Ichi’s small stature grew and bulked. The stiff red-and-black leather uniform hugging her body transitioned to gold and black—her single sword now two on her back. My mouth dropped as her hair shortened into a dark fade and familiar swirling tattoos marked her neck.
Oliver, who had been standing on my other side, held out his muscular arms. His face no longer looked like his, but Ronen’s.
I scanned the entire arena, mirroring everyone else’s reactions as I stared at dozens of replicas of the General of Hell.
What the Heavenly Hell was going on?
Oliver patted his chest. “When I touch myself, I know it’s me. But when I look down, I feel ten times bigger,” he mused in Ronen’s voice, gazing at his own body in bewildered awe.
“Don’t tell Ronen that. He doesn’t need a bigger ego,” another Ronen muttered from where MJ had stood.
“I’m not sure how I feel about this.” The masculine tone coming from my mouth made me cringe. “It’s?—”
“Oddly epic,” Oliver interrupted, almost jumping up and down with glee. My nose wrinkled. Ronen never had that much excited energy in his voice. Seeing it was just… wrong on so many levels.
“It’s Xavier,” Ronen-MJ explained. “He’s a dead archangel who earned back his power of perceptual manipulation.”
“Damn, I wish I had his power,” Ronen-Oliver said in awe.
“Please stop talking,” I told him. The sound of my own voice was torture enough.
Refusing to look down at myself or any of the other clones, I set my gaze on the real Ronen, who stared at Xavier with an expression hintingat a glare. Humor brushed the corners of Xavier’s lips as he kept his attention forward. Bold move. I wasn’t sure Xavier was supposed to disguise everyone as Ronen. Maybe he did it for extra shock value. Ronen slowly turned back to us.
“In light of my abrupt announcement on the demon mutation, Hell melting, and the flyers placed around the city, it’s come to my attention that half our military is scared to leave castle grounds.”
“What flyer?” Oliver asked.
I shook my head.
“Unfortunately for you, fear was never off the table in your suffering package. Which means the Dreads and Nightmares will no longer be the only squads going on missions. We will need more patrols in light of the infection and fear-mongering flyers.”
Worried whispers rippled throughout the lower-level squadrons.
“That makes sense for the angels who have fought before. But I’m just a human serving my time. I don’t know how to fight against an infected!” some bold Bowel recruit called out.
“Yeah!” others shouted.
Ronen smiled as if he held a knife to everyone’s neck.
“Unless you are redeemed, or the king has forgiven the deal you made, Hell owns your soul. You will do as I say, or you will suffer at the end of my Soul Swords. That goes for anyone who would dare go against our kingdom.” Shadows bled into Ronen’s eyes as he leveled the crowd with a promise of violence. No one dared utter a word. “However, seeing as Hell’s military was designed for punishment and not defending against a threat, today’s training will not only prepare you for what you’ll face, but give me a sense of how well you can work together.” He gave Xavier a pointed look.
Xavier snapped his fingers, and cries of shock erupted around the arena.
There were demons everywhere. All different kinds. Some had black skin with horns; some had three beady red eyes and slit nostrils like Cambion Demons; others had morphed into things I couldn’t even describe.
Ichi appeared as a hunched, ghostly white, deformed body with long barbs protruding from her back. MJ, next to her, had a vile smilingface on the back of her head. When she twisted around, the same face watched us, but this one had razor-sharp teeth and bloody gums.
Oliver pressed closer, and I was determined not to look at him.
Ronen nodded to Xavier, and the illusion dropped.
“We will be picking squads to face off. One squad will be illusioned to appear as demons, while the other will be live bait for the demons to bite.” Ronen smiled viciously. “And you will be expected to bite. Hard and fast. Your rules are as follows—no killing, reach the other side of the arena with the entirety of your squad, and you win. In addition to winning, you will join the other demons in the following rounds until there are no prey left.”
“That seems counterintuitive,” Oliver mumbled. “Don’t we want fewer demons?”
“It’s not about the amount of demons,” MJ said. “He’s trying to train the unseasoned how to react and defend under fear—exposure therapy. As for the predators, he’s conditioning them to hunt and attack as a team. There’s a chance in the future this won’t be a drill, but reality.”
MJ pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. It was the flyer.
