Demon and the Fox - 6. No Giving Up

He remembered Liv being more irritable than usual that day—or night, he never knew in Purgatory. She had tied him up to the wall of her private torture room, in heavy chains, his back facing her. Then Liv had cut his back deeply with a sharp blade, over and over again, until he stopped screaming and almost passed out.

And she’d leaned closer and said something to him, in a low voice, her long curly brown hair stroking the raw skin of his shoulder blade.

“You’re not getting out of here, Nicholas. Not on my watch. I am getting my revenge, and if it has to be sooner than later then so be it.”

Nick wasn’t sure what that meant. All he knew was that she’d stabbed him after that, pushing her blade in his heart from behind. He tried to scream but no sound came out. Only a strangled gasp, and then he felt the thick, metallic taste of blood in his mouth. And after that nothing; his ears buzzed and everything went quiet, his vision faded and everything went black.

And now two things woke him up. The first thing was some kind of mechanical rattling noise. And the second thing was the heat. He wasn’t used to it. It was always so cold in Purgatory. But this was way too hot. Nick woke up all sweaty, lying in a pool of his own blood. And the thing he lay on was in motion, he realized as his eyes cracked open.

He was on some kind of massive conveyor system—that was the mechanical rattling noise—in a long dark corridor. The material under his skin felt like rubber. As he leaned back on his elbows, trying to sit up, he felt dizzy and almost passed out again. But he fought to stay awake. And what he saw scared him more than anything else before.

There were bodies on either side of him. Nick was in a long line of unmoving bodies set at intervals on the conveyor. And as he looked more carefully toward the end of the corridor, to try and find out where this machine was taking them, he saw that the bodies were falling one after the other. He couldn’t see where they were falling exactly, but he discerned thick gray smoke rising up in the air, and he was painfully aware of the increasingly suffocating heat.

The awful smell of burnt skin caught in his nostrils and made him gasp for air. Nick wasn’t an idiot. He knew what was going on. They might as well have put up a bright sign in the corridor that said ‘Purgatory Fires’ with an arrow pointing the way.

“H-Hey,” Nick called, desperately trying to find his voice. “Hey! Stop this thing!” He looked behind, in the darkness, but he couldn’t find anyone there except for all those bodies. “I’m not dead!” He cried out. “I didn’t give up. Please!”

But there was no one listening. He looked on both sides to see if he could maybe throw himself off this thing. But the giant conveyor took the whole space between the two corridor walls. There had to be an escape, though. There had to be.

He looked toward the smoke again, and winced. Nick couldn’t even see the fire yet—though he was getting dangerously closer—but it radiated so much heat that he felt like his skin would start melting soon. Time to move. He gathered what little strength he had left and crawled his way over bodies. He had no choice.

It was rough seeing them. They were mutilated, some worst than others. Their clothes were rags. So much blood on their skin, so much pain and suffering behind their closed eyelids. Nick probably didn’t look any better. But he was still alive, whatever that meant in this place. He had promised Shay he wouldn’t give up.

Nick wasn’t sure he was making much progress, though. This conveyor thing was going faster than he’d thought. He crawled his way over endless bodies but he seemed to always stay at the same position between the dark corridor walls, at the same distance to the fire. And he was running out of breath. He kept coughing and his throat felt raw. His body felt diminished and broken, and his muscles wouldn’t obey. He couldn’t go faster. In fact, Nick realized he was slowing down. He was getting closer to the fire again.

“No, wait! I’m still alive you bastards!” He yelled.

But it was pointless. The smoke stung his eyes, and he noticed he was crying.

Was it over? Was it really over? You don’t come back from the Purgatory Fires, he had heard people say.

All of a sudden a loud grinding noise was heard as the pulleys came to a stop and the conveyor was immobilized. Nick blinked, and sat up. There were only three bodies in front of him, and then he would’ve been next to be thrown in the fire. He was trembling uncontrollably but he still found the will to move. Nick scrambled his way over bodies once more, trying really hard not to look at their faces. Some of them had their eyes open. But their eyes were dead. Nick’s heart was beating really fast, and he kept coughing even as he got further away from the smoke.

Nick froze as he heard steps. The quiet, assertive steps of guards. He looked up and saw two hooded silhouettes, walking briskly on either side of the conveyor, distastefully finding space where to step in between bodies. Nick wasn’t sure if he should be afraid or grateful. He found himself unable to move as they reached him. He couldn’t see their faces, just the hint of red eyes gleaming under their hoods. Without a word, they each grabbed one of Nick’s arms and carried him further along. At last the corridor became wider and they were able to jump off that god forsaken conveyor. The guards threw Nick to the floor.

