by SM Reine
“And yet... and yet you asked to speak with me. So there must be some words of mine you want to hear.”
Laila lowered her head, staring at the dust blowing around her boots. These old boots had taken her on long journeys throughout her exile, but it seemed her road still wound for many miles. She closed her eyes. For years I sought a home, a place where I can belong, a place that is mine. I am Lucifer’s daughter, his only child. Rightful heir to Hell. Who’d have thought the underworld is the place I’m meant to be? A bloody tear ran down her cheek. She hated the thought of entering Hell, hated the thought of being Satan’s spawn, and yet... and yet sooner or later, she knew, this world was dead to her. Whether Michael or Beelzebub won did not matter; either hellfire or godlight would fill the world, both which could kill her. If Hell is my domain, if I can sit upon its throne, I can extinguish its fires. I will go there, to a place that will be mine, where I can finally find some peace, even if that peace lies beyond hellfire and pain.
She stared at Michael, feeling the halo of flame ignite around her brow, the halo that burned whenever anger or fear filled her. “I don’t care for your words, Michael, only for your spears. I need a hundred thousand of those spears. Give me them, and the angels who bear them, and I’ll give you this world.”
Michael walked in silence for a moment, his godlight glinting on his gilded armor, on his blond curls. Even in these ruins of death and desolation, he managed to look divine. For a moment he looked so much like a classic archangel, all cherubic and beautiful, that Laila wanted to retch. God, I hate Heaven. I think I hate it even more than Hell.
“So Bat El told you,” Michael said softly. “You know about your father.”
Half a wheelchair rose from the ruins to poke at her cloak, and she kicked it aside. “That my father was Lucifer? That Beelzebub killed him? That I am rightful heir of Hell? I don’t need Bat El to bring me such news. I always knew.”
“And you’ve always been a poor liar,” Michael said, shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. “You ran and hid all your life, Laila, living with humans, with wolves, in the forests and deserts. You never wanted a part of our war, and suddenly you speak to Bat El, then come to me asking for spears.” He looked at her shoulder, where Zarel’s claw marks ripped through her cloak and flesh.
Laila shook her head, exasperated. Of course Michael sent Bat El to her. Of course he knew she’d confront Beelzebub, seeking the truth. Of course he knew Zarel would attack her, that she’d come to him, that she’d ask to fight. Laila’s fiery halo crackled, and Volkfair growled, sensing her anger. “You’re a sneaky one, Michael. Always have been. You’re a lot like your brother, do you know?”
His smile widened. He said nothing. For a moment they walked among the ruins in silence, and Laila watched several bats who flew through the night, or maybe they were owls. Fire rose from a dented garbage can beside her, illuminating dusty items that peeked from the rubble: a burned doll’s head, a baby’s shoe, a tin can, a few bones. She tried to remember the name of this town, only a few miles from Michael’s fort, but could not. She had been born into this war; she never knew a time when human cities had names, teemed with life.
“Look,” she finally said, “sooner or later, one of you guys is going to win this war, whether I choose sides or not. And when that happens, I’m screwed. If Hell wins Earth, hellfire will fill this planet, burning away my angel blood. If Heaven wins, the godlight will sear my demon half, leaving me just as dead. But now I have a way out. I am heir to Hell, and once I sit upon its throne, I can douse its fires. I’ll build myself a home there, a home with no hellfire that would burn me, where my mixed blood can survive. Once I do that, you take Earth; I’ll no longer need it. Help me kill Beelzebub, help me take over Hell. I’ll give you Earth in return.”
The sun began to rise, sending pink feathers over the eastern horizon, gilding the ruins. Laila pulled her hood over her face as Michael looked at the dawn, admiring it. “I know sunrise burns you, but can you appreciate its beauty? Do you ever just stop and admire it?” When Laila said nothing, he sighed. “Laila, I will not give you a hundred thousand spears, and I will not fight your wars for you. If you want to kill Beelzebub, you will do so as a soldier of Heaven, under my command. You will work for me; Heaven will not work for you.”
