Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4) (9 page)

Darius sidled up next to
Billy.  In his ear, he whispered, “Better fight if you want to live.” 

“Oh my God!”
Billy cried and turned his head.  Bloodshot brown eyes filled with fear linked with his.

Darius shook his head and chuckled softly.  “
No, quite the contrary,” he said then laughed maniacally. 

Baal had taken several silent steps closer, moving with grace that betrayed his large, lumbering shape.  When
Billy and Toad became aware of his proximity, both boys froze.  Baal huffed and said something inaudible in his gruff voice.  Color drained from Billy’s face and the acrid scent of ammonia permeated the air.  Darius felt his features involuntarily scrunch as he looked down and saw a large puddle of urine trailing down the boy’s pant leg and forming a puddle on the hardwood floor.  The boy had wet himself, a fact that made him loathe the blubbering idiot all the more.

“No, no please,” Toad groveled for mercy.  “Please, we do not want to fight.” 

“Sorry boys,” Darius said and strode to the chairs before the fireplace.  Abraxas had turned his to face the impending clash.  Amitt had done the same, only she’d perched on the arm of the chair and saved the seat for him.  When he took his seat, she immediately began stroking his exposed skin with her talon-like fingernails, sharpened to neat points. 

Baal whacked his chest several times with his balled fists, signifying the fun was about to begin. 
Ire flared like hellfire in his inky garnet eyes and his upper lip had lifted to a snarl. 

“No, no, no!” the boys screamed in unison, their voices a cacophonous jumble. 

Baal silenced them by sweeping a massive hand past their faces, grazing both their jaws lightly.  The force of his blow overturned them like dominoes and sent them tumbling to the floor.  Billy clambered to his hands and knees and began scuttling away like the bug he was.  He’d managed to stand upright when Darius pounced.  He leaped from his chair and descended on the boy like a panther on a gazelle, catching his ankle midstride.  The boy lurched forward and fell face-first. 

“No, no
.  You need to get back to your friend,” Darius cautioned and flung Billy back toward Baal and Toad. 

Baal palmed the back of Toad’s head in his gargantuan hand and rammed the other into the boy’s midsection.  A cracking sound
bit the air all around them as ribs yielded.  The boy’s face wrinkled in agony, but only briefly.  Baal released him and he fell to his side clutching fractured bones.  The beast did not waste time attacking.  Within seconds he was on Toad, pinning him with his thick legs and hefting his deadly fists overhead.  He brought them crashing down against the boy’s head with a sickening thud then raised them again and again, hammering the boy’s face until sweat dripped from his broad brow.  Each swing lacerated flesh, crushed bone and pulverized features.  Gore sprayed and splattered in every direction and the coppery stench of blood pervaded Darius’s nostrils.  Glee tiptoed down the length of his spine as he watched and heard blow after blow land on Toad’s skull with a moist-sounding
thwack
.  He felt his heart trip several times, the sheer excitement of the moment so epic it overwhelmed.  Even Amitt was enjoying the show.  He could feel her sharp nails burrow into his flesh, adding to the pure pleasure he was experiencing. 

He’d become so immersed in the excitement, his attention so diverted, he did not notice
Billy creeping away.  Fortunately, the attempted escape was not lost on Baal either.  Baal caught the boy’s leg, leaving Toad, whose teeth were strewn all around him, and nose far askew from where it had been originally, swollen and bloodied, to wriggle in a pulpy and gruesome heap no one would recognize, to tend to Billy.  He spun and tossed the boy as an athlete would a discus.  Billy sped across the room and smashed into the far wall, exploding against plaster.  The sound ricocheted like a cannon blast and a look of unadulterated joy lit his comrades’ features.  

“Hurt,” Baal’s voice scraped impatiently. 
He vented guttural grunts and his entire body quaked like a mighty volcano about to erupt.  When he could no longer contain the lava seething inside him, he charged toward Billy who’d bounced to the floor and lay in a mangled mess of limbs.  The boy wept and drooled.  Snot and blood mingled together with tears and spittle to form an ugly wet slop that burbled across his face.  Darius found himself wishing Baal would speed the process and do away with the contemptible bug already.  Luckily, at that moment, Baal had decided the same.  He hoisted his knee high then stomped down, grinding his heel into the nasty mash.  He stomped repeatedly, retracting then tramping his foot until the color of the mush ran red.

