Terminal (Terminal trilogy #1)

18: Burial at sea

We slipped out the door without anyone noticing, and Blake took extra care to ensure the door closed silently.

It was entirely peaceful for the first thirty seconds, walking down the hall towards the pit. Muffled conversations were still audible from the meeting room, and we took slow, calculated steps. Then there was a crash.

"Must be the doors," Blake said, standing next to me as we waited to see what was going to happen. It might have made more sense to run, but we were both curious about this commotion.

"I think I hear shouting." The hall had a strong curve, preventing us from seeing the door. There was another loud bang, and then the yelling got a little more defined. One voice in particular stood out. "Let's hurry. I hear Rhamiel."

"Oh dear." Blake joined me in a reserved power walk, still a little antsy about flat out running.

Then, barreling far faster than I would have imagined, Rhamiel flung himself around the corner- very literally at that, drifting in the dust before gathering himself up to full speed again. He ran right by, and we flattened against the wall in anticipation of whatever would come next.

"Hi guys!" He shouted with glee, "I'm running to freedom!"

"...Okay," Blake said, starting to power walk again. I grabbed his sleeve.

"Someone's coming." We pressed back against the wall.

Like a collection of horses, and with a small gust of wind, a hellhound ran past. I immediately recognized it as Kell- he carried the same two sets of horns and teal scales.

Some of his age was showing in the off streaks of grey that showed amongst his short, shadowy fur, but he was obviously still build to kill. Rows of pointy teeth shone a strange teal-white with every bound- his namesake in angelic. Aerdens- air tooth. Dumb as shit nickname, but at least it had a legitimate source.

There was a sort of smog about him in the few seconds it took to pass- being a hellhound was not quite the same as turning into a giant hell beast, after all. It was a mess of magic, not entirely real or solid, but having just as much capacity to kill.

His scruffy fur was broken by the occasional old scar or stray metallic scale. Folded on his back, not fully visible, were two long and leathery wings.

"Where did that come from?" Blake asked.

"That was Kell."

"I didn't realize you also had werewolves down here."

"He's clearly a hellhound. Shut up."

"Are you sensitive about this?"

"Werewolves are lame."

"I like them." We started walking again. "Where do his clothes go anyway? I hate it when that isn't explained when it comes to werewolves, like come on- either they're running around naked or we're dealing with a universe afraid to have a little bit of fun."

"Welcome to the latter," I said, "Considering what you just saw, I'm surprised you're not shaking and asking me to hold you."

"Aw, I can't help but feel a little giddy when I ponder the realities of whatever the hell happens to Kell's clothes when he's scampering about on all fours."

"If you came face to face with him right now, you wouldn't be talking like this."

"No, I'd probably be fearing for my poor, damned soul. I'm just pointing out it's a bit silly."

A few people were waiting by the pit, silhouetted by the ceiling lights. "Did that guy go through the rift?" I shouted up to them.

"No, Kell chased him right up," someone answered, "Tried to get in the elevator and Kell blocked him again. Last I saw, he was running towards the other elevator."