2. Last Goodbye

"Right, well I would say we are well and truly fucked here, chaps," Marcus said in response to what we now faced and, well, he wasn't wrong. Because this wasn't a fight we faced…

This was an execution.

Unlike all those times before, and too many fights to count, this was no longer one fought against the living and essentially shit that could be killed. This was against a fucking army of souls collected, and looked to be every single one she had in that fucking book of hers. One that I knew now even if I got my hands on it, it wouldn't do shit.

I was no Summoner and nor did the Fates fucking want me to be. But then I wasn't about to give up either, for I knew there was some way out of the shit storm that fucking bitch had put us in the middle of.

Geryon may have wanted to keep me alive, but that didn't mean he gave two craps about those I cared for. Which was why the four of us were now standing in the middle of the arena, facing what we all knew were impossible odds.

Because having my brother and my Seeker weren't enough, the summoning chains had also dragged that poor bastard Asher into my messed-up shit. But of course, I knew why, as it was just another way to add insult to injury. Just another way to hurt me. Another way to break me down. Well, if they thought I wouldn't fucking kill myself to try and save these men, then they didn't fucking know me!

If they wanted a fight to the death, then that's exactly what they would fucking get!

Which is why I knew I only had one last thing to do, while I still had the opportunity to do it. So, I reached out to Marcus's shoulder, gripped tight enough to relay how important this was to me, and told him,

"I need you to try and get a message to Ella."

He frowned and said, "You will be seeing her again, J, they won't kill you yet."

I gave him a pointed look before my hard gaze landed on my brother. Someone who was snarling at the souls of all the Demons we would soon be forced to fight. They were just waiting for the fucking word go from queen bitch sitting on her fucking perch. Then I looked to Asher and Marcus… well, Orth soon got the hint.

He knew I would fight and end up getting myself killed whether Niniane intended for it or not. I wouldn't let my brothers fall while I was still standing.

Not. Fucking. Happening.

"Alright, I will try…" Then Marcus slapped a hand over my face and without warning, I was suddenly transported to a fucking void of his making. One that, of all places, was inside the Janus temple, and I could almost see the memory of the battle that had been fought there all those years ago. The one that saved the fucking world and prevented the end of days. When we sent the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse back to the fucking Hell they never should have been summoned from.

Well, now I was facing another battle, and it wasn't one I could see us ever walking away from, not like last time. But I didn't know why he chose this as the setting for me to get my message through to Red. Perhaps he thought it would be symbolic somehow. I didn't fucking know. I just knew what I had come here to do. So, I walked in my mind toward the fountain I knew she had thrown herself into. Something done foolishly or not, I knew that she wouldn't have done so had she not believed in the act. Had she not believed it to be the only way to get me back. Because it was clear that as soon as she learned it could grant the worthy the power of time travel that she would use it to send herself back only a few days so as to prepare me for what was coming. She could then prevent the bitch from taking me. Her actions utterly, fearlessly selfless as well as noble and despite how dangerous they were, I couldn't help but admire her strength and loyalty. Her devotion and love for me would forever stay etched to my very soul and sequentially would be an encompassing blanket of comfort that I would take to my death.

So, I took a deep breath and said the hardest fucking words I had ever had to say in my life, wishing I could have seen her beautiful face for just one last time.

"Ella, oh Ella,"I whispered, trying to fucking force the rest of it through my lips and ended on a pained roar of her name,

"ELLA, ELLA!" Then I fell to my knees, letting my head hang down before I told her,

"Ella… I'm so sorry… Goodbye, my love."But then just as I thought I heard her calling my name back, I was transported back to the Hell I was now forced to face, hoping like fuck it meant that she had heard it. Because this had been my last chance to do so and, well, if this was it for me, then I wanted her to know that my last thoughts were of her.

"Strange, but I just had the oddest feeling that I have done that recently," Marcus said, cocking his head to the side as if trying to make sense of his own thoughts.

"Yeah, well I hope it came with a slice of ass kicking because we are sure as fuck gonna need some of your tricks, Jester," Asher said, not knowing who Marcus truly was, but he was soon to find out.

Marcus grinned that creepy as fuck grin of his, before pulling forth some of his power, now transforming himself from the idiot best friend I was used to and into an enigmatic killing machine.

The transformation rose from the ground, starting with thick, heavy shit kicker boots in dark red leather, with steal toe caps gleaming silver. These looked like upturned fangs as they curved up into deadly tips. The thick leather was paneled with overlapping armored black plates framed by thick stitching. The tops of his boots arched back like Calla Lily petals, giving them a fantastical element that continued to be the theme of his battle outfit.

Tight, thick leather trousers matched the Demonic hide his jacket was made from, one that reached the ground with a flare of dramatics. The long sections were metal stitched with the same armor on his boots, it was high collared and had an elaborate cape that mimicked the more traditional costume of a fool. Stiff, triangular points curved upwards around his shoulders, each with metal piping shining under the arena's flaming lanterns above. The hints of a matt-black chest plate was seen underneath, one strapped with gleaming weaponry at the ready to be unsheathed.

As for his unusual hair, the red sections were twisted back from his face, held in place with intricate leather strips interwoven in the pieces. This gave his painted, sharp features an even more serious tone when his startling blue eyes started to glow, telling me he was now concentrating the rest of his power on bringing through his favorite weapon.