Darius stood and clapped, cheering the dramatic finale.  “Well done, Baal!  Very entertaining!  Do you feel better?”

Baal nodded vigorously.  His features scrunched into a grin that could only be described as terrifying at best. 

“Excellent,” Darius said.  “I am sorry to say, this is going to have to hold you over for a little while.  We have many matters to take care of.”

Chief among the matters he’d referred to was the Desmond-Arianna issue.  He briefed them on his future wife’s involvement with the Boy Scout warlock.

“I am surprised he
is not here already,” Amitt said.  “I am surprised he did not rush to avenge his father’s death, fool that he is!”

“It is uncharacteristic,”
Abraxas agreed.  “But give him time.  It is early yet.  Remember, he is weaker than you.  It will take him longer to overcome this harsh land his father lives on.”  Abraxas swung his arm, sculpted by thick ropes of muscle, to one side, toward the window.  Frost coated the pane, but beyond it, the world was a frozen plain, inhospitable to humans. 

Darius smiled sparingly and nodded then turned his full attention to the icy void beyond the
glass.  Bleached skies blended with the hoary landscape, blurring into a single, disorienting sight.  His vision labored against it, but he saw nothing.  He averted his eyes briefly and scoured the short hairs on his scalp.  When he returned his gaze to the colorless terrain, he noticed that a dark form marred its purity.  He found it ironic, that a man as irritatingly pure as the driven snow could mar the hostile but virgin land with his presence. 
Not for long
, he thought with a malicious half-smile. 

“He’s here,” Darius said with satisfaction.  “Abraxas, Amitt, kindly help Baal clear these bodies.  I do not want to spook him yet.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Amitt bowed deeply and revealed swollen, milk-chocolate mounds that spilled from her skimpy top.  Darius treated himself to a lingering look before crossing the living room and mudroom to the front door.  He tugged the handle and found Desmond’s substantial frame crowding the threshold. 

“Desmond, my friend!” Darius said with feigned friendliness.  His eyes skimmed the revered warlock’s features.  The gold hair, turquoise eyes and pale skin reminded him of the winged guardians he’d seen scribbled on the roof of some insignificant chapel.  Both the memory and the man before him nauseated him.  “Come in.  Come in,” he urged Desmond, swallowing against his queasiness
.  But Desmond did not move right away.  Instead, his eyes tapered to crescent-shaped gashes and his muscles twitched.  Recognition flickered across face.  Darius had to stifle the urge to laugh, opting instead for a question.  “Do you know who I am?” he asked, though the faint tick at Desmond’s temple had already divulged the answer.

Desmond ground his molars then said, “Of course I know who you are.  You have come for her.
  But you will not have her.”  His voice was a clap of sanctimonious thunder, full of smug piousness that curdled Darius’ blood like spoiled milk.  Desmond pressed past him and stepped inside.  The angry energy he emitted sizzled and snaked like flames all around him.  Darius allowed him his moment to bluster, allowed him his moment of glory, for he knew it would end soon. 

Darius followed Desmond into the living room.  A distinct metallic scent still lingered in the space, the unmistakable fragrance of blood. 

“Where is my father?” Desmond’s nostrils flared as he asked.

“Dead,” Darius answered offhandedly.  “I killed him.”  He watched as Desmond’s chest swelled and his eyes hardened to granite. 
He was sure Desmond was about to comment on what he’d just said, begin some holier-than-thou tirade that charged him with a grave offense, but was intercepted by Amitt before he could. 

“My, my, Darius,” she said as she stole across the room and planted herself at Desmond’s side.  She caressed his arm and he recoiled.  “You didn’t tell me he was so sexy,” she persisted.  She pressed her bosom against his arm and
raked her fingers across his chest.  “Umm,” she crooned.  “He is hot.”  From his chest, her hand meandered upward and explored his face before she quickly burrowed her fingers in his blonde hair.  As she set about her little examination, fawning over him as if he were a shiny new toy and she a child, Desmond remained stoic, a feat as far as Darius was concerned, as men seemed incapable of resisting Amitt’s charms.  Everything about her – her hair, her voice, her scent, and her long lean body – suggested she was designed for sin of the most debauched kind.  He had yet to encounter a man, supernatural or otherwise, who did not succumb to it.  But Desmond was proving far different from others he’d come across, a fact that vexed him. 

