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Light floods Lauren’s vision as the dark cloth sack is pulled off their head.
Everything around them is too bright after the long exposure to darkness, colors blurring together as they squint and turn their head to the side with a groan. Their heartbeat pounds against their temples, an ache more intense than they’ve ever felt in their life.
Before their vision can even begin to clarify, Lauren’s head snaps in the opposite direction as a large, bony hand slaps their cheek hard.
“Wakey, wakey little Daemon! HuhuhuhuhAHAHAHA!!”
Lauren wheezes as they try to catch their breath. A sharp pain along their right side makes it difficult to inhale, forcing them to take quicker, shallower breaths. A bruised rib, maybe even broken. Their hair and face are drenched with sweat, beads of it rolling down their forehead and into their eyes, blurring their vision further.
Their tongue wets their cracked lips, the taste of copper invading their mouth. It feels as though snot and blood have been running from their nose, caked above their upper lip.
Lauren attempts to lift a hand to wipe at their face, but they’re met with strong resistance. They glance downward to see their arms tightly bound to the arms of their chair.
What happened? Lauren thinks to themself, utterly confused and struggling to get their bearings.
“Aggamal!”
Another voice booms from some distance away, deep and imposing. Lauren can feel the entity’s presence even without seeing them, and apparently so can the person who woke them.
Lauren’s vision begins to clarify, revealing a tall, gaunt figure with greasy hair nearly folding himself in half to appear smaller. His face is deathly pale, splattered with a mixture of rough stubble, dirt, grease and blood. Similar stains coat the entirety of his attire, his hands boney and littered with long healed scars. It’s difficult to see his eyes, but Lauren swears the whites of them are completely yellow.
The source of the powerful voice approaches, a broader form who likely intimidates the thinner man – Aggamal – based on his refusal to meet his intense gaze.
This man stands prouder than his compatriot, his body much more filled out with fat and muscle. His skin is deeply sun-tanned, arms and face covered in wiry dark hair, his head shaved bald. While he appears much healthier, his eyes are similarly jaundiced and emblazoned with red-ringed pupils.
“Tholroth –”
Aggamal can barely utter the name before the other man punches him in the throat without hesitation. The impact sends him reeling back three steps, sputtering as his hand reaches for his neck.
“I told you not to play with the brat,” Tholroth growls, a puff of steam pushing past his clenched teeth.
Aggamal wheezes, then weakly resumes his giggling fit as he bows further before an obvious superior. “C’mon, Boss, please,” he says, fidgeting as his wild eyes flicker back to Lauren. “Just a little bit of torment. We haven’t had any prey to toy with in weeks, huhuhuhu. This one smells so delicious.”
Tholroth raises his hand as if to strike again, making Aggamal flinch. The lesser man cowers beneath his own arms even as the hand fails to continue its course.
“Are you an idiot?!” Tholroth roars. “We need a bargaining chip if we’re going to convince that mutt to finish what she started.”
“B-But –”
His hand strikes like a forge hammer against Aggamal’s outstretched arms, sending him onto his back, sliding three feet across the smooth floor.
“NO BUTS!” His voice cracks the atmosphere like a lightning strike. An acrid, burning smell invades Lauren’s senses as they helplessly watch Tholroth stalk toward Aggamal, hauling him up by his shirt. “Even before she was fully realized, Daemon had the potential to be more dangerous than fifty of us combined. The fuck d’you think she’ll do to us if the hair on her brat’s head is any more out of place than it is now?”
Aggamal looks scared into silence, his mouth now tightly shut as he aggressively breathes through his nose. He doesn’t answer.
Tholroth’s stare digs into him, challenging him to argue further.
“When she hands that Immortal’s soul over to Hades,” he continues, more collected. “He’s gonna make us powerful again. The most powerful we’ve ever been. And I… Will be damned if I let you make THIRTY YEARS OF PATIENCE WORTH NOTHING!”
Aggamal flinches as spit flies from Tholroth’s mouth, onto his dirtied face. He turns his head to the side and away from the man, wounded pride making him a submissive dog in the greater man’s hand.
Lauren watches the scene — helpless, quivering with fear as the situation unfolds before them. They can’t hold back the swell of tears that begin to swim across their eyes, blurring their vision as their attention flickers between the men before them and the scenery around them.
A large, industrial room, exposed aluminum scaffoldings stretching across a yawning maw of a ceiling. Everything exists in shades of slate gray and rust, large boxes, crates and metal barrels stacked throughout what appeared to be a warehouse. Lauren barely makes out the rusted frame of an old forklift in the far corner before a loud THUNK pulls them back to the scene in front of them.
Tholroth drops Aggamal unceremoniously to the ground, watching with an amused huff as the scrawny man falls onto his ass, scurrying backwards on his hands like a rat.
The bearded man’s gaze then turns back to his captive, hollowed eyes roving over their quivering form. Hungry, yet steadfast against an obvious temptation.
Lauren whimpers as Tholroth threads his meaty fingers into their hair and pulls their head back, revealing more of their throat. He leans in, examining their frightened visage, the way their throat bobs as they gulp. He brings his nose close to the side of Lauren’s neck and inhales deeply, the action just barely tugging at something in Lauren’s chest that makes their panic skyrocket.
Tholroth chuckles, the sound impossibly deep, reverberating like a low bass note.
“Better hope you’re valuable enough for Daemon to show their face,” He murmurs against Lauren’s ear. “I barely got a whiff from you, and I want more.”
