Page 64 of The Misfit Mage and His Devilish Desires

I zipped across the room, shattering the wall of orbs behind the coven leader, then turned my attention onto the witches themselves. They moved so slowly, each one lost in Desmond’ssmokey serpent that battled Kell’s lavender mist. The sizzle of black lightning crackled against the concrete flooring. When glass burst in swift succession, the startle lowered their guards, and these feeble witches attempted to flee.

The instinct painted their faces, fear dripped from their pores, and confusion reverberated in their shaky bodies. Gods, I savored their dread, their anxiety, their immobility. It fueled me and pushed down the terror of someone daring to contain me in another orb.

“Never again,” I growled.

And with that, I leapt so fast I barely found the time to take joy in the carnage. One by one, I tore apart the coven witches, bashing in skulls, ripping out hearts, slicing off arms to beat others with.

Crunch. Snap. Splosh. Splatter. Clink.

Bones breaking. Blood gushing. Glass crashing. A symphony of death.

The brutality was soothing. The agony as they shrieked brought comfort, even if their deaths were swift. A quick death was boring, certainly, but that boredom ate away at the anxiety in my chest. As the witches fell, they dropped their orbs, breaking the fragile items. Soon, I found myself cackling in unison with the wailing cries of anguish.

“Slaughter. Mayhem. Horror.” I grabbed a young witch by the face and squeezed until her head popped with a beautiful crackle and bloody eruption. “Oh my!”

Wally shouted my name. Mora pestered about something. Kell won her battle with the smoke. But I blissfully ignored them, zipping from one location to another.

This coven actually believed they could contain a devil, that they could control an army of Diabolics, but they couldn’t even keep up with the movements of one demon. I mean, a demon as grand and skilled as myself certainly made for a real challenge,but they had no spells at the ready. No wards to hinder my assault. No incantations to mend their injuries. No chance of survival. Kell’s sorcery had unraveled the simple set of traps they’d lined and really left them completely vulnerable.

“Fools!” I shouted with gusto as I slapped a witch so hard his head spun around, and he toppled over onto one of his frightened friends who crawled away on the ground. Or tried until the dead weight pinned them and my foot crushed their lungs.

“You won’t stop me from—”

I darted behind Desmond and jammed my clawed hand into his back, gripping his spine tight until his arrogant shouting twisted into a whimpering, begging screech.

“You talk too much, prick.” I laughed as I ripped out his spine.

Wally and Mora screamed “no” at my actions. Not at the anguish on Desmond’s face. Not at his bloody bone mixed with meaty bits of muscle that clung to the spine. Not at the blissful delight that came from the Diabolic orb he held shattering when it crashed onto the ground. No, they hollered for another loss.

The flame key copy Kell had created slipped between the fingers of the dying Desmond.

I went to snatch it up, but it fell away into the ether and vanished entirely. “Fuck.”

19

Wally

When Bez killed the witches, I tried not to overreact. When Bez destroyed the Diabolic orbs—which could’ve proved pivotal in researching for counter plans to imminent threats—I tried not to overreact. When Bez literally let the one thing standing between Lilith and our dimension slip between his fingers, I didn’t overreact.

I had a history of overreacting, overanalyzing, overthinking, and just over-fucking-whelmingly freaking out about things that didn’t go accordingly!

But this last month, I told myself to take deep breaths every time I wanted to scream. Considering I no longer required breathing and finally stopped following the routines of built-in motor functions, I took a lot of breaths this month.

I rolled over, eyeing Bez as he slept comfortably in our bed, in our home, and in our little oasis because nothing bad hadcome…yet. I took a breath to exhale the million words of anxiety I wanted to spew.

Chances were Lilith died in her battle with Beelzebub. Or she would die. Or the flame key copy fizzled out to nothingness. Or the copy never would’ve worked because Kell didn’t make it properly. Or a million other factors. None of the possibilities assuaged the morning dread of waking up to a new day. Every time my eyes opened, the clarity of reality sank back in, and anxiety clawed at my thoughts.

How could Bez snooze without a care in the world? He slept there with Weather on top of him, two heads nuzzling close for affection while Stormy secured Bez’s arm as a pillow. Since returning to our world, he’d remained in his own skin, though moments like this, he’d keep his wings tucked inside his body, retracting the essence like a malleable putty to reshape when he awoke and stretched to shake away the night’s sleep.

“You realize that’s the only reason he’s letting you sleep on the bed,” I said to Weather. Sunny cocked his head, inquisitive and cheerful first thing in the morning. “He can’t feel your two-hundred-pound butt and all the clingy head nuzzles.”

It was weird. A positive sign, I guess, for Bez finally feeling comfortable in his own skin, but the disconnect from sensations sort of made everything he said and did this last month hollow. A hollow laughter. Hollow snark. Hollow passion. Just hollow.

“Or maybe I’m being dramatic.”

Sunny yipped in agreement.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

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