He watched as Desmond calmly plucked her wrist
that dangled near his nose and placed it at her side.  “Keep your pet away from me,” he said firmly. 

“Oh, don’t be such a prude Desmond.”  Darius had enough of the dedicated boyfriend routine.  “Everyone slips.  And who better to slip into than Amitt here,” he goaded the dutiful warlock.  “Besides, you two look good together.”  Desmond’s face hardened.  Darius lifted his hands in f
ront of his chest in mock surrender.  “Hey, I’m just saying you should keep your options open because I am here for my wife and I hear that you have been keeping her busy in my absence.”  Darius
tsk
ed and wagged his index finger as if he were reprimanding a naughty child.  “You do know you cannot have her.  She is mine, bound to me.  You and Arianna end today.”  Darius dropped his playful manner.  He was done toying with his prey. 

Desmond squared his shoulders and stood with his fists fixed on his hips. 
His deathly still posture and gaze promised bloodshed.  Darius wanted to applaud.  He wanted nothing more than to tangle with the golden-boy who’d been bedding his betrothed.  “You cannot have her, Darius.  She has chosen me and we have a bond that cannot be broken.”  Desmond’s words were calm waters beneath which waited man-eating sharks.

“
I can and I will!” Darius roared.  Arianna was his.
His!
  And he did not share his belongings.  “She will be with me and together, we will rule this planet for eternity.”

Desmond remained unflappable.  “Arianna is nothing like your false prophecy states.  She has already chosen her path.  She has turned from the one your
people predicted.  She turned from it and she will turn from you,” he said confidently. 

“I will s
lit her throat before that ever happens,” Darius shouted.

Desmond’s face knotted with fury.  He released a war cry as he unsheathed a pair of daggers from his
scabbard then disappeared.  Desmond was unaware of the extent of Darius’ abilities; he did not know that Darius could see each move he made as if it were happening in slow-motion.  When Desmond reappeared in front of him, ready to plunge his blades into his throat, he had seen the move coming and was prepared.  He snapped his hand forward and gripped the warlock’s pale throat and applied vice-like pressure.  The daggers dropped from his hands and fell to the floor with a loud
clang
.  Desmond kicked and thrashed, but Darius did not flinch.  He simply winked and gave a jaunty wave.  “Now the fun is really going to begin,” he spat.  He then splayed his free hand and brought it close to Desmond’s face.  “I would tell you this isn’t going to hurt a bit, but that would be a lie,” he said then placed his palm flush against Desmond’s mouth, his fingers covering his face.  He began to drain Desmond’s power.

Normally, he would relish in the rush of pure, white-hot power bolting through his veins like lightning, but not this time.  This time he was more interested in Desmond’s experience.  He wanted to feel just how much Desmond suffered. 

He gazed into his detestably heavenly face and watched as his features tightened.  A small groan slipped past his lips and Darius swore he could see the actual webbing of agony as it snared each nerve ending in his body.  Desmond stopped flailing and Darius could see it; see the individual synapses as they occurred, bursts of torture filled light exploding unrelentingly throughout his entirety.  He basked in the exquisite sting, luxuriated in the many layers of misery Desmond was enduring. 

When at last Desmond had been bled of his final drops of power, Darius allowed his body to crumble to the floor below and sag limply.
  “Now you are nothing more than the mindless humans you love so,” he said to Desmond, but Desmond was unresponsive.  “I would kill you, but I sense she would feel it.”

He looked upon the inert lump of flaxen hair and fair skin and found it to be putrid, anemic clutter littering his field of vision.  “Take him away, Abraxas,” he said to his trusted soldier. 
“Lock him up in the bowels of this godforsaken fortress.  Find whatever cage or contraption Agnon kept Thanatos locked in and put him there.  Chain him to the wall.”  Darius felt the tissue beneath his skin ripple, rising and swelling as muscle and fat reconfigured itself, as bone and cartilage rearranged itself.