He releases his grip on Lauren’s hair, then turns to begin strutting purposefully back the way he came. A wave of his hand sways the attention of others littered around the warehouse.
“Back to work!”
Lauren curls into themself as best they can, shivering and struggling weakly against the rope wound tightly around their wrists.
What the hell kind of trouble had they fallen into?
———
The door to the Apothecary bursts open with an intensity that shatters the calm atmosphere.
Jasper looks across the room from her position at the front counter, leaned forward on her elbows as she and Riley converse about something innocuous. Her red-ringed gaze quickly shifts from annoyance to concern as she recognizes Lavinia pushing through the entrance to Tartarus, Jean not far behind her.
Lavinia stumbles across the main floor of the Apothecary, her hair heavily disheveled as she cards her fingers through the strands. Jean struggles to keep in step with the singer, her arms constantly hovering around her, attempting to keep her steady on her feet.
Jasper pushes herself to standing height. “Hey, hold on. Where’s the fi—?”
“Lauren’s in trouble,” Vin interrupts as she reaches the edge of the counter, her body nearly collapsing into it as she groans in pain. “Jasper. They need help.”
Riley and Jasper both exchange a questioning look.
“What?” Riley asks. They begin to reach a hand out to help steady Vin, but retreat as they watch Jean’s hands slide protectively around her shoulders. They gulp briefly. “Lauren has a morning shift in the kitchen today. I passed them as I was comin’ here.”
Vin shakes her head, bowing until her nose nearly brushes the countertop. Jasper watches as a drop of blood falls from her nostril, staining the wood.
The violent chill of panic seeps into her bones. Jasper reaches to clasp Vin’s hands, and she asks, “What d’you see?”
“Fire,” She whispers. “Not actively burning, but — Like you. Of the fire. They’re surrounded by it. A warehouse. Red-ringed eyes. Augh.”
Her body shudders as pain flares behind Vin’s eyes. Jean catches her weight as she nearly collapses again, pulling her against her chest. Worry is etched across the rancher’s face as she looks towards Jasper.
For the first time since Riley has known Jean, she sees apprehension in her expression.
“Jasper,” Jean says steadily, seeking some sort of direction.
Riley turns her gaze to Jasper, a helplessness evident on her face as she looks to them. She expects to see a mirror of her own expression, but instead sees the grim omen of recognition in Jasper’s eyes.
Red-ringed.
Jasper’s entire body has gone rigid.
Riley begins to feel sweat beading on her brow, the room inexplicably hotter than it was mere seconds ago.
“Jean, lay her down on the exam table back there,” Jasper asks, her voice harsh yet still managing to hold a hint of fondness for the people she cares for. “She needs t’ rest.”
Vin attempts to argue, even as blood begins to trickle over her upper lip, but Jean stops her short as she gently begins to guide her towards Jasper’s back office.
“Don’t ya even think about arguin’,” She says, stern in the way only a mother could be. Yet even as she walks Vin all the way to the exam table, Riley senses the incredible tension building just beneath Jean’s skin.
Jasper’s, as well.
Both of them had begun to radiate pure energy; Jasper’s hair, fiery only in color, almost seemed to flicker and lick at her face and neck like flames, and the room around Jean grew brighter.
Riley looks between each of their movements, their shifting demeanors, feeling helpless to do anything. Was Lauren really in danger?
Could she have done anything to stop it?
She’d seen Lauren only hours ago, as the morning sun had begun to rise over the desert. Leaving The Altar after a harrowing night wallowing in self-pity and remorse, Riley had barely stayed to chat when Lauren caught them on the road to Tartarus.
They’d been their cheerful self, a bag full of fresh ingredients for the kitchen in hand.
Why hadn’t she talked to them longer? Would it have mattered if she did?
Before Riley can spiral further into darker lines of thinking, they feel a hand clench the fabric of their shirt and shake them back to reality.
“Focus, Riley,” Jasper growls urgently, making purposeful eye contact before loosening their grip. “I’m gonna need your help.”
Riley looks back, now helplessly worried and scared and guilty — She takes a steadying breath. “Okay.”
Their gaze and body turn to follow Jasper’s path as she walks away from the counter, over to the far wall lined with shelving and glass covers. She begins frantically opening and closing various sections, pulling jars and loose herbs from one place or another until she’s gathered an arm full of knick knacks and a bouquet of herbs.
“W-What should I do?” Riley asks, taking two steps from the edge of the counter before feeling paralyzed by indecision. Should she help Jasper? Should she let her do… Whatever it was she was doing?
Jasper spares her only a glance before refocusing on her own task. One of the glass jars slips from her arm and shatters, spilling a large amount of salt across the floorboards.
“Fuck!” She spits angrily. Her eyes roll slightly as she seems to settle on a thought and crouch down beside the spill. “Might as well. Ah — Under the counter, there’s a black leather book. Decorative, fuckin’… rivets or some shit down the spine. Blank cover. An’ my mortar an’ pestle. Bring ‘em here.”
Riley nods, tearing her eyes from Jasper placing jars and herbs across the floor to duck behind the counter.
The book isn’t difficult to find. It’s thick, heavy with old yellowed pages and metal accents hammered into the spine. Riley turns it over and back in curiosity before standing again. She swipes the mortar and pestle from the corner of the counter then trots back to Jasper, now surrounded by a circle of salt and crumbled herbs.
