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| Convictionist Pride by Beki Yopek |
He swung his scythe through a hundred souls and they disappeared into the Hellblessed blade, life force and all. The haloxite side glared gold in the overcast lighting, and he spun it to point at me like a nun’s ruler. “Heaven Law is what allows us to harvest in the big cities unimpeded by the Coalition. If we destroy the demon thieves surrounding that train car, then we forfeit control of the harvesting process to the Chief Seraph.”
He pointed down the ladderwork of metal and wood we’d been following on our days-long harvest along the train’s route into Paris. World War II meant a deluge of wartime souls in places outside big cities, and we hadn’t seen an urban environment the whole trip until now. A train undulated down the tracks and a demon in some kind of marching band uniform zipped in the air above it. Why hadn’t he attacked us yet?
I pointed a wing at the train. “The Chief Seraph needs to give us a vigilante license.”
The Reaper cackled. “I concur, Avaline. However, we are the Soul Fountains. Killing demon thieves means fewer demons to convert to our mote system. The Chief Seraph is relying on that.”
“Conversion's her job. We’ve helped her a ton. This time, our goal matters more than Heaven Law. If those parasite demons don’t see the Soul Fountains are better than the Coalition’s entrepreneurial b.s., that’s their fault. Force them to attack us. Then it’s self-defense.”
He shrugged under his brown hooded robe. “Fine. We will risk destroying the demons only if no SPD agent is nearby. I will watch for Seraphs while you entrap the thieves pursuing that train car. Then I will end them.”
I scanned the cityscape around the railroad tracks leading into downtown Paris, France. Gunpowder and smoke permeated the air and I breathed it in, glad for the smells of home and the abundance of souls around us. Whipping my Blood Magic folio out of my blazer pocket, I tore a magazine picture of an elephant into a couple dozen pieces. Many of them stuck to my sweaty palms when I put the folio away and I cursed. It’d be just a little un-good if the spell I had in mind entangled me by mistake.
Reap flew skyward without needing wings and arced along the tracks a hundred feet up, dragging Seversoul and its two-toned scythe blade with him. I pounded air with both wings and followed him toward the mechanical chugging of the German train that was slowing down half a mile up the track. Nia’s new mote bracelet clung to my left forearm above the Hades watch. I drew life force from the red motes it held there while we flew. I guess the fact that I could even wear her leather creation and plug motes into it made me more fortunate than most demons. I’d need all the honestly-earned life force I could get.
On June 22nd, 1940, we were killing the demons surrounding the German Chancellor.
All the thin lines we were walking flashed through my mind as we flew over brick-and-stone facades and streets with light poles that stuck up over thousands of marching Nazi soldiers. As long as no Septuplet or Seraph was around, The Reaper and I did the job the way we’d always done. We ended fools.
I was guessing the lack of Seraphs in Paris was because they’d lose too many angels that way. When The Coalition came out en masse like they did in WWII Europe, law enforcement cost the SPD too much. Go figure.
The German train car slowed to crawling speed as we approached. Hundreds of soldiers formed ranks on either side of it. None of them saw the flocks of demons diving down and sapping life force from the newly deceased French souls amassed there. I guess prayers and summonings were beneath the German military. They’d be able to see all of us otherwise.
When The Reaper and I touched down on the pavement a hundred yards away from the train car, I switched the fistful of paper squares between hands. I dried both palms, then drew out the haloxite knife I always carried. One small stab plus one hot stinging pain equaled orange blood that welled up from the left palm. Most of the paper squares stayed in my right hand, stacked there like a tiny deck of cards ready for the dealing.
Reap would never ruin our reputation of following Heaven Law. When he turned his back on the thieving varmints and presented them a target, it had to have been because he was thinking about contacting the SPD. I swear.
The demon parasites ditched the souls and pelted at the juicy prey twenty or thirty at a time. Excitement thrilled through me at the thought of maybe getting to use my surprise-toed boots in combat at last.
Reap’s last-second snarl was a wildfire and he spun back around, scythe at the ready.
I put up my guard.
Then I opened the left palm and swatted aside the first demon’s haloxite-knuckled punch.
One blood-sticky square clung to the attacker’s arm and I cranked out the Blood Magic. Her arm, shoulder, and body plunged downward as the spell’s weight crushed along the whole length of her.
Grinning, I slapped another square to the seeping blood of my left palm and ducked the next attacker’s kick. One open-hand strike later and his leg rushed to meet the cement along with the rest of him.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty demons assaulted me from all sides and I pancaked each one of them to the ground with a magic-spiked block. The Reaper roared behind me and the staccato scrape of Seversoul against the cement pierced the air again and again. Mix my Blood Magic with The Reaper’s scythe work and you get a trail of dead demons with a don’t-screw-with-us garnish. Clouds of smoke billowed forth from each demon The Reaper finished, and a sharp yell mingled with the hiss of steam as the train car halted.
No German Chancellor emerged. A single uniformed demon swooped down from the skies and alighted on the street in front of us, the cloth braids on one shoulder bouncing as she did. So I’d mis-judged. It wasn’t a he, and it wasn’t a marching band uniform.
“Pride?” I blurted without thinking.
The only Septuplet who hadn’t changed her name during the Industrial Revolution came forward with her chin in the air.
Reap rasped, “How do you know her?”
Stupid brain farts. I leaned toward The Reaper’s ram-horned skull. “Old Dean of Phlegethon-U. My alma mater. Pride’s the whole reason the Military and Assassin Combat programs exist there. We erm, we sparred a lot.”
I kept an eye on her while she approached. Her chocolate hair matched the dark swirled color of her horns and wings. Corded braids draped from her right shoulder to the chest buttons on her uniform. I’d seen that uniform encased on her office wall while I was a student. No explanation needed as to why. The reason still hurt too much.
The Reaper growled, “Black and gold uniform. I thought those had all been destroyed after The Industrial Revolution. Was she a Convictionist?”
Involuntary shudders slammed into me and I blurted, “Shut up about that, Reap!”
Pride stopped a few feet away from us, her booted feet spread in parade rest. Or a concealed fighting stance. Her voice brimmed with a richness that rang like poisoned nostalgia. “Hell’s kind are foolish to keep mum about the Industrial Revolution. It happened, Avaline, and it is happening again.”
Red tinged my vision and I spat on the ground at her feet. “You’re stealing from the Soul Fountains and inspiring demons to keep doing it.”
She tsked and replied, “So many years I spent training you and you still make those snap judgments of yours. Nobody said I was working with The Pneuma Coalition.”
“So you’re defending the German Chancellor out of the goodness of your heart?”
“A system is only as good as the fuel that feeds it,” Pride lilted. “Why do you safeguard the worst dictator Earth has known?”
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