Prologue
Thousands of years ago.
Wrath
As I sit here, wasting away in this realm that’s not my own, this realm that functions as my prison, I dream of the beginning.
While our origins have been lost even to us, the time before the great imprisonment still lingers fresh and vivid in my mind—the screams, blood, anger.
They called us Sins, the complete opposite of their holy selves. We lived for chaos, bloodshed, war, and fun. They lived for rules and order. There were only seven of us, and yet we were still able to hold hundreds of them at bay for eons. We were powerful, rulers of the dimension we lived in, feared by those who bled gold, thinking that made them superior to those of us who bled black. If they were truly so superior, why did they tremble at the thought of us? Why were we able to light fire to their villages?
One day, the Óir vanished, and we had the realm to ourselves. Unfortunately, we weren’t left on our own for long. No. The Óir soon decided they weren’t content with creating their own realm and staying there. They wanted to try their hand at creating versions of themselves, the pompous assholes. They wanted to see if they could create beings that were similar to themselves.
We slaughtered every single attempt.
Until the guardians were created, led by fierce and powerful female dragons. Somehow, the Óir, the very cowards who failed to face us in the past, created beings that could actually hold us at bay. We could tell it was a struggle for them to do so, but they did it anyway.
And then those gold-blooded weaklings created this pit, our prison, sending one of their own here to keep watch. Sending their guardians to throw us into our cells and sacrificing one of their very first creations to seal us in.
My memories fuel my need for freedom, my need to seek out those who have imprisoned me and my siblings and rend them limb from bloody limb. I want to drink their golden blood, paint my face with it, rain it down on the earth. I want to drain every last one of those bastards dry.
I’ve been stuck in this fucking flaming garbage realm for millennia, able to watch but never touch my home dimension, trapped here because the assholes in charge decided we were too much of a threat to their little experiment. Humanity. And they were right. When we get free of this place, we will lay waste to the realm they now refer to as Earth before we rip open the gates to Heaven and slaughter the Óir in their golden cities.
My mind circles back to humanity. What bullshit. Why would the Óir create something so subpar and weak when perfection had already been created? Why send Morningstar, one of their own, to play babysitter for them? They’re nothing more than annoying apes. We saw humanity for what it truly was, an affront to our very existence. It had been offensive when they sent him here as our jailor. I seethed at the very notion, flames licking through my veins at the thought of humans polluting my realm. Those disgusting, marginally sophisticated apes needed to be shown their place. The guardians needed to be reminded of their status as well. Neither being is fit to be anything but slaves to our every whim.
I can’t get out of this trash heap on my own. Anyone stuck in the pit stays in the pit unless someone from the outside breaks the seals and opens the gate. What sort of stupid bullshit rule is that? Were the Óir really so weak that they felt the need to go to such extremes? My siblings and I are something to be feared, this is true, but if those idiots were truly superior beings, they would have been able to eradicate or contain us themselves without the need for this insult.
Though I suppose I’m lucky. Morningstar can’t ever leave the pit. From what we’ve been able to glean during our time here, that was the agreement when this realm was made. The rest of us had been forced into this dimension, no questions, no discussions, with just a snap of some asshole’s fingers, and we were caged in here like rabid animals.
If they want to see a rabid animal. I’ll give them a fucking rabid animal.
I need someone to open the gate. Unfortunately, aside from the Óir, only the Fates could break the seals that keep the gate to this realm closed. Those blasted loyal lapdogs. They would need to be corrupt to break the seals, all three of them, or it wouldn’t fucking work. I’ll need to be patient if I want that to happen, but what’s a few thousand years compared to eternity? My abilities are limited in the pit, and it takes a great deal of power to influence anything outside of this realm. But I’m determined.
It needs to be subtle. If Morningstar or the Óir get word of what I’m doing, they’ll find other ways to safeguard their precious creations.
A dark grin spreads across my face. The Óir love to influence their creations through the use of oracles. Humans are much easier to corrupt than their guardians—the existence of demons is proof of that. And so, I search Earth for the perfect oracle to deliver my prophecy. The humans would never suspect that such a thing would come from one locked away by Morningstar, and the Óir are stuck too far up their own asses to look into the matter of a new prophecy. The guardians always love a good prophecy, and so do the demons.
Regardless of how long it takes, I will sow the seeds of my release from this blasphemous prison. If my siblings are too stupid to assist, they can rot here for all I care.
I’ve lost track of how many years have passed since I started my search, but I’ve finally found the perfect human to deliver my prophecy. Just as I knew it would, it catches the attention of demons, supernaturals, and humans alike. Now I just need to wait for the opening. Archdemons, the souls of humans who have been corrupted by what limited influence my siblings and I have here in the pit, are always so eager for a shot at impressing Morningstar, not knowing it’s the Sins they want to impress.
There’s so much I want to do when I get out of here. I’m practically vibrating with the pent-up excitement of it all. And what’s a few hundred years more? Patience pays off, and it gives me more time to plan.
I feel an archdemon take interest in my prophecy. No, two archdemons. Splendid! And so my work begins. First, we need to take out the guardians and their pesky queens. Only then can the real fun begin.
My laughter echoes in the dark around me.
Chapter One
Six months ago.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The sound of pounding fists on my door rouses me from sleep. I blink my gritty eyes open slowly, the fog crowding my mind preventing me from coherently comprehending what woke me up. I stare blankly at my alarm clock as it flashes bright red digits at me. What are the numbers? My clock is trying to tell me what time it is, but my brain can’t decipher what it’s saying. More pounding. It’s two in the morning. I blink one last time in an effort to clear my head. I hate being woken up, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened, and I doubt it will be the last. Crawling out of bed as the knocking continues, increasing in volume and now sounding frantic, I scrub my hands over my face as I clear the last remnants of sleep from my mind. My dragon grumbles sleepily in my head, wanting whoever is banging on our door to go to hell.
“What the hell do you want?” I shout loud enough for even a human to hear.