The Record of the Saints Caliber (58 page)

The demon laughed. “You’ve offered your soul, and now you remember why. You’re not some animal to be caged. You’re meant to be free. Give your soul to Apollyon and I shall take the stellaglyph from your neck. No longer will you be bound to anyone or anything. No longer will a Sanguinastrum hold sway of your life. You’ll be free, and your pleasure shall be the whole of the law.”

Nuriel looked at the beast, her own eyes as hot and molten as its.

“Mmm,” it moaned, its charred tongue, veined with fire, licked at its cheek with lurid sexuality. “Tell me your name. Tell me your star.”

Nuriel was about to say her name when her eyes caught sight of something. From the dark snowfields a shadow approached.

The creature turned and let loose a long hiss, its breath smoking in the arctic air. “Mmm. Another Saint.” it hissed with pleasure. “Another soul.”

“There you are Nuriel.” chirped Celacia as she strode across the snow, her armor and hair as black as the night around her, her emerald eyes gleaming large and bright.

“Offer now,” warned the demon to Nuriel. “Don’t let her words sway you from what you want. Just tell me your name. I already know you as Nuriel. I just need to hear it from you. Quickly now, precious.”

Celacia stopped about twenty-feet from the creature and shook her head, tisking at Nuriel. “Nuriel, Nuriel, Nuriel. Whatever have you gotten yourself into now?”

The demon looked at Celacia curiously. “Your soul does not smell as ripe.” it said. “Mmm, but my master is not so particular. Offer it and I shall accept it.”

Celacia turned her eyes up at the demon and scowled. She flicked her hand at it in a shooing motion. “Run along, why don’t you.” She looked back at Nuriel. “Let’s go.”

“I warn you,” growled the demon. “Mind your business.”

Celacia rolled her eyes. She looked at Nuriel and tilted her head quizzically. “Are you on drugs?”

Nuriel felt the Ev stir within her. It coursed through her hotter than ever, her lips turned up in a snarl and she stood up, gripping her large sword. Her breaths came both deep and frantic. It was
her
fault. Everything was
Celacia’s
fault.

The demon chuckled cruelly. “I see now, my darling,” said the demon. “She’s one of those butterflies, isn’t she? One of the redder ones too. Mmm, this is no Saint. Who are you?”

Celacia’s eyes flicked up to the demon and she scowled at him briefly. She looked back at Nuriel. “I can’t say I approve of your new friend. He seems to be a bad influence on you. Time to come home, Nuriel.”

The demon let loose a low, terrifying chuckle. Then, hardly aware of her own motions, Nuriel sprang forward, her claymore a flash of black lightning in the night. She brought it up in a scything swing at Celacia but the woman stepped sideways and avoided it. Like some sort of giant cat predator, Nuriel landed and turned with fluid grace, her claymore a whirl as she drove back in at Celacia.

With casual efficiency Celacia turned and stepped into Nuriel, throwing aside her sword-swing with her forearm. Then she brought her leg up into her own waist and delivered a powerful kick to Nuriel’s abdomen that sent her stumbling backward. Nuriel recovered quickly—only slightly aware of the excruciating pain that had come with such near proximity to Celacia—and drove right back in, her claymore whipping about in a storm of black star-metal.

Celacia was quick on her feet but had no weapon of her own. She ducked and dodged with aqueous motions, never faltering, never seeming to be at any sort of disadvantage. Nuriel’s mind through all of this was a haze of red anger. Her subdued consciousness caught glimpses here and there of the pain of Celacia’s presence. She could feel death breathing upon all her joints, in the very tissue of her skin. Yet, for the pain, Nuriel could see the flesh of her hands was still whole, that the leather of her bodysuit was not flaking or cracking. Part of her mind echoed with a thought that Celacia must be holding back her aura, and something about that just made Nuriel all the more angry.

Nuriel growled and her Caliber suddenly flared a blinding white. She doggedly pressed in on the woman, her sword strikes coming with blinding speed and precision, each one meant to decapitate limbs at the joints of her armor. All Nuriel could see was anger now. Not even her Caliber could clear the Ev that coursed through her.

