At First Sight Ch. 01

Lowest Level of Hell; The Hive

Deep within the bowels of the Hive, Hell's facility to house the hordes of nameless demonic warriors, the demon awoke to the usual buzz of the alarm that signaled the Horde's morning meal time. He sat up in his cot, in a room full of other demons, and cracked his neck. Another day. It seemed that no matter how hard he prayed to the Deity the night before, he always awoke the next day. Sighing, he stood up and straightened the thin cotton blanket on his cot into some semblance of order, and donned the same gray shirt and black pants he wore every day. He reached beneath the mattress and tucked the little book that held both Shakespeare's Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet into his pocket, and made his way down the bland, gray hallways of the Hive into the meal hall. Everything in the Hive was gray. Or black.

Looking around, he noticed the same groups of demons seated with one another as there always were, snickering, pulling pranks on one another, some were brawling in the corner. There was supposed to be a group of upper level demons, the Watchers, who policed them, but they were seldom at their post. The Watchers preferred to occupy their time torturing human victims in their personal quarters.

None of the demons in the Hive had names. There were numbers, however, stitched onto their shirts and pants, which always reeked of either their own refuse or the refuse of the dead demon who had worn those clothes before him. The demon entering the hall was number 6850. His clothes did not smell of refuse, because every night, while all the others were sleeping, he washed his in the basins of the lavatories. He did not want to reek. His dark gray skin was also somewhat clean, which was more than could be said of the others, who rarely took the time to wash— Who will see us, anyway? They asked. 6850 took the time, though, because he enjoyed being clean. No one needed to see him in order for him to feel clean.

Making his way across the meal hall to the end of the line for food, he heard the cackling laughter that usually accompanied his presence in any populated area. "What the fucking hell does he think he is? Some Lord, or something? I mean fuck, man, get a grip." The demon who had called out stood up behind him with the swagger of a bully that had never been in an actual fight. This was clearly a demon that had never been to battle. 6850 had.

"Hey! Hey, you! How come you're all the time washing everything, huh? Who the fuck do you think is gonna come check? And, what's that shit you're always reading, huh? You think you're better than all of us just 'cause your mommy taught you to read? Well, guess what, sucker? Your mommy's dead, just like all of our mommies, so get a clue, motherfucker!" The demon snorted and glanced back at his friends to make sure they were watching. 6850 said nothing; he simply continued on in the line for his food.

The demon, unsatisfied with 6850's reaction—or lack of one—to his taunting, walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. 6850 turned his head to look at the demon, whose shirt read "3200," and said, "Please release me. I haven't done anything to you."

3200 laughed. "'Please release me,'" he mocked, loud enough for his friends at the table to hear. He looked back, once again making sure his friends were watching. "Hear that, guys? I think he's fucking retarded, or something!" He began to speak very slowly to 6850. "Do...you...understand...me...dumbass?"

6850 was getting seriously annoyed with this demon. "I have asked you once, and you didn't pay attention. I am only going to ask you once more. Please release me."

"And, what's gonna happen if I don't?" 3200 asked, grinning.

6850 decided that this demon was beyond reasoning with and proceeded to take 3200's throat in his massive hand and squeeze until he was sure he was about to hear a crack. He released the demon, who had a huge hand-shaped bruise on his throat and was coughing uncontrollably as he tried to catch his breath. 3200 scrambled away, near tears. He wasn't permanently damaged, but he probably wouldn't be talking anytime soon. 6850 picked up a tray and made his way to the serving area for his breakfast.

"You there! Last in line! Let me see your number!" A voice echoed from the doors of the dining hall. 6850 froze. Surely the Watchers hadn't decided to punish him for what he'd done? He'd seen demons do much, much worse many times before without so much as a harsh word. What could they possibly want of him? 6850 placed his tray back onto the stack and turned around. There were three of them—slender, fiery red-skinned Watchers, dressed in black suits—waiting on him. They motioned him over to where they stood.

As he approached them, the one in the front said, "We received word from the Seer that you"—he checked his paper—"number 6850, have been mated to a human woman and will be sent to the earthly plane to claim her. Congratulations. Come with us."

They turned and walked out the doors, obviously expecting him to follow. 6850's blood rushed in his ears as he absorbed what they had said. Mated? To a human? There must be some mistake. That simply did not happen. Members of the Horde did not mate. They bred, with the female members kept on the other side of the Hive, twice a year. 6850 felt his skin tingling with shock. He rushed to catch up to the Watchers as they made their way through the Hive, toward the main floor and out the doors.

