He hit the ground with a heavy thud. Stars flashed through his vision.
Rather than launch her next attack, as any sane person would, she peered down at him. Gaze locked with his, she raised her fingers to her mouth. Out came her tongue, lapping up his blood.
"Delicious," she said.
Fury blazed through him. Perhaps humiliation. "You're a fool. You should have taken me out while you had the chance. You won't get another."
"Ready for more so soon? I know I am."
Lazarus jumped up. This time, when she swiped at him, he dropped to his stomach, palming two daggers on the way down. She missed, and he stabbed both of her feet.
Her roar echoed off the walls, shaking the entire room. Claws ripped across his back. Ignoring the newest onslaught of pain, he rolled to the side. When she took another swipe at him, he caught her wrists, kicked up his legs and crossed his ankles at her nape.
He rolled to his back this time, flipping her over his head. The daggers fell from her feet. He ended up on top of her, his knees pinning her shoulders. Anger contorted her features into a whole lot of ugly.
Not so smug now, are we?
Grinning, he punched the underside of her jaw. His knuckles cracked, but so did her jaw. She bucked, but the action failed to dislodge him. Then her wings swept up and knocked him across the room. Fueled by adrenaline, impact barely registered. He leaped up and spit out a feather. She climbed to all fours.
They circled each other, every step she took leaving a bloody paw print.
"There's something different about you." Her gaze slid over him. "But what?"
If she noticed the crystals, his weakness, he would--
Not care. Hilda died today.
He blew her a kiss. "I'm no longer a child, but a man. Not quite the man you are, of course, but everyone has a cross to bear."
The sneer in his tone did exactly as he'd hoped. Provoked beyond reason, she dived at him, fangs bared, claws ready. He swiped up the fallen daggers and ducked. As Hilda soared overhead, missing him by only a few inches, he used one hand to punch up and cut through her breastplate--through her body, from sternum to pubis. The other hand sliced through her wing.
Blood and organs rained over him. A pained shriek blended with his satisfied grunt as she flopped to the carpeted floor. Acting quickly, knowing she would regenerate everything she'd lost, he threw himself atop her and framed her face with his hands. Skin on skin.
Her eyes widened when she realized his ultimate purpose. She erupted, fighting him with all her might. As slippery as he was, soaked with her blood, he lost his grip. She kicked him off. Damn it! He returned, knocking her down as she tried to sit up. She punched his face, kneed his balls. Air gushed from his lungs. Her elbow collided with his cheek, and he staggered to the side.
When she attempted to stand, he kicked her in the jaw. No mercy. Down she tumbled. He jumped on top of her yet again and dug his claws into her temples, holding on tight.
"This is happening," he snarled, embarrassed to be panting. "Take it like a man."
"If I took it like a man," she snarled right back, "I'd be crying." She batted his hands away, ripping out his claws, leaving her cheek as raw as hamburger meat.
Even as she grunted with pain, she rolled to her side and punted his chest. But her strength had waned. The action only knocked him halfway across the room.
By the time she made it to her feet, he'd pushed his way back. Remaining prone, he kicked her ankles together. She flailed as she fell. The second she landed, he rolled on top of her. She fought for dominance. Punching. Biting. Clawing.
Blood dripped into his eyes. His own? Or hers? She bit into his shoulder and tore out a hank of flesh and bone. Pain seared him. He roared to the rafters, pinpricks of light winking behind his eyes.
Overcome by his rage, Lazarus lifted his head, sank his teeth into her vulnerable neck--and tore out her trachea. She gasped, the gaping wound sucking raggedly at whatever air it could steal. He rolled a final time, ending up on top, shoving his knees into her torso and cupping her cheeks.
With the flip of a mental switch, heat flowed out of him and into her, such intense heat. Sweat suddenly drenched her. Her flesh began to turn to stone...
At first, she flailed. As her skin and fur hardened, beiges and browns darkening to gray, her motions slowed...
Bastard, she mouthed as the last of her petrified.
To his knowledge, the process could not be undone. Which meant he'd won.
Relieved, he collapsed beside her. The process always drained him, the reason he only ever used the ability when he lacked an audience.
"Told you," he rasped.
He studied his newest statue. Her agonized features were forever frozen, her eyes gazing upward, pleading for mercy, her mouth open, revealing fangs. Her arms were extended, her hands balled into fists. Both sets of legs were extended as well, now pushing at oxygen. Her broken wing lay at an odd angle, while the other wrapped inward in an attempt to protect her. Her chest cavity was split open, not yet having healed.
