden door. The bolt spread for several feet across, with a latch on the side they were standing on. It appeared to be a bank vault door, but it was warm against his hand as if there was a fire burning behind it.
"Mark, what's going on with you?"
Kane forced Mark to look at him. His older brother was distant and cold, which, despite his own vision of himself, was out of character. He needed to get to the bottom of this before they started the next challenge. If he couldn't Mark's aloof attitude might put them both in danger.
"I'm fine. Annoyed that we're still here. Let's get this over with so I can get home."
Kane's mind noted each and every word Mark said. He couldn't help but be reminded that Mark was being selfish again. At least he was being obvious about it now; maybe if Kane called him that, he wouldn't deny it this time. The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one, after all. He gave his brother a withering look before pointing at the door. Mark nodded, words unspoken between them.
The brothers stepped up to the latch and grabbed it together. Inch by inch, the metal bolt holding the door locked gave way. They pulled, stepping back slowly. Anything could be behind this door, and they both knew they had to be careful. If simply lying could get Mark dropped to the bottom of a pit, they could only imagine what could be waiting for them in Wrath.
Eventually, the bolt gave way and the door slowly started to open. When there was a minuscule gap, a gush of steam billowed out, the pressure pushing the door open further.
The brothers stepped back, hiding their faces from the rush of boiling hot air. Imps and demons from across the Vault flew to the door, attempting with everything they had to close it. Gamira reappeared, as annoyed as ever, and shouted orders. She glared at the two of them, catching Mark's eyes. For a moment, she seemed surprised to see him, but that surprise gave way to anger.
"Both of you get inside so we can close the damn door!" she shouted, earning the attention of Kane as well. "If that damn Hell-Guard's hot air melts any of my gems, I will personally murder you both!"
Kane smirked and grabbed Mark by the shoulder, shoving him into the cloud of steam. He followed after him, arm still covering his face. A few seconds later, the door slammed shut behind them and the bolt was returned to its locked position.
Mark waved his hand. The steam around them was still, save for the puffs that slowly weaved in the air around his hand. The room they were in was dark, but not dark enough that they couldn't see. However, what they could see was a wall of white; the cloud was too thick to see through.
"We went from the halls of glittering gold to a room of water vapors," Kane said. Mark could barely see him through the cloud, but his voice came from beside him. He seemed annoyed. "Next thing you know we're gonna be walking through a bog."
Mark let himself smile.
"I can't say which level is which, but I wouldn't put it past the guardians to have a bog. Which floor is next?"
"Oh, you're gonna love this," Kane chuckled. Mark raised an eyebrow, watching the form of his brother turn to him. "The last of the deadly sins, and arguably my favorite."
Mark didn't need him to finish that sentence. They were headed for Wrath. Kane had written in his journal that he'd kept while at the asylum that he was driven by wrath, and that it was his favorite of the deadly sins. He seemed to be enamored with the thought of vengeance and rage, and Mark honestly couldn't blame him. If anything, it was his own fault. He'd been nothing but an antagonist for his little brother, even before the fire. Kane, back when he'd been known as Glenn, was the baby and his mother and father had both treated him as such. Mark hadn't been filled with joy the day he'd been brought home, but jealousy. He'd only been two, but his resentment towards his brother only grew as he did.
"Great."
A single step forward was all it took for the floor to drop out from beneath them, sending both men tumbling down into a billowing cloud of white.
~X~
The highway was incredibly busy as three motorcycles bobbed and weaved their way through traffic. James was in the lead, his helmet covering his face. Willa was right behind him, followed closely by Brooke. Eventually, they took the exit into Pasadena. The cold concrete gave way to suburbia, and the life around them started to mellow out.
James took a back road and led them further into the residential area. He pulled up outside an apartment building that looked a bit more run-down than the buildings surrounding it. Someone had attempted to cover the holes in the stucco with graffiti. A mural of screaming music notes was plastered to the side.
Brooke pulled up next to James and removed her helmet.
"Does Charlie live here alone?" she asked.