She hesitates briefly as she lowers her body to her knees, holding both objects out for Jasper to take. “What are you doing?”
“The only thing I can,” Jasper replies quickly, snatching the mortar and pestle from Riley’s hands. They place it on the floor in front of their knees with a heavy thunk, then press their palm against the top of the book. Jasper pushes it towards Riley’s chest as they look at them expectantly. “How’s your Latin?”
Riley’s eyebrows rise comically high. “My what?”
“Latin. The fuckin’ language,” Jasper clarifies with a huff. Her hands begin to busy themselves with mixing herbs and minerals in the mortar. “I need you t’ chant an incantation. Page two-thirty-seven, starting at the third paragraph.”
Baffled and at a loss for words, Riley flips the book open. Her eyes are met with bold, black ink scrawled across the creaking pages, each word, sentence, paragraph a scribble of a language she didn’t understand. Her hands snap the book shut just as Jean’s boots begin to thump across the floor, back into the shop’s main area.
“The fuck’re you two doin’?” Jean asks, raising a brow at Jasper’s art project on the floor.
Riley gawks at Jasper, and shrieks, “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET ME TO CURSE YOU?!”
“It’s not a fuckin’ curse!” Jasper yells back, desperation making her voice peak as she swears. “It’s an incantation t’ project my soul to Lauren. I can locate them that way.”
Jean scowls. “Wastin’ perfectly good time y’ could use to track them.”
Jasper’s hands falter in their mixing, tipping the mortar and spilling its contents onto the floor. She lets out an agonized cry, frustration boiling over.
“I can’t go get them!” Their chest fills with guilt as they watch Riley recoil from the noise. After a breath, they continue to explain, “The people that took Lauren — They want me t’ come after ‘em in person. It’s a band of Lesser Demons workin’ under Hades, and they ain’t too happy with me. If I meet them face t’ face, they…”
Jasper’s eyes flicker briefly to Jean’s before returning to the floor. The words die on her tongue, mouth uselessly opening and closing.
“Jas,” Jean prompts her. “They what?”
The redhead’s shoulders slump as she sighs. “They could compel me t’ fulfill my pact. An’ Lauren is the bait.”
The two fall into an uncomfortable silence, forcing Riley – poor, clueless, hands-full-of-a-weird-book Riley – to shift their perplexed gaze between them.
Jean’s brow holds immeasurable tension. Jasper looks… The most defeated Riley’s ever seen them.
They know it would only make the situation worse by asking, but —
“Okay, maybe you two are on the same page, but I’m in an entirely different book.” They hold up the book in their hands for emphasis. “You’re talking about a pact, demons, and – Did I hear that right? Hades?”
Jasper’s expression sours. Her eyes squeeze shut for a moment before opening, her gaze piercing through Riley’s very soul in the way that always made her feel the closest to death she could get.
“I’m trapped in a pact with the Devil down south, Lord Hades himself,” She begins to explain, pushing her words through clenched teeth. “I kill sinners an’ siphon their souls to bring to Tartarus. The real Tartarus. Which is all fine an’ good until I don’t give him the soul he wants the most. So I was hoping with a little luck and that fuckin’ book I stole from Endra, I could do somethin’ about it.”
“You stole what from me?”
The three of them turn to look towards the far wall, where a window sits just to the right of Jasper’s counter. Straddling the sill as she ducks beneath the window, Endra squeezes her way into the apothecary and the conversation.
Riley, more hopelessly confused now than she had been moments ago, feels her brain struggling to kick into third gear.
“Did she just come in through the window?” She mumbles, mostly to herself.
Endra cackles in response anyway, her head thrown back dramatically as she ambles over to the room’s action. “Honey, I do that all the time! Now, what’s happening here? What’s this about stealing?”
Riley’s eyes slide down to the book in her hands, then back to Endra. She holds the massive tome out to her. “Lauren got kidnapped by Demons, apparently? And Jasper wants me to read something from this to help them.”
“Oh!” Endra’s sound of distress is short, but genuine. Her hands grab greedily for the book, fingers dancing through the pages to identify its contents. “Oh, no, that’s not good. Yeah, I already knew you had this, Babes. Try harder next time. But use it now! Why are we wasting time flapping our gums?!”
Endra shoves the book roughly back into Riley’s hands, and directly into their abdomen if their wheezing exhale had anything to say about it.
Jean cuts in, too impatient to let them go on another tangent. “Thought you were able t’ ignore his calls now?”
“I can,” Jasper says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t get some other poor sap t’ do his dirty work. Which is where Demons come in.”
“Damn,” Jean mutters, shifting her weight to her back foot.
Jasper pushes herself to her feet after a moment. She carefully steps over the ring of salt spread across the floor until she’s toe-to-toe with Jean. Riley and Endra watch, their brows rising in question as Jasper seems to approach with a softer step, a modicum of what appeared to be fondness, hopefulness, peering from beneath her anxiety.
“I might be able t’ reach Lauren’s mind,” She begins, her hand clasping onto the fabric of Jean’s shirt where it rests above her heart. “But I can’t get them back here. I’ll get them out in the open, but I need you to find them. Bring them home. Please.”
The rancher’s hand quickly reacts, overlapping with Jasper’s, the tension beneath her skin making it seem as if she were about to pull Jasper’s grip away. Yet it stays as it is, encircled tightly around the back of Jasper’s palm. The tip of one finger barely squeezes between two of Jasper’s.
Jean, her voice low and collected, replies, “Okay.”
