“Just…” Metatron gripped Reaver’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“For the worst.” Metatron’s voice lowered into what some called his God Voice, a resonant tone that vibrated the air when he brought proclamations or messages from the Creator. “Satan cannot be freed. If that means Azagoth must die, so be it.”
Yeah, Reaver got the message.
He’d have to be the one to do it.
Chapter 16
Hope isn’t for fools.
Hope isn’t for fools.
Azagoth told himself that over and over but, not unexpectedly, it didn’t help him feel better any more than getting fucked in the ass by a quill troll would make him feel better.
An hour ago, he’d been confident of victory. Moloch had, according to Azagoth’s sources, an army of millions, but his supporters were spread all throughout Sheoul-gra. Only a fraction was guarding his castle. Ares’ battle plan had looked solid, if not foolproof.
Until they started getting credible reports that Moloch had taken Satan’s palace from Revenant.
If that were true, Lilliana could be held in either stronghold, and the odds of victory had taken a dive. They’d been forced to pursue Plan B, splitting Azagoth’s army in two, and giving Ares’ brother Reseph command of one of them. They’d attack both fortresses simultaneously and hope like hell they had enough soldiers to do it.
Fuck. This was not how Azagoth wanted to do this. Both Horsemen were legendary warriors, their skill in battle unequaled in all of history. But looking at the campaign, all laid out on a giant map that covered every inch of the hundred-seat command center table, wasn’t the most inspiring thing ever.
Moloch’s armies spanned four regions, with pockets of troops in nearly all the rest. That the bastard had been able to so easily gather demons who should have been loyal to Revenant was disturbing…and also unfortunate.
Azagoth cursed and knocked over one of the thousands of D&D figures Cipher had brought to represent the armies.
Moloch’s forces of little green plastic orcs, goblins, and imps took up far too much real estate. Azagoth’s hundred thousand demons were represented by far fewer silver plastic trolls, and the five thousand hellhounds Cara had sent were on the map as black dire wolf figures. The two remaining figurines were the ones he focused on, a hand-painted elf ranger, and a human fighter who looked remarkably like their doubles, Reseph and Ares.
The two Horsemen known as Pestilence and War would lead the charges, and once they got close enough, they would retrieve Lilliana—with the help of Azagoth’s spies inside the fortresses. At least, that was the plan.
Ares said that things rarely went as planned.
Fucking Horseman and his frank, honest assessments. Azagoth flicked the fighter figurine onto the floor because that was what mature males with control of their emotions did.
If Lilliana were here, she’d give him a look full of, did you really just do that?
If she were here, he wouldn’t have done it.
Getting his shit together, he picked Ares off the floor. In truth, the guy’s frankness was what made him valuable as an advisor. There was nothing more useless than a sycophant who told him only what he wanted to hear. But just this once, it would have been great if Ares had sugarcoated the pill he’d given him before he and Reseph left to stage for the battle.
“We’ll be severely outnumbered.” Ares gestured to areas of the map near Moloch’s castle. “Here, here, and here.” He moved several feet down the table and waved his hand over Satan’s territory, which Moloch apparently now held. “We’re not outnumbered here, but I doubt Reseph can get past the natural geological barriers, and even if he does, there are a lot of things worse than a demon army protecting the palace.” He gripped the sword at his hip and swung around to Azagoth in a smooth, crisp turn. “You’re going to lose your entire army with no guarantee that I’ll get in.”
It was not what Azagoth wanted to hear. “It’s the only chance I have, Ares,” he snapped. “What would you do?”
Ares ran his thumb across the sword’s pommel as if remembering the thousands of battles he’d fought, the millions he’d killed. “I’d do exactly what you’re doing,” he said. “But I’d do it knowing that even with the hellhounds Cara’s sending, the chance of success is maybe…fifty-fifty.”
“You’re just a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?”
“Did you want me to blow smoke up your ass? Because that’s not my kink, and I’d rather not pop my cherry with the Grim Reaper.”
As irritated as Azagoth was, he had to admire the guy. He was a brilliant tactician, a warrior who commanded respect, and a fierce defender of those he cared about. There had been a time when Ares, along with his three Horseman siblings, believed that Azagoth was their sire. He wondered if they’d been relieved when they learned the truth, that Reaver was their father.
Father.
He reached up and fingered the scythe pendant Lilliana had given him, taking comfort in the connection they’d established and experienced. Could they do it again? If he laid down on the floor right now and closed his eyes, would she be there?
He’d never wanted to sleep more in his life.
A tap at one of the door columns brought him sharply back to the present.
“Enter,” he called out as he glanced at his watch. The rescue attempt would begin in thirty-four minutes.
“Azagoth.”
“Reaver.” Summoning his power, Azagoth spun around to the south entrance with a hiss. “Why didn’t I sense your arrival?”
Reaver strode toward him in jeans and a black tee, his blond hair shorter than the last time he’d seen him, his expression far less angry. “The last time I was here to spank your ass, I figured out how to conceal my signature.”
The last time Reaver was here, he’d delivered a warning not to fuck with Moloch. Something told Azagoth that attacking Moloch might count as fucking with him.
“Who let you in?” As if he didn’t know. Only Hawkyn and Z could open the portal, and Z would die before doing so without permission.
Reaver didn’t answer. “I hear you want information about Flail.”
“You could have sent a text.”
“I could have. But I wanted to see if I could help.”
Although Azagoth didn’t doubt that Reaver would do what he could for Lilliana, he did doubt that helping was his sole reason for being here, and Azagoth called him on it.
“You wanted to make sure that what I’m doing to get Lilliana back isn’t violating my contract.” Azagoth gestured to the map, figuring…what the hell. If the angel could help, at this point, he’d take it. “I’ve got two Horsemen going against Moloch, leading hellhounds and legions of demons I command.” It wasn’t a lie. He did command his secret re-souled army, but he’d also gotten an influx of demons who’d joined his cause, some mercs for pay or those who owed him, and even a few who knew he had blackmail material on them.
Reaver narrowed his eyes at him. “How did you get my sons to risk themselves for you? If you threatened them—”