As they exited, the smell of sulfur hit 6850 hard, and he looked around at the lowest level of Hell. It was disgusting. There were cavernous pits of quicksand and sulfur everywhere, dying animals feeding off the rotten carcasses of their predecessors, and flames bursting from the ground in certain spots at random intervals. The thought of leaving to Earth thrilled through him. The Watchers turned to him and said, looking at their paper, "Her name is Emma Walker. You will know her when you see her—you'll feel The Pull. If you spend enough time with her, she should begin to feel it as well. You should mate with her as soon as possible, as she has also been matched with an angel—a Seraph warrior. He will probably want to battle you for her, and you must protect her if you want to mate with her. Good luck." The last sentiment was said without a hint of emotion, but that didn't surprise 6850. Watchers did not care much for the Hordes.

Before he could respond, however, he felt a searing pain throughout his skull. He shut his eyes and clutched his temples. As the pain passed, he opened his eyes to find that he was standing on a concrete surface in the dark, watching a woman walk toward some sort of machine. Emma. He knew it was her with every fiber of his being. 6850 shook with the realization that this was his mate. It had really happened. He had prayed and wished for escape from the Hive for centuries, for some kind of meaning in his life, and he had received it. And, it was around five-foot-two with beautiful brown curls that fell just past her shoulders and bounced with every step she took.

She was curvy, and as she walked, her hips swayed in a mesmerizing rhythm. She was dressed in a black dress that came to her knees and wrapped snugly around her perfectly flared hips, with a little white sweater over her arms. Her breasts were magnificent. She looked nothing like the female demons, who were dumpy gray entities that couldn't be bothered to move from their beds most days, and he loved her for it. Her creamy, slightly tanned skin reminded him of how delicate she was, as a human.

He glanced down at himself and felt ashamed of his haggard appearance. He knew that his short, dark hair wasn't clean. His skin had been recently washed, though, and he didn't smell. He hoped. His Emma deserved better than him. He wasn't even wearing shoes. 6850 looked at her shoes as she reached the machine and opened the door. They were little black heels with bows on the tops. He smiled the first real smile he could ever remember. She was so beautiful.

Emma got inside the machine and it moved forward, away from him. He frowned. She was leaving? He mentally willed himself to her home, and found himself outside a set of buildings, with numbers and letters over the doors. He stood behind a big blue box labeled "DUMPSTER" that smelled terrible and waited for her machine.

######

Central Level of Heaven; Seraphim Training Grounds

Ethan was a Seraph, a warrior angel. He was trained to wield a fiery sword and battle the demon hordes and lords for his Deity. He was known for his fierceness in battle, and his integrity in his everyday life. He was training his men for battle when the message came from the Seer.

"Come on, men! I know you've got more in you than that!" he yelled as the warriors-in-training attempted to shoot fiery arrows into their targets. Most were failing miserably. "If you can't hit them while they're still, imagine how hard it will be when you're aiming at live, vicious, attacking demons! They are massive brutes, and they require more than one arrow to incapacitate! Focus!" Ethan shook his head and sighed. At this rate, they would have to simply walk up to the demons and ask the monsters politely to come along with them, seeing as they couldn't do any real damage to the beasts as it was.

"Ethan!" the frantic shout came from behind him, and the great whooshing of wings signaled the arrival of an angel he knew to be his good friend Alecto, the Messenger. He turned good-naturedly; a smile of greeting on his face which faded the second he saw the state Alecto was in. The poor Messenger was disheveled, to say the least—his long blond hair was a tangled mess, his robes had been jerked at an odd angle, as if someone had grabbed him by the collar, and some of the feathers of his great white wings were drifting around him to the ground at his feet. He was also ridiculously and comically out of breath.

"What's wrong, Alecto? You look a bit...harried," Ethan said, fighting a grin and trying to be diplomatic.

"What's wrong?" Alecto echoed, his voice growing even more frantic. "What's wrong? Well, I have a letter for you from the Seer! That's exactly what's wrong! I've flown all the way from the Upper Level, and she put the message in my hands herself! You've been mated! You must go at once! Although, I don't see what the battlement is going to do without you while you're gone! The upcoming battle will be lost and we will be shamed, Ethan! What are we going to do?" Alecto stopped for a breath, his face flushed and wings fluttering behind him in panic.

