by SM Reine
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, 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 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, pushing 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 y
ou 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.
Angor looked into her eyes, as if reading her thoughts, and for the first time it seemed as though he believed she stood a chance, believed she could usurp Beelzebub. He nodded slowly. “If I join you,” he said, “I demand a guarantee.” He eyed the scratches on her shoulder, the marks Zarel’s claws drew. “If you take over Hell, grant clemency to my daughter. Promise you won’t harm Zarel, and I’ll join you.”
Laila raised an eyebrow. Who would have thought this great reptile could have a tender side?
“You’ve spawned countless maggots,” Laila said to him. “You’ve filled these tunnels with countless shades. What’s so special about Zarel?”
His red eyes seemed almost sad, almost loving. “She is my only archdemon. Shades? I care not for shades; I spawn them to kill angels, not for love. But Zarel is special. Zarel is precious.”
Laila snorted, blowing back a wet strand of hair. “Zarel is a big girl,” she said. “She can take care of herself.”
Smoke rose from Angor’s nostrils. “She is strong, yes, but she would not be safe from one who sits on Hell’s throne. Offer clemency to my daughter, and I’ll help you take that throne.”
Laila shook her head. With the adrenaline wearing off, the pain of her cuts and bruises nearly overpowered her, but she ignored them. “I can’t do that, Angor. Zarel envies me. She loves Beelzebub, and he loves me, or did once. She tried to kill me, and she’ll keep trying even if I take over Hell. She will always be an enemy to me.”
Angor howled, spitting fire and bullets. He rose to his full height, a church of scales and fire, towering over Laila. “Then you will have to kill me too,” he roared, flames leaving his nostrils.
Laila shook her head. “No deal, Angor. I need you. You’re going to help me take over Hell, like it or not. You want clemency for Zarel? I will offer her exile, no more. Once I take over Hell, Zarel must not enter it. She’ll have to wander whatever worlds she might find outside the gates of Hell, and so long as you are alive, I will not harm her. That’s the best I can offer you, Angor.”
Angor growled in flame and smoke, lava dripping from his mouth. “You swear this on your demon blood, on the name of your father?”
Laila nodded. “Ay na kha Gehenom, ge godor, ta gol dae loo gesha kra ay anoos neleeta.” she said solemnly, staring into Angor’s eyes, her halo aflame. I swear by Hell, the fatherland, and may my soul burn if I break my vow. The ancient words in the tongue of demons.
Angor bowed his head and repeated the words. “Ay na kha Gehenom, ge godor, ta gol dae loo gesha kra ay anoos neleeta. I will help you, Laila, daughter of Lucifer. I will help you take the throne from Beelzebub.”
Laila slung her Uzi over her back, her bruises aching. “Go to the Sea of Galilee, Angor. Wait for me underwater, and let me take this city. When I need you, I will summon you from the water. Now leave this place.”
Angor smirked with flame and smoke. “I will do as you wish. If you survive, I’ll see you at the lake.”
With that, the archdemon spun around and began digging into the floor, burrowing underground, leaving the chamber to tremble and rain boulders and dirt. Angor disappeared into the earth, and cracks ran across the floor and walls.
“Damn,” Laila said and started to run. Mental note, she told herself. Demon hives collapse once the archdemon leaves them. She raced through the tunnels as they shook, cursing Angor, swearing that she might just kill him someday after all. Ash and stones rolled. Around her, Angor’s demons also fled, screeching.
A boulder crashed ahead of her, blocking her way. More rocks pelted her. Damn damn damn. She shoved two boulders together, making a pocket of air, and scuttled into the shelter. Rocks tumbled around her, and the boulders protecting her shifted. Laila bared her fangs and hissed as the hive collapsed over her.
+ + +
Around Michael, the ten thousand demons he fought suddenly screamed, fluttered their wings, and began to flee, flying east. Michael stood, panting, his spear and armor splashed with demon blood. More blood covered the ruins of Caesarea around him, both demon and angel blood.
“What the hell?” said Nathaniel, standing by Michael with a spear just as bloody. A gash ran down the wingless lieutenant’s face, narrowly missing his one good eye. Close call, Michael thought.