She glared at him, baring her fangs. “I work for no one. I do not serve Heaven and I never will. Heaven is your domain, Michael. I’ll even give you Earth once I take over Hell. Hell is mine, and I serve no one. I will not serve as a soldier for you. I will make an alliance with you, but I remain loyal to none but myself. Join me and together we will kill your brother. And if I need spears, you will give them to me. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them. Do we have a deal?”
Michael stopped walking and stood among the rubble, wisps of dust flying around his boots. He looked at her, and Laila was almost taken aback, for she saw pain and remorse in his eyes. She saw pity there, and it both shocked and enraged her.
“Laila,” he said, sadness in his voice, “come with me to Caesarea. Our partnership begins there.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “Caesarea? That’s Angor’s city. Forget it. You’ll never take it.”
“We need Caesarea. It cuts the beach between north and south. It houses a horde of demons just a few miles from our fort. We will take it. And you will help us.”
Volkfair growled and Laila patted him. “I don’t care about Angor. I don’t care about Caesarea. It’s Beelzebub I want to kill, and maybe his wife. I care only for Jerusalem.”
“Beelzebub’s church is guarded by more force than in ten Caesareas, for miles around. We will get there, Laila, when the time is right. Baby steps. We take Caesarea first. And you, Laila, will go underground until either you, or Angor, is dead.”
Her halo crackled. “And if I refuse?”
Michael looked at her shoulder, where claw marks still dug deep. “Did Zarel give you that wound, Laila?” he asked softly.
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded.
“Do you want to get back at her?” Michael said, only the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Angor, the archdemon that lurks below Caesarea, is her father.”
Laila barked a laugh, though it sounded to her more like a sob. She could still feel the pain of Zarel’s claws on her shoulder. “If I couldn’t kill Zarel, what makes you think I can face her dad?”
Michael put a hand on her shoulder. “Angor is old now, and tired, and his strength is not what it was. He is still powerful and mean—a real bastard—but if you faced Zarel and lived, you can kill Angor. And that, Laila, will be a greater blow to Zarel than any other you can give her.”
Laila lowered her head, remembering the fire of Zarel’s drool burning against her. Ash swirled around her, staining her frayed cloak. She tightened her lips and nodded. “I’ll do it.”
+ + +
Laila knelt in the shadowy chamber, moonlight falling upon her through the arrow-slits. She could hear angels clanking in the hallways in their armor. This entire fort stank of them; a smell like roses, fresh air, goodness, a stench that made her demon blood cringe. At least here, in this small chamber where archers had once stood, she could find relief from their godlight, she could lurk in shadows with only moonlight to fill her eyes. Volkfair sat by her, and Laila lay her head upon his fur. Her tears filled that fur now, as blood had just a day before.
“Volkfair,” she whispered, “I can’t do this anymore.”
He licked her cheeks, and Laila hugged him.
“All I ever wanted was some peace,” she said. “A home. Friends. People to love me, people who I might love. Is that really too much to ask for?”
Volkfair stared at her silently, and Laila knew he could understand her. She could see it in his yellow eyes.
“I’m sick of being so scared all the time,” she said. Volkfair licked her tears and nuzzled against her. “I’m sick of always being so lonely, of being so hurt, of running, of hiding. I can’t do this, Volkfair, I just
can’t. I can’t live this life.”
There were ways to die, she knew, even for her, even for a being of her power. She could march back to Beelzebub and let him kill her. She could dive under the sea until the salt water drowned her pain. Yet where would she go in death, a half-angel, half-demon? She was outcast from both Heaven and Hell; if she died, where would her soul go? She could not become godlight like dead angels, ascend to Heaven and glow among its meadows, a being of peace and beauty; Heaven would be barred to her soul, even in death. Nor could her spirit travel to Hell, become hellfire like the souls of dead demons, burning forever in tar and lava. Hell’s gates, too, would be locked to her spirit, the spirit of a half-angel. Her soul would eternally wander, a haunted shell of fading memories, lost and seeking a home that could never be.
