Vultures cast shadows over the blood-soaked sand as they waited for the battle to conclude and their next meals to begin. The vast expanse of desert had become a wasteland filled with twisted, dead bodies as the Angels and Demons fought for their respective realms. The flashes of white and black magic had died down until only a few remained standing, stained ruby from their fight and wielding whatever power they had left.

Except for one.

The male swung his long, bronze blade through the shoulder of an Angel, felling him instantly. Around him, more bodies lay broken, his brethren in various stages of dying, his enemies’ souls drifting, unable to move on without a pyre to burn their bodies. Massive black wings sprouted from his back as another group of Angels approached him, trying to encircle him now that he was alone. The surprise attack had decimated the entire battalion, but that did not evoke an ounce of fear in him as they crept closer.

A wicked gleam appeared in his burgundy eyes, and he smiled—a feral, deranged look that paused the Angels’ steps. He opened his palm, letting the blade thump against the damp sand beneath his feet. Swirls of black wrapped around his hands, twining through his fingers and racing up his arms to encircle his neck and torso. He inhaled deeply, tasting the metallic tang of blood in the air, and leveled his gaze on the Angels approaching him.

And then, he dropped to one knee.

He cocked his fist.

And pounded it into the dirt.

A shockwave of shadow swept across the field, and beneath their feet, the ground rumbled like the first tremors of an earthquake. One Angel cried out as he tripped and nearly impaled himself on a broken spear.

But his quick reflexes did not save him in the end.

From behind him, one of the bloody Angels rose, using his one remaining hand to grasp a sword. No life remained in his glassy blue eyes, and his expression did not change as he slaughtered one, then another of his former comrades. The approaching circle was soon surrounded by the reanimated corpses of both Angels and Demons, fighting against any who dared approach their master.

Screams rang out further in the distance as more and more bodies picked themselves off the bloody, burnt ground and fought against the living. Magic swirled faster, more frantically around the Demon’s arms as he pushed it further and further afield, drawing on every ounce of his shadows to break the would-be winners of the battle.

“Stop!” A cry rang out, followed by three blasts of a horn.

But the Demon did not stop, not as he advanced on the Angel’s

Padisa, his magic threading into each fresh corpse and turning them on those who remained standing in his way.

Until none were left living, save for the Angel Padisa who had ordered the attack.

One of his reanimated comrades held a blade to his throat and the Demon stalked forward, letting his footfalls ring out a death sentence.

“You’re the Halálhívó,” he gasped out, frozen in place as he was held against the flesh of the dead.

A low chuckle swept from the Demon’s chest as he regarded the Angel. “And you still chose to ambush me. How inept.”

With a flick of his wrist, he commanded the corpse to throw the Angel to the ground, where the male coughed and spluttered, heaving down air. The Demon crouched in front of him, and the Angel went deathly still.

“Normally, I would slit your throat and let the blood feed the Fates’ earth, but today I am feeling generous.” He jerked a knife from a sheath hidden in his boot, letting it catch the light before returning his attention to the Angel. In one rough movement, he caught the Angel’s face between his fingers and forced it to look up at him. “Run back to your leaders and tell them that you started a war.” The knife drifted closer to the Angel’s face, and he jerked back, attempting to flee. But the Demon’s shadows leaped out and pinned the Angel’s hands and legs in place. “Tell them that your attempt at assassinating me failed, and that the Kral will extinguish your kind once and for all. I am nothing but his humble servant.”

“Please, no,” the Angel begged, but it was too late.

The tip of the bronze knife already pierced his skin, and the Demon drew a deep line into his forehead. Blood poured from the wound, forcing the Angel’s eyes shut as a sob wracked his chest.

“There.” The Demon finished, releasing the Angel and stepping back to admire his handiwork. The shadows holding the Angel captive circled up his legs and arms until it dug into the fresh wound, causing him to scream again.

With a laugh that held only wicked amusement, the Demon let the shadows dissipate.

The Angel lifted his head to glare at the Demon, the H carved into his forehead sending cascades of garnet down his face. “I will find you again one day and make you pay for this.”

The Demon flashed the bronze blade again in the sunlight, allowing the corner of his lip to twitch into a smirk. “I have no doubt you will. Now, fly away like the insect you are.”

The Angel scrambled to his feet, spitting blood at the ground in front of the Demon, and took off into the skies, speeding away from the battlefield where the vultures were beginning their feast.

Caws filled the air as the Demon returned to his side of the battlefield in search of the lone horse that would carry him to the Demon Realm’s capital in Keleti. There, he would inform his Kral of the assault.

And then they would plan the final extinction of the Angels.

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1

Everyone I loved died. Maybe I should start loving my husband so he would too. The bastard stalked toward me, and I backed into the countertop, unable to flee in another direction. “You stupid, worthless bitch,” Vagach snarled, landing the back of his hand square against my cheek. My head whipped to the side, and I collapsed to the polished wood slats at my husband’s feet. Instinctively, I curled in on myself, covering my head before he could deliver another blow to my face.

The movement left my ribs vulnerable, and not a heartbeat later, he kicked them, sending the air screaming from my lungs. Something cracked, and a sharp pain robbed me of my next breath.

“How are you still not pregnant!” He shouted. All I could do was brace and wait for his next blow. It landed on my shoulder with enough force that I knew it would boast a fat, purple bruise.

I coughed, attempting to push my feet into the ground and distance myself from Vagach. Instead, he straddled me, using the tip of his boot to force me onto my back. Both my ribs and shoulder twinged from the movement. I closed my eyes, trying to hold back the words and the tears that wanted to spill over. Doing either meant risking further wrath, and my spirit was already so close to breaking.

“How long has it been now that you’ve failed the Fates?” Priestess Anara mused, not bothering to move from her position at the table across the kitchen, where she observed Vagach’s abuse with a passive air. The thick black cane that had landed across my knuckles and the backs of my knees too many times rested beside a mug of steaming tea in front of her.

Vagach and I had been married nearly eight years already, and for six of them, I’d dreamed of killing myself to escape the pain. Perhaps today would be the day he finally ended my life and released me from the prison he kept me in.

The Fates weren’t that kind to me. Neither was Priestess Anara.

“Eight years,” I wheezed out, glaring at her. I hoped she saw the hate in my eyes through the sheer black veil all females were forced to wear. This cold fury never seemed to dull even after all the beatings I’d been given for defying her and therefore defying the will of the Fates.