James looked up at a window on the second floor, his face dropping in concern, and maybe a little bit of fear. Willa stepped up beside him, her face as stoic as ever.
"He did live with Ava before she was deployed. Now he has a roommate."
"Is River home?" James asked, eyes still glued to the window. Brooke followed his gaze. There was a subtle purple glow coming from inside, barely visible through the curtains.
"I doubt it," Willa replied, reaching into her pocket. She produced a key. "They were the one who messaged me about Charlie, though I don't think they're here."
"Why?" Brooke asked, watching as Willa unlocked the door. The Horsewoman gestured for the two of them to follow her.
"Because they were in line at the movies. Just hurry up."
Brooke rolled her eyes and followed them inside. Willa led the way up to Charlie's apartment, stopping only when she reached the right door. Her key fit snugly inside the hole.
The door swung open, unleashing a flurry of hot air. The trio gagged as the smell attacked their lungs. Brooke knew the scent well; brimstone. It was the most common fragrance throughout the Underworld, and only two layers were without this smell; Limbo and Tartarus. Even the Garden of Peace, one of the hidden layers, had the underlying scent of sulfur.
Across the living room, behind a torn and tattered sofa, was a young boy, no older than eighteen. He had short shaggy hair and round features. His gray hoodie and jeans were torn, revealing his tan skin underneath. He was heaving, his hand gripping the back of the sofa. He was looking down, his eyes clamped shut.
"Charlie..." James stepped into the room, inching closer to the distressed boy.
Charlie's eyes shot open. He stared at James, his breathing getting heavier and heavier as he forced himself to his feet.
"You... BASTARD!"
As he leaped up, a pair of thick, white wings burst from Charlie's back. His skin turned from that lovely shade of brown to a ghostly shade of white. His eyes were a horrible shade of red.
In happened in an instant, the banshee charged across the short distance between it and James, reaching for his throat. Its claws extended, growing closer and closer to the soft flesh housing James' jugular. James raised his hands to defend himself, Willa reached across to pull him back.
Brooke felt the fires of her home burning within her. The ring on her finger warped and fell as she summoned her fire to her hands. James was her charge and she would do everything to protect him.
As the banshee forced James to the wall, Brooke reached for its wings and pinched them tight. The banshee shrieked as she wrenched it back, throwing him across the room. It fell in a crumpled mess on the other side of the sofa, hidden.
James reached for his throat, his eyes wide. Brooke gave him a sympathetic look, extinguishing her flames and slowly walking around the sofa. The banshee was gone, a weeping boy left in its place. Charlie slowly crawled to his knees. He looked beaten, and much more pale than before. He looked took a deep breath, falling onto his backside.
"Charlie?"
"Don't look at me!"
Brooke turned back to James as he watched them. He looked pensive as if he was trying to figure out what to say. Looking back at Charlie, his lower lip trembled. He took a step forward, which made Charlie jump.
The young boy pushed himself away, trembling and weeping. His eyes were still that crimson red, but he appeared to be nothing more than a scared, confused boy. He didn't stop retreating until he was across the room, tucked into the corner. The sunlight filtering in from outside gave his tanned skin a golden hue, one Brooke knew would disappear once the banshee dug its claws back into him. They had a very small window to talk the banshee away before that happened.
"Charlie, sweetie, we're here to help you," she said, inching towards him. His eyes shot around until his gaze fell on her. She crouched. "My name is Brooke."
Charlie blinked, but his eyes seemed to focus on something else, something behind her.
"W-why are y-you here?" he wheezed.
"I feel responsible for you," James said. He was still across the room.
A growl came from deep within Charlie and he turned away.
"You were responsible for them," he whispered. He pulled his knees close to his chest.
"Oof," Willa said. Brooke turned to her, a scowl on her face. She was leaning against the door frame, watching this altercation almost silently.
James threw her an angry glare.
"Charlie, I had no control over what happened to-"
"LIAR!"
The word erupted from Charlie's mouth, just as the banshee once again took flight. It shoved Brooke aside, sending the wayward princess into the wall.
