Page 92 of Eclipse Born

The others followed my gaze to where dust and small debris were scattered across the ancient stone tiles. As the duplicates moved, I saw what I was looking for—eleven of them left no footprints, disturbed no dust. But one...

“There,” I said, pointing to an Asmodeus on the far side of the church. “That one's real.”

The duplicate I'd identified smiled wider than the others, a subtle difference that confirmed my suspicion. “Very good,” he said, his voice carrying a weight the others lacked. With a casual gesture, the other eleven duplicates vanished like smoke.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” the real Asmodeus said, straightening his already perfect suit. “You've earned the right to the next round.”

But as he spoke, I noticed movement behind him—a shadow detaching itself from the deeper darkness at the back of the church. A figure approaching silently, a dagger gleaming in hand.

Too late, I opened my mouth to warn Hawk, who stood closest to the approaching threat. The dagger flashed, and suddenly Asmodeus was behind Hawk, the blade pressed against his spine with delicate precision.

“Don't move,” Asmodeus said softly, all pretense of playfulness gone from his voice. “Or I sever his spinal cord right here.”

We froze. The air in the church seemed to solidify, time stretching into an agonizing standstill. I could see the slight tremble in Hawk's hands, the only outward sign of his fear. His eyes met mine, conveying a clear message: Don't give him what he wants.

“Let him go,” Sean said, his voice low and dangerous. His gun was raised, aimed at Asmodeus's head, but we all knew he wouldn't risk the shot with Hawk's life hanging in the balance.

“Give me the Heart,” Asmodeus countered, “and I let him go.” The proposition was delivered casually, as if discussing a minor business transaction rather than a life.

Hawk gritted his teeth, his face pale but determined. “Don't you dare,” he managed, the words strained but clear. “My life isn't worth what's coming if that seal breaks.”

I glanced at Cassiel, who stood closest to where we had hidden the ornate container that housed the Heart. The wooden box was roughly the size of a small chest, its surface carved with ancient sigils that pulsed with faint light. We'd placed it behind the altar, warded with every protection we could manage, but those wards meant nothing to a being of Asmodeus's power.

“We can find another way,” I said, stalling for time. “The Heart isn't here. We moved it.”

Asmodeus's smile widened fractionally. “Oh? Then perhaps I should kill your friend now and continue my search elsewhere.”

Hawk didn't flinch, his face set in lines of grim determination. “Don't listen to him,” he said, eyes fixed on Sterling. “This is bigger than any of us.”

Cassiel stepped forward then, his celestial presence burning brighter. The air around him rippled with barely contained power, dust motes swirling in complex patterns around his advancing form.

“Then let's make a deal.” His voice carried a resonance that made the church's ancient stones vibrate in sympathy. It was not a human voice now, but something older, something that remembered the world before language.

Asmodeus raised a single perfect eyebrow, intrigued. He kept the dagger at Hawk's back, but his attention shifted to the angel. “And what could you possibly offer me that I don't already have within my grasp?”

“A duel,” Cassiel replied, his voice cold and precise. “If I win, we keep the box. If I lose, you take it. Do you accept?”

The simple proposition hung in the air, weighty with implications. Demons were bound by certain rules, certain traditions. A formal challenge, properly structured, had power beyond mere words.

Asmodeus's expression shifted from amusement to calculation. “A duel,” he repeated, as if testing the word. “Between an exile and a prince of Hell. Intriguing.”

“Those are my terms,” Cassiel pressed, taking another step forward. “Release Hawk, face me directly, and let the victor claim the prize.”

Sean's hand closed on my arm, a silent warning. Whatever Cassiel was planning, it was dangerous. Angels were powerful, yes—but Asmodeus was ancient, a high-ranking demon whose powers had been honed through millennia of corruption and conquest.

But Cassiel seemed confident, or at least determined. His eyes never left Asmodeus, his stance balanced and ready, like a swordsman preparing for combat.

Asmodeus considered for a long moment, his golden eyes unblinking. Then, in a gesture both theatrical and deliberate, he lowered the dagger from Hawk's back. “I accept your challenge, Watcher.”

The duel was brutal in its intensity and elegant in its execution. Cassiel and Asmodeus moved with inhuman speed, their forms blurring as they clashed in the center of the church. Light and shadow twisted around them—Cassiel's celestial radiance against Asmodeus's corrupted power.

They fought without weapons at first, trading blows that would have shattered normal flesh. Each impact sent shockwaves through the air, cracking stone and splintering wood wherever they connected. The very atmosphere seemed to warp around them, reality straining under the pressure of two ancient powers in direct conflict.

Cassiel landed several powerful strikes, his movements precise and devastating. For a moment, it seemed he might prevail through sheer determination and righteous fury. Hislight blazed brighter with each successful attack, illuminating the church in stark brilliance.

But Asmodeus was playing a longer game. The demon's smile never faltered, even as Cassiel drove him backward. He moved like water, absorbing impacts and redirecting energy with disturbing efficiency. And with each exchange, he seemed to learn Cassiel's patterns, anticipating his attacks with increasing accuracy.

Then, with a shift too fast for human eyes to track, Asmodeus changed tactics. A dagger materialized in his hand—not the one he'd held to Hawk's back, but something older, crueler. The blade seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, an impossibility of negative space.

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