Flaming Dove

by Daniel Arenson

  All tunnels would lead to Angor, she knew, crawling through the darkness, ash murmuring beneath her knees and elbows. Thus were Hell's hives built; the King Archdemon dwelled in the deepest, largest cavern, feeding on rock and lava, spewing lesser demons to become his troops.

  Archdemons. Laila shuddered, still feeling the pain of Zarel's claws on her shoulder. I hate archdemons. The last one she'd fought—Zarel—still unnerved her. Laila had glimpsed Angor once against the night sky, when she was a girl, seven or eight years old. She had been living in the forest and hunting boars. A shadow had covered the stars, and the owls and jackals fled. Laila had looked up and seen a serpentine creature, fiery, black and burning in the sky. Its screech tore the night, and Laila froze in terror, wishing she had never fled those humans who had tended to her; she had never felt such fear. Years later, still haunted with nightmares, Laila learned that had been the night Beelzebub summoned Angor to emerge from Hell and join the war against Michael.

  Laila shoved the memory aside. I'm no longer a frightened girl living in the forest. That was twenty years ago, and I'm a grown woman now, a legend. She smirked. Some legend. If anyone ever glimpsed the pain, doubt, and fear in her heart, they would no longer tell stories of her might.

  The tunnels were getting narrower, the creaking and cackling louder from below. The heat of underground fires brought sweat to Laila's face, dampening strands of hair that clung to her brow. Just as she thought the tunnel would become too narrow to travel, it opened into a rough, round chamber. Laila stood up and stretched, rubbing her muscles. She surveyed the chamber in the light from her flaming eyes. She grimaced. A nursery.

  The demon maggots lay piled against the walls, slimy with black ooze. Each maggot was the size of a rolled-up sleeping bag, soft and semi-transparent. They were sleeping, writhing softly. Disgusting, Laila thought. Hundreds filled the room, and in several weeks, they would sprout fangs and claws, then finally grow wings and join Beelzebub. The room stank of them, like rotting fruit.

  Once she took over Hell, Laila would need troops, but not yet. Not yet. These maggots were Angor's spawn, loyal to Beelzebub. They would have to go.

  Laila uncorked her jerrycan and sprayed gasoline over the piles of demon maggots. They awoke, squirming and screeching, opening toothy maws. When the jerrycan was empty, Laila tossed it aside. It clanged.

  Two adult demons burst into the chamber. The nurses. Laila had expected them, and she leapt up, swooped down, and tore out their throats. The demons crashed dead against the floor. Laila wiped her hands against her pants. She hated dirtying her hands with demon blood—the stuff stank—but firing her Uzi would not do in a room soaked with gasoline. She stepped out from the chamber into the next tunnel, turned around, and tossed back a stream of flame from her fingertips. The piles of maggots caught fire. They screamed as they burned, wriggling.

  This new tunnel was tall enough that Laila could walk upright. As she stepped away from the burning nursery, a great howl came from miles below. The entire hive seemed to tremble. Laila smiled. Angor sensed his children dying. He would be expecting her now. Good. Let him await me, let him stew in his loss for a while. She wanted him to know she was coming. If her plan was to work, that could only help.

  Down the tunnel Laila the half-demon walked, the maggots screaming and burning behind her, a small smile on her lips, her bat wings unfurled, her claws dripping demon blood.

  In the next chamber she entered, a dozen demons tended to barrels of bloodwine. They saw her and hissed, eyes flaming. Laila's Uzi rang out, lighting the chamber, sending demon bodies to crash against the walls. Soon blood covered the room, and Laila kept walking, her smile widening. The blood only made her hungry for more killing. The old bloodlust always made her smile, even as a child hunting in the forests.

  In deeper chambers, fires burned, shrieking over pools of lava, feeding the columns of flame that burst aboveground to cover the sky with ash. More demons lived here, and Laila moved from chamber to chamber, firing. She soon emptied her tenth magazine. She had only three left, but she was close now, so close she could sense the beast below, smell it.

  Down more tunnels she climbed, into the heat and blackness, the darkness a living thickness around her, caressing her skin. She was miles underground, not far from Hell itself. This place was almost like Hell. Laila bared her fangs and licked her lips.