Celacia chirped a little curse as she narrowly ducked a swing meant for her head. She rolled upon the ground in the opposite direction the strike had come and in a single, fluid motion was back on her feet and pulled what appeared to be a bladeless sword handle from her boot.

Nuriel turned to face the woman just in time to see a midnight-black blade materialize upon the handle. The sword was black. Blacker than black. Blacker than Nuriel’s own star-metal. It was like solidified shadow and it glowed with a faint, purple hue. The air around the blade grew visibly stale and dry.

Celacia scowled at Nuriel and with her free hand wiped at her cheek where a fine scarlet line of blood shone. “That kind of hurt.” she said, but already the wound was sealed and the blood that had been there was dust in the wind. “Put down your sword, Nuriel.”

Nuriel stood there panting, her breath smoking, her eyes molten gold. The warmth of the Ev was fiery in her veins and she felt clouded by the raw feelings of hatred and despair. Something in her wanted to let go of her sword, but louder, more unforgiving voices screamed out for death.

“Kill her!” growled the demon. “Kill her and Apollyon’s rewards shall be many and great!”

“It’s over, Nuriel.” said Celacia, an obvious annoyance in her tone. “I’m done playing with you. But I do have to commend you. You’re the first person I’ve ever fought who’s made me draw Deathwind.”

“Kill her!” demanded the demon.

Despite Nuriel’s best efforts to clear the Ev from her system by flaring her Caliber, the demon’s command hit her with a surge of anger and a hot deluge of Ev rolled through her body. Nuriel dashed forward, her sword arcing in a death-blow to Celacia’s head. Celacia brought her sword up and the two blades clashed, black sparks twinkling in the inky, arctic night.

Nuriel growled and her sword became a blur of motion as she danced in at Celacia. More black sparks flew as strike after strike was turned away. Celacia gave no ground to Nuriel. The woman’s feet turned and repositioned, the snow beneath her melting and subsequently drying to nothing, leaving barren, scarred earth beneath her boots.

Celacia’s own parries came as smoothly and fluidly as Nuriel’s strikes, but the force of Nuriel’s star-metal sword was ferocious. Celacia grunted as she tossed aside one of Nuriel’s strikes, but her foot slipped on dead earth beneath her. Celacia quickly tucked and rolled with her slip, and by the time she was on her knees, Nuriel was already back on her.

White, foamy spit trickled from Nuriel’s lips and her eyes were wild with rage. She could hear the demon’s voice in some sort of distant consciousness as he urged her to kill. Celacia was still on her knees when Nuriel drove her blade down upon the woman’s own, and the two swords cracked like thunder. Celacia let out a little yelp but she had no time to stand or even roll out of the way. Nuriel brought her blade down again and again in vicious, swift repetition. Each crack of her sword against Celacia’s drove the woman’s blade another inch closer to her face.

Nuriel was about to deliver another blow when she caught a glimpse of herself reflecting in Celacia’s black armor. Her face was twisted in hideous rage, made uglier by the slight withering created by Celacia’s aura. She saw her own golden eyes, more monstrous than beautiful. Her lips were turned up in a snarl, foamy spit at the edges of her mouth.

And she hesitated.

Her blade paused in mid-strike for only a fraction of a second, but in that time there was a fleeting glimpse of clarity. She could feel Ev burning through her veins. She was aware of her clouded mind. She could see the broken images of her own rape; of the cat that Adonael and Hamon had killed; of being forced to go with Isley to Duroton; of the day she had to say goodbye to Karinael, the only true friend she ever had; of the burning villagers she had set to torch back in Jerusa; of all the terrible things she had done or had been done to her. Suddenly Nuriel didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted everything to end. She just wanted to be done with this life. Her grip loosened on her sword and she would have dropped it, but a fresh surge of Ev tore through her body as the demon commanded her to take vengeance.

And just like that, clarity left her mind.

Reds flashed everywhere. Hatred and anger were the only things that were real. Everything was a blur. She felt her sword cracking hard against Celacia’s own. She felt the woman’s parries and dodges beginning to falter. More Ev, hot and searing in its intensity, raged in her body. She could hear echoes of Celacia’s voice somewhere in her mind. They urged her to stop, to put down her sword. But the voice was so distant and drowned by the demon’s own, and she had no ability to act on anything but her rage.

