Page 121 of Grave Revelations

The silence was deafening.

Samael plucked the lance from his finger as if it were nothing more than a sliver; perhaps, at his size, it was. It hadn’t even drawn blood.

Rebecca’s mind swam as that realization struck her. Blood. It held magic. It held their very essence. And Azazel’s was spilling out, his life force draining from him as she watched helplessly.

“Come here, little Naphil. I need you for this next part.” Samael’s words drew her attention as his massive hand swiped for her.

She danced back, wreathing herself in flame. Shooting air beneath her feet, she rose, firing balls of flame at Samael, and he lifted up onto his knees, batting them aside as he swiped for her again.

“You can still save him,” he taunted, and her air magic faltered as she fell several feet.

Rebecca’s gaze shifted to Azazel for only a moment. He was still, seemingly lifeless, but his blood still flowed, a sign he was not gone yet.

Shooting a new blast of magic beneath her feet, she lifted herself higher, coming to eye level with Samael. “How?” He swiped for her again, but she moved out of his reach. “Tell me what you want to heal him.”

“I need your blood.”

Of course he did. It all came down to blood, just as she’d suspected.

“How do I know you’ll heal him if I give you my blood?”

“You have my word, little Naphil.”

“What good is the word of Satan?” She darted another glance at Azazel. Was the flow of blood slowing? Was she wasting time debating with Samael when he could be slipping further from her reach even now?

As if he’d read her mind, he stretched a hand out in a placating gesture. “You’re running out of time. Trust me or watch him die.”

Her gaze fell on Azazel once more, the tug in her chest to go to him, to touch him, growing stronger. Straightening her spine as she sent another puff of air to the ground, she landed on Samael’s open palm.

“Heal him, and you can have my blood.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He closed his fist around her, squeezing.

Rebecca screamed as the air left her lungs.

Chapter 78

Azazel

A ten-thousand-pound weight had settled on Azazel’s chest, but slowly, it was lifting—some catastrophic wound knitting itself together. He strained to open his eyes, raising lids made of concrete.

The world blinked into focus as memories rushed back.

He had fought Samael and lost, distracted by Alexander when he raced into the sky with the necromancer flailing in his grasp. He should have ignored them, should have kept his focus on his brother. But rage like he’d never known tore through him at the sight of the being responsible for so much of his other half’s suffering, and he’d released Samael, grabbing Alexander by his horns and tearing him in two.

When he’d flung the two halves of the creature in either direction, green essence coating his arms, a sharp pain pierced his chest, and he’d looked down to find two massive talons speared through his middle.

Samael had slammed him down into the earth, digging poisoned talons in deeper, searching for the soul that lay buried beneath. The pain had been excruciating. As the world went dark, Rebecca’s screams filled his mind.

In the pitch black, he knew where he was: Primoria.

The Fallen had inflicted enough damage to vanquish him.

Azazel sat up, running a hand down his chest. It was whole, unmarred. He’d been reset in Primoria, the foul magic funneling through the realm restoring him.

There was one difference now, though. The endless well of energy powering Primoria was gone. Now that Earth and Primoria were united, the lesser demons that had fueled this place didn’t channel enough magic to regenerate. All that energy now lived on the mortal plane.

Demons—manifestations of a soul twisted by their vices—would cease to exist if they were killed.

---