Michael slammed the butt of his spear against the bloody cobblestones between the bodies of demons and angels. He watched as the demons fled, darkening the sky. The columns of fire fizzled away.
“She killed him,” he said.
A tremble shook the ruins. Cracks ran along the streets, and bricks fell from the ancient walls around him, walls that had stood since the days of Christ. Michael struggled for balance. Around him, those angels who had survived the battle looked around, bewildered, their armor bloody and dusty.
“Earthquake?” Nathaniel asked, holding a nearby column as the world shook. Dust rose around them.
Michael shook his head, grief filling him. I’ve killed her, he thought, dread like ice along his spine. And Raphael will kill me.
“The underground hive is collapsing,” he said. “Angor is dead.”
The earth finally ceased its trembles, and the dust began to settle. Several marble columns had fallen, and a Roman aqueduct lay cracked and toppled, rainwater trickling from it.
Nathaniel spat. “Good. And the half-breed too, I hope. You’re better off without the girl, sir.”
Michael glared at the wingless angel. “Watch your tongue, lieutenant. I keep my own counsel as to who is an ally. Help me dig. She might still be alive.”
Nathaniel bowed his head, and Michael ran to the bomb shelter where Laila had entered the hive. Her wolf was there, already digging at the tunnel, howling, his claws tossing aside stones and ash. Michael and Nathaniel joined the wolf, digging, rolling back boulders. The wreckage filled the tunnel.
“She’s dead, sir,” Nathaniel said, soaked in sweat and blood, ash sticking to the stubble on his face. “The entire hive’s collapsed. She couldn’t have survived that.”
“Then we’ll find her body,” Michael snapped. Damn it. How would he explain this to Bat El? For whatever reason, the young angel loved her demonic half-sister. Michael could already imagine the look in Bat El’s eyes when he returned dragging Laila’s body on a litter. Her blue, teary eyes would be full of anguish and accusation. You killed my sister, those eyes would say, because you were too cowardly to face Angor yourself.
Sweat soaked Michael as he dug. Volkfair howled mournfully. Damn.
7
Standing on the Crusader fort’s wall, Beelzebub stared south along the beach. Caesarea lay miles from here, but fallen angels
had sharp eyes. When the distant city trembled, Beelzebub frowned. A dark cloud rose from those ruins, heading back to Jerusalem. Demons fleeing, Beelzebub knew.
So Laila succeeded. The columns of fire sizzled away over Caesarea, and the ash settled over the ruins. She defeated Angor. Beelzebub took a deep breath. A hundred shades perched around him, staring at the distant city with him.
The time would come, Beelzebub knew with a sigh, when he’d have to deal with Laila. Sooner or later, he would have to send Zarel on the hunt, or face Laila himself. But not yet, he thought, patting a demon that growled beside him, perched upon the walls like a gargoyle. Not yet. Let’s see how things play out. He had Laila’s sister captive. He could use that to his advantage. It was always better, he thought, to do things the smart way, rather than the rash, violent way.
He walked down the stairs to the courtyard, where dented helmets and shattered swords still lay in the dust. Five thousand demons manned the walls and chambers, and five thousand more flew around the fort in circles. Michael would be unable to retake this fort, and that, Beelzebub reminded himself, was what mattered now. Let his brother keep Caesarea. Let him parade Angor’s bones in the courtyards. He, Beelzebub, had the fort and Bat El, not a trifle prize.
You haven’t won this war yet, brother.
He walked across the courtyard between more demons and entered the fort’s main hall. He was tired. He was often tired these days, and his head hurt. He thought back to the old days, twenty-seven years ago, when he first rose to Earth, commander-in-chief of Hell’s forces. Back then, fire had wreathed him, burning in his eyes. He had been a figure of black menace, rising from flame, bat wings always spread, fangs always bared; the horror everyone expected him to be. But that was a long time ago. These days, he hadn’t the will to be frightening, and some days—like today—all he wanted was a glass of wine to warm his bones and a woman to warm his bed.