Her spine buckled with the force, sending sparks into her eyes. Her vision blurred, but she could still see enough to watch the banshee lunge for James, only for the Horseman of War to sidestep it. The banshee turned to Brooke, shrieking. The sound was enough to shatter every window in the building. That terrible screech told Brooke they were too late; Charlie's transformation was complete and he was gone.
As she stood, the banshee once again came for her. The burns from her flames were red and raw on its wings. She had a split second to move before she was attacked. She could feel the heat of her homeland as she pushed against the wall, sliding underneath the banshee as it charged her. She slid gracefully between its legs, rolling onto her side. Within a second she was back to her feet.
That second wasn't enough to avoid the banshee's claws as they dug into her throat. It wrenched her back and flung her through the window into the street.
As if in slow motion, Brooke fell. The last thing she saw before they disappeared from view was James' facial marks returning. He was enraged, and that rage was aimed at the boy who'd thrown her.
Brooke slammed into the ground, leaving a small crater. She could feel her magic burning within as she groaned. Cement, as it turned out, was very painful to land on.
A minute later, three bodies flew out of the hole in the wall; the white flailing body of the banshee, Willa in her full demonic form... and Jeritza.
~X~
Where the brothers landed was not what Mark expected. Wrath to him meant torture and pain, not a giant … actually, he wasn't sure where they were. It was hot, wherever it was. They'd landed in water that reached their ankles. It was warm and murky.
Mark was the first to his feet. He stood and surveyed their surroundings; high, curved walls with an open ceiling. The 'room' wasn't very big and was held to the roof of a cavern with huge chains. The hole they'd fallen through was above them, filled with the steam rising from the water below them. Bubbles popped as he moved to the wall, feeling for anything he could grab a hold of. This little room was not going to yield anything useful, so their best chance was to escape.
"My, my, my."
Mark looked up, following the sound of the voice. At first, he couldn't see anything. Kane was crawling to his feet beside him, but there didn't seem to be anyone else around.
"What is it with demons and their mind games?" Kane asked, rubbing his head. He was wet from head to toe.
"I don't know but it's really starting to get on my nerves," Mark replied.
He looked up again, only to come face to face with two glowing yellow eyes, hovering just above the lip of the room. They were round, almost inhuman. The pupils were two long slits. The eyes appeared feline, which was made only more apparent when the smile emerged beneath them; sharp jagged teeth, in a mouth too large for a human face.
Eventually, the head and body attached to the face appeared, and Mark raised an eyebrow. The demon was lying on its side, leaning on their hand.
"Hello there," they said, smile as wide as ever. Mark's eyes ran down the demon's body. They were human-shaped until the lower legs and feet, which resembled the hind legs of a large cat. The creature was covered in deep red and orange-colored fur. A long-tail sat between their thighs, gently flicking back and forth. The creature had short fluffy hair, the same color as its fur. A pair of pointed ears stuck out from it, twitching. Wrath's guardian demon... was a cat?
"Where's my catnip?" Kane said, grinning. The cat looked down at him and tilted their head.
"Are you sure you want to nip the cat?"
Kane's brow furrowed and Mark rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers at the cat. Eventually, turned to look at him.
"Are you the Deadly Sin of Wrath?" Mark asked. His temper was bubbling. The cat leaned towards them.
"That all depends on who you are, little morsel."
"I am Markus, servant of Lady Iremia. I demand you let us pass without incident."
It took a minute but eventually, Kane began to laugh. He'd never heard this authoritative tone from his brother before, so hearing it now was hilarious.
The cat just seemed to grin wider.
"Are you now? Well, isn't that interesting?"
Mark's eyes rolled as he turned back towards his brother.
"Give me a boost, let's get out of here."
Kane didn't seem to be looking at him, instead, his eyes stared behind. Mark turned back, only to find the wide eyes of the cat demon. They were in the bowl with them, standing very close to Mark. Their head tilted, eerie grin still in place.
"Run, run, run, little Dark Lords."
The Cat stepped forward, their persistence pushing the two men towards the back of the bowl. One by one, the men fell back into the ankle-high water. The cat stood above them, hands on hips. The water around them felt warmer than before, and the purring from the demon seemed to confirm it. The water began to boil.