Her other hand tips the brim of her hat down slightly in acknowledgement. Jasper releases her, allowing Jean to make her exit into the bright desert outside.
The three who remain in the apothecary – Jasper, Riley and Endra – take a collective breath, steadying themselves for the events to come.
“Endra,” Jasper calls out, moving back to their kneeling position within the salt circle. “Go lock the door. Riley, page two-thirty-seven.”
Riley releases a half-hearted whine as she looks down towards the book. “Why can’t Endra do it? I can barely read English, let alone Latin!”
“Nuh-uh,” Endra replies hastily as she trots to the front door. The lock clicks audibly. “Can’t do it. Won’t do it. But it’s fine, you’ll be fine! Just sound it out. Latin’s pretty forgiving.”
The book falls open between Riley’s hands as she groans. “This sucks.”
As Jasper adds the final ingredients and lights the pile of herbs, she lifts her hands to make one final preparation.
Her fingers tug the end of her leather collar through the buckle, unlatching and removing it from her neck. It drops to the floor with a soft thud.
Hiding beneath it, marring the pale skin of Jasper’s neck, was a large burn scar. Roughly an inch-and-a-half wide, completely circling her neck.
The burned skin appears opaque, much different than the smaller, reddish one Riley had noticed on Jasper’s hand. A soft orange glow emanates from beneath it, an angrily burning flame making shadows flicker and dance across Jasper’s exposed collarbones. With each breath the Cerberus takes, the flames react; growing, falling, surviving just as she does.
Riley’s mouth goes dry as she stares into the flames.
The flames of Tartarus.
She could see it, now — Why Jasper had always felt so close to death. Why it was so comforting to exist near her.
Jasper’s very soul was a gateway to the Underworld.
Their only hope of an end to eternal suffering.
“Holy shit,” Riley breathes.
Jasper’s eyes narrow, her mouth drawing up into a snarl. “Start reading!”
The room’s atmosphere grows heavy and dark as Riley’s voice stutters and stumbles through the beginning of the incantation. They’ve never read or heard Latin before, the foreign words tumbling off the tip of their tongue like drunken divers slipping from the diving board. Each syllable is a struggle at first, a short moment that feels to Riley like an eternity, before their voice gains confidence.
Their eyes flicker about the room, confused as the incantation flows effortlessly from their mouth now, even as they look away from the page. No longer reading along from a passage, but reciting from a memory that isn’t their own.
Riley’s frantically searching gaze falls momentarily to their feet, where one of Jasper’s dogs – Shadow – has silently sat. The hound’s shoulder leans heavily against Riley’s leg as if to provide reassurance, her eyes open, unblinking as she stares directly into Jasper’s matching ringed pupils.
The flames consume the pile of herbs quickly, filling the apothecary with the strong scents of mugwort, sandalwood, juniper and frankincense. A thick rope of smoke circles Jasper’s prone form, moving in serpentine motions around her waist, torso, climbing higher until it begins to push into her open mouth.
It pushes in further, further, and further still, each section of its smokey body making the flickering flame in Jasper’s throat dim until only the barest hint of embers remains.
Riley’s words cease abruptly, the sound a crescendo met with silence where a thunderclap should follow. Jasper’s body remains disturbingly still as fifteen seconds pass.
Thirty seconds pass.
A minute passes.
Where smoke had entered, flames now burst from the Cerberus’ mouth with a ferocity Riley and Endra have never witnessed. It circles in the air above Jasper’s body as her companions stand shell-shocked, watching with mouths agape as it thrashes like a trapped bird.
After a moment, the flames shoot forward, passing beside Riley’s head to make a beeline for the window previously left open by Endra.
They watch it leave the apothecary before turning back to Jasper’s limp body. A dull thud echoes through the stunned silence of the room as Riley allows the tome to fall from her hands, and she rushes to the edge of the salt circle Jasper had laid.
Endra is by her side in a moment, more quickly than Riley is ready to acknowledge, her hand pressing urgently against Riley’s chest to keep her from moving any further.
“Don’t touch them,” Endra demands, her voice now disturbingly frantic. Her eyes almost appear to glow as she stares Riley down.
Yet Riley can only see Jasper’s still-opened eyes. Once glowing like neon against a pitch black sky, they stare lifelessly, no pupils.
Just empty pools of silver.
———
Lauren’s body jolts into consciousness, the sensation of falling, the ghost of a collision forcing their mind from the sliver of relief sleep had provided.
They suck in quick, shallow breaths as they’re once again startled by the room around them, yet this time… This time the panic was warranted.
The slate gray interior of the warehouse had taken on a deathly glow, red and orange light flickering between the heavy shelves Tholroth’s underlings skulked around. Flames cast heavy shadows and smoke towards the high ceiling. Where once there were various small, desert birds nesting among the exposed rafters there were now shrieking obsidian bats, the flap of leathery wings easily mistaken for whip cracks.
Lauren’s entire body tenses against their rope bindings.
The warehouse was entirely engulfed in flames, and they had no hope of escape.
“Lauren,” A voice calls out, distant, echoing in the back of their head.
Lauren’s head twists to the side, looking for the source, yet all they can see is more flames surrounding them. They try to reel away from what should have been intense heat, yet even as a tendril of flame passes across their shirt sleeve the fabric remains unscathed.
The flame’s overall intensity flickers, its colors becoming opaque briefly before life flares through it once more.
