Page 72 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

Beelzebub

I abandoned Walter, tied in a dirty tub, broken and bloody, with no way out. His freedom and survival were as precarious as mine. My wings flapped furiously, wishing to close the distance between myself and Ian, who flew ahead on his broom. The incantations coiled around my wrists and ankles glowed, burning my flesh when I flew too close. The incantations around my chest and back squeezed tight when too much distance fell between us. A constant reminder of my place, obeying Ian’s instruction and maintaining proper speed and distance. At this length, the link between us pulled at my neck like a stifling collar. He knew this and relished in it.

How I broke his command earlier, I couldn’t decipher. Perhaps it had to do with how I felt for Walter. It was difficult fathoming these feelings. The emotions Walter’s mere presence evoked. Joy, excitement, pleasure, serene comfort—all things seemingly impossible for me to obtain, but here I had them all when basking in Walter. I wanted to protect him. I was prepared to die for him. I would’ve if I were worth anything. Yet, all I could muster was a weak lie. I said a piece of me remained inside Walter because a part did. A part always would, longing for him. Something I’d surely ruin once I destroyed the Collective at Ian’s beck and call. The only grace being some mage might land a killing blow and grant me the peace I should’ve accepted centuries ago.

Ironic. I’d craved the chance to obliterate every mage in sight, and now, given the opportunity to kill those who reigned in this region, I quaked. My neck itched. Nothing gave me satisfaction. The incantations compelled me, breaking me down the same way Beelzebub had for lifetimes. Ian had shown such mastery over the Diabolic binding. I feared his success more than a failure which resulted in my death. He could use my essence to extend his life for centuries, forcing me with commands until nothing remained. His wrath would break me to create his vision of a future. I’d soon lose myself in this mortal realm as I had in Hell.

It’d taken so long to find myself after being broken down to nothingness for someone else’s future, dream, hopes. I couldn’t do that again. I couldn’t start over and find the missing pieces buried in ash and rubble.

“Keep up, dog.” Ian zipped through the sky, swirling through clouds faster than I could follow.

Not faster. Faster than he willed me to move. This dullness in my ability was the most insulting part. I flew as fast as he’d allotted, wishing for death. Mine, his, and everyone else’s. Everyone except Walter.

Pointless. He probably bled out. I hit him too hard. I tried not to. I held back everything I could, but my body fought against me with every step.

We reached a warehouse along Puget Sound, landing in a lot with a great view. Waves crashed under the direction of the moon’s guidance while merfolk weaved captivating luminescence beneath the water, glamoured by the moon’s light and a touch of magic.

If I had a spine, the slightest conviction in my will, I’d snatch Ian and drag him deep into the hidden depths of the ocean. We’d drown together in silence. Maybe we’d even last long enough to reach one of the Atlantean outposts. Their cities were truly a sight unlike any other.

“Don’t just stand there gawking.” Ian stepped into the warehouse, dragging me with him.

Inside, there was nothing glamorous about the place aside from several sigils drawn on the wall in blood and cloaked by weak glamouring. Clearly, this warehouse served as a hidden meeting place for Ian and his rebels plotting a coup.

“Up on the rafters. Stay silent and hidden unless I call upon you.” Ian pointed to the high ceiling.

I wanted to question him but remained speechless as per his instruction. Glaring, I lingered in place as long as possible before my wings flapped of their own accord toward the metal beams. I tucked myself behind them to the best of my ability, awaiting further commands.

After several long minutes with only the subtle creaking of this building to keep my mind from stirring in silent concern for Walter, heavy footsteps shuffled from the opposite direction. The large garage door rattled when opening. Hooves thudded against the concrete, each step easily capable of breaking through the earth itself. A minotaur Mythic with horns larger than mine stomped ahead of a group of others. His body was nearly as big and muscular as my true form, perhaps a bit more on the slender side despite his wide frame.

Of the Mythics who conspired to strike down Magus Remington and declare war against the Collective, this group was not what I expected. Banshees, gorgons, goblins, a phantom latched to the shadow of a sylph, and many other gentler Mythics. Most of these Mythics belonged to classifications easily accepted in the Mythic Council and approved by the Collective—not that the approval of mages meant much more than they didn’t stalk the movements and patterns of friendly species. No. I expected ghouls like the one who attacked Walter. Vampires, Succubi, Weres, and other Mythics which fed upon mortals regularly, draining and killing them to enhance their magical abilities. Creatures among the Mythic community despised almost as much as Diabolics for simply existing as the apex predators they were.

This group consisted mostly of docile Mythics. Perhaps I’d truly missed some grand evolution among the Mythics from my time detained in that fucking orb. Or maybe I never understood these species. It wasn’t that I interacted with them often. In passing, perhaps, or observed from a careful distance.

“What is it you’ve got planned now, misfit mage?” The minotaur’s voice bellowed throughout the warehouse.

“This mage has a name.” Ian grinned arrogantly, believing too much in his own power and mine. “You’d do well to remember it.”

The minotaur snarled, exhaling smoke from his nostrils, fanning the flames which fueled his organs.

“It’s time to make our next move. A final gambit which will give you all everything you deserve.”

“No,” the minotaur said. “Your impetuous actions have already complicated things in this region.”

“It’s because of me the Collective finally fears you. That fear will turn into respect and will catapult across the world.” Ian might hate the hold on magic mages among the Collective had, but his ambition matched that of any trueborn practitioner.

“We were supposed to raid the estate for our possessions. Things rightfully belonging to us which Magus Remington refused to return.” The minotaur closed the distance between himself and Ian, towering above the small mortal. “What you did made everything worse.”

Of course, Abe refused to return their relics. He painted himself a hero bestowing stolen artifacts when it suited him, but he could’ve left the vault and repository barren if he truly wished to build bridges with the Mythics. No. Everything that feeble old bastard had done was intentional and meant to strengthen his political hold. Still a real shame I never got to kill him. Maybe we’ll cross paths in oblivion, and I could spend my eternal slumber strangling him in the afterlife.

“I gave you a rallying cry. A voice to be heard. Those who went to the estate understood that. Shame only the weakest, most cowardly Mythics survived to reap the benefits.”

“Benefits?” The minotaur puffed his chest. “The Collective stalks every corner of our sanctioned communities. Mages have put bans and blockades on travel out of the region and to and from our pocket dimensions. We are hunted for an attack and theft yet have nothing to show for it.”

I rolled my eyes. Boo-fucking-hoo. At least they had their precious items.

“Even the vaults with our possessions are still hidden away by you.”

Okay. Maybe they didn’t.

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