"Fire burns inside you, burning brighter and hotter the longer you run."
Sweat ran down Mark's brow as the area grew hotter and hotter. He could feel the metal below him heating up. The only thing protecting them from severe burns was the power of the Underworld. He knew it was keeping them safe so they could continue. He never would have made the climb up from the mirror room without it.
Kane forced himself to his feet and hauled Mark up with him.
"King of cryptic bullshit you are," he said, shoving past the deadly sin and heading towards the walls. He turned back to his brother and lowered himself down to one knee. "Let's get this over with."
Mark smiled and followed after his brother, climbing out of the room. He hauled Kane up with him and together they looked down at the Cat, only to find it disappearing. The last thing left behind, much like the Deadly Sin of Lust, was that unnerving smile.
"I swear, the sins get weirder and weirder," Kane said, helping Mark down. Eventually, he joined his brother and the two got to have a better look around.
The thing they'd just climbed out of appeared to be a giant cast-iron pot. Beneath it was a fire, burning brighter and brighter as he stared. He turned away, back towards the path before them. It was long and winding. At the end, far off in the distance, was what looked like a cathedral door. It was massive and dark. Beside the door was a cave entrance with blood-red vines hanging from the cracks above.
The path itself was jagged and twisted, wide enough for several people to walk side by side. On either side were thousands of pools of various sizes filled with molten lava.
A tap on his shoulder drew Mark's attention to his brother, who was pointing at the ceiling.
Strapped above them were shades of the dead, screaming and writhing in rage. They were bleeding and bruised, all while being slapped and insulted by winged cat-demons. They varied in colors and sizes but all shared one trait; they were incredibly vicious. They were merciless in their torture, relishing in the pain and bloodshed.
Kane laughed as he began walking.
"My kind of party," he said, gesturing for Mark to follow. The self-proclaimed Lord of Darkness rolled his eyes and followed after him. This was going to be a long walk.
~X~
Brooke staggered back to her feet, her ribs and back in great amounts of pain. The three residents of Hell's lower circles were up on the roof above her, their screeches and growls piercing the air. She prayed to whichever one of her relatives was listening that no mortals spotted them. Banshees were notoriously sloppy in the execution of their calling and she knew that her mother's enforcers would be here any moment to clean them up if they were spotted.
Pain rocketed through her as she climbed the fire escape. The fact Jeritza had surfaced within James told her two things.
One, James had lost control of the demon within him, or he'd let him surface as he knew in his mortal form he wasn't strong enough to take on a banshee, even with Willa's help. He was outmatched, and his demon half was the only thing that could help him. He'd either lost control or let him take over.
Two, James needed her help. Jeritza had a dangerous reputation that all denizens of Hell knew; the Horseman of War had yet to lose a fight. Even the Demon Lords he served didn't dare move against him. James was mortal, or at least half-mortal, so the fact he'd held him back this long was a testament to his strength, but she knew that the Horseman would fight to stay in control. He was like a caged beast and wouldn't stop until he was free.
When she reached the final step, she had to duck as Wasteland was hurtled from the roof. Her claws dug into the wall, slowing her descent. She crawled back up beside Brooke and looked at her.
Willa's wavy black hair had been replaced with waves of ivory, in stark contrast to the black-as-coal eyes that stared at her. She was much bigger than her human form, with toned muscles protruding out from under battle-worn armor. She looked more like a warrior than an omen of death. The claws that kept her from falling to the ground were the size of butcher knives and dipped in red. The red trailed up her arms, fading into her pale skin. Two feathery wings were strapped down, fighting to escape. Wasteland was ghoulishly beautiful.
"I'd run, princess," she said, climbing back up. She returned to the fight.
Jeritza and the banshee were holding each other back with everything they had. The demon seemed to hold the upper hand as he lifted the creature into the air and slammed him down onto some exposed pipes. They cracked and bent, sending waves of steam billowing into the air. Through the mist, Brooke could just make out Jeritza's face.