Their eyes are drawn to another movement nearby; the passing of a trio of Tholroth’s underlings, weaving their way through the labyrinthine layout of the warehouse floor. Lauren squints as they watch their movements.
The people in Tholroth’s company had certainly made themselves known as a perplexing bunch, though Lauren had been blind as to why until this very moment.
The same way the flames around them waxed and waned like the phases of the moon, so too did the appearance of these people. These wretches.
Where once Lauren had seen a theatrical hunching of one’s back, they could now see the shape of a large pair of veiny, leathery wings coming into focus. A small item knocked off the shelf by something once unseen became a thin, spade-tipped tail unable to control itself in a fit of excitement.
Gnarly, chiseled horns push out from their crowns in various states of disrepair. Some merely chipped in one place or another, others with entire lengths missing, crumbling off like eroded stone.
Lauren’s captors weren’t merely odd people.
They were a coalition of imps and demons.
“Lauren,” The voice calls again, more insistent. “C’mon, Punchy, need you t’ pay attention.”
Lauren’s head swivels again, searching for the voice but only finding more visions of fire around them.
That raspiness. The subtle drawl.
Could it be…?
“Jas—”
“Don’t,” Jasper warns swiftly. “Y’ can’t let ‘em know I’m here, Kid.”
Lauren exhales deeply, bowing their head down towards their knees.
“Where’s here?” Lauren counters, the fear beginning to squeeze their chest. Now that Jasper was here, their body was beginning to give in to its fight-or-flight instincts. “I can’t see you, Jas. There’s fire everywhere.”
Jasper sighs heavily. Somehow, Lauren feels as if she’s taken a knee right in front of their chair, looking up at them.
“I know, Kiddo,” She answers solemnly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any other way t’ get here.”
Lauren’s arms tense as they once again attempt to pull out of their bindings.
“What are you talking about?” They ask, breaths quickening. Panic was beginning to set in. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“There’s a lot y’ don’t know about me, Lauren.” They can faintly sense Jasper’s presence drifting around them, coming to rest at their right side. The ghost of a hand lays itself atop Lauren’s to quiet their struggling. It’s hot to the touch. “A lot I don’t have time t’ explain right now. But I’m gonna get you out of this, y’ hear me?”
Lauren’s shoulders tremble. Their throat tightens as they choke down a sob.
“I’m scared,” They whisper, flinching as tears splash onto their cheeks.
“I know,” Jasper replies softly. Lauren feels a ghostly touch swipe a tear from their skin. “But you gotta be brave for me right now.”
Lauren grimaces. “I don’t know how.”
“Remember what I told you that night in the walk-in freezer?” Memories flash across Lauren’s mind. Bloodied hands. The smell of burning skin. Cold ice melting around the heat of their anger. Jasper’s eyes, the hardness of them as she stared. The same eyes they can barely see now, staring back at them as she continues, “There’s a time an’ a place for anger, Baby, an’ now’s the best time t’ use it.”
The fingers of their right hand lift from around the armrest, clenching into a tight fist. It feels as if their hand is being cupped by two others.
“All the emotion you’re feelin’,” Jasper says, tugging the strings of emotion in Lauren’s chest. The sadness, the anger, and every emotion felt in between. “All that fire in your soul. Push all of it into your fists, an’ fight like hell.”
Lauren thinks back to all the times when emotions had gotten the best of them.
The first time they’d laid eyes on Jasper, nothing more than a scruffy teen runaway trying to pinch the quickest penny. How it felt to be knocked on their ass by the most aloof person they’d ever met, who turned out to be the kindest soul they’d ever get to know. The tears that spilled down their cheeks when Jasper told them, more than she asked, that Lauren would be staying with her until they could figure something else out.
The first time they’d met Riley, a few years their senior yet still just as much a kid as Lauren was. Going from squabbling over who had the right to break into Jasper’s house and sleep in the dog’s beds to sharing leftovers and laughing like the rowdy teens they were.
Listening to the out-of-town rancher talk shit about Jasper at The Altar’s bar. Lauren remembers seething with rage at her flippant comments, trying their hardest to keep the tips of their fingers from igniting while they served food to surrounding customers.
The very same rancher, Jean Rider, who took them out of town when they needed to cool off. Putting them through hell and grief, shoveling shit and yelling to them about how wrong they were doing everything. That very same attitude melting into care as they woke in a bed that wasn’t their own, bandaged and bruised after being trampled by Jasper’s borrowed horse. Jean sitting quietly by the bedside, hiding worry beneath the lowered brim of her hat.
Finding Endra out in the desert, illuminated only by the fire in which memories burned. Catching her wild gold-rimmed eyes across the flames and smoke. Smiling, her very existence freeing.
Clutching a meal ticket between their fingers, nearly setting the paper on fire with anger at the audacity of a customer ordering two minutes before the kitchen closed, and all of it dissipating the moment Sadie’s room door swung open. Her deep auburn hair held back by a headband, dark eyes making Lauren’s heart stutter.
The last time they’d seen Sam’s face, smiling as he always had. The last goodbye he’d ever give them.
Flames explode from Lauren’s hands, the rushing colors of red, orange and yellow burning up to their elbows.
The ropes around their wrists burn to ash and scatter across the ground beside their feet.
Noises of surprise echo from the near vicinity. No doubt the sound of the ignition had drawn the attention of Tholroth’s underlings. Lauren could hear their footfalls approaching, followed closely by a familiar cackling voice.
