Through Flame and Blade

Welcome to Hell

Several months previously ...

*Logan

Demons existed for death and destruction, and any other demon would have instantly accepted an offer to rise in the ranks by joining forces with a stronger one.

Logan stared at the demon lord, Zeigfel, across the altar from him, the burning in his gut matched the flaming brazes along the walls of the underground unholy chapel.

"And what," Logan said, licking his lips, "would be my reward for such a betrayal?"

"It's hardly a betrayal to leave your lord and join my legions. But as for reward, I can think of a few temptations that might persuade you."

"Whiskey and women?" Logan scoffed. His daemonium stirred inside him in a way that felt like it was stretching. It seemed to be listening in on the conversation when normally it was only roused by the smell of blood and the call to battle. Or the sight of angels.

Zeigfel might play it down, his offer to have Logan join his ranks and abandon Lucius's, but it was either a monumental opportunity or a huge mistake for Logan. He knew the Duxtori, these lords of Hell, played dangerous games—or games that were dangerous for the lower class demons, the warriors such as him.

The biggest problem, though, was that Logan hated Zeigfel with all the fiery passion of the glowing coals in the pits of the damned.

Zeigfel didn't answer.

"I would need more than these slight temptations," Logan said. He held back the string of curses he would rather say. His hands itched to take up his blade and swing it so he could watch Zeigfel's head roll across the floor. His daemonium hissed a yes deep in his chest.

Fuck.

He forced it down. This was not the time to shift and start fighting. He needed his head. Not even the Dark Flame could go up against Zeigfel and be sure of winning.

"But you could be swayed by temptations," Zeigfel said slyly. "It's simply a matter of finding out what you do want. I have heard rumors, and I believe them, that you would like to sit at the Sleeping King of Hell's table as a Duxtori, among the other lords of Hell. You want legions of demon warriors for yourself."

Logan barked a laugh. "You think I'm tempted by things you could never give me?" He turned on his heel, ready to leave. This had a been not only a waste of time—when he could be taking pleasures in one of the Halls—but a mistake. He'd never wash the stench of Zeigfel off of him.

And how did that bastard know what he yearned for? Envy gnawed him raw while pride whispered that these things the Duxtori had—legions of warriors to wage their battles, a seat at the table of power, tasting the fear of their enemies every day, and more—these things should be his.

Once again, his daemonium form that dwelled deep inside of him slithered and coiled, as if preparing to burst free and take control of Logan.

"I certainly could never give you a seat, but I could give you opportunities to take one," Zeigfel said slowly.

Logan paused, his back to the demon lord. "What kind of opportunities?"

"For a fighter of your talents, you would not have too many trials left to go. Hell will raise you up, if you are clever about it. You've proven yourself as a killer of the winged angels. You are ruthless, fearless. Not particularly smart, but not every demon can have it all."

Logan swiveled to face him again. Ignoring the barb in Zeigfel's last words, he asked. "What opportunities?"

"To achieve your goals, you know what you have to do," Zeigfel said with a slight nod.