The Things That Bind Us- Damirae

Chapter Twenty

Within the darkest bowels of Hell, a mighty roar sounded- a howl of primordial fury, perforating dimensions of existence so that even the angels glanced down, bewildered.

"STOLEN?" Trigon seethed.

He stood at the centre of carnage.

A faint scratching and pitiful groaning met his vengeful ears. Futilely clawing and the ground, reduced to a mewling, disfigured mass, what had once been a demon heaved with last, laboured breath. The others had been incinerated: the ones that had foolishly stood close enough to the demon lord when the news had been delivered. Trigon turned four, ugly, yellow eyes on the bleeding lump of flesh. It whimpered again, and Trigon's temper showed itself to be unquenched.

The former-demon, heaped on the floor, was consumed by hungry fire.

Satiated, somewhat, the demon lord stepped over the fire and summoned the nearest living demon of his council. Jared, son of Trigon, spirit of Wrath, squelched over blood and sulphur and sinew, to kneel at the feet of his father. His knees sank in to mulch. Mulch that had been demonic noblesse moments before.

"Your sister," Trigon's quiet was deadlier than his bellowing fury, "was yours to retrieve. Your responsibility." He leaned down and Jared's breath caught in his chest. "So whose head do you think I should have removed?"

Peeking above a boulder of debris (a chunk of the floor thrown up in Trigon's rage), the demon Jesse, Envy, intervened.

He slinked around the corner of the rock and hissed, "That isn't all that was stolen, father."

Hell stood still. Trigon's silence demanded the demon continue.

"The contracts...of the Demon's Head-"

The body of the great demon was engulfed in flame. At his feet, Wrath, a creature of hellfire, recoiled at the heat. Trigon swiped at him, but Jared fled. He scampered behind the ranks of demons, pursued by the voice of his father, dragging his brother Jesse with him.

"RETRIEVE THEM!"

Through the open doors of Trigon's throne room barrelled two of the great demon lord's sons. Jesse hissed, shoving his brother's grasp off. Beneath a sky of perpetual twilight, they ran through Hell's desolate planes until the fear of Trigon had cooled in their veins.

Panting, the spirit of Wrath leaned against a mound of brimstone, "We need...a...plan..."

Jesse snarled, "We need to get her," and folded his arms, "that traitor is no doubt responsible for the theft."

"I'll summon the others." Jared said. "She won't get away this time."

***

It was strange, Damian thought, how home could be found in so many different places. In fact, home could be caught in the wind; an unplaceable familiar scent snatched up by a wayward gust. Home was that chesty warmth, that profound longing.

The wooden panelling. That's what tripped Damian up. Like a freight train of bottled sentiment, home rammed in to the man.

He missed the old wood in the manor, lining the walls, tiled over the floors. The House of Mystery was no Wayne Manor. Live magic coursed through it like hot blood. To walk within the hallowed body of Magic was exhilarating. Damian longed for the serene solitude of the manor- always too much space, even when full of people; haunted by the ghost of an orphan boy who took up a mantle of justice.

"Troubled thoughts?" Came a voice that shattered his reverie.

He looked up and smiled. It didn't make him look any less sad. Damian budged a few inches across and invited Raven to sit besides him on the bed. Pulling back the hood of her purple cloak, the woman sat next to him. She tapped her boots on the floor; a small tremor ran through the room from the floorboards.