Through Flame and Blade

Ch. 6 Sinful Pleasures

*Logan

By the time Zeigfel left, it was all Logan could do to keep breathing. If his heart stopped, he was done, and that bastard would have conquered him. Him, the Dark Fire. He would keep breathing, and his heart would keep beating.

Pieces of him decorated the entire dungeon. Before his sight went, he watched blood and gore splattering the ceiling. As well as across the room, on Chiara.

Air rattled in the scorched remnants of his lungs. A mortal would have died hours ago, but demons were spawned from the embrace of Hell itself, and like their opposites, the angels, were basically immortal until someone stronger than themselves killed them.

It would not be today.

Zeigfel had been pissed. He'd never lost control like that as far as Logan knew. Not that he'd been around him much. Of all the commanders, he was known to be the least careful with his subordinates. Logan stayed as far away from him as possible, and maneuvered his way into serving other commanders when necessary. What use was pledging undying loyalty to a commander if chances were good it would only be for a few months?

Logan hadn't trained to near death every day on the field with his twin in order to die in his first fight. Zeigfel considered lower demons such as Logan to be fodder for the canons in his personal vendetta against the angels. Unfortunately for his soldiers, Zeigfel was one of the few remaining original fallen. And he would throw away as many soldiers as he wanted for his revenge. Logan's scheming had paid off—he had never served under him. He knew where the other commanders relaxed, drinking, gambling, and tasting the pleasures of the flesh, and made sure they saw him frequently. As a young fighter with great potential, he'd been chosen by Lucius first. His twin hadn't been as lucky.

Fuck. He blinked as his eyes began to regenerate. He still couldn't see anything, though. His night vision only worked when his eyes were whole, but there wasn't much to see anyway since the torches and firepit were extinguished.

He couldn't even distract himself with looking at Chiara.

Fucking fuck. He hadn't thought of his brother in an age. Twin brothers were rare, more rare than human twins from what he had heard of them. Two demons growing in the same matrix, the one moment of his existence he wasn't fighting the demon next to him.

After they emerged from the matrix, everything had changed. Logan had to fight him, but he was never trying to beat his brother or be better than him. The fights were about honing skills, about making Jeraar stronger, faster, as deadly as himself. That was what it took to survive.

That was why he was alive and Jeraar...

Logan reflexively tried to clench his fist, but his arm, the one still somewhat attached, was hanging on by only blood muscle and skin. It twitched.

Zeigfel didn't deserve to have his whiskey drunk and women pleasured—he deserved a long stay in the pit of pestilence being eaten alive by larva. Still—pissing Zeigfel off was worth it. Logan would do it again, knowing it would land him in here. He chuckled.

"Are you breathing or laughing, and either way, could you make the noise stop? I'm trying to sleep over here," Chiara said. Her words were pointed, but her voice low and smooth.

His angel was a fighter. Like steel in the forge, her spirit grew sharper as the days passed, but also thinner.

These little conversations were just for the two of them. Logan sensed a wave of strength swelling in his bones at the thought of her starting their nighttime game. At the beginning, he was always the one to start, laying out words like peace offerings to draw her into his net. He spat blood from his mouth, clearing his throat.