One of Ethan's ginger brows rose. "It's good to know that you took the liberty of reading my mail, Alecto, but I think perhaps you are mistaken. I am a warrior. We are not mated until the end of our military careers. Our Great Deity does this in order to prevent heartache in the Cherub that we are mated to, should we die in battle, serving him. You know this."

Alecto was not dissuaded in the least. "Oh, but it is you who are mistaken, my friend! See, here in the Seer's own handwriting! You have been summoned! And, that's not all! Your mate is human! She's human!" Alecto looked as if his fat, neurotic head might explode in Ethan's opinion; however, he managed to keep that particularly snarky comment to himself and instead snatched the envelope from Alecto.

"Let me see that," he quipped, turning so that Alecto had to stretch to attempt to see over Ethan's shoulder to look at the message. Being a good half a foot shorter than his friend, who stood six-foot-six, he was unsuccessful. Ethan read through the letter, written in the elegant script of the Seer herself:

Ethan,

It has come to my attention that your mate has been selected. Her name is Emma Walker. She is human, and therefore resides on the earthly plane. As such, your mate has also been matched with a demon who will, of course, try to win her affections, as well. It is left to the human to decide whom she will mate with. If the demon mates with her prior to your claiming her, you must return and never seek her out again. Please begin immediately, as the demon most certainly will.

Post-Script: Beware The Pull. It is notoriously detrimental to your kind.

S

In all honesty, Ethan had never seen or heard anything like it, and wasn't entirely sure that the Seer hadn't lost her mind completely. He decided to seek the counsel of Myrna, one of the oldest known warriors in the Seraphim legion, who was still fighting vigorously, though he was a white-haired, wrinkled old man.

"Well?" Alecto asked, no doubt expecting Ethan to rage against the injustice of an early end to his military career.

"Well, what? I'm going to ask Myrna about it. I'm sure he can tell me if it's ever happened before, or what I can do about it."

Ethan left Alecto sputtering as he unfolded his wings and with one great sweep, lifted himself into the air and toward the soldier's quarters, where Myrna was no doubt lecturing the younger Seraphs about their laziness on the battlefield. Well, someone needs to, he thought to himself as he glanced back at his men who were still trying desperately to simply hit a static target with their arrows.

When he reached the soldiers' quarters, Ethan could hear Myrna aiming a diatribe at some of the more inexperienced soldiers. "...and, I'll tell you another thing!" he was yelling. "When I was young like you, my only motive was to serve the Deity! We didn't frolic with the Cherubs and spend all our time dining and chatting the way that you all do! That's sure as certain!"

Ethan chuckled at the old warrior as he entered the room. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt you, Myrna, but as much as I'm sure the young men are enjoying your tirade, I need a word with you. It's rather urgent."

Myrna looked up from his rant and grinned. "Ethan! Now, here's a warrior you all could learn to emulate! What can I do for you, son?"

Ethan leaned in closer to Myrna. "It's a bit...private. Could we discuss it outside?"

Myrna looked confused, but followed Ethan out to the courtyard. "What's this all about, Ethan?" Myrna's eyes narrowed. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Ethan made a face. "Not exactly. I've been mated."

"That's wonderful, son! Though, we will certainly miss you in the upcoming battle. It's a bit early in your career to be mated, don't you think?"

"That's exactly what I think. Also, I'm mated to a human, apparently. The Seer's letter says that I am to compete for her affections with a demon! Is that even possible? A demon from the Horde can mate? They are little more than animals!" Ethan was getting upset, and he let Myrna see it. "I don't understand what I am supposed to do, here."

Myrna shook his head. "You are supposed to win her affections. And, some of those demons from the Hordes are quite intelligent. If he's been mated, then you can count on the fact that he's smart enough to know how to get to her and to know that you're coming. He'll do everything he can to take her from you. I know from experience. Go to her. Now." The grave expression on Myrna's face shook Ethan to his core. Myrna didn't say another word, just walked back into the soldiers' quarters without looking back.

Ethan closed his eyes and used his powers to search for Emma. When he opened them again, he was outside an apartment building in Knoxville, Tennessee. It was freezing and snow covered the sidewalks, so he manifested a dark suit, trench coat, and gloves for himself. He could feel the pull of her spirit coming from the door marked "A-2." Well, he thought, here goes nothing.