Soul of a Witch (Souls Trilogy)
Soul of a Witch: Chapter 1

Hell — 2,000 Years Ago

A mortal man once told me, “Only the dead have seen the end of war.” But I, being infinite, was doomed to see it all. Every great battle, every raging conflict. The fall of every kingdom on Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell. The endless loss of lives in an ever-churning machine of bloodshed.

The curse of the immortal.

I took up arms, I witnessed the destruction of great cities and the deaths of so many — and yet, I went on. Hell was the domain of the immortals, but even we could be snuffed out.

So many of us were already lost.

There was a soft sound as the flap of my tent was brushed aside. It was my second-in-command, Kimaris. “A scout has returned, my lord.”

“A scout?” I turned. “We sent three.”

“Yes, dux. Only one returned.” Her voice didn’t betray the pain in her golden eyes.

The fields were covered in ash. Cities leveled. Young ones snuffed out. And still, we went on. Infinite.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d mourned. There was no time for the ceremonies with which we bid farewell to the dead. We couldn’t celebrate the freedom of their beings, nor could we come to terms with the horror of their fates.

To die by the hand of a God was to become Theirs for eternity. Your essence, sucked into Its own, the wretched suffering of your immortal being feeding Its gluttonous power. A horror beyond words, beyond what even we demons could imagine.

“How much time do we have?” I said.

“They’ll reach us before dawn.”

Then we would fight in the night. We were the last line, the final defense before the city of Dantalion. If the High City was taken, then Hell was no longer ours. It would become the realm of gods.

“Callum…” She hesitated, staring at the grass but seeing something else entirely. Something that made her lip curl as she said, “There are Reapers with them.”

Sharp, cold fingers of dread gripped my chest. But I kept my face utterly blank. I imagined myself as a chiseled stone, unmovable, unchanging. Unfailing.

“I want every warrior ready. Go through the camp, get them sobered up. We don’t have time for their comforts.”

“Yes, dux.” Kimaris turned to go, but there was a final thing to be done.

“The scout,” I said. “Are they well? Able to travel?” She nodded. “Take them aside and select two others. I want them to stay back from the battle. If the line is broken, they are to go back to Dantalion and give word. A little time to flee is better than none.”

Kimaris looked stricken. “The High City has never fallen,” she said sharply. “Never.”

“Pride will make us think we’re untouchable. But the gods advance. We are the last line. Dantalion will not fall while I still live.” I paced across the tent, snapping my fingers. “Tell them, Kimaris, but let no one else know of this. Keep the conversation private.”

A great white fog was growing on the horizon, rolling toward us over the vast plains. Lightning flashed within, briefly illuminating the gargantuan shapes of beasts as they advanced.

Behind me, in the distance, the High City shimmered in the dark, its lights extending far into the heavens. I longed for her warmth, her twisting streets, the shining onyx towers of her keep. But I cast away the feelings; I forced my heart to harden.

If I hesitated, if I allowed myself to long for anything other than bloodshed, Dantalion would be taken.

Hell’s army was gathered at my back, demons young and old. Dark clouds gathered overhead, obscuring the night sky and the silver light of the twin moons.

“And so comes the rain,” Kimaris said, as the heavy drops began to fall. She whispered, “How many do you think?”

We gazed at the nearing fog. It was faint, at this distance, but I could hear the screams within. Agonized, tortured screams of all those beings the gods had consumed. Mortal or immortal, it didn’t matter. Their souls were locked into eternal torment for the gods, creatures that thrived and fed upon suffering. Their forms were massive and ever-changing.

Flying before them, like great black shadows, were the Reapers. They were adorned in bones, their multiple eyes glowing beneath their shrouds. Their cries pierced the night, animalistic and hungry. The howls of the Eld creatures mingled with them, the lesser beasts crawling at their masters’ heels, gnashing their teeth.

“It doesn’t matter how many,” I said. “We don’t stop until there are none.”

Turning my back on the encroaching fog, I faced my warriors. Fangs clipped eagerly, the sound of snapping teeth our battle cry. Many of these demons had sharpened their claws, or fit metal spurs on their fingers. Some held massive weapons made of aether, metal, or stone, their blades shimmering in the night.

Looking upon them, with the lights of the High City glowing at their backs, I could see the end of this war.

Whether I would live to see it, I didn’t know. But the end was here.

“Hellions!” My voice roared over the landscape, loud enough to reach even the furthest line of demons. “Some among you have lived as long as I. You’ve seen the world change, you’ve seen wars come and cities fall. But some of you are seeing war for the first time. You’ve seen friends and lovers die, you’ve seen blood fill the streets of our cities.”

They shouted in response, chanting, “Honor the dead! Honor the dead!”

