Tineas are the demon of choice if you want someone kidnapped or dead. Once they lock on your voice and gait, they never give up. Armageddon must have sent this one after Adair. I inspect the stadium floor, looking for the old Scala. There’s no sign of him or his ghoul carriers. They probably high-tailed it out at the first sign of trouble and forgot all about the Scala Heir.

Well, Armageddon didn’t forget.

“I’ll stall the demon.” Lincoln reignites his baculum. “Make sure she doesn’t move or make any noise.” I nod. Tineas hunt by touch and sound. If Adair stays quiet and still, it won’t find her.

I bump fists with Lincoln and race off toward Adair. As I speed along, my gaze falls on the Arena’s upper levels. An icy jolt of fear runs through me. The top lip of the Arena is covered with demons as they crawl, fly, and demolish their way out of the stadium.

They’re off to overrun Purgatory.

Nausea overtakes me. Anyone I’ve ever known—students, teachers, and even the old mechanic who tries to fix Betsy—could be murdered today.

I shake my head from side to side. No time to think about that now.

Scanning the grounds around me, I find the Arena floor has mostly cleared out, only a half-dozen quasis and demons still battle it out nearby. A handful of Walker’s Aquilinea brothers and sisters roam the grounds, opening portals for any angels that remain. Too many white-robed bodies lay lifeless on the stone seats. My throat tightens with grief.

I shift my gaze upwards. The skies are now clear; I can only hope Verus escaped while I was fighting the Crinis. I cross my fingers. Please, let her live.

Off in the stands, Armageddon sits still and tall in his dark throne. He licks his thin lips and catalogs the stadium. The seats are smashed, the archways shattered, and bodies of all kinds lay everywhere. His gaze lingers on the Tinea and he smiles. “Phase one is well in hand. Follow me.” He and his entourage scale out of the Arena.

The tension in my back loosens a bit. At least that’s one less thing to worry about.

Adair’s only a few yards away now, looking willowy and bored in her white robes as she stomps about the stadium floor. I raise my arm. “Hey! Adair!”

Her tiny eyes glare at me over a pug nose. “Who are you?”

I stop before her and peel off my mask. “I’m Myla Lewis.”

“Oh yeah, you’re the one who stripped at the ball.” She sneers. “Cunnus girl.”

Normally, I’d knock her block off at this point. Instead, I take a deep breath and ball my hands into fists. “Look, Adair. You’re in serious danger. There’s a demon after you.”