My breath catches. Armageddon is here! My body goes on high alert, preparing for a wall of terror to slam into me. It doesn’t. I feel frightened, sure, but nothing like how it felt at school when Armageddon walked by me and Cissy.

What kind of dream is this anyway?

Armageddon folds his three-knuckled hands neatly onto the desktop, his mouth slowly stretching into an impossibly-wide grin. His long pointed face holds a knife-straight nose and two fiery red eyes. “Welcome, Maxon.”

I say nothing, body frozen stiff. What the Hell is going on? Why does he think I’m his son Maxon?

The King of Hell drums his three-knuckled fingers on the tabletop. “Come now, boy. I’ve spoken to you in your dreams every week for the last thousand years. No need to be shy.”

My eyes widen with understanding. Like how Verus sends me dreamscapes of the past, Armageddon must speak with his son in his sleep. I nod. It makes sense; greater demons have all sorts of odd powers. But why does he think I’m Maxon?

Armageddon arches the right brow on his stone-smooth face. “No need to show yourself or speak this time. I can smell the stench of your igni from here.” He drops his palms onto the tabletop and leans forward. “You’re so very close, my son.”

It’s the igni. I’ve spent the last eight hours on a Scala Heir bender, showing my powers to Mom, Walker, Lincoln, and his parents. Igni must leave some kind of trace on my body and soul. Somehow it fooled Armageddon into chatting me up in my dreams. That’s why I don’t feel the terror of being physically close to him.

Armageddon leans back in his chair. “We both know what you’re thinking. Long ago, I asked you to join me in ruling Hell; you refused. Now you carry my curse.” His beady black eyes narrow into slits. “Go ahead. Ask me to forgive you, my son. Ask one more time. Perhaps I’ll change my mind and offer you the mercy you so desperately seek.”

There’s a long pause where I know Armageddon’s waiting for the mercy-begging to commence. That’s so not happening. Ever.

“Not in the mood to grovel today, my boy? How tiresome.” His eyes blare crimson red. “No matter. I will fulfill my curse and drag your body to Hell by force, and not to rule…But to suffer. Perhaps your soul will go to Heaven one day, but not before I torture your body in Hell.”

The demon pauses, and then snaps his fingers. “We’re done here.”

The office and Armageddon disappear. The rest of the night, my consciousness drifts about in darkness and silence.

Great. A crappy night’s sleep right before my big match. Yet another reason to hate Armageddon.

24