“Nuriel!” yelled Celacia as she sloppily parried another blow. “Nuriel, you have to stop!” Nuriel’s breaths were coming so rapidly that they enveloped her in mist. Her strikes were becoming more frantic and erratic as well, and Celacia finally began to obtain some footing against the woman. Nuriel looked like a rabid dog. There was something not right. Celacia knew that whatever drug Nuriel had taken, the demon was bolstering it within her. The demon was driving her.

Celacia’s bright, emerald eyes met Nuriel’s for a moment. A shadow flicked upon the reflection in Nuriel’s wild, golden eyes. Celacia’s lips furled into a little snarl and she pressed in at Nuriel. With uncanny speed and grace the woman instantly took the offensive. One swing and Nuriel felt her sword fall from her hand. A second later, Nuriel felt the woman’s arm wrap around her neck. Nuriel was twisted down onto the ground as Celacia knelt, holding her down upon her lap in a headlock. Celacia narrowly raised Deathwind up just as a jet of flames sprang from the demon’s hand.

The fires roared but broke upon Deathwind. Nuriel’s Ev-flooded mind was aware of the intense heat and of the breath being choked from her. Her hands went to her neck and her fingers clawed feebly at Celacia’s arm. Nuriel’s eyes looked down and she saw her hands as withered little twigs with knotty knuckles. She gasped and tried to struggle against Celacia’s grip, but it was futile.

“Sorry about this, Nuriel.” chirped Celacia.

Nuriel could feel death washing over her. Pain wracked her body and suddenly she felt a terrible chill within herself. The heat from the demon’s fires no longer warmed her; not even the Ev could wash away this chill. Nuriel shivered in Celacia’s grip, and then blackness took her.

“That was pretty dirty,” chirped Celacia as she dropped Nuriel’s limp body to the ground. “Trying to roast me when my back was turned?” She stood up and faced the demon. She held Deathwind down at her side casually.

The charred beast hissed, its noxious breath smoking in the chill air. “You should be dead.”

“You know, I’m getting really tired of people telling me that.” said Celacia. She glanced down at Nuriel. Already her appearance was becoming something back to normal, and a faint golden glow encompassed her. Celacia looked back at the demon.

“That one is mine.” growled the demon, pointing a long, charcoal finger at Nuriel. “She offered her soul to me.”

“Well I hate to break the news to you, but Nuriel seems to be spending money she doesn’t have.” chirped Celacia. She casually strolled away from Nuriel’s limp body. “She’s mine, and I have her Sanguinastrum to prove it.”

The demon looked at her strangely, as if something in its memory was stirring. “Who are you?”

“She’s mine and she’s coming with me.” said Celacia, ignoring its question.

The demon snarled, following her. “Her soul is Apollyon’s now! Leave!”

“I don’t think she officially signed it over to you yet.” said Celacia, still walking. “She’s mine.”

“Leave us!” commanded the demon, and the earth beneath its feet moaned in agony. Small fissures began to open up and a ruddy, hot glow rose. “I will not ask you again. Leave us!”

Celacia stopped and looked up at the demon. “No.”

The beast’s roar seemed to make the very earth shiver with fear. Its eyes were already glowing white hot but they very obviously increased in intensity. It raised its hand and another jet of fire sprayed forth. With casual indifference Celacia held up her hand. The fire screamed against her flesh, breaking around it and lapping at her face and blowing back her hair in powerful pressure waves. The blast receded and Celacia took down her hand and looked at it. It was black as pitch. Scowling, she walked to the right and picked up some snow and rubbed the quickly dissolving ice in her hands, washing away the soot to reveal her pale, perfect skin.

She looked up at the demon and rolled her eyes. “Really?”

The demon bared its fangs, all of them throbbing with angry heat. It spread its arms wide and hunched over. Magma spilled from its open mouth and it spit a heavy globule upon Celacia’s head. The thick, viscous, molten earth rolled off her head and fell in heavy patters down her face, on her shoulders, and oozed down over her body. The fiery liquid quickly died, turning to blackened crust that clung to Celacia’s hair, face and armor. Then, that too, crumbled to black dust and blew away in the arctic wind.