She would have a place of honor in his garden.
One last thing to do...
He lumbered to a stand and stalked across the room, stopping directly in front of the display case. The power he'd encountered earlier brushed over him, his blood beginning to fizz all over again.
He pulled off the remains of his T-shirt, wrapped the material around his fist and punched through the panel that protected the box.
The glass shattered and slashed through the cotton. Sharp stings zinged over his fingers, and crimson beaded from a thousand tiny wounds.
Steeling himself, he reached for the box...only to still. The pulse of power wasn't coming from it. He frowned and focused on the skull, the true source. Why had its teeth been filed into razor points...if not to guard something of importance?
Acting on instinct, he reached inside its open mouth. Those teeth clamped down on his wrist, and he hissed, but he didn't yank out his hand. His fingers bumped against a small object anchored inside, and the power arced through him, pure and undiluted. The scratches in his stomach and back healed. The cuts on his knuckles closed up.
This was the same power he'd experienced the few times he'd encountered Kadence, the goddess of Oppression. Upon her death, her bones were used to make the box.
Satisfaction bubbled inside him. He latched onto the item, whatever it was, and yanked. The skull's teeth remained embedded in his skin. Poison leaked from the incisors, but it was no deterrent to him. One by one, he tossed the bits of enamel to the floor. Then he examined the small trinket he'd liberated.
Definitely made from bones, just like the box. Fingers and knuckles. And yes, they belonged to Kadence. The bones had been shattered, the pieces welded together and stained red to resemble an apple.
An apple. The original temptation. But...
This was the infamous Pandora's box?
Problem: the other Lords remembered a literal box, like the one he'd first reached for.
Possibility: whoever made the box could have remade the box after it was opened. A good strategy. How better to hide it? But who had made the first box? And why?
The Lords believed a living being was still trapped inside. The Morning Star. Not a demon, but a creature able to destroy Lucifer and his evil with a single touch. Able to free the Lords of their demons, too, while ensuring the warriors lived on.
Lazarus had done his research. Some said the Morning Star was a Sent One, the best demon slayer ever to live. Others claimed the Morning Star was a literal descendant of celestial beings known as Starlights, so bright the sun would weep with envy. Still others suggested the being was a jinni, a granter of wishes.
The next problem, or maybe the biggest paradox: Lazarus would love to use the Morning Star, but to do so, he would have to open the box. Cameo could die before he had the chance to use the Star, saving her.
Could she be saved?
Speaking of his monomania, how was he to get word to her?
He had what she craved.
She expected him to show up at her door, all Remember you said you'd reward me if I escaped the spirit realm?
He knew what he would request. Her mouth on his shaft.
Lazarus hung the pendant from a chain around his neck and tugged the ruined remains of his shirt overhead, hiding the artifact under the material. Using the ring, he created a portal to the Realm of Grimm and Fantica. He dragged Hilda through and ended up in front of the other portal. The one leading to the mortal world. To Cameo.
He glared daggers at the shimmery air. You took my woman from me.
A strange tugging sensation drew him closer. His mind whirled as he dug in his heels. Pandora's box, attempting to reach the demons?
No, couldn't be. The sensation originated in his veins. In the crystal. He didn't understand, but he expected the worst and backed away.
His men were just as he'd left them. His sky serpents, too. Trees had been felled, but so had griffins. Their bodies lay in pieces throughout the forest.
"Good boys and girls," he praised. To his soldiers, he called, "Rope."
One of the men rushed forward to offer the desired item. Lazarus anchored one end to Hilda and the other to his stallion's saddle, ensuring the braided length wouldn't tangle in the steed's wings. He mounted.
"You, you and you." He pointed to his strongest men. "Camp here. When the dark-haired woman returns, protect her with your lives and escort her to the palace. The rest of you...let's go home."
*
Lazarus positioned Hilda in the Garden of Perpetual Horror. Only the best for his newest addition. Her broken body lay underneath a squatting troll who'd raided a nearby village and slaughtered the males in order to steal the females.
Satisfied with his selection, Lazarus marched into the palace. No servants rushed to greet him. In fact, the halls were eerily quiet. He withdrew two daggers even as he opened his mind to gauge the situation.
Mental chatter from the soldiers who'd returned with him. They wondered about Cameo, what she meant to their king. The only other occupants were...dreaming? Nothing else explained the image of a dancing elephant with a tutu, a talking car and a horny robot.