Diel hadn’t a fucking clue who he was talking about. And he didn’t care—his monster was done with staring at this piece of shit on the ground. This fucked-up priest was the start of the spree, the kill the monster always toyed with the most, before the blood led them into an uncontrolled frenzy and any morsel of rational thought fled their brains.
“Jegudiel.” The priest dropped his eyes to Diel’s scarred and ruined neck. “You’re Jegudiel—”
Diel jumped from midway up the stairs. His feet landed on the priest’s already broken ankle, crushing it to dust. The priest screamed so loud Diel felt it shudder through his body like an earthquake, his cock hardening at the blessed sound, the high-pitched wail swelling his balls to the point of aching. Diel reached into his waistband and pulled out the long knives. The beast inside him struck the priest, the craving for blood overriding any other need, slicing along hamstrings, his Achilles, his groin. When the priest screamed again, the tongue was next. With every stab of the knife into the priest, Diel lost himself to the red mist of murder, the haze of screams, the rainstorm of blood, and the heady sound of skin and muscles tearing.
The monster rejoiced. It bathed in the sounds of horror and pain. It led and controlled Diel’s every lethal movement until they were a perfectly in-sync, sadistic, fucked-up partnership—the very thing the collar tried to stop.
Diel stabbed and stabbed until the monster drew back, satisfied with this kill and already yearning for the next. Diel pocketed his knives and took off out of the house, not even a backward glance for the mangled priest lying in a bloodied, unrecognizable heap on the wooden floor. As Diel burst from the home, the cold air surrounded him like a cloak. His feet pounded the pavement toward the next Brethren house. His breath came out in steady white puffs of smoke as the monster pushed them to run faster, to move quicker, to get to the next priest sooner.
Diel arrived at the next house—smaller than the last, but just as secluded. He burst through the doors, any element of surprise lost in a surge of adrenaline. Diel raced for the stairs and charged into the bedroom. The monster snarled, briefly releasing Diel from its possession as it found yet another priest bound to the bed, gag in his mouth. The monster gnarred in fury.
Someone was getting to them first. But they weren’t killing them.
Why weren’t they fucking killing them?
Diel looked down. He and his monster caught sight of the red collar of the Brethren around the priest’s neck, and they attacked. They murdered and slashed and ran. Over and over again, over four homes, and with every house, the monster grew more and more savage, ripping the priests apart, pissed that someone had been there before them. Every motherfucking house. All the priests were tied. All were gagged, and all wore the red “H” on their heads, written in the blood from their own split lips. The monster didn’t like its prey being fucked with. It wanted the chase, the hunt, not a motherfucking sacrificial offering.
Diel licked his lips as he sprinted to the last house. His heart beat a frantic rhythm. The monster was on edge and ready to destroy whoever was toying with them, daring to fucking touch their kills first.
Diel knew something was different the minute he reached the back door. The handle was still warm under his palm. His eyes narrowed on the hallway from his place beyond the door, and he heard a sound from upstairs. He smiled, his teeth aching as the cold wind lashed against them.
He was going to get more than the priest in this house.
Diel slid into the hallway, stealth his ally as he moved to the base of the stairs. He closed his eyes and listened. He heard a creak from the basement. Snapping his eyes open, he whipped his head in that direction. He moved his feet to take a step, when a pained cry came from the bedroom upstairs, followed by a voice hissing, “Shut the fuck up.” A voice that didn’t belong to the priest.
Diel licked his lips, tasting the blood from his previous kills. He was covered in blood; it had seeped into every piece of clothing he wore. Diel began climbing the stairs, his blood pumping fast through his muscles, preparing them to strike. He heard the voice again. Some part of him vaguely registered that there was something unexpected about its timbre, but the red mist was too strong for any further thought.
Diel drew to a stop outside the bedroom, and his chest heaved in excitement. He was going to get more kills. More bodies. More screams.
His cock twitched, and Diel threw open the door so hard it slammed against the wall behind it. The monster scanned the room and saw two figures dressed in black, hoods and scarves covering their heads and faces. One of them was on the bed, tying the hands of the priest who was watching him with wide, terrified eyes. One of the people in black leather pants and shirt rushed at him, something in their hand. Diel charged at the moving figure and shouldered them into the wall. The person was light, and he easily knocked the wind from them as they crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.
Diel went to pull out his knives, and the one from the bed rolled off the mattress, rounded the footboard and faced him. Diel met the eyes staring back at him. Brown eyes with long black lashes. His monster roared in excitement, the cry from the priest on the bed only heightening it. The black-hooded figure pulled a knife from a holster at their waist.
Diel paced back and forth as he stared at the smaller figure in front of him. They were foolish to believe they could take him. He had four deaths under his belt tonight, and he was driven by the need to kill even more. As the person moved to attack, Diel ran at them full force. He held out his hand and wrapped it around their neck. The hooded stranger choked on an exhale as he slammed them against the wall. They dropped the knife, but this one didn’t crumple like the one behind him had.
They slammed their arm over his, tearing themselves from his hold. They spun out of his grip, but Diel spun too. The hooded figure lashed out and drove their fist into Diel’s mouth, then landed a quick but strong kick to his thigh.
He felt his lip burst and his knee weaken, but the pain and the warm liquid running down his chin only made his cock harden more, nearly coming at the violence and scent of death building in the air. This fucker thought they could best him.
The monster smiled, and a manic laugh slipped from Diel’s throat. The stranger before him stilled for a second, before crouching low and taking another knife from their holster. Diel walked around them, toying with this victim, relishing the savage foreplay, their slow dance to a bloody death.
Then the hooded rival spun, turning in to his chest, and sliced the knife over his shirt. Diel looked down; the fabric of his shirt was ripped in two, his Fallen brand instantly on show. The skin on his torso had been sliced open, but not deep enough to do any damage—he wouldn’t have cared if it had. The monster’s grin didn’t fall. Instead, Diel’s excitement doubled as he ripped the shirt from his chest and dropped it to the floor. The still-wet blood from his previous kills had stained his chest, but his black brand was still prominent.
Diel heard the priest struggling on the bed. Diel remembered that piece of shit on the now soiled mattress who was staring at him with wide eyes. He remembered his ugly face from the torture room in Purgatory. He’d pulled Diel’s rack lever once. Diel couldn’t wait to dislocate his shoulders in revenge.
The hooded person in front of him stilled, eyes locked on his chest. Diel reached forward and grabbed them by the hood, slamming their head into the wall. The person dropped to the floor at the impact, and the hood fell from their head, revealing a riot of pale pink hair. The scarf dropped from their face, and Diel froze at the sight of the face staring back at him, dark eyes dazed as they tried to focus on him.