A heart gets tossed onto a broken board, snagging on a giant splinter.

Beside Beliel stands an angel whose toffee-colored hair and gray feathers are windblown. He wears a light gray suit that quietly conveys taste and elegance.

Even without his trophy girls, I recognize Archangel Uriel, the politician. He’s the one who secretly orchestrated Raffe’s wing switch to keep him from being a competitive candidate in the upcoming angels’ election. As if that wasn’t enough to make me despise him, he likes to walk around with matching girls who are terrified of him.

“Are you referring to the locusts or their toys?” Uriel’s wings spread out partially behind him like a body halo. In the soft light of the aerie hotel, his feathers looked off-white with a touch of gray, but now in the harsh light of the utility lights, his wings look gray with a touch of midnight.

Locusts?

“The locusts,” says Beliel. “The humans are stupid as rocks, too. But they’re too tortured to use instinctive ingenuity. The locusts thought this game up themselves, you know. I was impressed. As devious as any demon from hell.” He sounds almost proud.

He must mean the scorpion monsters. I always imagined locusts to look like grasshoppers, not scorpions, so I don’t know why he calls them that.

“You’re sure the ones you trained will teach the others?”

“Who can tell, eh? Their judgment is clouded, their brains have shrunk, they’re probably insane from the metamorphosis. Hard to predict what they’ll do, but this batch did get extra attention and do seem more capable than the rest. They’re as close to a leader group as you’ll get.”

A scorpion with a white streak in its hair gets tired of the game and walks up to the container of humans. The forest of skeletal arms withdraws back through the chain mesh. The captives’ feet scrape the metal floor as they shuffle away from the monster.

The scorpion stands tall in front of the dim interior. Then he tosses a bit of gore into the cage.

The night is instantly filled with metallic scuffling, animal grunting, and half-screams of frustration and desperation.

The people inside are fighting each other for the bloody scraps. For all I know, it could have been one of their own who got dragged out and turned into torture bait.

“See what I mean?” Beliel sounds like a proud papa.

I pick up my pace, wanting to get past the container as soon as possible. But the others move at the same speed, careful not to draw attention to themselves.

My arm is clamped in a viciously tight grip and I’m yanked so hard that my neck feels like it’s about to snap. A scorpion with greasy hair dripping down to its shoulders pulls me out of the herd.