Strays by Remy Wilkins

Author:Remy Wilkins [Wilkins, Remy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Canonball Books
Published: 2017-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

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In the belly of the earth beneath them, Smugbog labored to dig out a place to hide. Since his cruentation, he’d been digging tunnels and alcoves for the new demons arriving daily. Whenever he wasn’t digging, he was pierced and drained of ichor so that new warriors could be brought into the material world. He stuffed a few fistfuls of mud into his mouth, swallowing it rocks and all, to keep himself anchored to this world. He felt the wriggle of worms in his belly. A dull ache flared up in his body. Unfit for substance, his cruentated flesh groaned to bear such weight. He gnashed his teeth and continued to dig.

The army was growing slowly. Had Smugbog’s ears not been filled with wax, they would have been filled with their cries and curses. Any time he raised his eyes in the pitch black, he could see the filthy mutterings of his fellow demons careening down the tunnels.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ripples of sound, someone coming, and the whirlpools of the slop and suck of the mud announced his impending arrival. Smugbog dove into his small crevice and curled up.

“Out, you simpering pile,” the demon announced at the opening of his hiding place. The sound waves jostled the darkness. He stood there huffing until Smugbog exited. “Spit-thicket needs one last wastrel, and your rank carcass has been chosen.”

Spit-thicket was one of the higher-ranking demons on base. He was nearly human sized and had a fang that twisted out of his mouth sideways. He’d been here for years and knew the traitor adam personally.

“What do you demand of Smugbog?” he said, once he stood.

“Spit-thicket has been given the bearded adam. The Old Master allows it, and Murkpockets roars for it. He falls to the diaboloi.”

Smugbog looked up. “Heaven has abandoned him?”

Spit-thicket struck Smugbog across the brow. His head collided with the dirt wall, and he slipped to his knees. Spit-thicket leaned down into his ear and said, “Do you think Hell reaches for what cannot be had?” He put his foot on Smugbog’s neck and pushed him into the mud. “Hell does not stretch out its hand for defeat.”

“Anymore,” Smugbog squeaked from beneath Spit-thicket’s foot.

“Ever again,” He said, before shoving Smugbog one last time. Spit-thicket spun around and marched quickly off through the darkness.

Smugbog stood up and had to hurry to keep up with him. “What of the boy?”

“He is not required of Hell.”

“Then Heaven holds him dear?”

Spit-thicket growled. “Hell cares not. The Old Master says to leave the boy for now.”

“And the stray?” Smugbog winced even as he said it. This had been the murmur of all since it happened. It was not a topic the leadership wished to address.

Because of this stray, all diaboloi must have their ears sealed with wax, lest they be subjected to the Name. Because of the stray, all had to peer into the black for the shape of the commands, for the whirls and eddies of sounds.

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