Dead Moon Chapel

thirty-five

PANIC.

The arena was flooded with it. Debris fell from the ceiling as the world trembled with fury. A chorus of screams was music to Abel's ears, for he knew in his heart what caused such violent disturbance. He could feel that familiar tug of his heart, and a new kind of power coursed through every inch of him.

A large crack split the ground apart. From the crack, black smoky tendrils reached up from an infinite abyss, free at last. With them, a dark mass followed, growing ever larger until it nearly reached the ceiling. While the room descended into chaos, Abel wept with his joy and beamed with a blinding light.

To summon a demon from Hell was the greatest sin. To summon a demon on hallowed ground was enough to warrant a new level of Hell reserved just for Abel.

As the shadows took form before him, he knew he would not have it any other way.

Jericho did not become the ruggedly handsome man he knew, all muscle and hair and marked crimson skin. He was far more infernal, barely any trace of a human figure to be seen.

Black, twisted wings stuck out of his back like iron bars crudely bent and woven through each other. A dozen jagged, gold-draped antlers sprouted from his head, asymmetrical and sticking out every which way. His body was twisted and bulky, hunched over as though he was meant to walk on four legs as opposed to two. His hands were long and crooked, with long, curled claws. When he growled, his mouth was lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth.

An infernal beast took Jericho's place before Abel. And yet, Abel would recognize him anywhere. Those starry eyes, those black marks traced into his red skin, the mess of long, dark curls which spilled over his shoulders and bounced with every movement. Even his tongue was much the same, if not a bit larger to accommodate for his size.

The world was falling down around them, but when Jericho's endless eyes landed on Abel, they were the only two beings in existence, in every universe. They revolved around each other like stars, faster and faster until they became one.

Nothing mattered but the two of them. That was all Abel wanted.

He was broken from his reverie when Jericho howled in pain. A golden spear pierced the demon's side. Abel ripped his shackles off of his wrist, ignoring the way it left him bleeding and torn. His body was as inhuman as Jericho's at this point. Pain was the last thing on his mind.

Abel rose to his feet and took a step toward Jericho. He was real. He was here. Jericho's eyes drank Abel in, and he reached an arm out to touch him. As he did, a flash of light cut between the two of them. A white cord twisted around Jericho's wrist, pulling his arm back. Another cord joined the effort, and that's when Abel's instincts kicked in.

While more cords wrapped around a thrashing Jericho, Abel leaped to his rescue. He didn't get far, though, before something tugged him back by the hair, forcing Abel to his knees. Jericho cried out and broke free from one cord, only for two to wrap around his arm.

It was rare for all of the Chapel's fighters to be in one place at one time. And it was rarer for them to be carrying an army's worth of sacred weapons meant to kill angels. Jericho stood no chance against them.

Abel brought him here. It was his job to protect him.

Ignoring the painful tugging against his hair, Abel forced himself free of Malachi's grip. The arena brightened with his holy light as he stood, making his way for Jericho. He summoned two blades of light and made to throw them.

Jericho whimpered, and it was then that Abel noticed a figure standing on his back, holding him by the antler and shoving a massive white blade against his neck.