“WELL, WELL!” Aggamal exclaims as he vaults himself around the corner of a shelving unit, using momentum and a grip on the outer support to swing himself forward. “Looks like Little Daemon is gonna give us an excuse to have fun, after all! HahAAAHAHAHA!”
Aggamal looks even wilder in this form. A ragged pair of imp wings frame his gangly body, littered with holes and tears. Both horns are completely broken off, now simply round, jagged stumps protruding from his forehead.
His smile widens with glee, revealing rows of pointed teeth and a long, forked tongue which lolls from the corner of his mouth, ending at least two inches past his chin.
Lauren can feel Jasper’s disgust as they raise their flaming fists before them.
“Don’t worry, Lauren,” Jasper assures them. “This’ll be fun for both of us.”
———
Everything in the desert looks the same.
Sand, upon sand, upon sand, upon sand —
There’s a reason it’s considered one of the most dangerous environments to find yourself lost in. Excruciating heat during the day with no refuge from the burning rays of the sun, and searing cold through the night.
Nothing but sand and cacti for miles.
Not to mention the delirium many travelers fall victim to. Heat mirages will drive a parched fool far into the desert for water that isn’t there, miles farther from a town that could actually provide him all the human comforts and commodities looked upon as necessity.
Jean watches the heat warble across the horizon line with a vacant stare.
Missile had gotten her here with a gallant gallop, when she still had the image of Jasper’s pleading expression fresh in her mind.
Jasper never pleads.
Much as Jean had hated to admit it before, Jasper had become a person worthy of her respect, despite the circumstances of their rivalry, the opposing sides they found themselves on.
They were persistent, extremely driven, and loyal nearly to a fault.
Loyal to those that mattered.
And beneath their hardened exterior, under their sleep deprived eyes, their reflexive bite, their fiery, demonic rage —
Jasper was loving. Caring.
Despite claiming to be nothing but a follower, a mutt without direction or purpose, she was someone who looked out for the little person. Unknowingly rooting for the underdog in a fight. Jean could see it in Lauren’s fondness for her, how they smiled around her, at even the slightest mention of her.
Lauren didn't deserve this shit.
Jean pulls on her reins, slowing Missile’s trot to a halt. She throws her leg over the side of her saddle and drops to the sand with a soft thud.
The hardest part about tracking someone through the desert was the desert itself.
Sand didn’t hold a footprint out here like it did in a town or city. The wind often covered someone’s tracks for them, making it nearly impossible to find them after more than an hour’s head start.
Jean tries despite knowing better.
She walks forward about two feet, her steps heavy, stride long yet slow as her mind begins to wander. Missile neighs softly behind her as she squats down, using one hand to brush away loose sand, finding nothing.
The horse begins to follow behind her, a snorted exhale her own display of worry for her rider. Her tail swishes back and forth. The heat of the sun brings her midnight coat to a boiling temperature, yet her dark eyes stay focused on Jean’s back.
“Don’t know why I gave ‘em hope,” Jean murmurs aloud, rubbing bits of sand between her fingers. She watches the grains slip through them. “Can’t save shit out here.”
They deserved better than this.
Lauren’s life was only just beginning.
Nineteen had passed for Jean so long ago, she couldn’t even remember what she’d felt during that period of her life. It was such a small amount of time on this Earth compared to the innumerable years she’d spent in this God forsaken place.
She thinks back to the time she’d spent with Lauren, making them shovel horse shit at the ranch, giving them grief for not knowing how to dress for the climate. Shoving one of her old hats onto their head and cackling when they cried out with frustration.
Jean watches the memory flash before her eyes like an old black-and-white movie, watches Lauren’s face growing younger. Skin darkening, beauty marks appearing on their chin and forehead. Their sandy-colored hair darkens, becomes wavy and longer, peeking out from beneath the too-big hat.
Their eyes open as they smile, the once deep brown irises now bright blue.
Children’s laughter echoes in the back of Jean’s mind as she angrily swipes her hand across the sand.
The sun is too fucking bright.
Frustrated, Jean swipes the hat from her head, balancing it against her knee as she roughly rubs at her eyes with her thumb and forefingers. Sunspots float aimlessly across the darkness behind her eyelids. An entire universe suspended in nothing.
What was the fucking point of it all?
Jean sighs as she looks up again, but she’s blinded again by an intense, bright light.
Not the sun, but just as powerful. Maybe even more so.
Jean loses her balance as she’s caught by surprise, falling back onto her ass. The sand gives slightly, cushioning her fall.
Missile’s neigh gains strength, ringing louder across the desert expanse as she and Jean gaze upon… Something.
A powerful, ethereal light.
It vaguely resembles something humanoid. Jean can make out a head, downward slopes that could be a torso, but the outline of it was blurry and constantly shifting. Nearly bleeding or waning into the background it stood against.
After a moment it nearly loses its shape, lengthening and warping before condensing itself back to form. It appears to struggle keeping itself contained yet it persists, extending itself out to Jean like an offering.
Something about it calls to her.
A helping hand. An olive branch.
A promise. A temptation.
Jean tries to shield her eyes from the light but it persists.
“Where’s Lauren?” She asks through gritted teeth. Her words drip with anger. Resentment.
The light does not answer.
It merely extends itself towards her, as if waiting for her to grasp it.
Jean can’t help but scoff at the being’s silence. Deep down she knew it wouldn’t ever help her, but somewhere in her heart maybe there had still been a shred of hope.
