With a fair amount of time to spare, Ash decided to allow both Death and Snow to accompany her to a hellish tradition.

  Beion brought them all to the top of a mountain. There were dozens of black haired cambions, some with brown locks. Each had eyes of yellow or red, and each proudly held the Flame family name.

  They had a pile of coal and stick at the cliff of the mountain, an offering to the permanent eclipse which Death heard a robed demon call ‘Eclipus’ in his mumbles. Atop the coal, a body of a tiny demon dressed in a heavenly white silk gown, circled by white roses, white rocks, his small hands resting on his torso, holding a sword far too large for his size.

  For a second, the cambions all turned to stare, then resumed their honouring of the deceased.

  Demons honouring with white? Feels unfitting, Death thought.

  “Speak in whispers,” Ash said. “It is customary to not speak any louder than the one who speaks to Eclipus.”

  “Why are we here?” Vera asked. “Is this a part of that whole Crooked Devil thing?”

  “A tragic bloody thing,” Morgudeion grunted. “That little one would’ve been a warrior. Big fuckin’ heart. He’ll be missed.”

  “A funeral,” Beion answered. “I mentioned I was having a few troubles of my own when you summoned me. This tormented me.”

  “You don’t need to tell them if you can’t,” Rica said. “It’s not their family. We don’t mind if you don’t care.”

  Death didn’t care. However, Vera and Snow did. They asked the tale cautiously as the group joined the pyre.

  Beion first explained who the lad was. The corpse belonged to his young cousin, little Nulo Flame, aged five, firstborn of his uncle Harvadeira, the thirdborn of his grandfather Agadeira.

  Nulo, as Morgudeion correctly said, had a loving heart for the humans and their ways from the second he learned about them. He was too smart for his own good, teaching himself how to craft a spell to travel to the human world using only a chalked pentagram and an incantation. He tried to make friends with a nearby group of humans, who at first seemed to invite him into their camp, but then quickly slaughtered the young boy. By the time the Flame family found the pentagram, the camp had already strung him up by his neck and fled, unable to be found.

  “That’s terrible,” Snow whimpered. “I’m sorry we did this to him. I hope you know I don’t share their views.”

  “Demons typically judge a whole for the actions of one or many. Deilon and Aleion were outcasts,” Ash explained. “My grandfather argued with my younger brother over this funeral. He refused to say words or say farewell. My older brother also had his issues with Harvadeira. He would be here if he could, but my grandfather would not permit it. Instead, he gave us trophies. Swords, armour, coins. We will melt them down into a pot, pour it over the body once we light the pyre, give him a suit of armour for his eternal rest.”

  Vera began to weep. The cambions turned in disgust. Their looks turned to sympathy after seeing she was a hybrid.

  “That’s so sad,” she whimpered. “That poor little cambion just wanted some friends. I would’ve been his friend.”

  Snow held back her tears too. Beion wiped their tears with one sleeve each. “Tears a sign of disrespect to a cambion,” he said. “But none will judge you. You don’t know our ways.”

  “How can you not cry,” cried Vera. “I can’t stop once I’ve started.”

  “Humans and hybrids can’t control tears. We know you mean them as respect. In Hell, we don’t accept them for mourning. The life of a demon should’ve been so well-lived that the raging fire of their legendary journey should sear away tears as they come.”

  Snow was able to control her emotion. “That’s… that’s nice.”

  Vera, however, was not. She wailed like a child, weak in the legs. Beion had to hold her weight to keep her from collapsing.

  She never even met the brat, Death thought. Funerals bore me. You would never find me at one willingly. I need this to pass by fast so I can fight the Crooked Devil and get out of Hell.

  “If we had a child and it died that way, I would kill every last one of them,” Snow hissed. “I’d hunt them until my last breath.”

  Death cracked a smile. He was thinking the exact same thing. His smile faded when Snow grabbed his arm tighter.

  She said ‘we’, and she saw me smile. I hope she didn’t interpret that as me accepting it as a possibility.

  That was exactly how Snow took it.

  Harvadeira finished his speech to Eclipus, resting a hand on his son’s head. He saw his niece, Aleirica, and asked for her help with a subtle nod.

  Rica looked to Morgudeion for permission. He gave it without a second thought.

  “What’s she doing?” Vera asked. “Oh gods… I’m gonna cry more, aren’t I? I’m gonna be sick.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Rica stood at the head of the little boy’s pyre. She failed to find the confidence to speak. In the silence, Harvadeira picked up the banners of the Flame family, one on each corner—a black banner with a red pentacle, a white handprint in the middle.

  Harvadeira spoke with harshly, clearing his throat at the end of every sentence, fighting sorrow to honour his boy. Being thirdborn, not many cared for his skills or leadership, but many knew he was oft ridiculed by Agadeira for his gentle parenting and warmness.

  “My son would’ve been stronger than I ever could’ve grown to be,” he said proudly, touching his boy’s hair. “Your battles unfought shall be given to us. Find your way to the afterlife, my son. If you are struggling, I’ve brought help.”

  Snow tightened her hand in Death’s. “I won’t cry,” she told herself. “Death wouldn’t cry.”

  “You’re speaking aloud,” said Death.

  “I know. If I don’t keep speaking, I’ll be sobbing like Vera.”

  Aleirica placed her hands on the side of Nulo’s, humming as she searched for his soul trapped inside his mind. She gave a wistful smile to the rest of the Flames, kissing his cold forehead.

