Page 45 of Warrior Unraveled

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The hell pit was a crater filled with bubbling tar that consumed anything unfortunate enough to fall into it. There was no surviving it; it was a slow, torturous death. Every leader of the Demons of Fear before Zoltan had used it to punish traitors among their kind, and it had become a useful deterrent. Which was the reason why Zoltan liked to assemble his demons around its edges—to remind them what would happen if they didn’t execute his orders. If they didn’t succeed in fulfilling their duties.

And they hadn’t succeeded.

Not this time.

They had failed miserably.

“You had bloodhounds, and still you couldn’t find the intruders!” Zoltan bellowed now, his voice thundering in the cavernous space.

A few hundred of his demons stood in front of him, their heads bowed, their eyes averted. His other followers, the thousands dwelling in the many caves of the Underworld, would soon hear of this assembly and count themselves lucky that they hadn’t been among those tasked with sniffing out the Stealth Guardians who’d intruded into their world.

“Who was in charge of the dogs? Step forward!”

There was a movement in the crowd. Zoltan focused on it and watched as a demon with strawberry blond hair made his way through the assembled. Everybody seemed eager to get out of his way. It took a few moments before the demon who supervised the kennels and trained the dogs separated from his brethren and stopped a few yards away from Zoltan.

He bowed. “I am Klaus, oh Great One.”

“What have you got to say in your defense?”

“We did everything we could. The dogs picked up a scent, but it turned out to be a diversion. The guardians must have disguised their smell. We couldn’t anticipate that.”

Wrong answer. Zoltan grabbed Klaus by the throat and pushed him back to the edge of the pit. There, he snarled at him. “Excuses! I don’t want to hear excuses. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, oh Great One,” the demon groveled.

“Now try again. Why did you fail?”

“It was m-m-my fault. Entirely mine.”

Zoltan chuckled. “Better.” He tossed a sideways glance at his subjects who were watching the exchange with fear and trepidation. “And what do we do with men who fail me?”

“Kill him,” the crowd said in unison.

Satisfied that his underlings still towed the line, Zoltan looked back at his captive. “Did you hear what your brethren demand I do?”

Klaus was trembling now, knowing that his fate was sealed. Zoltan felt satisfaction roll over him. He felt the other demon’s fear, loved the way it wrapped around the man like a cocoon. But this wasn’t the kind of cocoon that protected. This was the kind that destroyed from within. Because fear weakened. Fear undermined. Fear debilitated. That’s why he loved it so much: it turned his enemies into whimpering fools unable to fight back.

Just like this shivering coward wasn’t fighting back.

All Zoltan had to do was release him and he would tumble backward into the hell pit to be swallowed up by the liquid tar, suffering an agonizing death. But his death wouldn’t be for nothing: it would be an example to his brethren, teaching them that failure was unacceptable.

Zoltan pushed Klaus farther back so his upper body was hanging over the pit, his legs still anchored to the ground, but off balance. Then he started to loosen his grip.

“Oh Great One!”

Zoltan glanced over his shoulder and saw Yannick hurrying into the cave.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? What is it?”

Yannick made a perfunctory bow, then quickly said, “The men you sent on the mission, one of them is back.”

Zoltan knew immediately what mission Yannick was referring to. He pulled Klaus back so he stood on his own again. “Only one?”

“Yes, oh Great One.” He motioned to the tunnel he’d come from. “This way.”

Nodding, Zoltan released his grip on his captive’s neck, and turned to join Yannick, when he heard Klaus sigh in relief. He spun on his heel and glared at the demon.