nightmare walking was joined by another set of footsteps, maybe two. The strides were short and shuffling. Were they more demons, or human slaves? There was no way to distinguish one creature from another. Everything around him felt powerfully infernal, to the point that he thought he might vomit again.
The air turned hotter and drier; the ground crunched beneath his feet. A door opened, a door closed. The air grew cooler.
There was the hissing of steam and the sensation of dropping. He smelled brass and oil, smoke and vapor.
Stubby fingers jabbed him in the spine, urging him onward. And then it was hot again, and he was going down a long set of stairs.
Hinges whined. A hand shoved him in the back, and his knees hit stone.
The blindfold was whipped from James’s face.
He knelt in the center of a stone ring that was as warm beneath his knees as the hearth of a fireplace. The only light came from grates set into the floor—a dim red glow that danced like flame. A smoky haze gathered around the floor, making his eyes sting. Stands loomed over him, like the seats of a judge and jury. Perhaps a dozen of the seats were filled, though there was enough space for a hundred creatures to watch him. Every one of the watchers wore robes that concealed their faces.
He shifted on his knees and inched toward the edge of the ring. Demonic runes were carved into the edge. It stung his knees with heat when he approached, and he shrunk back. The onlookers didn’t react to his weak escape attempt.
The door opened again. A slender woman with a severe face that looked like it had been carved out of wood stepped through. She wore a leather uniform and had a butcher knife strapped to each hip.
He tried to ask what was going on, but all he could do was mumble.
She drew one butcher knife. He shirked back, and his foot touched one of the brands. Instant pain shocked through his leg.
The guard pushed him to the floor and began to work.
She sliced his shirt down the neck, baring his chest and stomach. He had a scar on the upper right side of his chest that was shaped somewhat like a sunburst; another mess of scars marked his solar plexus. The creatures hidden inside the robes muttered among themselves when the scar was bared, speaking so quickly and so softly in the infernal tongue that James could make nothing out.
After two more slices to open his sleeves, James’s shirt was gone. He gave a grunt of protest as she dragged his pants down over his hips and tossed them aside. His shoes and socks followed. Then his watch.
It wasn’t until he was naked on the floor that the guard cut the gag free and stepped back.
He groaned and rolled onto his knees.
“James Faulkner.” The voice boomed through the stone around him, making his bones shake. “You have been brought before me, Judge Abraxas, and standing members of the Council to be indicted for crimes against the Treaty of Dis. How do you plead?”
He stared at the shadowy figure that had spoken. Abraxas sat on the tallest chair directly in front of him, which was carved of elaborate black stone. He was draped in the same crimson robes as everyone else in the room.
James tried to speak, but his throat was ragged from breathing the harsh air for too long. All that came out was a croak.
Silence responded. The shifting of bodies in chairs.
“How do you plead?” asked the voice again.
His heart started beating faster. He struggled to gather saliva on his tongue and swallow it down. There was little moisture in his body—too little to blink, much less salivate.
James finally managed to croak, “I don’t understand. Why have I been brought here?”
The guard with the butcher knives stepped forward again. This time, she didn’t approach James—she approached the stand.
A red-hooded creature handed her a piece of paper. The guard read off of it. “Blood will remain pure. Infernal and ethereal creatures can interbreed with mortals, but angels cannot breed with demons. Angels can
The air turned hotter and drier; the ground crunched beneath his feet. A door opened, a door closed. The air grew cooler.
There was the hissing of steam and the sensation of dropping. He smelled brass and oil, smoke and vapor.
Stubby fingers jabbed him in the spine, urging him onward. And then it was hot again, and he was going down a long set of stairs.
Hinges whined. A hand shoved him in the back, and his knees hit stone.
The blindfold was whipped from James’s face.
He knelt in the center of a stone ring that was as warm beneath his knees as the hearth of a fireplace. The only light came from grates set into the floor—a dim red glow that danced like flame. A smoky haze gathered around the floor, making his eyes sting. Stands loomed over him, like the seats of a judge and jury. Perhaps a dozen of the seats were filled, though there was enough space for a hundred creatures to watch him. Every one of the watchers wore robes that concealed their faces.
He shifted on his knees and inched toward the edge of the ring. Demonic runes were carved into the edge. It stung his knees with heat when he approached, and he shrunk back. The onlookers didn’t react to his weak escape attempt.
The door opened again. A slender woman with a severe face that looked like it had been carved out of wood stepped through. She wore a leather uniform and had a butcher knife strapped to each hip.
He tried to ask what was going on, but all he could do was mumble.
She drew one butcher knife. He shirked back, and his foot touched one of the brands. Instant pain shocked through his leg.
The guard pushed him to the floor and began to work.
She sliced his shirt down the neck, baring his chest and stomach. He had a scar on the upper right side of his chest that was shaped somewhat like a sunburst; another mess of scars marked his solar plexus. The creatures hidden inside the robes muttered among themselves when the scar was bared, speaking so quickly and so softly in the infernal tongue that James could make nothing out.
After two more slices to open his sleeves, James’s shirt was gone. He gave a grunt of protest as she dragged his pants down over his hips and tossed them aside. His shoes and socks followed. Then his watch.
It wasn’t until he was naked on the floor that the guard cut the gag free and stepped back.
He groaned and rolled onto his knees.
“James Faulkner.” The voice boomed through the stone around him, making his bones shake. “You have been brought before me, Judge Abraxas, and standing members of the Council to be indicted for crimes against the Treaty of Dis. How do you plead?”
He stared at the shadowy figure that had spoken. Abraxas sat on the tallest chair directly in front of him, which was carved of elaborate black stone. He was draped in the same crimson robes as everyone else in the room.
James tried to speak, but his throat was ragged from breathing the harsh air for too long. All that came out was a croak.
Silence responded. The shifting of bodies in chairs.
“How do you plead?” asked the voice again.
His heart started beating faster. He struggled to gather saliva on his tongue and swallow it down. There was little moisture in his body—too little to blink, much less salivate.
James finally managed to croak, “I don’t understand. Why have I been brought here?”
The guard with the butcher knives stepped forward again. This time, she didn’t approach James—she approached the stand.
A red-hooded creature handed her a piece of paper. The guard read off of it. “Blood will remain pure. Infernal and ethereal creatures can interbreed with mortals, but angels cannot breed with demons. Angels can
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