Lord Loss (The Demonata 1)

“Show you're not afraid,” Dervish says. “Look at them without flinching.”

“It's hard.”

“I know. For me too. But you can do it, Grubbs. You have to.”

Deep breaths. Exerting control. I lift my eyes and train them on the three heads dangling in front of me. Their features twist. Mom and Gret hiss at me hatefully. I don't look away.

Under the strength of my gaze, the heads disintegrate, melting like the candles. The web vibrates. The air bubbles. The molten waxy flesh of the heads rises, twisting, forming itself into three new shapes. A crocodile-headed dog. A murderous baby. And their master — Lord Loss.

“It begins,” Dervish sighs, and step

s forward to confront the demons.

THE BATTLE

DERVISH stops at the place where the floor gives way to webs, spreads his arms, and shouts something unintelligible. Blue flames crackle from the tips of his fingers. He brings his hands together, then touches a thick strand of web. Blue fire runs up the thread to where it connects with another. Like lightning it streaks from strand to strand, arcing ever closer to Lord Loss and his familiars. Lord Loss shows no sign of fear. When the blue flame reaches him, it sizzles and hisses around him, but he only smiles and waves a hand, and the flame sputters out.

Lord Loss stretches his arms above his head. As he does, six other arms unfold from around his body, three on either side. No fingers, just mangled lumps of flesh at the ends. The demon master grips two strands, one with either set of hands, and climbs towards us like a grotesque spider. Vein and Artery follow close behind their master. Vein yapping, Artery snapping his teeth.

Studying the demons with terror. So many details I'd forgotten. The tiny mouths in Artery's palms, the fact that he doesn't have a tongue in any mouth, the writhing cockroaches on his head, the fierceness of the flames burning in his empty eye sockets. Vein's tiny cruel eyes, her long leathery snout, bits of flesh caught between her teeth, the sleekness of her canine coat, female hands instead of paws. And Lord Loss — red skin stained with blood that oozes from hundreds of thousands of ragged cracks, his strange dark red eyes, and the hole where his heart should be, filled with writhing, hissing snakes.

The demons come to the end of the web and hesitate, swaying on a thin strand like evil vultures on a vine. Dervish stands beneath them, cool as a chunk of ice, hands pressed together.

“Hello, Dervish,” Lord Loss says, his voice even sadder than I remembered. “It is good to see you again, my doomed friend.”

“Good to see you also,” Dervish replies tightly. Vein snaps at him, trying to frighten him, but Dervish only sniffs with disinterest.

“And my younger friend, poor Grubitsch Grady.” Lord Loss sighs, subjecting me to his eerie red gaze. “Your sorrow is still strong. So sweet.” His face wrinkles and blood seeps from cracks on both cheeks. He licks the blood from his flesh with an inhumanly long tongue, then extends a hand. “Come to me, Grubitsch. Let me feed on your pain. Misery should be celebrated, not endured. In my world you will be an emperor of suffering. Be mine, Grubitsch. Turn your back on this insane challenge and accept your true destiny.”

I find myself sneering, and without meaning to, I draw myself up straight, glare openly at the demon lord, and snap, “Stick it up your crack, you warped son of a mutant bitch!”

Lord Loss's face drops. Vein and Artery gibber furiously. Dervish laughs.

“You will pay for that insult,” Lord Loss snarls, eyes glowing, blood flowing.

“Only if we lose,” Dervish chuckles. “You can't touch him if we win.”

“Oh, but Dervish, you won't win,” Lord Loss says, his voice reverberating with gloominess. “I wish there was hope — you remind me of Bartholomew Garadex, a most rare human. But you must face facts — this night you die. The boy is weak, unfit for such a challenge.”

“Don't listen to him,” Dervish warns me. “He's trying to make you think you're lost before you start.”

“I know what he's up to — it won't work,” I grunt. But inside I'm not so cocky. There's such sadness in the demon's voice and eyes. Is it true? Are we destined to lose?

“One final chance, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss whispers. “Give yourself to me now and you can avoid the terror and agony. Your death will not be quick, but it will be pleasurable. Your mother, at the end, wished she had accepted my offer. She begged to serve me, but it was too late.”

“I don't believe you,” I say evenly. “Mom would never have begged a piece of scum like you for anything — even her life!”

Lord Loss's eyes narrow. “A second insult,” he murmurs. “You shall not make a third.” He faces Dervish. “I tire of these vain human posturings. I came to play chess. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Who will take to the boards with me?”

“I will.”

Lord Loss lays a hand over his mouth to cover a small smile. “The boy is to fight Vein and Artery? I am astonished. I assumed Grubitsch was a chess maverick who would pit his wits against mine. But to throw him into combat with my savage familiars …”

“Grubbs will be fine,” Dervish says, but his voice doesn't ring with confidence.