I am Lucifer’s daughter. The news still made her tremble, filled her stomach with ice, sent shivers along her arms. I am Satan spawn. Laila shut her eyes, bloody tears on her cheeks. Could she truly usurp Beelzebub, take Hell from him, mold it into that home she had always sought?
Laila hugged Volkfair. Tomorrow she would go with Michael to Caesarea. She would go underground.
“And if Angor kills me, so be it,” she whispered, the moonlight upon her, tears in her eyes.
5
Laila rode her motorcycle along the highway, the wind blasting her face, thudding against her wings, and streaming her hair. The bike bumped over every pothole and crack, threatening to toss Laila onto the pavement, but she did not care. At a hundred miles an hour she rode, the beach to her left, the hills to her right, dead burned lands and lurking horror ahead and behind. The bike growled and trembled beneath her, this bike she had found a year ago and repaired and maintained. Over the ruined plains of the Holy Land she rode, dawn rising around her.
It was only on these mornings, when she rode upon cracked highways at full speed, that she could find some relief. There weren’t many roads left in this land—most were now cracked and weedy beyond use—but Laila made do with what she had. Driving like this, she felt free, more than when she flew, or drank, or fought. She needed to ride on this humming hunk of metal, over this broken road, and when cracks in the pavement tossed her aside, she did not mind. It would take more to kill her, and bruises and cuts only helped dull the pain within her soul.
When the sun had risen, she turned the bike around, heading back to the Crusader fort that stood fifty miles south. Riding like this, roaring over asphalt, ripping across the land, she didn’t even mind the sunlight, and she wished she could ride forever. Yet still she returned, roaring up toward the fort, smoke rising behind her.
Today her journey began. Today she took her first strike against Beelzebub.
She screeched her bike to a halt outside the fort, a cloud of dust rising around her. Michael and a host of angels stood outside the fort gates, clad in filigreed armor, spears in their hands. Laila took some satisfaction seeing the dust cover their polished breastplates. She stepped off the bike, bared her fangs, and spread her bat wings wide. Her halo burst into flame, crackling. She smiled seeing them tighten their lips, tighten their grips on their spears. Let these angels see my demon side; let them never, not for an instant, think that because I fight with them, that I am one of them.
Volkfair ran up to her, and she placed her hand in his fur.
“We go to Caesarea,” she said, “and let’s take on some demons.”
“You’re late,” Michael said to her, wings spread wide, the sunlight upon them. “I told you we’d leave before dawn.”
“I keep my own schedule,” she said, hissing, fangs bared. “I leave and come as I please, so get used to it, angel.” With that, she spread her wings and shot into the sky. Volkfair burst into a run below, following upon the plains. The angels too took flight, flapping their wings behind her. Laila grinned, flying fast enough to always keep Michael behind her. Let them see who leads this group. Let them see that it is I, Laila, who flies ahead, not the great archangel Michael.
The angels covered the sky behind her. From three divisions garrisoned at the fort, they brought two with them—Heaven’s Fifth Division, known as Heavenfire, and the Sixth Division, known as Talon. Twenty thousand angels they were, soon to join Arrowhead, Heaven’s Seventh Division which was already besieging Caesarea. I bring the might of Heaven with me, Laila thought, gazing at their armor and spears. Yet when she thought of the might of Hell that awaited, even the sight of two angelic divisions did not comfort Laila.
Soon the fort was a jutting stone in the distance, and ahead, Laila saw the ruins of Caesarea by the sea. The sun glinted on the aqueduct, the amphitheatre, the old walls and houses. She could see no demons there now; there would be none during a clear day. Angel tents surrounded the city, a siege of godlight.
She descended in the amphitheatre, upon the old stone stage where two thousand years ago, gladiators fought. Volkfair came running from the fields to stand by her, and Michael and his angels descended around her, wings flapping. Laila pulled her hood over her head, to shield herself from the sunlight, and slammed a magazine into her Uzi. With a small smile, she yanked back on the cocking handle, loading a bullet into the chamber.