The cold, solid stone felt comforting under his skin as he lay there, breathing heavily. Why had they saved him? Surely it wasn’t because he had called them bastards.

Someone new arrived, heavy steps echoing in the corridor. Nick found the strength to look up. The man’s hood was slightly pulled back, and Nick could see dark ageless skin, black eyes and long white hair tied neatly on the side. Lance. The one who always tortured Shay. As one of the guards pulled at a lever on the wall to start up the conveyor again, the other spoke to Lance in a hushed voice. It was impossible for Nick to hear what they were saying. The mechanical rattle of the conveyor made him wince. His jaw clenched; he was afraid he would throw up. Though there was nothing in his stomach.

Lance was not an ordinary guard here. He clearly had some kind of authority, from what Nick had gathered.

The guard was nodding at Lance right now, and stepping back in the shadows. Lance reached down and caught Nick’s thin arm in a cold, iron grip.

“You’re coming with me.” Lance helped him up and urged him forward. His voice was sickly sweet, his accent unrecognizable. “It’s your lucky day.”

Nick saw everything in a haze as Lance pressed him along. They passed the beginning of the conveyor, where guards were still loading people. Nick didn’t want to look. With Lance leading the way, they went from one dim narrow corridor to the next. This place was like a maze. They passed sets of closed doors. Torture rooms, maybe. Then Lance made an abrupt turn and Nick was forced to scramble his way up two sets of stairs. Lance was clearly impatient, but said nothing and waited for Nick.

What was he all impatient for, anyway? Was he so eager to go back to torturing people? Charming, Nick thought.

Candle holders were installed at intervals on either side of the stone stairs. The candles were lit and their smell was pungent like incense. They cast a feeble yellow glow upon the stairs, making Lance’s skin look even tanner, accentuating the sharp angles of his face, and the severe arch of his nose. The pure white hair made it seem like he was really old, but there were no wrinkles on his skin.

They reached the upper level and everything was eerily quiet. Right away Lance took them to the left—into another one of those dark, narrow corridors. Seriously, Nick would have given anything to see just a bit of sunlight. Just a glimpse of blue, or green. Nick was barefoot so his steps were quiet, but Lance’s heavy booted steps echoed in the silence as they passed something like ten doors set in the stone wall. All the doors were painted black.

“Where are we going?” Nick asked in a cracked voice. His throat burned like he’d swallowed sandpaper.

Lance didn’t answer. Nick didn’t think he would.

They stopped in front of a different door. This one had something written on it. The letters had been finely traced with some sort of glittery silver paint. Nick didn’t know what it meant. Caelitus mihi vires. It felt good to read something, even though he didn’t get it. Just to see written words. You had a lot of free time in Purgatory, in between torture sessions. Nick missed reading and writing so badly. He had asked guards for paper and ink on several occasions but to no avail.

“Let’s just say…” Lance’s voice cut through the silence so abruptly that it startled Nick. “You have a very, very good friend.”

Lance knocked at the door. Three little knocks. Then he smiled at Nick. But it was a mad smile. No happiness. Like he only felt negative emotions but forced them into a smile anyway. It made Nick feel fragile, deep inside. He couldn’t hold Lance’s dark gaze.

And then Lance just left. He hurriedly walked away, his black cape floating behind him. He didn’t look back. Nick watched him turn the corner and heard his swift steps as he vanished down the stairs.

You have a very, very good friend.

What was that supposed to mean? Was Lance talking about the person behind that door?

Was he supposed to knock again? Nick ran a worn hand through tangled raven strands, pushing them away from his face. He looked down at himself, feeling diminished and humiliated. He could see his ribs sticking out. He wore shorts, at least. Those used to be jeans, but they’d been ripped so much that not much fabric was left.

His hand was raised halfway to the door, to knock again timidly, but it opened before he could.

A Dark Angel stood before him—no, a Higher Demon.

“Raven?”

Nick had noticed the wings first. They were sort of crammed, nearly taking the whole space of the room with their big dark blue feathers. Good thing the room was completely empty. No torture table here. No chains. The floor was as black as an abyss, but a red circle gleamed in the center, wide enough for three people to stand in it.

“Is that a portal?” Nick asked, craning his neck to get a good look over Raven’s shoulder.