  She was crawling down a sooty tunnel when Angor's growl sounded below, loud now, shaking the caverns. He can't be more than two hundred yards away, Laila thought. She dropped through the tunnel into a towering, wide cavern, holes littering its floor. Demons covered the walls, hundreds of them, red eyes glinting. Their hisses rose, so loud it hurt Laila's ears.

  Her halo of fire burst into flame, crackling, and she spread her wings, baring her fangs, eyes aflame, claws glinting. The demons shrieked and cowered.

  "Laila has come!" they cackled, a thousand voices. "The half-angel, yes comrades, Laila has finally come to us. We have been waiting for you, Laila."

  Laila spun her arms, igniting a ring of fire around her. She flapped her wings, rising from the flames, sending sparks flying. "I have not come for you, shades," she shouted. "I come seeking your father. I come to see Angor."

  A growl came from a large hole fifty yards from Laila. The room shook, and flames flew from the hole, spewing ash. Angor is down there.

  She flew toward the hole, and the demons shot toward her.

  Laila emptied her eleventh magazine, killing several demons, then clawed at a hundred others who mobbed her. She had no time to reload; the demons clawed and bit. Shades—the lesser demons—could not cause much harm to one such as her, a child of Lucifer. Yet Laila knew that even she could die from a thousand cuts. She growled and clawed at them, yet for every shade she killed, three more appeared, blocking her way to Angor.

  She tossed flames across the room. "Angor!" she called. "Are you such a coward that you will not see me?"

  His growl shook the chamber, and more fire lit the hole.

  "I come with an offer," she cried over the din of demon hisses and crackling flames. "Call off your servants, or all will know that Angor the archdemon feared to speak with Laila the half-devil."

  The demons paused their onslaught, glancing at one another, panting. Laila breathed heavily. Several cuts covered her, beading with droplets of blood, and the cuts from Zarel's claws had opened on her shoulders. Not a problem. Laila had fought with greater wounds before.

  Finally Angor's voice came from below. It sounded more like an echo than a voice, deep and rumbling, as if the caves themselves spoke. "Enter my chamber. We will talk."

  Laila tightened her lips, trying not to remember the one time she had seen Angor, the nightmares it had placed in her seven-year-old mind. The demons scuttled aside, hissing at her, eyes burning. The hole into Angor's chamber lay dark before her, unguarded. Laila loaded another magazine into her Uzi, yanked the cocking handle, and leapt into the hole.

  * * * * *

  When Bat El lashed her sword at him, Beelzebub reached out and blocked the blade with his arm. The blade clanged against the iron vambrace on his forearm, chipping off pieces of its golden filigree.

  Bat El stood before him, eyes wide, mouth open, looking shocked that her attack had failed, or maybe shocked that she had attacked him at all. Beelzebub lashed out, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed. Bat El gasped in pain. Her hand opened and her sword clanged at her feet.

  Still clutching her wrist, Beelzebub raised his other hand, ready to strike her. She only glared back at him, not cowering, and Beelzebub lowered his hand slowly. He sighed.

  "Don't do that again, Bat El," he said. "This armor is over two thousand years old. The best blacksmith in Rome forged it. You know how hard it is to repair?"

  Bat El tried yanking her arm loose, but Beelzebub held her fast. She struggled for a moment longer, then capitulated.

  "I don't want to chain you," he said. "I don't want to send you to some prison cell, to bars and torturer
s. So please, don't fight me. I am not your enemy."

  "So who is my enemy?" she demanded, blue eyes flashing. Her cheeks were flushed, and strands of her long blond hair peeked from her helmet, sticking to her face with sweat. She's not all that bad looking, Beelzebub thought.

  "Why, God is, of course," he answered.

  She glared at him, cheeks flushing even pinker. "Do not speak of my lord that way."

  "You can't even speak his name, can you? He demands total subservience from you, and blind faith. Lucifer and I realized early that in Heaven, we were living in a tyrannical dictatorship." Beelzebub sighed. "I tried to get Michael to join our rebellion. If he had agreed, we might have won. We might have ended things five thousand years ago, and avoided this war now altogether." He shook his head, clearing it from thoughts. "But that's a conversation for another time. Michael will be back soon, and we have defenses to prepare. Let's find a comfortable place for you."