“Where is Lauren?” She asks further, shifting to sit on her knees in front of the light. It’s the closest she’s gotten to prayer in decades. Her eyes stare daggers into the blinding light as she continues to press for answers. “Just tell me where to find them.”
Please.
Silence.
Agonizing, ear-piercing silence.
The being’s shape undulates under an unseen strain, but the one piece that remains unchanging is the outstretched limb. Beckoning.
Silent.
Jean pulls the silver switchblade from her belt and lunges towards the being with a frustrated yell. The blade swings, whistling as it cuts through —
Nothing.
Jean stumbles forward and lands among the sand. She raises her head quickly, eyes scanning the desert for the being of light.
Nothing.
Sand, upon sand, upon sand, upon sand —
The being is gone.
She is alone, again, surrounded by nothing but sand and cacti for miles.
The realization sinks in her chest like a heavy stone.
No one is coming to save her.
No one is coming to save Lauren.
Jean lifts her hat and places it back on her head as her eyes stare out across the desert. The unforgiving wasteland that would continue to take, and take, and take so long as humans continued to fall victim to its tricks, its empty promises.
A flicker of light shines into one of her eyes, making her flinch.
For a moment she thinks the being of light might have returned again, but the light is too small, not as powerful but more concentrated than what she’d seen moments ago.
Jean squints as she scans the desert in earnest.
In the far distance she spots the small flicker. The sun – truly, the sun – reflecting off the smallest sliver of metal.
She quickly pushes herself back to her feet, trying to get a better view.
The metal sliver almost looked like… the corner of a metal roof.
Like those used on large warehouses.
No one was coming to save Lauren, which is why she would.
Jean’s whistle pierces the desert sky, calling her loyal steed to her side. She easily swings her leg over the saddle and urges Missile into a sprint, directing her towards the small beacon leading them to their goal.
———
Lauren feels time beginning to flow back into normal speed as Aggamal’s body slams into the large warehouse shelving five feet across the floor, propelled by the force of their final punch. The shelving topples over easily, colliding noisily with the ground, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
They watch as smoke drifts from his charred clothing, the middle of his chest now nothing more than a blackened divot the exact size of Lauren’s fist.
Even with the injury, Lauren can hear his labored breathing, the wheeze of air trying to pass in and out of his lungs. He wasn’t dead yet, but he might as well have been.
Lauren’s entire body feels as if it’s been engulfed in flame, every inch of their exposed skin sweat-slicked and spattered with blood. They breathe heavily as they watch Aggamal’s body slowly slide down to the floor, half slumped against the bottom of the shelf.
He wasn’t dead, but he was done for.
The same way all the others in Tholroth’s small cohort were.
Their bodies littered the warehouse floor in various injured states. Some knocked unconscious, limbs broken and burned beyond recognition. Others were completely unmoving, dead. Or sent off to whatever liminal space demons went when their mortal forms failed them.
Lauren didn’t know. Jasper urged them not to care.
Not when Tholroth himself still towered over them.
His once suntanned skin now creaks and creases like leather hide, struggling to contain rippling muscle and bulging veins. His eyes are deep, sunken hollows of black, lit only by the eerie glow of his red-ringed pupils.
Tholroth’s horns lay upon his head regally, curved and pointed like a bull’s.
The hulking mass of him casts a heavy shadow over Lauren. His smile, brimming with rows of pointed teeth, sends a shiver down their spine.
“So,” he begins, his voice deep, booming. “The prodigal daughter finally shows herself. Cowering behind a child.”
Tholroth’s amused belly laugh stokes the fires of Lauren’s anger, making their fists clench tighter.
“Jasper’s not a coward,” Lauren asserts, yet they can feel Jasper’s essence drifting.
This only serves to make Tholroth bellow louder, his face contorted into a sick display of glee. The face of one far too comfortable with finding joy in the suffering of others.
“You don’t seem to know just who you’re talking about,” Tholroth counters. His head cocks to the side as he looks over Lauren’s form. Almost pitying. “She didn’t tell you how she ended up a Devil’s dog, did she?”
Jasper’s soul bristles.
Lauren can feel her presence press close against their back, a strong hand gripping their shoulder. Desperation.
“Don’t listen to him,” She hisses.
Tholroth continues to press. A thumb digging into an old wound.
“Didn’t tell you how she left her own family to die.” His grin stretches uncomfortably wide across his face. “Her own sisters.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The words explode from Lauren’s mouth, an all-consuming wrath filling the inside of their body with flame, but none of it is their own. Lauren feels as though their own soul has been pulled to the background, no longer fully in control of their own body.
“Jasper?” They call out to the Cerberus, voice small, fearful.
Tholroth presses deeper still.
“How she listened to them burning to death.” He inhales deeply, then roars, “SCREAMING ALL THE WHILE!”
Lauren watches from an out-of-body perspective as their body charges forward, fueled by rage, by deep-seeded pain. Their flaming fists punch wildly towards Tholroth’s form, impacting but barely damaging the tough surface of his skin.
Tholroth doesn’t bother trying to block the punches. With each impact he steps backwards, laughing, and laughing, and laughing in the face of Jasper’s fury.
“AND AS IF THAT WASN’T ENOUGH,” he continues to bellow. He catches Jasper’s next punch in his large, meaty palm, and hoists Lauren’s body into the air. Tholroth looks directly into their eyes, red rings meeting red rings, smoke billowing from his nostrils and into their face as he exhales. “She put a gun to her own Daddy’s head, and sent him crying right down to Hell.”
