Chereads / Blade of Dawn / Chapter 9 - EIGHT: The Seventh Prince of Hell

Chapter 9 - EIGHT: The Seventh Prince of Hell

Faith had found the Portal.

She stepped away from yet another slimy disintegrating demon, staring at the circlet of purple lightning that was embedded behind one of the marble pillars of the Great Hall. It was slightly taller than herself. And beyond the portal she could glimpse at a world ruled by darkness. That was all—pitch dark.

She cautiously moved towards it, jabbing the darkness with the pointed end of the sword. Instantaneously, a wave of repulsion filled the air between her and the portal, throwing her back to the cold floor. She grunted, slowly rising.

"A portal." Arechin mused, stepping behind her. Yes, she was still recovering from the shock of seeing him alive and fighting. A blow such as that should have a man half-dead, or at least unconscious. But Arechin had gotten up, flexing his bloody shoulders like his injuries were nothing but cramps. Now she really thought he practiced dark magic, or he wasn't human at all.

"This must be what Serria had warned us about—" She met Arechin's wide-set eyes with a pair of her own. Princess Serria. "Has she returned?"

"I don't know." He replied, but he was frozen. They had been so caught up in this fight, that they'd forgotten about Serria. Faith glanced at the hundreds of people still crouching in fear, some crowding at the shut doors of the storage. "Perhaps, it is taking her a while. I have never been to the catacombs that pass through the Great Hall."

And she knew she was finding as much comfort in his words as he was.

"We should go." She said firmly, "Find Princess Serria." She would go, if Arechin followed or not.

"And leave my people to die?" She hadn't missed out on the possessiveness in that sentence. My people. She remembered Serria asking, begging her to give Arechin a chance—that beneath the lair of the crude monster there was a boy who could love. Who was not devoid of human emotions.

She looked back at him over her shoulders and wanted to yell at him Your sister might be dead. But she refrained, for she feared sparking another fight. And they, of all people, could not fight amidst a battle against demons. She opened her mouth, a plan to split up dancing on her tongues, but then yet another Vannuth took form behind Arechin.

"Your Highness!" She shouted out instead. But his sword was already drawn up in the air, slicing at the demon's neck, before he could even turn to look at the demon that had spawned behind him.

"I don't make the same mistake twice, Faith." He said.

And then, the sword collapsed from his hand.

It skittered across the floor, metal against marble. He almost looked as shocked as her. She felt it too then, as she ran to aid him, a wave similar to the one before—but on a much larger scale. She was just in time to draw the Prince to herself, guarding him, as the three of them—the Prince, the Warrior, and the Demon were thrown back. Luckily, they hit no walls. They just ate more of those shining tiles.

The rest of the Hall was struck with the same wave of repulsion. The pillars, the walls, the ceiling, the ground threatened to give in as they shook rigorously, tossing the people around. She felt shards of glass pierce through her back, and this was the price she had to pay for protecting the Crown. There was that oath of loyalty that bound her to protect the person she loathed.

He drew apart from her, his breathing heavy. Perhaps his wounds were finally getting to him. But then she felt it too. The atmospheric pressure in the room had dropped. She looked around, panting, at the room and she nearly gasped.

Ceased.

The world around her had ceased.

"Seven Princes of Hell." She swore. She could see soldiers, paused amidst battle. The demons, who were tearing apart the citizens, were also frozen in time. She could see Abraham, attacking a pack of three demons single-handedly. Also ceased in motion.

Even the blood threatening to splatter against the floor. Lost in time.

"Faith." Arechin breathed. "Look." He drew her attention to where his eyes were fixated on the portal—the only kinetic thing now. She realized that save for the two of them, others had gone static.

Her pulse quickened, and she felt as if all of her blood vessels had been constricted, threatening to burst. She had a certainty that Arechin felt the same.

Then He emerged from the darkness of the portal.

He was a song of death and misery, whispered from ear to ear around a fire, in the otherwise quiet world. She saw the vision of a hundred dead men.

His blonde hair looked like he had carefully plucked the wings of cherubins and tastefully sewed them on his head. He was fair like he had never set foot in a world where the sun shines. He walked slowly, and deliberately. He was clad in all black, which brought out his pale skin even further. But his eyes, they were the lightest shade of blue she had seen. Like the kind of lens that someone would have to pay a great price to acquire. They were unreal.

She first saw his face twist into a frown, as he took them both in.

Then, he licked his blood red lips, "Seven Princes of Hell indeed, my dear." He spoke lethargically, as if he had all the time in the world. "You have found yourself in the presence of the Ruler of Vannuth, the Prince of Sloth."