  “You didn’t need our help to find your way,” she said. “Rest now, little Nulo, you didn’t become a Lost.”

  The rest of the family took their torches and said farewell by lighting the coals and wood as an offering to Eclipus. After the fire swallowed the boy, a cambion mumbled a magical spell to take the molten metal of the melted swords and armour and wrap it around Nulo’s limbs. It sealed him in armour, his flesh burning to the bone and leaving a skeleton forever protected.

  “They’ll bury him when the coals stop burning. It could be a long time, hours maybe,” Ash said. “We can leave when you wish.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” Death sighed.

  Ash left Vera to cry with Beion, guiding Death and Snow to the edge of the cliff. A field of red grass stretched beneath, hundreds, thousands of graves marked with piles of coal.

  “This is how we’ll honour you if you fall during this challenge,” Ash said grimly. “I thought you’d like to see that we wouldn’t let that devil dishonour your body.”

  “Death won’t lose,” Snow boasted. “He’s a conqueror.”

  Ash rubbed her hands together awkwardly. “This is our place of resting. This isn’t a place for any cambion. Each grave, a Flame, snuffed too early. We bury those that die too early here, not those that succumb to age. Look upon them. See their numbers. Remind yourself that each pile of coal you see once believed they would never die. Everyone thinks they’ll be the one to avoid the coal, yet our field of warning grows longer each year, and now the holes are getting smaller.”

  Morgudeion gave a small hop to slap Snow and Death on the back of their heads. “Pay no mind to the gal,” he scoffed. “Not all of these embarrassments died glorious deaths.”

  Ash was offended by her husbands interruption. She asked him, in many words, whether she thought little Nulo’s death was classed as ‘glorious’ by his definition.

  “Definitely,” he snorted. “Look at the size of him at the age of five! He definitely gave those humans a clobbering before they got him. He’s made the Flames proud, unlike some of these wanks. Look at that pile over there, the one with the red feather, that’s my wife’s great-great-grandmother. She leapt from this cliff with the belief wings’d sprout from her back if she had a little faith. The one with the lump o’ gold over there is her fifthborn uncle. He shat himself to death in his own home, turns out his stomach weren’t made for the food of the human world.”

  “Thank you for ruining my lesson, my gorgeous husband,” Ash said sarcastically. “I’ve had an epiphany. I believe my ancestor didn’t grow wings because she was a woman. I’d like to test it with a man, just to be sure. Go ahead. Jump. No? Then stay silent.”

  “I understand the lesson. I don’t appreciate you preparing for a future where I lose,” said Death. “I am the one who avoids the coal. When I kill the Crooked Devil, you’ll know I speak true.”

  “You’ve challenged Carithiel?” a voice asked. “Pardon. That was rude of me. I am—”

  “This is my nephew,” Ash interrupted. “He doesn’t believe in formality, it seems. Ask his name first.”

  Her nephew asked Death’s name before speaking again. “I am Moleira, firstborn of the great Vunadeira.”

  “Firstborn?” Snow laughed. “You’re quite scrawny and small.”

  “Nothing wrong with that!” Vera added, startling Snow from behind. “All the good ones come small.”

  Moleira dressed in the regal clothing of the Flames, the standard fine gowns of red satin and black velvet, golden swirls of thickly stitched threads on the lining of his robe, shoulders, and flared sleeves. Unlike the other flames, he kept his black hair tucked under a piece of crimson cloth tied across his forehead. He liked to be seen for the value he offered, matching it with golden and ruby jewellery that matched the shades of the Flame family colours.

  Death quickly darted between Beion and Moleira. It was clear to him that Beion’s robes were a handcrafted imitation of Moleira’s outfit, a blatant idolisation between cousins.

  “Where’re ya fuckin’ horns,” Vera said. “If you didn’t have those point ears I’d think you’re a human painted red.”

  “I was born without horns. You are interesting. I’ve never seen a hybrid in the flesh before.”

  Beion suddenly became defensive over Vera, standing slightly in front of her to block her from his view.

  “Ah, Beion,” Moleira exclaimed. “I’ve missed you. When did we last see each other, a few days ago for Deilon’s and Aleion’s burial? The Flames are falling like flies.”

  “Enough of the talk,” Death scoffed. “I’m growing impatient. You came because I’ve challenged the Crooked Devil, did you have a point, or can we leave?”

  “That’s a big event. Is it soon?”

  “It shall be today,” Ash answered. “It was a pleasure, nephew. We’ll be going to prepare.”

  “Prepare where? I know where Agadeira and my father are at this moment. It’s a long walk there, you’d be doing me a favour by getting Beion to take us there.”

  “My father would be far too busy,” Ash insisted. “I wouldn’t want to bother him with it.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You’re sponsoring a human against Carithiel! That’s unheard of… wait, is this the one who… y’know.”

  “He killed my sons, yes.”

  “And he flung me into the ceiling!” Morgudeion added.

  Moleira clapped his hands once and then threw them to the side in excitement. “This is no small thing! If he killed Deilon then that arena won’t be a slaughter!”

  Rica was uncomfortable at the thought of being around Agadeira again. “Don’t be scared,” Moleira assured. “He won’t shout at you like he normally does. This is great news. We’ll get him weapons; we’ll get him armour! I wanna see Carithiel beheaded!”

  “I’ll make it happen,” Death said firmly. “It’s my challenge, my decision. Take me to Agadeira, fast, our time is only short.”