Page 18 of The Fallen
THEIR KEEPER
AJ MULLICAN
CHAPTER 1
NYX
Three hundred millennia down, eternity to go.
When you’re a demon, life is an endless cycle of death and torture. If the damned souls survive long enough to redeem themselves in the eyes of the Almighty, they disappear from Hell only to be replaced by other, worse sinners. One tends to bleed into the other until they all look and sound the same. I can’t be bothered to remember the names of the damned, nor their faces, but one thing sticks in my mind: They all get to leave eventually, whether it’s through redemption or their souls simply give out and cease to exist.
It’s a modest life. Get up, go to work, torture heathens, then go home until it’s time to do it all over again. As a low-level demon, not even middle management, there’s not much more to hope for.
Until, that is, the Dark Lord summons me one ordinary day, and my life changes forever.
A summons from the Dark One isn’t necessarily unusual, except for one odd request: His orders demand that I appear in human form.
I choose my normal human form, though it’s been an age or three since I’ve worn it. Red hair, green eyes, feminine curves. Average height and weight for a female human, donned in the closest approximation I can make to the current human fashion. Leather garb hugs my body, chosen because it’s the most protective clothing modern humans have without approximating military dress.
The other demons hoot and howl as I pass by on the way to the throne room, but I ignore them. Whatever reason the Dark Lord has for seeing me, it doesn’t concern them.
When I arrive, I’m surprised to find the throne room nearly empty. The Dark Lord is there, of course, but the usual supplicants and sycophants are nowhere to be seen. He’s joined only by a pair of hellhounds, which are chained to the throne. They chew on the bones of some departed soul, gnawing and gnashing to get at the marrow inside. The black-coated beasts are sleek and slender, with glowing white eyes and ancient sigils inscribed on their throats. Names, it seems, written in the infernal script. Long, pointed ears perk up at my entrance, and they pause in their meal to sniff at me. Their thin tails wag lazily as I approach.
“Nyx,” the Dark Lord says, drawing out the x with a hiss as his forked tongue darts past his curled lips. His blood-red skin glistens in the flickering light from the hellfires lighting the room, and the crimson glow of his eyes highlights an almost unreadable expression on his cragged face. One might say he looks … mirthful. If the Dark Lord could be associated with mirth.
I kneel, as is customary in the Dark Lord’s presence. “My Liege.”
“Your prompt response is noted,” he says, gesturing for me to rise. “I have a task for you, Nyx.”
I place a fist over my heart. “As you command, so shall it be.”
The Dark Lord chuckles. “Indeed.” He points to the two hellhounds at his feet. “My hounds, Mordac and Tyrac, are in need of exercise. They have been cooped up in Hell for a century, and it’s time for them to surface for a while. I would task you with guarding them on Earth and ensuring their safety.”
Ensuring the safety of two vicious hellhounds? I’d think they would be capable of fending for themselves.
“How long will this foray be, My Lord?”
“One human week.”
A whole week above ground? I can’t believe my luck! Few demons of my rank get even an hour of Earth time, let alone an entire week.
“And where would you have me take them?”
He grins. “Las Vegas.”
Ah, yes. The humans call it Sin City. An appropriate place to let the hounds have their fun, though it’s not known for its abundance of parks or other spacious areas for me to “exercise” the beasts. I start making a mental list of what I might need to bring, and it occurs to me that humans in this age rely heavily on currency.
“My Lord, do the humans still deal in paper transactions? If so, I have no funds to speak of.”
A small, thin plastic rectangle appears in his clawed hand. “Their currency is largely electronic now. This shall cover all your needs.”
I take it from him with as much trust as I can muster. I fail to see how one tiny sliver of plastic can fund an entire week in Las Vegas. We will need lodging, food, transportation … though if the Dark Lord says this is sufficient, I have no choice but to accept it without question.
“When do we leave for the surface, My Lord?”
“Tonight,” he says as he scratches Mordac between his ears. “Arrangements have been made for a room for you on what they call ‘The Strip,’ in a new hotel called The Sinner’s Delight. The hounds will not be questioned, and you will have free reign of the hotel’s casino.”
“Anything else?”