She saw the angels glance at one another, and Michael even rolled his eyes, which made Laila’s smile widen. They thought guns were human weapons, clumsy and barbaric. No angel would use a firearm; it was only spears and gilded swords for them, weapons forged in Heaven. Laila would take an Uzi and grenade to battle any day over a blade. Today, she also carried a jerrycan full of gasoline over her back. I’m going to need this underground.
“Show me the way,” she said, baring her fangs, and Volkfair too growled and bared his own fangs. I will show no fear, she thought. I will go into the tunnels, not for Michael, not for God. I will go underground and defeat Angor so that Beelzebub knows that I did. So that Beelzebub knows that I faced his pet, and fears me for it. Because you are coming next, Beelzebub. Your time will come soon.
She tightened her grip on her gun, shoving down the fear, shoving down the anguish. If she died today, her soul would wander eternally, banned from both Heaven and Hell. Laila gritted her teeth, banishing the thought. I must claim Hell. I must make it my home. Think only of that, Laila.
Lance in hand, wings folded against his back, Michael began to walk. Laila walked beside him, and the angels followed, clutching their spears. They left the amphitheatre and entered the ancient, cobbled streets of Caesarea, moving between weedy walls, the sea whispering ahead. Sparrows and doves fled from them, and ants scurried between their feet. Laila kept her Uzi in automatic mode, and her finger on the trigger, but knew that they would find no demons today. Not as sunlight bathed the world, not until darkness or ash covered the skies.
As she walked upon the ancient cobblestones, she could feel the rush and hum of demons below. She knew the angels could not feel it; it took one of demon blood to sense them. The evil flowed beneath the streets, hissing, roiling, a hundred thousand shades. And deeper below, far in the darkest caverns, Laila could almost hear it. She felt it bubbling up between the cobblestones. The ancient evil. The great reptile. Angor, the archdemon.
They walked through the city, Laila’s boots and the angels’ sandals silent upon the stones. The waves murmured in the distance, and strands of smoke wafted in the horizon, as from remote battle fires or camps. Even the birds were silent as they pecked between the cobblestones, as if too weary and wary to sing. Laila kept her left hand on Volkfair’s back, and her right hand on her Uzi. A dozen magazines of ammo hung on a strap across her chest, and grenades dangled from her belt.
An angel whispered behind her. “I see nothing here. Are you—”
Volkfair paused and growled, showing his fangs.
Something is here.
Laila clutched her Uzi, staring around. The angels froze.
With a crackle and roar, columns of flame burst from underground through sewer holes, shooting up toward the sky, spreading out swirls of smoke. One column rose only
yards ahead, while a dozen others rose from behind buildings across the city. The heat sent sweat down Laila’s brow.
“They’re trying to burn us out,” a tall, wingless angel grunted. His name is Nathaniel, Laila remembered.
She shook her head. “No. They’re covering the sky with ash, so that the sun does not burn them.” She raised her Uzi with a crooked, chaotic smile. “Be ready, my darlings. My brethren are coming.”
The smoke swirled across the sky, thick and foul, and the world swayed with heat waves from the flames. The cackling of demons came from underground, and this time, Laila knew the angels could hear. They took position against the walls and shattered columns, holding their spears ready to fire godlight. Within moments the pall covered the sky, leaving the city in shadow.
Laila spotted the first demon, a shade of blazing eyes and glinting claws, swooping toward them. Her gun rang out, and the demon crashed against the ground at her feet, spattering blood.
For a moment the angels stared in silence. And then a thousand more demons came swooping down.
+ + +
When the alarm bells clanged, Bat El was kneeling in her chamber by her bed, hands pressed together in prayer, eyes shut.
“Amen,” she whispered hurriedly, ending her prayer, and leapt to her feet. Beyond the clanging bells, she heard flapping demon wings, shrieks, and clanking armor. A chill ran through her. This was more than a rogue demon scout, she knew. This was a full attack... and she was alone.