  Through the windows he saw demons taking position, covering the battlements like bats on a cave wall. Holding Bat El's wrist, Beelzebub scanned the room and found a hallway, then a stairwell leading underground. He led Bat El downstairs to find a dark armory. Angel and demon bodies covered the floor. A hundred living demons were feasting on the corpses.

  "Here," Beelzebub said, pulling Bat El toward a chair. "This will do for now. Wait for me here, darling. I'll be back soon."

  The armory was dark, foul, and bloody, but there was some advantage in frightening Bat El into obedience. To the demons in the room, he said, "Do not harm this one. She is my friend. Keep her here, and keep her away from the weapons on the walls."

  With that, Beelzebub left the armory, closing the door behind him. A few hours with demons and corpses would do Bat El good, he thought, and she would be safe there. Beelzebub smiled when he remembered that Zarel was back in Jerusalem; he might just be able to have some fun here without his wife knowing. He loved Zarel, of course. He loved her flaming hair, her scales, her passion. Yet he was a fallen angel, born in Heaven. Sometimes a fallen angel longed for a woman's soft skin, silky hair, pink lips. After all, was that not one reason he had fallen in love with Laila ten years ago?

  But there would be time for that later. Michael would be back soon, and Beelzebub was determined to set up his defenses. He smiled. His brother might have Laila now, but Beelzebub had just made them even again.

  * * * * *

  Laila landed in Angor's chamber, Uzi in hand, wings unfurled. A vast chamber it was, thrice the size of the coliseum above the ground, cloaked in shadows and scurrying spiders. Angor lay in its center. Laila stared, keeping her finger on the trigger of her Uzi, though she suspected that no bullets would harm this creature.

  Angor was large as a bus, like a great reptile with flaming eyes, bat wings growing from his scaly back. He was made of fire, horns, claws, and black scales. Forged in the deepest pits of Hell was Angor, Laila knew; one of the first demons Lucifer had created, and still one of the fiercest.

  "Hello again," Laila said to him.

  Angor laughed. At least, Laila thought the deep, rumbling sound that came from him, spewing smoke from his nostrils, was laughter. "So you remember that night," he said, "when you saw me in the forest. I had sensed you, a bundle of power below. Young you were then, Laila the half-angel. I was not sure you would remember. I must have left an impression."

  "You did," Laila admitted. "I was shocked by the power and evil I sensed in you. I was very young then, but I remember, which is why I came to see you today."

  He slammed his spiked tail against the floor, raising chips of stone, and growled. Fire rose from his nostrils, and the chamber trembled. Rocks and dust fell from the ceiling.

  "You come here with Michael," he said, spitting flame. "You come to try and take this city. You come working for Heaven."

  Laila growled too, showing her fangs, though she suspected that her own growl seemed somewhat less impressive. "I work for no one," she said. "Especially not for Heaven. I come with my own purpose." Her halo burst into flame, and she flapped her bat wings, rising from a ring of fire. "I am Lucifer's daughter, and Hell is mine. I have made my claim to Hell's throne, and I will take that throne." She flapped her wings and landed before Angor's head. His head was as tall as her entire body, and she stared levelly into his burning eyes. "Join me, Angor," she said. "Serve me as you served my father, your master Lucifer."

  Angor chuckled, and Laila stepped back from the flames that shot from his nostrils. "So the rumors are true; you are Lucifer's offspring. I can see that in you. You have the same eyes. Nevertheless, girl, you'll never take Hell." He narrowed his eyes. "You're strong, but not nearly strong enough."

  He flapped his wings, rose to his full height, and swooped toward her.

  Laila leapt aside, and his teeth—each like a spear—bit into the cave floor, tearing out chunks of stone. He turned toward her, maw gaping, hissing. His spittle sprayed her, burning like acid, steaming over her. Grunting, Laila fired her Uzi, emptying the magazine into his mouth. The bullets did not hurt him. He spat them out like a man would spit out grape seeds.

  He lashed toward her, and Laila leapt aside again. His teeth once more hit the floor, shattering stone. His left wing slammed against Laila, tossing her against the wall thirty yards away. The thud knocked the breath out of her, and pain bloomed inside her. Ice filled Laila's belly. He's going to kill me now.

  Angor spun toward her, flames rising from his mouth. As he charged, Laila tossed a grenade, squinting against the pain and fire. The grenade rolled under his belly and burst, denting several of his scales. Angor howled in rage and lashed his clawed front leg.

