The Bleed: Book 2: RAPTURE by David Moody (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📕

The towering demon felt the message spirit away, and a smidge of concern surged in to fill that void.

Unlike many—most—demons, Kalandar actually gave a shit about something other than himself. Kalandar loved his family. And he didn’t want them to experience the end of all things under the mindless heel of the Bleed.

Concern melted away and fury stepped through the doorway.

“GATHER MY ARMOR AND WEAPONS.”

33

EO

“It’s been hours since he told you he was coming,” Arridon said in a quiet tone as he sat beside the still-sleeping Derrick. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

They’d taken shelter inside a store at the base of one of the massive towers that scraped the clouds. Enormous shelves held strange boxes and canisters that Timtar said were filled with abandoned food. He found some that they could eat, and after getting Derrick comfortable between aisles, deep from the open, smoke and dust-filled outside, they ate and drank. Arridon hated all of it; nothing tasted good or even edible. Everything threatened to come back up, keeping his stomach soured perpetually.

Soured perhaps, but full.

“My father gave his word,” Timtar said as he looked at the dressing on Derrick’s stump. Redness soaked through the bandages, despite the mending magic and restorative medicines he’d applied earlier. “He will come.”

“He’s a fucking demon. They don’t have reputations for honesty and reliability—no offense intended. Not a damn thing is going to compel him to do what he doesn’t want to do.”

“About that, you can’t be more right. My father cannot be made to do what he does not want to do. The thing for us to hold onto, is that, unlike other demons—unlike every full-blooded demon I’ve ever met—my father cares for his family and always keeps his word. As far as honesty and reliability goes, demons seem to have a rather dubious reputation where you’re from. There are as many demons as there are humans in the multiverse, and while most are evil by any generic definition, personalities vary widely. Rest assured, young Arridon. Kalandar will come, no matter what, or, if he is too late, he will utterly destroy whatever kills us.”

“Comforting.”

“Knowing that vengeance will be yours is a warm blanket to wrap oneself in.” Timtar carefully lay out the metallic wings that had sprouted from his back. The disconnected mechanical wings made of brass, copper, gold and steel were damaged to the point of being unusable. Half of one wing had a circular void made from the blast Oldros had hit them with, and other “feathers” were blasted askew or broken off entirely. Timtar fidgeted with wires, tiny gears, even tinier machines, all in an attempt to get the contraption working again.

“Can you fix it?”

“No,” he said, and sighed. “Not all the way. If I can make a few repairs here, it’ll heal by itself over time, but we’re talking about weeks or months. Time we don’t have.”

“A machine that will heal itself?”

“Does that idea surprise you? With all you’ve seen in just the last ten hours of your life?”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. We need the wings to shift dimensions, right? That’s part of the whole…device you wear?”

“One of many devices, and, yes. We’re stuck here until it heals. We fix it, or we find a clockwork room.”

“Your dad can’t transport us away?”

“It’s possible, but the way demons pierce through and resubstantiate isn’t conducive to human health. He’s transported me before, but I’m mixed blood, and it was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I’d only do it again if it meant life or death.”

“Should we be searching for a clockwork room then? That seems like our best course of action.”

“Not without my father. I know you’ve got some neat powers up your sleeve, but that storm system that keeps dropping those bright blue beams down might get the better of us. Or worse, whatever it is those beams are intended to kill might get to us first.”

Arridon’s stomach soured a bit further at that thought. “Your dad is powerful enough to protect us?”

“I hope so.” Timtar looked up from his repair project to gaze out the windows into the haze of the dead world. Somehow, it’d gotten gloomier since they’d taken cover. The street-level winds were gusting sideways in greater intensity too. “Nightfall.”

“Why does that word scare me?”

“Nothing good ever happens at night on worlds you’re unfamiliar with. Try and stay vigilant.”

“I will. Can I…may I ask you an assholish question? It’s a genuine one.”

“Toss another on the pile. Sure, why not?”

“You’ve spent a lot of time trying to fix your wings, but you haven’t done much for Derrick. Why’s that?”

Timtar nodded, as if he expected the question. “There’s nothing else I can do for him. In a way, we lucked out that we landed here; it’s a dead world, not one the Bleed wanted to keep as a toy to play with. It leaves nothing behind, not even microbes. Therefore, his risk of infection is almost nonexistent with that bandage and the poultice I put on it. The injection I gave him was a slow-release aquifer with antibiotics and blood growth stimulant, so he’s hydrated and has blood supply for another…” he shrugged, “eight hours? He’s carrying a relic of Ampliman now, and the blessing that confers is an ironclad ward against bleeding. I don’t have the magic or the science to regrow his leg. Anything I do for him now is just fucking with the chances he’ll get infected. He’s sleeping, he’s pain-free, and he’s okay for the moment. I know you’re worried; I’m sorry he got injured.”

“I barely know him,” Arridon said, looking down at the kid sleeping on a blanket beside him. “But you ever get a sense on someone? You just know they’re okay? I get that from him. And we’re like…brothers, in a way, in our mutual sister issue.”

“Strife makes for strong bonds. I am hopeful that we can help you both with your sisters.”

“Me too.”

Another bright flash of light followed by a crash