MySoultoSave by S W Vaughn Read Free Book Online Page B

it was entirely possible
he’d sent some of them back again. Human reincarnation was rarely tracked—there
were just too many souls to bother. Only the Nabi were sought, preyed upon,
competed for. Like his Logan.
    She is not yours. She belongs to Hell.
    Yes, yes, he told his thoughts. Hell’s, his—in the end, it
was all the same.
    Is it?
    Scowling, he concentrated on the marks again. Similar ones
covered the walls of Kobol’s office. Over the years, the two of them had kept
score against each other, usually staying within five or ten marks. Once,
Jaeryth had been ahead by nearly a hundred—but then Kobol had managed to push a
cult into mass suicide and drawn even again. Lucky bastard.
    But he’d be satisfied with just one more mark on his walls.
For Logan.
    “Reminiscing? Jaeryth, I never knew you cared.”
    Speak of the devil. He lowered his arm and grinned at
Kobol, who stood in his doorway. “You’re slacking, you know,” he said. “I’ve
still got six on you. Seven, now.” Guilt curdled in his stomach. He ignored it.
    Kobol snorted. “Only because you insist on counting that
prison bus crash. Which was, in fact, an accident.”
    “Yes, and they lived. They stabbed each other to death in
the wreckage, attempting to escape.”
    “As you say, quartermaster.”
    Jaeryth straightened, cast another glance at the marks and
sighed. “You know, our jobs would be so much easier if we simply killed the
mortals instead of influencing them.”
    “Mind what you say, young one.” Kobol frowned sharply. “With
my luck, I’ll find myself guilty by association if so you much as consider it.
You know the penalty for killing humans.”
    “Soul mortar.” Merely speaking the words sent a shiver
through him.
    The realm of Hell had not been carved from the bowels of the
earth, but built with forged souls. An entire class of demons had been assigned
as blacksmiths—they were sent the most useless souls, those who offered nothing
good or evil and would never evolve, to be hammered into permanently twisted
and tortured shapes that were placed in the ever-expanding walls of Hell. The
souls remained aware, unable to move, in constant agony from their positions
and the immense pressure of the world that crushed them.
    Demons were not permitted to kill humans. They could
influence them, alter their paths through existence—but they could not end
them. The consequences of such drastic, unnatural changes in the universe were
invariably disastrous for all of creation, including Hell. Therefore, any demon
who committed this crime was sentenced to become soul mortar. And since demons
had no souls and could not die, their bodies were literally warped and pounded
into the solid mass of wailing anguish, never to be released. The loudest cries
in Hell came from the few demons who’d been foolish enough to kill.
    The constant screams of the truly damned were just as
torturous as any of the agonies in Tartarus. And they never stopped.
    Kobol offered a half-smile that faded like a guttering
candle as his gaze found the scorch marks on Jaeryth’s arm. “What have you
done?”
    “How supportive of you to assume I’ve done something.” He
turned away and muttered, “There was a Shepherd. I attacked it.”
    “A Shepherd in your district? That means you—”
    “I know!” He whirled and fought to keep his temper under
control. “Damn it. I am aware that I’m slipping. I just can’t concentrate
when…” He moved toward the cabinet to replace the dagger and to keep Kobol from
seeing his face. “I believe I’ll pay a visit to Pottstown,” he said, attempting
to sound casual. “Haven’t had a day off in decades.”
    “Jaeryth.”
    The rebuke in the tone sliced at him. “I’m right, Kobol,” he
said without facing him. “I’m going to bring her back.”
    “You mean you’re going to neglect your duties and get
yourself tortured. Or worse.”
    “I don’t fear Ronwe.” He wouldn’t mention that he’d been
forbidden