Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 22

I keep my eyes squeezed shut as the orange flame carries me down. When everything stops, Azael's grip on my throat eases, and he lets me fall at his feet. He steps over me and I open my eyes, afraid of what I'll see.

It could be worse.

I'm in an enormous stone hall, the ceiling so high it's lost in shadows. Azael walks to one end where he mounts a series of low stone steps and sits on a huge throne.

I get slowly to my feet, and he beckons me towards him. "Come," he says. His voice is so low I can almost feel it vibrate in the air.

When I don't move, he makes a gesture and two of his soldiers--whose presence I hadn't even noticed--grab me by the arms and drag me forward. They throw me at his feet, but I raise my head and meet his eyes with a glare.

I suspect that being obstinate will hurt no one but myself, and this is proven when he reaches down and grabs my jaw, dragging me up towards his face.

I get a close look at him for the first time.

He has strong, aquiline features, a ruddy skin-tone, and long, red-brown hair. He looks like a Viking warlord, and I wonder if that's what the body he possesses might once have been.

His blue eyes bore into mine, and I shiver at the cold violence in their depths. After a long moment where I wonder if he's about to discover my somewhat pathetic threshold for pain, he surprises me with a deep, amused laugh.

"Incredible. Despite everything, your spirit remains strong, Sakariel."

He releases me, and I rub at my face where giant, finger-shaped bruises will probably soon appear. "I'm not Sakariel, asshole. I'm Alex Shade."

He laughs again. It's a sound I seem to feel in my bones. "Indeed you are. And a dream-eater, too. But you are Sakariel as well. You're a small miracle--human, demon, and...'angel,' as I think it's called on Earth. All wrapped up in one delightful little package. I'm going to enjoy discovering exactly what makes you tick."

I can't suppress the shudder that runs through me, and he gives me a curious smile. "Ah--no doubt Dantalian dreams of the past. You've seen it?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I saw what you did to them."

"An unfortunate necessity." He looks down at me. "Fear not: I needed Sakariel broken, but I need you whole. Whole and...willing. Pain is only one tool at my disposal, and if you are amenable, I need not use it."

Rather than make me less afraid, his words spark off a whole new set of fears. "What do you want?" I ask.

"You know already. I intend to open a Doorway to the Abyss; to unleash deep and terrible powers on Earth, where I will rule from a throne that will surpass even Ashtoreth's in might. Unlike Sakariel, when I challenge her, I will not fail."

"And you expect me to open the door for you? Fat fucking chance."

Amusement twists his mouth. "Yes. A Key--even one as beautifully twisted and defiled as yourself--must be willing to open a Door. Rest assured--in time you will be only too glad to obey my wish."

To the guards, he says, "Take him."

They start towards me, clearly intending to drag me away. I scramble to my feet and turn to face them with a look that I hope conveys more ferocity than fear. "Hands off! Wherever you're taking me, I can walk there perfectly fine and save you the trouble."

Azael's deep laugh sounds at my back, and I feel him loom behind me as he stands. His hand snakes around my throat again, but he doesn't squeeze. He leans close to speak in my ear.

"You have more fire in your spirit than Sakariel ever did, but you will learn submission soon enough."

He pushes me forward--not hard, but harder than I can resist--and the soldiers catch my arms.

"One of the lower cells to begin with, I think," Azael says, resuming his seat. "And nothing rough. I want him unharmed--for now."

I glare at him and spit as they lead me off, and the echoes of his booming laugh roll after me like drums of doom.

~xxx~

"So, like, do you guys have names?" I ask as the guards shove me along. "I mean, if you're gonna be spending a lot of time dragging me down corridors or whatever, I might as well know what to call you."

I tend to babble when I'm scared. They don't answer.

"Or not. I mean, I could just call you Guard One and Guard Two, or I could come up with my own names. You look really similar, actually. Are you brothers? How 'bout Fred and George, like from Harry Potter. You probably don't know about Harry Potter, living in Hell and all. Are we in Hell? It kinda seems like it, but then again I don't really--ahh!"

I'm silenced by a sharp blow to my side. I decide these guys don't deserve to be called Fred and George after all.

Guard One hauls me back to my feet.

"Careful. Lord Azael said not to hurt him," Guard Two warns.

"If it doesn't leave a bruise, he won't know," Guard One replies.

"I bruise very easily," I tell them, holding my side.

"We'll keep that in mind," Guard One says.

I keep my mouth shut the rest of the way, and after being frog-marched down a series of stone hallways, twisting stairways, and narrow corridors, we arrive at a large, circular chamber ringed with many solid metal doors.

They stop in front of one and open it with a theatrically rusted key. It swings outward on creaking hinges, revealing a small, dark space.

"Wait, is this is the right place?" I ask, voice higher than I'd like. "Because I think I booked the suite with the view."

They ignore me and shove me inside.

The door clangs shut.

I turn and bang my fist on it. "Hey Guard One, is there a room service menu? I'm kinda hungry from all the forced walking. You guys must be in great shape, doing that all the time."

To my surprise, I get an answer, though not a friendly one.

"Our names are Ennioc and Gelth," says either Ennioc or Gelth. "And if we return, it will be to bring you suffering, not food. Enjoy the quiet while you can. You belong to Lord Azael now, and he is not a kind master."

With that cheerful thought to keep me company, they leave me alone in the dark. 

It doesn't take long for the defiance that has been giving me a semblance of strength to drain away, and despair creeps in to take its place. 

At least Damien and Dante are safe, I think. 

And I know Damien will come for me if he can. 

The thought brings me less hope than dread. He's probably my only chance of getting out of here alive and sane, but Azael knows that and will expect him to make the attempt. 

Part of me hopes he doesn't even try.