“Uh-huh.” My shoulders constrict with anxiety. Something about this feels off. Normally there’s only one kick-ass quasi on the Arena floor, along with a bunch of lesser demons. Why are all the part-Furor Arena fighters in Purgatory—every top warrior we have—gathering in the Arena today?

I scan the Arena grounds. More weirdness is afoot. Usually, there’s at least one extra ghoul on the stadium floor. Today, there’s only Walker and Sharkie. The exit archways sit empty as well, except for the one directly across from me. In there, Lincoln paces in the shadows, his body tense as a coiled spring. He turns in my direction. Our gaze meets. There’s no joy of lovers connecting, only the focus of two warriors waiting for…What?

Sharkie thumps his staff on the ground. At each of the four points of the compass, a member of the Oligarchy appears along the lip of the stadium. Turning as one, they open four massive portals along the Arena’s top tier. Angels and demons pour into the stands.

I catalog the crowd. The angels look as they always do: white wings, linen robes, and blue eyes. I inspect the demons and gasp. This group isn’t the usual grab bag of colors, shapes, and sizes. Today, the demons are all tall, bulky, and ripped with muscles. Great wings, as dark and angled as a bat’s, hang off many of their backs. Without making a sound, they take their seats with military precision. At least five thousand of them pack the towering stands.

I’m used to a howling jumble of demons. Over the years, I’ve stopped noticing them. But today’s silence sets my nerves on a knife’s edge.

I look to Sharkie. He’s panting out his nose-holes, black sweat dripping down his cheeks. Walker steps to my side, setting his hand on my shoulder. In the distant archway, Lincoln turns his baculum into a fiery broadsword.

Unholy moley. Whatever’s coming, it’s bad.

25

The crowd of angels and demons take their seats in record time. Verus and Armageddon are last to process into the stadium. Angels in white armor flank either side of Verus. I recognize Rhiannon and Levi. Extra protection for Verus; not a good sign.

Squinting, I examine the dark balcony. Armageddon’s surrounded by massive stone-skinned demons. Clementine sits there too, a satisfied smirk twisting her piggish face. I grip my hands behind my back to hide how I’m shaking.

The match is ready to begin.

Sharkie thumps his staff one more time. “Angels, ghouls, and demons, I bring you–”

Armageddon raises his pointer finger, his voice echoing through the stadium. “I request the presence of the Scala and Scala Heir.” He shoots a snide glance at the Oligarchy. “Do you agree?”

Huh. As if they’d ever disagree.

The Oligarchy speak in unison. “Call the bearers.”