He still looked like James, but his skin was paler, and the marks around his eyes were much more defined. The circles were darker now, and appeared to be burned into his skin. The trail of red seemed to actually be blood. He turned his gaze to her and her heart dropped. In the place of James' lovely brown eyes were glowing red eyes, surrounded by black. Under the deep black tresses, Brooke could see two sets of curled horns. They grew from his head like a demonic crown. From under his long, red coat was his tail. It was thick and spiked, appearing to be made of the craggy rocks that were so prevalent in Violence.
The banshee was back to its feet and struck out at the Horseman of War, only for its fist to be caught. Jeritza turned back to the fight, a sick smirk on his face; he was enjoying this.
Wasteland stood beside her brother-in-arms as he forced the banshee to the ground, stepping on its back. Jeritza's boot pressed down on the join of its wings, causing the creature to writhe in agony. He looked at Wasteland and, as she reached across to pull him back, raised his hand. With his motion, she raised into the air, twisting and convulsing. He curled his fingers into a fist, causing her to curl into a ball. With one fluid motion, he arched his arm out, flinging her from the roof. She flew several buildings away, barreling through a wall. She landed in a crumpled heap among a pile of debris.
The demon looked down at the banshee, and in one stroke, broke its neck. The beaten creature slumped to the ground in a heap before dissolving into ash. Jeritza stretched his shoulders, allowing his colossal wings to swing forth. He was preparing to take flight, perhaps to start a war somewhere.
Brooke forced herself onto the roof. This had to stop. Jeritza couldn't be allowed to rampage through the city; James would be the one to pay the price if he did.
The sound of her groans must have drawn his attention. The demon turned to her, smirk still in place. The wind flicked his hair around him like flames, just as flames enveloped his hand and a great sword appeared. It was the size of a great sword, with a blade that split in two at the tip. The hilt, carved to look as demonic as its master, glowed with the fires of Hell itself. Catalyst was a brutal weapon.
With Jeritza's weapon in play, Brooke had very little choice. She wasn't strong enough in her mortal form to fight him, but she still had a way to defend herself.
Removing her ring, Brooke summoned the powers that flowed through her veins. At first, all she felt was warmth, then slowly, the fires of her home realm began to burn brighter. She could feel the fire surrounding her, engulfing her. Soon, her armor appeared. A gift from her mentor, it fit snugly around her body, protecting her most vulnerable parts from harm, not that any part of her was vulnerable; she was, after all, ruler of Ignis Infernalis and heir apparent to the throne of Hell itself. She was immortal and powerful.
Her hair flew around her in tendrils, whipped around by the hot air. She was a beacon of light in the dark. The world around her was much dimmer in comparison. The Sword of Inferno appeared in her hand, its warmth wrapping around her hand. It gleamed in the sunlight, casting dazzling light all around. She twirled it, her head tilted as she gazed at her enemy. No lowly demon could defeat a Goddess.
Jeritza stood across the roof from her, sword still in its starting position. A strange look appeared on his face; he seemed confused. Then, as if on cue, the markings faded from his face. His horns receded into his hair. His tail, which had been violently thrashing behind him, dissipated like a reflection in the ripples of a pond.
Where the Horseman of War had been, stood James, his eye twitching slightly. His skin was slightly singed around the edges, and he looked like he was in pain, but it was definitely him.
Brooke let the fires around her dissipate. For a moment, the only thing heard was the wind as it whipped through their clothes. James was the one to break the silence.
"W-who are you?"
Brooke took a step forward, reaching out for him. Had he forgotten her because of Jeritza? Was that a power the demon had, to wipe memories?
"James..."
"She sent you, didn't she?"
Brooke stopped, her heartbreaking as James stepped away from her. By the look in his eyes, she knew he hadn't forgotten her. He'd been shown the truth of who she was and he was processing things.
"Who?"
"You lied to me..."
James stepped close to the edge of the roof, his stare never leaving her. She could see the fury building. She'd kept the truth from him, and now that it was out in the open...
"James, I..."
"You lied to me!"
