Page 33 of Gladiator Moon

Now, with a few choice suggestions, it is certain.

Chapter Eleven

Years ago, I fought my way through a version of the Greek underworld. There, I rescued a young bullfighter who had been trapped for what felt like eternity (to him). Somehow, against all odds, I freed him, reunited him with his long-dead Spanish sweetheart, and went on to my next case. Such is my life.

The details of that battle have blurred with time, but one thing remains crystal clear: I couldn’t have done any of it without the sword.

The sword that cuts through devils and demons. The sword forged by angels. The sword designed to return darkness to the Creator, where it can be reclaimed, purified, and made whole again.

The Devil Killer.

Ironically, it once belonged to me.

I say ironically because I eventually gave it back. Not because I wanted to, but because the very creatures it was created to destroy developed an unhealthy obsession with whoever carried it.

Namely, me.

And my family.

Turns out demons are far more strategic than most people realize. They think collectively. They sacrifice the few to protect the many. They understand that countless demons should die if it means eliminating the one person carrying the only weapon capable of truly destroying all of them.

And if they can’t reach me, they target the people I love.

Since I never exactly signed up to become a full-time demon hunter, returning the sword seemed like the smart move. Once it was gone, demons mostly disappeared from my life, which, trust me, is a tremendous improvement.

Still, the Devil Killer earns its name honestly. In the right hands, it can destroy beings that are otherwise impossible to kill.

Including the Devil himself.

As far as I know, the sword has been returned to the archangels, although I have heard rumors that another worthy soul now carries it. Whether those rumors are true, I have no idea.

What I do know is that my guardian angel, Ishmael, still has connections to the archangels. And just as he did during my journey through the Greek underworld, he might be able to argue my case.

Maybe he could even secure temporary use of the sword once again.

The question is: how do I reach my ex-guardian angel from inside another world?

I have been told our connection is forever. A beautiful thing in theory, but slightly less beautiful when the person connected to you is an immortal angel who is hopelessly in love with you and occasionally crosses the line from devoted into... well, a little stalkerish.

Then again, being pursued by a handsome angel with impossible magic isn’t exactly the worst problem a girl could have.

With Pickles, Salt Creek, and Azul bound and safely hidden in an abandoned hayloft, I set out on my own, ever alert for more beasties or surprise appearances by dark wizards. I see neither as I take to the skies, flying gently, my wings barely moving as I glide above the valley below.

Eventually, I spot a narrow brook cutting through the landscape. The stream isn’t large, perhaps four feet across at its widest point. Clear water rushes over smooth stones and tangled roots, bubbling softly before disappearing beneath the low-hanging branches farther downstream.

Honestly, it is beautiful here.

No bloodthirsty warlords. No psychotic royalty. No evil wizards or curses or spells. I sense no dark magic here, only the quiet beauty of the natural world. For a moment, I could have been back on Earth. Or perhaps inside a Thomas Kinkade painting.

Which feels strange considering I am still trapped in a hyper-violent gladiator dimension where people regularly try to tear me in two for sport. Somehow, I have managed to avoid the worst of the fighting, though I have no doubt other creatures are still battling for their lives while I sit comfortably on the soft moss.

Unless, of course, the Games have been halted and an all-out search is underway for me and the prince.

Anyway, I sit on a flat stone near the edge of the water and rest my forearms on my knees. Above me, unfamiliar stars fill the sky. They seem somehow bigger. Sharper. As if this world exists closer to creation itself... or perhaps farther away from it.

I exhale slowly. For the first time in days, I am truly alone. Nobody attacking me. Nobody pushing or prodding me. No roaring crowds demanding blood.

Just water moving endlessly over stone and roots.