“Yes. Leading back to Hell.” Raven’s tone was calm, calculated. His dark blue eyes as cold as ice. “You can come with me.” He paused, then: “If you want.”

“If I—?” Nick threw his hands behind his neck, hiding part of his face in his arms. The words remained unspoken as he felt a burst in his chest like his heart wanted to come out. He almost didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to let himself hope. “Are you kidding?” said Nick, letting his hands drop limply to his sides.

Raven stared. “I never kid.”

“Of course I want to go with you! They were sending me to the fire. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Yes,” Raven said, “I do.” The blank look on his face gave way to a merely annoyed expression. He was handsome; chiseled jaw, pale skin, intense cobalt eyes under long, neatly shaped black eyebrows.

Nick shifted his weight from one leg to the other anxiously. His muscles hurt. Every bone, every fiber of his being seemed to ache. Nick shook it off, and asked, “So you’ve been here before?”

“Yes. Not,” Raven said, “a prisoner. I used to be a guard.”

Raven had a youthful appearance, yet from one look in his eyes you could tell that he’d been around a long while. His hair was a flash of bluish black, the same color as his wings. The powerful, gleaming light of the portal behind Raven danced at the edges of his feathers, making them tint red. He looked like the cover page for some epic dark fantasy novel, Nick decided.

“A guard,” said Nick. “Wow.”

“I did not like it much.”

Nick’s voice softened. “At least some people have decency.”

Raven turned around in a rustling of feathers. He wore calf-high boots and his long legs were clad in tight black jeans. At his belt were about a dozen of swords, knives and daggers. Nick was kind of worried Raven would accidentally hurt himself with those, or cut his own wings or something. The blades all seemed to be properly sheathed, but still. Raven wasn’t wearing a shirt. Well, Nick could see how the wings would make that difficult.

“Let’s get going,” Raven said simply.

“No, no, no. Wait. We’ve got to get Shay first. He’s my friend, he’s—”

“I know who Shay is, Nicholas.” Raven stepped inside the red circle, and turned his head to look at Nick over his wing. “He’s the one I came here to get.”

“Then why—?”

“Shay made a deal with Lance,” Raven explained not so patiently. “Lance saved you from the Fires, and brought you here so you could leave with me. In exchange, Shay stays here with Lance. Do you understand now? Can we get going? I haven’t got all night.”

Nick’s stomach dropped. “No. No, no, no…”

Raven sighed. “Nicholas, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I can’t just leave him here!” Nick’s hand flew upward, his fingers tangling in his messy locks so tightly that he almost ripped his hair out. “You don’t understand. I can’t let him sacrifice himself for me. What kind of person would that make me?”

“The kind,” Raven said, “that doesn’t want to get tortured by Olivia anymore. Come on, we’re leaving. This is what Shay wants. Don’t worry too much about him. He can take care of himself.”

“You don’t know what Lance is doing to him.” Nick shook his head. “You don’t know.”

Something somber crossed Raven’s dark blue eyes, but he seemed to shake it off really quickly.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he said again.

“Well what about you? Aren’t you a Higher Demon? Aren’t you crazy powerful or whatever? Let’s just go get Shay and take him with us.” He realized his voice was really shaky. Man, he was in bad shape. “Please, Raven. Please.”

“That’s not how it works.”

Nick hated Raven right now. He wanted to hurt him.

“How does it work?”

“How it works, is that, if I lose my patience, I leave without you right now. It’s your decision.”

Nick looked at those steely eyes. I never kid.

Right.

He shut his mouth and went to join Raven in the red circle. He had no choice. But he still felt like shit for leaving Shay behind.

Raven took one blade out of its sheath. A pure white blade with an inlaid emerald in the hilt. Raven held the dagger up, then he brought the tip to the ground in such a swift, powerful movement that Nick jumped and almost fell back. But he gathered himself up.

The air shifted all around them. The red circle seemed to be moving. Nick thought he could feel electricity crackling in the air between them. Most of his thoughts went to Shay, but even then, Nick couldn’t help but feel excited and feverish. He was leaving Purgatory. He was getting out. He could get his strength back, figure this out. He could have a chance. Hope was a powerful feeling. The most powerful feeling.

And he would get Shay out of there, Nick thought as he saw the small black room shift and disappear. The air was twirling, the floor under Raven’s boots and Nick’s bare feet was stained red like blood, and Nick caught scents like smoke and winter in the darkness.

Let’s just say you have a very, very good friend.

Lance hadn’t meant Raven. He’d meant Shay.

Nick would definitely find a way to get him out of there.