Aetheria Falling

In the Arms of a Demon

Nightmares were abound in the city of Embra.

Pelkos fell to the ground as the blurred mass of a fiery beast nearly ran him down. It moved and sounded like a horse in pain, but between poor eyesight and an overactive imagination, he could barely distinguish it from a wailing demon. And as far as he was concerned, the city was full of demons.

If it hadn't already been invaded and ransacked, Pelkos would still be in his home, hiding from the world—just as he had for the last decade. The fiend that'd battered down his door and tried to kill him had compromised his only refuge, forcing him to take to the streets in search of shelter. What he'd thought had been an isolated incident in his neighborhood had turned out to be citywide pandemonium. He'd been entirely caught off guard without anyone to warn him of the impending danger.

He crawled, ignoring the pain in his knees and elbows each time they struck cobblestone as he wedged himself beneath a parked carriage.

It was challenging to navigate the world, near blindness made more complicated by the added effect of a bizarre, orange haze encompassing Embra. Stranger yet was an abundance of smoke in the air without actually seeing the fires that birthed it. Even in his frightened state, Pelkos knew the flaming beast couldn't have been responsible for such a widespread phenomenon. It was as if the world had been plunged into an infernal underworld rather than simply being set ablaze.

Hell had been set loose, and if what he feared was true, there would be nowhere to hide when the worst came. And the worst was coming. Pelkos could feel it in his bones. He could feel his body anticipating every possible danger as he settled into his newfound refuge. Sweat gushed from his pores as he hyperventilated. Pelkos hysterically scanned the underside of the carriage while the sounds of anarchy clung to the air as if hung there by a malicious imp bent on tormenting everyone within earshot. To make matters worse, laughter and pleading cries of anguish could be heard.

The volume of the screams increased along with those of delight. Both cut through the bedlam, indicating closer proximity than the other horrors.

Pelkos turned on his belly, hoping in part that he was hearing things that weren't really there but also hoping to find the source of the discord.

Motion caught his eye. He struggled to understand what he saw: multiple sets of dark cloven hooves—no, boots—rounded the corner of the nearest intersecting street. They were heading steadily toward him, two flailing bodies dragged from behind.

Men—not demons, Pelkos failingly reminded himself—stopped just in front of the carriage. One of the two victims, a woman, managed to slip free but was caught and brought to her knees only a handful of feet from where Pelkos lay. She barely had time to scream before the tip of a rapier passed through her cheeks and pinned her to the ground, where another would-be scream was replaced by a loud, guttural groan of agony. Her shriek was cut short after the rapier was swiftly removed from her mouth and driven into her throat.

Pelkos watched as the woman died. She stared at him, choking on blood and metal. A dark pool of blood barely had time to fill the gaps in the cobblestone before the rapier was removed and deftly lodged into the leg of the surviving male victim.

The poor soul screamed.

Demons laughed.

Without anywhere to run, there was little Pelkos could do but lift himself up to avoid the woman's blood streaming toward him.

The rapier came down again, this time in the man's other leg—pleas for mercy met by sick joviality.

The demons drank in the man's cries. They lifted him to his feet, forcing him to stand on punctured legs. Before he could collapse on his own, a heavy blow forced him to the ground. The process repeated several more times.