His summoning staff.

One he plucked from the magically charged air and twisted it with blurring speeds before it was held under his arm, making Asher's eyes go wide, as the power hummed around his body like fire. Then he told him with an unnerving grin,

"I am not a Jester… I am but a murderous Fool." At this Marcus twisted his staff, making it ignite in blue flame that he then aimed at the Demonic crowd.

They erupted into a rowdy cheer. To them, this was all just entertainment to be had at the expense of our lives by being forced to forfeit them in nothing short of what would soon be a massacre.

As for Marcus, well he may have acted like the cocky bastard most took him for, but the truth was, he was one of the best fighters I'd ever known. So, I knew that despite fucking around, if he wanted you dead, then chances were, he was counting your last seconds for you.

As for Asher, he shrugged his large shoulders and said,

"Alright, then let this death be in the name of your funny laughing, brave, dancing girl." I grinned at that, especially when Orth looked back and asked,

"His what now?" However, he never got his answer as the first wave of controlled Demonic souls came at us, forcing me to strike out with my claws, causing the ghostly Demon to fall back a step before I answered,

"Red, he means Red, who else the fuck would he mean?"

"Hey, I will have you know I am also an excellent dancer," Marcus said, spinning around in what surprisingly looked like a dance move before hammering his staff hard enough the Demon I had knocked back the first time.

It was known as a Pocong, meaning wrapped in shroud in Javanese, which is a Malayo-Polynesian language spoken by the Javanese people from the central and eastern parts of the island of Java, Indonesia.

Oh, but the shit I had learnt since becoming a Demonic fight club owner. As not only did I indeed like to read… something I remember Ella waking up next to me to find me doing once, and I took great pleasure in teasing her about when faced with her shocked expression. But I also made it my business to know and understand the origins of those who wished to fight in my ring.

Which had once been two brothers of the Pocong.

They were in appearance ghostly figures, wrapped in what looked to be a shroud known as a kain kafan to the Indonesian people. This was something they used to wrap their dead in, hence why they believed a Pocong to be what a Western society would today class as being a zombie. One of the living dead risen from the grave, for this dressing of the deceased they believed played an important role in death. They would cover the body in white fabric, lengths tied over the head, on the neck, and under the feet. Then the important shroud was tied firmly at certain points to ensure it remained in position during the journey to what was to be its final resting place. Once the corpse was placed into the grave, it was believed that the knots of the shroud had to be undone, for if this was not done, the corpse would rise again and be known as one of the Pocong.

Which was now why the same brothers came at us, with multiple long lengths of this shroud now dragging on the floor. For these two unfortunate souls were only some of which I could recognize as being taken from my club as ‘payment' by Niniane.

"Yeah, but are you my girl?" I asked dryly in answer to Marcus's dry wit, before punching back and kicking the mid-section of the closest Pocong brother. In truth, no one really knew much about their true origins, only who they were thought to be in the mortal plane.

As for Marcus, he turned his head and said in a freakishly girly tone,

"I could be, handsome."Then he winked and blew a kiss my way, making me shake my head and, fuck it, but I started laughing. Because if I was about to die, well, I didn't want to give the bitch calling the death bed shots the satisfaction of seeing me sweat about it.

But then all conversation stopped when Asher asked,

"Do you usually talk this much when doing your killing?" All three of us looked at each other and nodded in unison, each of us replying,

"Yeah."

"Pretty much," Orth said, while Marcus with his usually cockiness, winked at him after saying,

"What they said… well, that is if these two aren't in beast form slobbering all over their kill that is."

"Hey!"

"Hey!" My brother and I both argued, before punching each of the Pocong brothers at the same time and doing more this time than just forcing them back, as both hit the ground at the same time.

As for Asher, his hands both became engulfed in flames with the click of his fingers, before he hammered those flaming fists into an oncoming Drude. This Demonic race of beings were known as malevolent nocturnal Demons and could be responsible for creating nightmares. They also had the ability to trap others in their dreams, using it as a very effective weapon. However, thankfully for us, like this, they were nothing more than brute strength thrown our way, as they had lost the ability to control a dream state. Or they would have been able to use that same power to control their summoning jailor and well. If this were the case, then I doubt they would have been wasting their time fighting us.

The Drude, with its typical Demonic appearance having cracked, rock-like skin, now barely shown in the ghost-green figures they had become. Like all the once-living beings that now stood a bare shimmering-green shell of their former selves. A small army that surrounded us, just waiting for Niniane to stop toying with us by sending them in one by one, making the spectacle last before trying to show us as weak before the killing blow. She wanted us worn out and barely standing before we were killed off one by one.

She wanted us on our knees before her, so she could bask in her own glory as the crowd fed her vile ego while she showcased her victory to an arena full of Hell's most influential. She wanted the champion of the Summoner Games to suffer with the death of his kin.

She wanted all to watch the fall of Hell's notorious, HellBeast King.

Well, she wasn't going to get it easily, for by the time this battle was over, the only fables told of our deaths would have us going down as legends. For the strength of our will to live, despite unbeatable odds, would be the only tale told of this day.

The tale of valor and courage.

But most of all…

The storyof a brother's sacrifice.