“It will still hurt.”
“That’s the point. What will you do the first time the enemy hits you?”
The whisperer’s mouth dropped. “I… Is this some sort of punishment?”
“This is the exercise I have ordered you to complete,” said Nero.
No one asked what would happen if we disobeyed. I didn’t think anyone wanted to know. The whisperer stared at the door for a second, then his body wound up, throwing a hard punch at the door. His shriek of pure agony wailed over the steel echoes. He dropped to his knees, cradling his broken and bleeding hand. Nero looked down at him, his face impassive, unfeeling.
“I told you to keep your wrist straight. Harker, take a look at his hand.”
As the major healed the whisperer with his magic touch, Nero scanned the initiates for his next victim.
“You,” he said, his eyes settling on Drake. “The football player. Let’s see if you punch better than the truck driver.”
Drake broke away from us and marched up to the door and punched it with so much force that the echoes nearly shook the walls. Drake bit down on his lip, containing whatever agony was boiling inside of him.
“Again,” Nero said, the word cracking like a whip.
Drake looked down at his hand. It didn’t appear to be broken, but it was bleeding.
“Again.”
Drake wound up his fist for the punch—then dropped his hand.
“Your willpower is lacking,” Nero said, dismissing Drake with a crisp flick of his wrist.
The angel summoned us one by one to that damn door until, finally, I was the only one left. I didn’t think this was by accident. He’d given me a front row seat to the pain of all twenty-three initiates that had come before me, and now it was my turn. As I strode toward that door, his eyes followed me, boring into me like a drill that could penetrate my body, cutting through to my raw soul. I turned my gaze from him and stared down that door. Then, before my mind could flinch away from the reality of what I was about to do, I hit it as hard as I could.
Agony exploded on my fist, rushing like a burning river through my nerves, up my arms. Surprise mixed with the pain—surprise that I could even hit hard enough to nearly break my arm. Grinding my teeth against the welling pain, I slammed my fist into the door a second time. My bleeding knuckles scraped against steel, dousing the fire with lighter fluid. I turned and faced down the sadistic angel.
His gaze dipped briefly to the blood dripping from my quaking hands. “You need to work on your form,” he said.
Screw you, I mentally shot him.
His mouth tightened, as though he’d heard me. Maybe he had. An angel of his level had telepathic powers. Just in case he was tuned in to my thoughts, I shot him an image of me setting his wings on fire with a flamethrower. If he’d read my thoughts, he didn’t betray any hint of emotion.
“You must go into any battle expecting to get hurt,” he said to us all. “And you must learn to plow through the pain. If not, you will die. There are no timeouts on the battlefield—or from the magic that will rip through your body when you drink again of the gods’ Nectar. If your will is not strong enough, you will die. There are no quitters here, only soldiers of the Legion and the dead. Remember that the next time you think you can just give up.”
A few of the initiates shifted their weight uncomfortably.
Nero indicated the blood-stained door. “This was an exercise in willpower, in holding yourself together despite great pain. And you failed spectacularly,” he declared. “Except one of you.” He turned to find me. “Congratulations, Leda Pierce, you’ve advanced to the next level.”
Why did that sound more like a punishment than a reward?
Nero flicked his hand at the blast door. It responded to his magic, swinging open, and a wolfish dog bounded out, baring his hellish teeth.
“And now you will fight,” Nero told me.
9
The Torturer of Desperate Souls
The dog darted forward, snapping its teeth at me. I moved aside, my leg barely avoiding impalement on its mouth of daggers. Quick as lightning, it moved again—and this time, I wasn’t so lucky. Pain ruptured my thigh, pouring down my leg like a bloody waterfall. I stumbled back, trying to get away from the beast.
It was waiting for me.
It launched onto its back legs and bit me in the shoulder. Its pointed jaws clamped on tight, pulling me down to the ground. Its third bite pierced my calf.
“You must conquer the pain and fight through it,” Nero’s voice said through the haze clouding my mind.
Black spots danced across my eyes. I clenched my teeth and tried to remain conscious. The dog was a big blurry blotch somewhere near my foot. I kicked at it. I must have hit its nose because it yelped in pain and retreated a step. This was my chance. I tried to use that moment to stand, but my body refused to move. And the moment was too brief. The dog snapped at me again and again. The pain melted together into one solid stream of agony. Numbness followed, and then darkness.
When I came to, Harker was standing over me, his hand on my leg. A golden glow pulsed out from his hand, spreading in gentle, humming waves across my skin. My wounds sealed, and my head cleared enough to see Nero standing a few steps away, the dog sitting by his side. The beast’s eyes were dancing about wildly, like it wanted to finish what it had started, but whatever spell Nero had cast over it was keeping it in place.
“Are you all right?” Harker asked me, smiling with encouragement as he moved his hand from my leg to my arm.