Page 85 of An Unexpected Ascension
He tugs me, our pace urgent, until suddenly my heels are digging into the ground. He whips his head back at me, but the muscles in my body seize.
Liquid ice sears my veins, forcing a shivering cold to settle deep inside of me. Fear. The cold is fear, and the air is so thick it’s nearly suffocating. Each breath takes sincere effort, only to fill my lungs with dust. Minuscule particles float in the air like ash that settles after days of desecration. Those particles coat my hair, my skin, my throat; decay flavoring my tongue.
But the raining ashes of death is nothing compared to the sight before me. Twisted and sharp and insidious.
Bones like roots sinking into the deserted terrain anchor an ancient skeleton. It’s form kneeling, hands clasped in the center of a sternum as if death stormed by in the middle of prayer. Its skull faces up toward the blood moon, jaw pried open beyond its physical limits, and protrudingfrom its mouth is a trunk of a tree made entirely of bone diverging with sharp, hissing branches.
It’s horrid being in the presence of this monstrous thing. Utter death lingers in every bit of debris clinging to the air itself. A shudder courses through me, fear gripping my heart like a crushing fist.
“Briar,” it calls my name.
“Briar.”
“BRIAR!”
A stinging slap registers, sapphire eyes wide and searching meet mine. My hand instinctively cups my cheek to quell the burn.
“Did you just hit me?”
“Yeah, we have to move. You’re not safe out here and my command only does so much. Monsters alone, easy to tame. Monsters in a pack and we’re fucked.”
With my hand still entwined in his, he tugs me along through the fog.
“We don’t have time for you to relive your past.”
My feet trip over themselves trying to keep up. Our pace, a mix between jogging and walking.
“I saw something, something that wasn’t from my past. A vision, like Lucifer’s.”
He looks back at me for the briefest second before keeping his eyes focused on our path ahead. He doesn’t ask, the sudden need for silence an unvoiced request. A battered house appears through the dense mist and the burgundy dusk of night.
Slowing our approach, we creep toward it. The rotting wooden stairs groan with each step, the planks soft and pliable, barely able to hold our weight. He tucks my hand behind his back as he guides us up onto the porch.
What once might have been white paint now yellows, patches of color chipped. It's a small little ranch house, as basic as they come. Two broken windows on either side of the splintered door. The demon wraps his hand around the knob as if there wasn’t already a hole punched through the center, a whine echoing through the house, the door swinging open.
He sniffs, as if some primal beast lies within him, looking for any sign of another presence. The living room sits empty, other than a severely worn couch with flower patterns and burn holes adorning the piece. A heavy layer of dust covers the floor like snow, the soles of our shoes imprinted with each step through the room.
There’s an entryway into a kitchen, Hermes tucks himself against the wall, peering around the open frame. Again, empty. Passing the kitchen, leaving the dust untouched, we sneak down the short hallway, to the only other door.
Creeeeekkkk.
The rusted hinges scream as Hermes pushes through, stepping in quickly, but leaving me in the hall.
“Fuck!” His shout startles me.
I peer in, catching a glimpse of a rotted corpse swallowed by a mattress. Three crows caw at the sight of the demon but continue pecking away at whatever is left of the body’s flesh, tearing at sinew and tendons. There’s a low groan with each rip, but it's almost as if the man had no energy left to bother.
That familiar churn in my stomach returns for the second time today. I can’t watch as Hermes flicks his wrist, the bed going up in flames. A weak scream sounds, caws screech, but within seconds it all ends, the entire scene out of sight.
The door widens, allowing me entry and in place of the bed now lies a scorch mark, evidence of what the demon had done.
“Where did they go?”
“I assume where all things go that are no longer needed.”
“That’s not really an answer,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “All of Hell’s lands are a dumping ground. He’s found his new home in the wild.”
