Page 4 of Ruthless Demon

Fenriz clears his throat. “If I may, I believe Moloch would be the better candidate for personnel management.” He turns to me. “I volunteer to accompany you to Hell.”

I consider his offer for a moment. Fenriz has been my third for eons. With Naamah gone, logic would dictate that he become my second. Bureaucracy aside, however, Fenriz is my second-best strategist. Only Amon can beat him on a chess board. Negotiating with Cephalus won’t be all chess and mind games. If I thought it would be, I would be bringing Amon. But there’s a good chance that I’ll be caught in a violent altercation, likely by surprise. In a situation like that, Fenriz is the best choice by far.

I nod. “Accepted. Amon, I want you on negotiations. Moloch can oversee personnel and operations. You know what needs to be done. Go.”

The room clears quickly. My people leave with respectful nods in my direction. Nothing so formal as goodbye, or as superficial as good luck. When they’re gone, Fenriz shoots me a look.

“What’s the strategy?” he queries.

I lay it out for him, then listen to his suggestions. It doesn’t take long to come up with redundant contingency plans. At their core, they all boil down to this: if anything happens to Sophia, we’ll kill Cephalus and everyone close to him. It’s suicidal, but that’s why it’s a last resort.

“Well, then,” Fenriz says with a slight, hooded smile. “Let’s play some chess.”

“Agreed. After you.”

I hold out a hand as if gesturing him across a threshold. He nods and takes a step forward. The next second, the only evidence left of Fenriz in the conference room is a smoldering, blackened circle on my marble hearth.

Squaring my shoulders, I follow him into Hell.

Chapter3

Lucifer

It’s beenfifty years since I last stood here, on this plane, and yet it’s all overwhelmingly familiar.

The smell of it, the sounds of it, the feel of it.

Nothing has changed. Half a century, and it’s the same as it ever was.

My lip curls. My father would accuse me of being spoiled by the fast evolution and short, colorful lives of humanity, and maybe he would be right. I’ve always been more restless than my peers, less content with the overwhelming opulence of my father’s palace and the gilded stagnation residing within.

What’s the point of immortality if you spend it all chasing a singular goal?

Topiary lines the long walk to the palace doors, sculptures of demons and personified desires, half of which are alight with a type of eternal flame that burns cold, leaving the plant life intact. Demons hurry in and out of the palace, rushing to do whatever it is they spend their days doing. The closer we get, the more sets of eyes flit furtively in my direction and away again. Word spreads quickly, rippling out from us like a stone thrown in a stagnant pond.

The Prince has returned.

The staircase that leads up to the main entrance is broad, each step as long as a city block and as wide as a traffic lane. Gladiators, some dripping with blood, others crusty with it, recline on the grass near the stairs, drinking from huge flasks and talking quietly among themselves. Their eyes are all fixed on me. Naked and half-dressed succubae lounge and pose around the grounds, most sending silent siren calls in my direction. A bold succubus, dressed in transparent gold, her curves emphasized with thin black chains, approaches me.

“It’s been too long, Lucifer,” she says in a husky voice. “Whatever you want—whatever youneed—all you need to do is think it. I’m more than happy to provide…everything.”

“I’m here to see my father, Eisheth.” I move to walk past her, but she wraps herself around me in a flash, pressing her body to mine.

“I heard what you did to Naamah,” she whispers in my ear. A shudder of fear or pleasure runs through her and her voice trails into a little moan. “I never knew you were so strong.”

“Begone.” My voice holds no room for argument.

She melts away from me with a sex-drenched pout. “As you wish.” She sighs heavily, then turns and melts back into the shadows of the palace, her hips swaying as she goes.

Fenriz gazes thoughtfully after her. “You ever miss this?” he asks. “Not the war, just this part.”

Sounds and scents of debauchery thicken the air as we approach the doors. There’s an orgy to the left and a free-for-all fistfight to the right as we step into the palace. A familiar haze of intoxicating smoke drifts above us, condensing into a thick cloud near the ceiling. Beyond the orgy, the ever-present feast is in full swing in the main hall. The loud smacking sounds of gluttony challenge the cacophony of wild sex for dominance. Past the fight, fountains of liquor and blood draw a rowdy crowd. Each vice spills into the others, drunkenness becoming gluttony, lust, and rage. Lust becoming rage, gluttony, and thirst. Around and around the members of the court stumble in a dizzy hedonistic carousel.

“My father’s court grates on my nerves,” I tell my new second with a curled lip. “Stagnating chaos. Mindless pleasure-seeking.”

Something wet and meaty slaps to the ground by my foot, splattering my shoe with whatever liquid it holds. I snarl at it, stepping around it, and nearly crush a man’s hand underfoot. He’s unconscious, having over-indulged himself into oblivion.

A team of neurotic stewards scurry over. One cleans up the mess while four others drag the man away, out of sight. The last bows deeply, nearly scuffing his nose on my splattered shoe.

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