“You can take my title if you want,” Kivra said thinly. “But if you do, I will bury you. I will destroy you. I will take you apart on a molecular level and I won’t stop until I’m satisfied that every tiny little piece of you is dead.” Each muscle in her body was clenched and for a moment I could have sworn the air around her flexed the way it did around Neo in The Matrix.
It seemed that things with Kivra had finally come to a head. I needed to get rid of her. So I took a deep breath, looked her straight in the eye (a feat achieved with great difficulty) and said, “Kivra, you are hereby stripped of your title as Director of Torture. As soon as I’m done with Halkkor I’ll be drawing up a Satanic Order to that effect.”
She glared at me wordlessly as though she were willing me to change my mind. I didn’t.
“If there’s some kind of unemployment program down here,” I said smugly, “You should probably think about getting in the line.”
“Guards,” she snarled to her goons, “Attack them. I need the Devil unconscious. Kill the pink bitch.”
“You have no authority,” I reminded her. To the hesitantly advancing demons, I shouted, “You don’t work for her anymore!” Most of them didn’t seem to care.
“Would you rather work for whatever idiot he tries to replace me with?” Kivra said to them with a frightening grin of sheer delight. “Or would you rather work for me when I take his job?”
I had to hand it to her—that was a pretty good argument.
“Jaelin,” I murmured, “I know it’s supposedly tough to kill a demon, but that’s what they’re aiming for. I don’t think I’d be offended if you wanted to teleport away.”
She shook her head. “And miss out on a chance to fuck my sister up? I think I’m good right here.”