What Crawls Below

22 § To Hell and Gone

Each second that passed unveiled a new agony. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and stop, falling over dead; Cyrus was thrown back from the force coming off the carnage. For an immeasurable moment he was overcome by a familiar darkness and could feel as it seeped through his skin and past his bones and down into every fiber of his being.

It wasn't a real explosion, not a physical one at least, but for all intents and purposes a bomb might as well have gone off. He had felt the power given off by a hundred human souls but wasn't prepared for this. Cyrus wasn't even touching the demon, but he felt the thousands of fragments of souls the latter had once been made of infiltrating his body. With each one came the image of a new death, more suffering and destruction and darkness.

In his next conscious moments, he became aware he was lying flat on his back on the damp pavement. The reapers were gone, the only evidence of their earlier presence being the blackish stains of blood staining the pavement. The body had vanished.

Ashes to ashes...

Ears ringing, head spinning, Cyrus slowly propped himself up on his elbows and hesitated there until the street he was on stopped tilting in his vision. From there he struggled to his knees, then to his feet, steadying himself against a nearby wall.

Above him, the first hints of a new day were peeking their red-orange-pink fingers over the horizon. The sun was starting to rise; it was strange to think the previous day had started out so mundane.

Strange to think how quickly everything fell apart.

A splitting pain pulsed in Cyrus's temples; when he moved, his vision wavered and everything he saw was painted dripping, bleeding red. He tried to pull himself together long enough to make it to Tuesday's home, knowing he could only keep the horrors now inhabiting his body at bay for so long.

When Cyrus reached the right part of Brooklyn, two figures waited for him on Tuesday's doorstep.

Tuesday was sitting, hugging her knees and shoulders shaking violently under the thick blanket draped over them. Several feet away, holding a cigarette in one hand and clutching his stomach with the other, was Raziel. Cyrus looked closer, only to see blood slicking the demon's hands and spreading out in a small circle of his shirt.

"That was her way of thanking me for saving her hide," Raziel muttered, taking a long drag and closing his eyes. He let his head fall back in theatrical exasperation. "Waste a couple reapers and this is what I get. Oh, don't piss yourself, I'll be fine," he said sarcastically.

Cyrus turned to Tuesday, who wouldn't meet his eyes. She shrugged, saying quietly, "Can't be too careful," as Raziel continued to complain, "--used a bloody paring knife!"

Raziel seemed to really take notice of him then, cocking his head and pinning Cyrus with a stony gaze. His eyes trailed up and down Cyrus's form and he gave a nearly imperceptible shiver.

"So it's done," Raziel said lowly, no question in his tone. He let out a heavy sigh and pushed off from the wall he was leaning up against. "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure...but if I see you again in this lifetime it'll be too soon."

"And just where are you going?" Cyrus managed to say, though each word fell heavy as an anvil from his mouth.

Raziel half-turned back in his direction. "Hmm?"

"New York City's greatest menace is in splatters along Second Avenue. You planning to fill his throne?"

Raziel flashed him a brilliant-white smile, winked, and continued walking. Cyrus watched until he disappeared around the corner, stomach churning, before glancing back to Tuesday.