The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Silas ran, knees aching with each pounding step. He ran while his mind shouted with indignant fury. He ran from the screams of the damned.

He needed someplace to catch his breath, someplace to hide, someplace to… there. An old bookcase. It wouldn’t do much, but it was better than being out in the open. His knees protested as he crouched against the rough wood, throat tearing with each breath, heart thundering in his ears. Gloom cast heavy shadows around him. It muffled noise and hid everything beyond a few feet. Still, he covered his mouth to quiet his breathing. Demons walked in the darkness, and they weren’t his.

He needed to rest. A minute to clear his head and get his bearings.

A startled shriek made him jump. It was way too close. With a grunt, he was running again. Was the voice human, or non? Screams tended to sound the same. Stale air billowed the robe around him and whipped at his legs as he dashed through the shadows. Shapes moved in the darkness and nipped at his heels, but he didn’t stop. He needed a way out.

A glowing red exit sign caught his eye, but it was on the other side of the building. Silas crouched as he ran, doing all he could to avoid being seen, and risked looking back over his shoulder.

Another robed figure was hiding behind the bookcase he’d just left. His companion’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, and his hands trembled as he peaked around the corner. He was focused on the hallway, certain that when danger came, it would come from that direction, confident in the safety of the walls around him. The fool.

Silas watched as the shadow in the corner behind the younger man moved. One moment it was ordinary, the next somehow too big, almost… bloated, like a corpse left out in the sun. Inky black tendrils snaked out, creeping along the walls like vines.

Finally sensing something was wrong, the man turned. He saw the expanding darkness and froze, stuck between shock and dread as his breath caught and sweat trickled down his face. Just as he opened his mouth to scream, the shadow flexed and collapsed around him, swallowing him whole. His ragged, high-pitched shriek was cut off with a strangled yelp.

When Silas blinked, both the man and shadow were gone, replaced by blank, beige walls once again. He ran harder, frantically searching for an exit. A door came into sight. Finally, some luck. He crashed through. On the other side was a stairwell. The cool air was sharp in his throat and damp on his face.

He winced as the door shut behind him with a heavy thud. His lungs were on fire, but he held his breath and watched the door, waiting to see if he was followed. His feet seemed to move on their own, slowly backing away, but his focus never wavered.

Somewhere out there, something heavy crashed to the floor, shaking the ground and rattling the door in its frame. His heart skipped a beat. Then came the quick thumping of footsteps. They were growing louder, running toward him, toward his door.

He prepared himself for whatever was about to come through, quieting his mind and gathering the tattered shreds of his will. But he couldn’t focus, there was too much going on. The footsteps were coming closer, louder, heavier, thundering until they were right there. He braced for impact.

But nothing came through. The door stayed closed. The footsteps fell silent. They just stopped. He listened harder, but… nothing. The backs of his heels bumped against the bottom step, making him jump and jarring his brain from the trance.

Hands on his knees, chin on his chest, Silas heaved mouthfuls of sweet, cool air. For long minutes he waited, the empty stairwell providing the first semblance of safety since this all began. But there was no time to relax. He strained his senses, trying to reach through the walls, hoping to get some sort of warning before he had to move again. The only sound he heard was the thundering of his own heartbeat.

He finally had a moment to breathe, and his thoughts turned to his last conversation with his demonic patron. There was no warning, no sign of discontent or impending doom. He’d held up his end of the bargain. He’d been the perfect tool, ushering demons into the mortal plane without questioning motives or plans. So why was this happening? And why now? Never make a deal with the devil, as they say.

The thought made him snort, and his blood ran cold when the sound echoed in the stairwell. Finally breathing evenly again, he considered his options while waiting for death to come for him. But it never did. In fact, the commotion seemed to be dying down. All he sensed was stillness. Maybe it was over.

Silas climbed the stairs, softening his footfalls to dampen the sound. He’d have to regroup. Find a new location and rebuild. He’d need to lay low for a time before coming back. The resources here would be essential to starting over. Would his patron continue hunting him after this? Was that one even behind the attack? A face flashed in his mind, yellow eyes piercing into his soul. Had he said anything that might-

Two figures crashed through the door at the top of the stairwell. One wore familiar black robes. The other was a snarling, red-skinned monster with curved horns and razor-sharp claws. Silas managed to twist out of the way as they grappled, and threw himself back down the stairs to keep from getting crushed. The robed man held a knife in both hands, pushing his forearms against the monster’s grip, forcing the tip toward its throat.

Silas didn’t stick around for the end. The concrete tore his knees and ripped his fingernails as he scrambled to get up. He crashed through the same door he’d entered, this time going the other way.

On the other side, chaos reigned. Pockets of pitched battle hammered his senses. Robed acolytes struggled against demons of the Abyss. Black cloth rippled and flowed, contrasting against skin of red, yellow, and purple. Glinting daggers traded blows with fangs and claws. Human screams mingled with bestial roars. Silas stumbled, paralyzed and overwhelmed. There was no escape. No way out. Every exit was blocked by two or three or four combatants. And the demons were winning.

One massive, bulbous figure with flabby yellow flesh reared up to its full height as puss dripped from open sores along its body. It unhinged its jaw wider than it had any right to. Rotten teeth protruded from diseased gums, and a cloud of flies coughed from its open throat. In the face of this terror, the robed man standing before it saw an opening and lunged, driving his dagger into the thing’s exposed chest.

