The demon had never been so furious in its life. It was wrath in the flesh, and now its own wrath was stronger than it had ever been, all because of this brat who had bested him once again. But it wouldn’t last. This one would pay. He would wish that he had never, ever clashed with the demon called Wrath.
First the brat had gotten away from the altar stone when he’d hit the rock with his foolish little hammer. And now he had stolen the baby away from it just when it was about to pluck its prize and hold it inside hell’s hottest flames until it was scorched alive. It couldn’t believe the kid had the nerve, the audacity to cross it like this.
At first it had been too surprised and shocked to even react, and had simply stood there and watched the boy run away with the baby. The mother had been screaming as if she were the one being tortured, and the boy had just reacted, so quickly that even it didn’t know what he was going to do.
He was most angry that he had timed the spell so perfectly, so it would work best when the baby was first born, only seconds old. Now he’d have to redo the whole thing, and it wouldn’t be as effective-or as much fun. The newborn had already lost so much of her innocence. That pure innocence-that was what it had longed to destroy most of all, in a long, terrifying and agonizing torture of its own devising. It would have been so perfect….
Staying in human form had been a mistake. That’s why the boy had challenged it. If it had still been made of fiery lava, or of rock-hard stone, then the boy wouldn’t have dared do anything but comply. It had let its guard down. He had seen it as a fellow human being, mortal and weak, not as the powerful supernatural being that it was. That was going to change. It would not let the boy be fooled into thinking that he could win.
It also knew that the boy’s father and the meddling ancient had escaped and were on their way. The hordes of doomed souls had stopped their swarm towards the pair and were now going about their regular routine of restless misery. It wasn’t sure how they had escaped, but it wouldn’t help them. If they found him before he’d completed his plans, he would destroy them. If not, they were of no consequence; once he made his return, he would trap them here in hell where they could wait with the damned until judgment day.
It looked into the distance and could still see the boy running away. He wouldn’t get very far. It looked at the mother, who was huddled in a ball crying so hard that she shook all over. It felt no pity, only loathing. Only contempt and disgust. It sneered at the woman and turned away. She had reason enough to cry. And very soon, she’d have even more reason to weep.
The demon closed its eyes and slowly began to transform once again. First it had been fire. Then it had been rock. Now, for something different. It thought for a moment.
“And there were stings in their tails,” it said out loud.
Yes, stings in its tail. What a perfect, exquisite creature to inhabit this desolate, empty world. A perfect, cold-blooded, terrifying creature.
Even as it imagined the shape, the transformation began. A hard black shell, as hard as when it had been formed of stone. Razor-sharp pincers to tear and ruin flesh. Multiple legs that could scuttle along the sand. A tail with a sting of fire, a sting that would paralyze the nerves and the body, keeping the mind-and the pain receptors-intact. It was perfect, with one small modification: a human head between its shoulders so it could hear and see and speak. A human head on a giant scorpion. The dichotomy alone would inspire terror and repugnance. Just the sight of this monstrosity would be enough to stop the boy-and the meddling pair who were coming for him.
Sure enough, the woman saw what it had become and was screaming, shielding her eyes with her arms.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” it said. “I’m not going to eat you. At least not yet!”
Then it scuttled off in pursuit of her obnoxious brat and his newborn sister.