Tholroth reels his arm back and hurls Lauren’s body across the room.
“And then she RAN! LIKE A COWARDLY, NO GOOD MUTT!”
Their body hits the concrete with a heavy impact, forcing Lauren’s soul back into control. The pain makes them crumple against the floor with a groan.
“Jas,” Lauren wheezes, attempting to push themselves up. Jasper doesn’t answer. Her soul feels… distant. Barely there. Cold worry trickles down Lauren’s spine. “Jasper?”
———
Riley watches in horror as blood begins to drip from Jasper’s mouth.
“ENDRA!” They yell out fearfully, skirting around the edge of the salt circle. Their hands twitch, eager to reach across and take hold of Jasper’s lifeless body but hesitating.
They weren’t sure what could happen if they touched her in this state, with her soul so far from where it belonged.
Endra comes running from the back office, a lethargic, pale Lavinia stumbling after her. The singer gasps loudly when she sees the state of Jasper’s body and immediately lurches forward.
“Jasper!” Vin cries out, falling into Endra’s flailing arms.
“We can’t touch her,” Endra hisses, her tone firm but laced with worry. “Moving her body could interfere with her soul returning to it properly.”
Vin begins to sob, watching Jasper’s body sputter and choke on the blood pouring from their mouth.
Riley looks helplessly between them and the body, a familiar ache blooming beneath their sternum. Their hand rubs against their chest, attempting to soothe it as tears begin to warp their vision.
“C’mon, Jasper,” Riley urges through gritted teeth. “Fight like hell.”
———
Lauren shakily climbs to their feet.
“Lauren,” Jasper calls out to them weakly, her voice more distant than it had been. “I can’t… keep this up much longer, Bub.”
Lauren’s mind tries to hold onto her, mentally clutching their essence. “Jasper, please.”
Jasper groans in pain. “You need t’ run. Now.”
Lauren’s head whips around to look back at Tholroth, his hulking form shaking with heinous laughter.
His skin was too thick to damage with punches alone. Lauren couldn’t find a weakness that would make him vulnerable enough to defeat. Their eyes rove over everything – his body, his surroundings.
And then they see it.
The gleam of liquid beneath his feet.
Underneath the bellowed notes of his glee, they can hear the faint sound of fluid draining from somewhere.
A tower of metal drums are stacked just behind Tholroth, dwarfed by his demonic nature, but it wasn’t the size of them Lauren was concerned with.
They sniff the air.
Gasoline.
Lauren’s own lips now curl into a sinister grin, mirroring the triumph and satisfaction on Tholroth’s face.
His expression falters slightly, confused.
“The fuck you smilin’ at?” He asks.
“I hate people that insult my friends.”
Flames once again crackle and flare to life around Lauren’s right fist, but they don’t attempt to approach Tholroth this time.
Their ring and pinky fingers curl against their palm, while the index and middle point at the demon’s feet. The thumb pulls back like the hammer of a gun.
Lauren’s flame gathers at the very tip of their fingers.
“Go back to hell where you belong.”
The flames release and fire across the room in a shrieking streak of red and orange. The gasoline beneath Tholroth’s feet erupts into flame and explodes, a deafening sound shaking the building’s foundation as the tower of barrels continue to ignite and burn.
Lauren’s body is thrown further back by the explosion, their back sliding across the floor until they collide with the large warehouse door.
They feel dazed for a brief moment, vision blurring, their ears ringing from the sound of the blast.
They can barely make out Tholroth’s screams as he struggles against flame and fallen debris.
“Lauren,” Jasper’s voice surfaces in their mind again, weak, yet still persisting. “Y’ need t’ get outside.”
With a groan, Lauren manages to push themselves to their feet. They wobble with the effort of movement, their body singing with pain at various sources, but their survival instinct drives them to push through the pain.
They manage to pull up the warehouse door just enough to slide underneath.
The desert sun blinds them at first, but Lauren continues to push and crawl away from the building, dragging their body through the sand.
A loud whistle echoes across the desert.
Lauren isn’t sure if it came from their mouth or if it was only in their mind, but whatever call it was soon came with an answer.
A swirling portal of dark energy opens from nothing in the middle of the air, and two familiar hounds race through to land against the loose red sand. They each bark loudly, excitedly as Shadow and Smudge rush to Lauren’s side.
Shadow is the first to reach them, whining and snuffling against their face and neck, licking at various cuts littered across their skin. Smudge provides attention as well, but her efforts divert elsewhere after giving Lauren a hurried sniff and two licks.
Smudge turns and trots further away from the building, looking across the horizon as she incessantly barks, as if signaling their location.
It only takes minutes for the body of a midnight black horse to come into view.
Missile barely has time to stop before Jean has already vaulted from the saddle, her body staggering as she runs to Lauren’s side.
“Lauren,” Jean calls out, nearly falling onto her elbows as she reaches out to pull Lauren’s body against her. “I’ve got you, Mijo.”
Lauren looks up towards Jean slowly. They release a sigh, all of the tension beginning to fade from their body. Adrenaline has begun to wear off, and everything around them begins to go fuzzy.
Jean watches as the red rings slowly disappear from Lauren’s eyes, replaced by their usual pupils.
Jasper’s soul drifts from their mind, no longer able to hold the connection. “See you at home, Kiddo.”
Lauren smiles.
Everything goes black as their consciousness fades.