The rage behind James' eyes erupted. He was in front of her in seconds, his face red and his pupils tiny.
"I-"
"I asked you from the beginning to never lie to me, to never keep anything important from me. Yet you did!" He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I told you everything. I told you about Maya, about Lucy, about my past." He stared at her, as if willing her to say anything to defend herself.
The truth was, he was right. She hadn't been completely upfront about who she was. She'd posed as a pyromancer so he wasn't afraid to tap into his abilities around her. He'd been so open about his life, about everything he'd been through, but she'd kept herself in the dark. He didn't even know she was part of the Calaway family.
James must have taken her silence as defiance because he shoved her back, turning and heading to the other side of the building.
Before he leaped to the ground, he turned back to her, his expression like stone.
"I want you out of my apartment by the end of the day."
With a single step, he was gone.
~X~
The air seemed to become warmer as the two men walked. No one attempted to stop them, but the exit seemed to get further from them. Mark's footsteps echoed as they crossed the valley. The force vibrated up his legs. Normally, a walk would help him wind down, but now it was just irritating him further. The constant thumping caused his head to hurt, which only made it worse. He could barely feel Kane's presence behind him.
Kane, to his credit, was eerily quiet. He stared daggers into the back of Mark's head. He wanted to know what had happened to Mark in the pit, but he seemed to want to hide that information from him. How did Mark expect him to play nice if he was hiding important information from him?
"Mark, seriously, what happened back there?"
Mark turned sharply, his gaze hard.
"Why do you have to know?"
Kane furrowed his brow.
"What the fuck is your problem? You asked me to help you do this, but I can't do that if you don't tell me what's happening."
Mark growled and stepped to his younger brother. Kane wasn't much bigger than him, so it wouldn't be too difficult to knock him down a peg. They weren't close, not by a long shot, so he didn't have the right to pry into anyone's business.
Kane just stared, a smile slowly creeping onto his face.
"Go on, brother. You've tried to kill me twice, why not make it a trifecta of mistakes."
Mark growled and let his body do the talking; he stepped back and swung, landing a right hook into Kane's ribs. This only made the younger man laugh and headbutt him. He stumbled back, which gave Kane the exact opportunity he needed.
Kane stepped forward, swinging his arm back. He hit Mark in the nose, knocking him to the ground.
"You know why it's so easy to beat you?" he asked, grabbing his brother by the collar. He laughed. "You spent your entire life relying on your powers to get you through fights. I spent my entire life hell-bent on killing you. I spent day after day, night after night dreaming of the day I would rip you apart."
Mark tried to pull away, only to be jerked forward again.
"I spent my entire life training to kill you," Kane jeered, shoving his brother onto his back. He stood up, waiting for Mark to get back to his feet.
He didn't have to wait long. Mark was back up moments later, rage filling his veins. His brother had talked smack for the last time.
Mark tackled Kane to the ground. They rolled along the path, back towards the way they'd come. When they came to a stop, Mark was on top. He unleashed a flurry of fists into his brother's face. One after the other until Kane's knees clasped his ribs and wrenched him backward.
The two of them exchanged punches and kicks until they were more bruise than flesh. The blood flowed like wine as the two pounded into each other. Eventually, the two made it to the other side of the chasm.
Mark, with his broken fingers, reached for the cathedral door. Just as his gnarled fingers curled around the ornate handle, he was thrown backward. Kane dropped to a knee as the older man dropped. Mark sat up, pain rocketing through his ribs.
"I promise you, deadman," Kane said, sucking in a breath. He was clearly in just as much pain as Mark. "I will not lose this fight."
Before Mark could spit out a response, Kane reached into his pocket. He had the dagger in his hand.
"I can do this without you."
Mark struggled to his feet with the intention to fight back, but his spine disagreed. He dropped to his knees as Kane stepped up to him.
"I have to get to her," he breathed. Kane just laughed.
"I'll tell her you tried."
The last thing Mark knew, the dagger they'd been awarded for completing their task in Gluttony was shoved between his ribs and twisted. The last thing he saw was Kane's surprised expression before he blacked out.