Page 47 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

Ian walked toward me.

“The Demon’s Demise.” I slipped the glamoured ring off my finger. I needed time to think, to plan.

“Ridiculous name.” He waved the dagger. “But powerful enough to help rid the world of that thing leeching itself to you.”

“It won’t work on a devil.” I turned to run with no idea where I’d go, how I’d get off this rooftop, but I needed to get away from Ian until Bez found me. The tether snagged; he was approaching. I had to buy time.

“Not gonna use it on the devil.” Ian appeared in front of me amidst shimmering sigils, blade in his hand moving closer. “God, I love magic. Instant transportation. Not as fast or filled with as much range as the Fae, but still enough to catch you.”

I coughed, splattering blood onto Ian’s somber face. Blood. Where’d blood come from?

My knees quaked, and Ian gripped my arm, steadying me. Everything started to ache, starting with a sharp sensation in my chest that spread through my body with each heavy breath. Looking down, I saw the blade buried deep into my chest. I wanted to scream. Cry. Run. I couldn’t do any of that, though, only breathe, which became more and more exhausting with each wispy inhale. Every breath became a chore. I wheezed, struggling to pull in the faintest bit of air. Everything hurt, and standing became too much.

I wobbled backward, but Ian held me in a kind embrace, delicately lowering me to the ground.

My insides wriggled, and crimson weaved out of my chest, lunging for Ian’s arm.

The Diabolic essence. It chased him momentarily, ignoring the blade embedded in my chest. Once he’d stepped away, it dove back into my chest, and I ground my teeth, feeling the muscles literally ripping and stitching and closing around the blade.

“They say the Demon’s Demise is saturated in ancient magic. Some artifact which Diabolic energy can’t repel or register.” Ian approached, retrieving the dagger. I sighed, embracing the relief from the pain with the blade pulled out for but a second as warm, sticky liquid weighed heavy on my chest, pinning me to the ground and leaving me gasping for air my lungs couldn’t hold. “Seems to have worked. I’m sorry, Wally. If there were another way, I’d have taken it. In order to keep my place, achieve what I need, Chancellor… No. You should die with some peace.”

Ian brushed my bangs out of my eyes as they slipped under my glasses. It did little to help my hazy vision.

Bez roared, his voice an echoing shutter that reverberated through every cell of my body. Everything grew fuzzy. The flap of his wings drew my gaze, but he was a blob among the bright daylight.

“I’m glad you’re here, Beelzebub,” Ian said, faintly or not. I struggled to determine where his voice came from as everything felt like a far cry in a deep well. “To be the first mage, first recorded person to end a devil. You’ve given me infamy, and I’ll use it wisely.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bez raged. His very being cast a shadow on the bright world.

Ian shouted.

I wondered if Bez killed him. He’d come so close last time, yet I stopped him. Now, here I was, regretting it with my dying breaths.

Bez knelt over me. His face blocked out the sun, expression dark and sour. Pained, maybe. Exhausted, perhaps. The link affected him, too. “Oh, Worthless Walter.”

I shuddered as the world grew dark. Desperately, I tried to speak. Beg. Anything.

“S-s-save…” I stopped, recalling the last time I’d willed a command unintentionally. If I didn’t, though, I’d die. We could both die. Would Bez let that happen?

“What the hell am I going to do with you?” Bez pushed an arm under my back, lifting me closer to him, panting.

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Beelzebub

Each breath ached. Every single movement of my body. I nearly buckled and collapsed atop Walter. I’d hurled the mage holding the faint scent of death off the roof with a powerful blast of telekinesis. The same death I caught beneath his cologne outside the estate. The same death which wafted inside of Magus Remington’s study. This pathetic nobody killed my rival. My enemy. My betrayer. Now, he’d nearly gone and killed me, too.

“I’m not done with you, devil.” This malcontent mage hovered in the air through the force of elemental magic while drawing his discarded broom to his side.

“Fucking mages,” I grumbled.

He chanted incantations while his eyes grew black like a witch channeling too much power.

How I wanted to rip out his entrails and stuff them down his mouthy throat, but I lacked the strength for a battle. Not with Walter this severely injured. Not with my own body ready to crumble any second. Sigils glowed around the mage, conjuring complex spells even the most talented practitioners struggled to muster independently. Only one choice.

I grabbed Walter and blinked. Our bodies vanished into black mist, traveling across the thin webs of Diabolic essence Mora had laced throughout the city of Seattle ages ago, the same ones she used to find me at Mercury’s Marketplace before disappearing back through them. Perhaps she believed I’d forgotten how the signature of her pathways worked. Maybe she still trusted me enough not to change them. Point was, zipping through the ether of her essence was the only way to get far away and fast—flying at a speed nothing could match, each step through the shadows like walking on clouds. Diabolics couldn’t teleport. Not really, but inhabiting a terrain long enough allowed us to layer it with our essence. Mine had faded and fallen away after nearly fifty years of confinement. Thank the gods Mora stuck around.

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