  Laila rolled aside, escaping the brunt of the blow, but the scales alongside Angor's leg rubbed against her arm, tearing her shirt and skin. The cuts sizzled; there was poison on those sharp scales, poison that burned like salt on wounds. Angor laughed with smoke and fire.

  Laila bared her fangs, snarling, his laughter enraging her. Ignoring the pain, she somersaulted through the air, landed on Angor's back, and stabbed down her claws. She could not break through his scales, and Angor bucked, trying to shake her off. Laila clung to his back, screaming, slamming her claws down again and again. With all her strength, she could not break those scales, and fear flooded her, drenching her with sweat. Can nothing harm this archdemon? Laila, you are a stupid girl, thinking you can defeat one of Hell's most ancient evils!

  Angor bucked, tossing Laila against the wall. Her head hit stone, and she cried in pain, feeling blood soak her hair. Angor's maw thrust forward, and all Laila could see were his teeth and dark, quivering gullet. Stench and fire engulfed her, and Laila cried, shaking her head.

  He's swallowing me. He's eating me.

  Angor's mouth closed around her, sealing her in darkness. She fell against his tongue, the fire of his belly burning her. No, I can't let him do this, God, please help me.... The mouth moved around her, and Laila slid down Angor's throat. Slime covered her. She landed in his belly, the acid steaming against her, burning her clothes. The stench spun her head.

  Laila grunted, squinting against the pain. She could smell her clothes burning. In a moment or two, I'll burn away, digested. Jaw clenched, Laila looked around the inside of Angor's stomach. There were no scales in here. Only his soft flesh.

  Grinning in her pain, Laila slammed her claws.

  Even inside his belly, she could hear Angor scream. The scream slammed against her eardrums, deafening. Laila slashed her claws again and again, slicing into his gut, kicking his insides, firing her Uzi into the soft flesh of him. He leapt around the chamber, tossing Laila within his belly, but she kept punching and kicking, until the stomach heaved. Laila found herself thrown up his throat, and he spewed her onto the floor.

  She lay on the ground, wet and steaming, a faint smile finding her lips through the burning. She opened one eye and saw Angor crash against the wall, moaning in pain, wrapping his wings around his belly.

  "Something bad to eat?" Laila asked, pu
shing herself to her feet, knees trembling. Panting, bloody, Laila flapped her wings and hovered before him. She shook off the goo covering her like a wolf shaking off rain. Her head spun, and she struggled to focus her gaze. "Angor, stop this. I don't want to fight you."

  He moaned and spat, glowering with bloodshot eyes. "What do you want, then?"

  "You know what I want," she said. "Your fealty. Serve me, Angor."

  He spat a glob of lava thick with the shells of her fired bullets. "I've sworn to serve Beelzebub. I'll die before I betray him. You'll have to kill me, half-breed."

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Still dizzy, she struggled to hide her weakness, and aimed her Uzi at him. She took some pleasure seeing him wince. He can still feel those bullets inside him. "I'm not going to kill you, Angor. I won't let you die in battle. No." She managed a crooked smile. "But when I take over Hell, I'm going to reassign you. I'm going to demote you to work in the firepits, shoveling coal with shades."

  He shook his head and growled, spitting flame. "I will not shovel coal like a lesser demon, girl."

  She fired her last magazine against his face. He groaned, his scales dented, blood seeping from his mouth. "You will shovel coal like a good little demon once I rule Hell. Unless...." She leaned against his head, smiling, wiping globs of his spit off her clothes. "Well, if you join me, Angor, I won't forget the favor. I never forget a favor."

  Angor snapped his teeth at her, trying to bite her, but he was tired and wounded, and Laila avoided his jaws. Powerful was Angor, and the wounds he had given her hurt, but Laila had proved her strength this night—to Angor, to herself. Pride swelled within her. I, Laila the half-breed, only twenty-seven years old, defeated an ancient archdemon. Let all in Hell and Heaven fear me now. Hell will be mine.

  Yet as Angor snapped weakly at her, beaten and moaning, Laila's pride ebbed. She had never cared for glory. The angels and demons had built her legend, speaking of her in hushed tones and shadows, murmuring of her power, hunting for her allegiance. She, Laila, had never wanted more than a home. Remember that, Laila, she told herself. You are in this to make a home in Hell, not for glory or pride.