When had I last seen a funeral pyre? When was the last time we’d had enough peace to send the ashes of our kin free to the winds?

As I looked upon them, I saw fear, I saw fury. I didn’t see hope. I saw hundreds of beings bracing themselves to die.

Straightening my shoulders, I said, “Dantalion relies upon us and we will not let it fall! I’ve seen you, fought with you.” I paced along their line, meeting their eyes, touching their shoulders. Making it clear they had a leader who was not afraid. “I’ve seen you tear out the hearts of gods, drenched in the blood of the Eld! I’ve seen your viciousness! Today, we go into battle with the names of those we lost on our lips. Honor the dead! But do not forget the living. Do not forget the lives of those beside you, and those behind you. Honor them!”

Weapons slammed, howls broke out across the ranks. Lifting my hand, I drew the edge of my blade across my palm so the blood ran down my wrist. Many of the warriors followed suit, for no demon wanted to give their enemy the satisfaction of drawing first blood.

“We’ll see the sun rise on their corpses!” I yelled. “These fields will be fed with their blood! For no creature, no God, will take Hell from its true keepers!”

The cacophony of their shouts and howls was deafening, loud enough to drown out the horrendous screams of our enemies. Stretching my wings toward the sky, I watched them come. The white fog reached out long tendrils toward us, and the screaming grew louder. Massive beings stirred in the darkness.

“Death calls!” I yelled. “But today, you will not answer! Today, you fight, and death will feed on your enemies! Hell is ours!” I slammed my blades together with a crack like thunder, beat my wings, and launched into the air. The first tendrils of mist touched my face, cold as ice and bringing with it whispers of agony.

I bared my teeth. Above me, a massive form loomed.

“Death calls,” I murmured. “Death calls.”

I raised my weapons and faced the gods.

The sun beat down, a blood-red yolk floating in a pale gray sky, as I walked among the fields of the dead.

The odor of burned flesh and rot permeated the air. Corpses riddled the landscape as pools of blood seeped into the dirt. Dead gods were scattered across the field, their massive forms melting into lumps of quivering flesh, surrounded by clusters of phosphorescent fungal growths. Dying reapers with ruined wings and broken bodies roared curses at me as I passed.

All around me lay the bodies of my kin. Demons I’d known, fought beside. Demons I’d loved, who wore my metal and jewels in piercings I’d given them with my hands.

One by one, as I found them, I took out the metal they’d given me. The jewelry pierced through my ears, lips, and eyebrows, covered in glittering jewels – I ripped them out. I didn’t feel the pain. Physical pain was nothing in comparison to this.

One wing dragged behind me as I knelt before another body. They’d been gored, but I knew their face. Ryker. They wore my metal pierced through their lip, and I could remember how joyous they’d been when I gave it to them. We’d spent all night in rapture before rising in the morning to fight another day.

If this was what it took to save Hell, perhaps I shouldn’t have saved it.

I closed their wide, glassy eyes. Then choked down the pain, swallowed it whole, let it sit like a knot of agony in my chest. I wouldn’t stop until I’d seen them all. Every single one. I would not allow even one of my warriors to go unwitnessed into the Void Beyond.

Through the lingering smoke, I could see the High City. Its spires and glittering towers of onyx and emerald pierced the sky like a beast’s teeth. Lucifer’s great citadel overlooked it all, the tallest of its towers disappearing into the clouds.

They would call me a hero. There would be feasting, debauchery, orgies. Liquor would flow for days. Hell’s future was secured, the war was won.

Lucifer would grant me his favor. He would mark me, just like I’d wanted for so long. My ascension would be complete.

Archdemon.

Royal.

Revered.

I wanted none of it.

Turning my back on the city so many had died for, I trudged on. There was a voice in my head, screaming my name like an endless echo. The cries of my warriors were trapped within my own mind.

Amid the swirling smoke ahead, a figure appeared.

It was a woman. Not a demon, not a beast. A mortal woman, with long blonde hair that was damp and dirty. She wore boots and trousers, but the make of her clothing was unlike anything I’d seen on Earth or in Hell. Her head was bowed, her shoulders hunched as she clutched at her side.

I sniffed the air.

Blood, sugary sweet, spring berries and honey, nectar on my tongue…

She was a witch.

Witches only sought demons for one purpose — to control us. They would force us to bend to their will if they could discover our true name.

Something about this witch was familiar. Like the face of an old friend, warped by time. But that was impossible. I did not keep company with witches.

Then she lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes glittered like sapphires, bright and beautiful amid so much gore. We faced each other in silence across the open field, her scent wafting over me like a heady perfume.

Intoxicating, irresistible, the most alluring ambrosia.

Then she spoke, and my entire world changed.

“Callum…please…help me…”