To his horror, the demon didn’t even flinch as the knife was buried to the hilt. It just yawned its massive maw wider still, then leaned forward and sank its broken teeth into the flesh between the man’s neck and shoulder, swallowing his head. Blood fountained as the two toppled over.

Silas looked away, but horror was everywhere. To his left, three smaller creatures with charcoal flesh and needle-like fangs surrounded another robed man. They were only waist height but circled like wolves around a wounded deer, darting in and out. The man swiped with his blade just as one of the creatures pounced, and his knife sliced a neat line across the demon’s throat. It staggered back, holding its neck as dark crimson poured over black fingers. But the second leaped onto the man’s back while the third barreled into his knees. The acolyte went down screaming.

To his right, a man was warily approaching a monster on two legs. Two long, smooth, toned legs. Not a monster. A woman. Her pale skin was tinted with a light purple hue, and long dark hair fell in waves down her back. She was mostly naked, save for a snowy white bra and matching panties. Instead of fangs or claws, her weapons were a seductive lilt to her hips, a promising smile, a beckoning finger.

Silas realized the robed man wasn’t being cautious, he was meandering, almost sleepwalking. His eyes were heavy, and a lazy smile spread over his face. When he was within a few paces of the woman, she sprang into motion, a blur faster than Silas could track. Before the man could react, a long butcher’s knife was driven into his belly, its ruby red tip protruding from his back.

This was it. His associates were dropping all around him, and it was just a matter of time until he was noticed. Terror coursed through Silas’ veins. Resigned to his fate, he was surprised to find a shred of curiosity remaining.

Who pulled these demons’ strings? Who deigned to attack him in his sanctuary? They may have the upper hand, but he was no easy prey. Whichever monster came for him would be quickly reminded of that fact.

At the far end of the room, the overhead lights flickered and went out. A small patch of darkness loomed. Unnoticed, the pockets of fighting continued. Where cold steel met dirty claws, piercing impacts rang out. Where fangs met skin, screams and blood followed.

The next overhead light flickered and flashed before exploding in a shower of sparks. And then another. And another. The monsters noticed before the men. They broke off, slinking away into dark corners while the few remaining robed figures watched in exhausted confusion. Grunts and snarls fell silent where darkness reigned.

The lights were blowing out in sequence, like a tidal wave approaching at midnight, its presence sensed but not seen by those on the doomed shore. A wall of pure black rolled through the room, and Silas was helpless in the face of its unrelenting emptiness.

He calmed his mind and readied himself, sensing real power in the darkness. Whoever this was, whatever demon was tearing down his work, Silas would face it head on. If he could not kill this invader, he would at least make it bleed.

A knife slipped into his palm, cool in his steady hand. With a whisper of power, it became a long, curved sword. It didn’t grow or lengthen. One moment it was a knife, the next it was simply a sword, like it had always been that way. Runes were carved into the blade, flowing like calligraphy. With another whisper, black fire crawled along the edge until it was wreathed in smoky flame. Natural fire would have held the shadows at bay, but this seemed to draw them in, like the sword was inviting the darkness to join it in an alley. His other hand was cupped at his hip, sparks of energy tingling between his fingertips.

The smothering nightfall raced toward him as light after light blew out like a hurtling freight train, until the only light left was the one directly over his head.

He braced himself, but the final light didn’t go out. It held steady, like a spotlight at the theater. Silas’ breathing slowed as he quieted his mind. It was a break in time, a heartbeat stretching from single to many, and still nothing came. An icy calm settled over him while he waited. No more scheming, no more fretting over the past or planning for the future. For the first time in a long time, the present was all that mattered.

At the edge of the light, a throng of creatures of every size and shape shoved and jostled with each other. They writhed in constant motion, pacing and rocking in agitation. But they wouldn’t come into the light.

A commotion started in the distance. Shadowed, formless figures pushed each other out of the way. They were parting, leaving a path to walk through, then closing in the wake of something new. It created a ring of open space that moved through the sea of churning bodies like a king through his supplicants. Those directly in front of it scrambled to get out of the way, leaving an aisle wide enough for several people to walk through. Silas watched the gap and waited for death to come.

The staccato clatter of heels on the hard floor caught his attention first. Sharp and steady, the footsteps approached. As they grew louder, he began to make out features in the darkness. Rolling hips. Long, midnight black hair. Cold blue eyes. The dim light illuminated skin like moonlight on fresh snow, and a smile that made his knees weak.

She was beyond gorgeous. The stuff of dreams and nightmares both. Silas’s body ached to see more of her while his mind screamed to run. He took an involuntary step forward, desperate for blurred silhouette to become sharp reality. The shadows writhed and flowed around her like smoke, obscuring what he craved to see.

“You must be Silas,” the voice that accompanied the silhouette purred. It was like honey, sweet and lazy and dripping. When a flickering light illuminated her for a moment, his mouth went dry. “I do apologize for the mess. It is unfortunate, but necessary.” Soft as silk. Smooth as velvet. She paused, and he waited on bated breath. “Silas,” hearing her voice say his name again made him shiver. “You have talent, and talent should not be wasted. But first we must see where your loyalty lies.”

Silas swallowed and asked, “Who are you?”

The gorgeous demon’s smile made his knees weak. “I am the Dark Lady. I am here to inform you that you are…” she paused, searching for the right words, “under new management.”

Ah. A hostile takeover between rival demon factions. That, at least, he could understand. It meant his former patron was likely dead, which left him with few options.

Her smile deepened as she saw him come to that conclusion, like a lioness before a gazelle. “Now, tell me what you know of the angels in this city.”

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