by SM Reine
He kissed her head. “God has nothing to do with it.”
She looked up at him with those bright green eyes, so large in her squished, bulldoggish face. “Angels were here,” she said, “many thousands, maybe a million. Not angels like in the stories, all beautiful and kind. These ones were angry and terrible to see. They scared me. Heaven thinks I’m a sinner, and I thought they would hurt me.”
It hadn’t been long since he had made love with Zarel, but a trembling Kayleigh pressed against him was enough to make Beelzebub’s blood boil again.
“You’re safe now,” he said, and couldn’t wait any longer. He took her there on the grass by the lake, crushing beneath them the flowers he had picked. Kayleigh was everything Zarel was not—instead of scales and flame, she was all eager softness.
“Tell me of your troubles,” she whispered as they moved in the grass. “Tell me all that bothers you.”
The smell of her flowers in his nostrils, Beelzebub spoke, telling her everything as she kissed him.
+ + +
How did you change, brother?
Is it because God scolded you then, was wroth for the Nephilim you placed into the wombs of human women? Is it for his wrath that you declared war against him?
Michael remembered those days, thousands of years ago, when mankind was young. Swan wings had grown from Beelzebub’s back then, and a halo of godlight crowned his head. White robes he would wear, an angelic being. Among the brightest stars of Heaven was he, among the fairest and greatest of its angels.
“Come on, Michael,” he would say so often. “Lucifer and I are going down to the world. Raphael’s coming too. Join us.”
“I’m busy,” Michael would always respond, smiling inwardly, knowing that Beelzebub would convince him sooner or later.
“Busy with what, composing for the harp? Praying? Watching over humans and being pious?” Beelzebub would invariably snort. “Forget those, brother. Come with us, we’ll drink some human spirits, hunt some game, meet some comely human women. I know a village where the girls are ripe and sweet as the grapes they grow.”
And invariably, Michael would feign a sigh, struggling to hide his smile. “Well, I guess I better go, to watch over you and Raphael, to make sure you two don’t get into too much trouble.”
And so the three brothers would sneak down to the world, with Lucifer, sometimes with Gabriel, with whoever else would join them. Young angels, they would hunt in the forests, and drink in wine houses, and sing until their voices were hoarse. Raphael always knew where to find the best ale, and could out-drink them all. They would woo human girls at the wells of villages and know them under the trees. Beelzebub and Lucifer were never careful; in their passion, they would place the seed of Heaven in human wombs, and nine months later, the women would give birth to deformed babes. The creatures would grow to be ten feet tall, wicked and rambling, Nephilim who terrorized the villages.
God would scold Beelzebub and Lucifer, Michael remembered. His spirit would seek them like a shadow, booming with anger, sending them fleeing. Once the spirit chased them into a cave, where the entrance collapsed, and for a year, Beelzebub and Lucifer ate worms and moss, living in darkness. Yet when their sentence ended, and they were freed, Beelzebub would return to the world again, and soon more Nephilim roamed.
Michael sighed. Is it my fault, brother? Was I never stern enough with you? Michael too had created one or two Nephilim in his day, though he would hide it, shameful, fearing God’s wrath. Yet Beelzebub never feared God, but would rile against him, curse him, disobey him for spite. Lucifer too.
“God is nothing to me,” Beelzebub said one day. “I spit upon him. One day I will kill him.”
Beelzebub grew sick that day, and for a month he lay pale and trembling, unable to eat. “God is punishing me,” he whispered from his sickbed to Michael. Was it then, brother, that you plotted your revenge?
Michael would never forget the day the rebellion began. Every detail of that day was branded into him. Shouts, angel blood upon Heaven’s meadows, civil war in Heaven. Brother fought against brother, and bodies of angels littered Heaven. God triumphed that day and cast out the angels who rebelled against him. When Beelzebub’s halo fell off, he screamed in agony. When his swan wings were torn from his body, his blood seeped down his back, and he howled. Fallen the rebels became then, cursed, banished.
Michael lowered his head. “You never forgot your vow to kill God, brother. You never ended your war. But we are going to end it soon, here on this world.”
Raphael was gone, dead before seeing Heaven win or mankind saved. Michael looked at his brother’s flask, holding it in his hands, cherishing it, a last relic. Goodbye.
+ + +
He walked through the darkness, covered in cloak and hood, like one of the shadows. His boots were silent in the tunnel, his hands hidden in the folds of his cloak. A ghost, he moved down into the pits of Hell.
When he neared Limbo, demon guards appeared, charging at him. He waved his arms, spraying flame, tossing the shades against the walls. No shades could harm one such as him. In the shadows of his hood, he smiled.
When he entered Limbo, leaving dead shades in his wake, he disappeared into shadows, moving over craggy mountains, through alleys, around towers, until he found what he sought. Upon a hill of bones, flicking his tail, lay Angor.
“Hello, Angor,” he said, pulling back his hood.
Angor looked up, and fear filled his red eyes. The archdemon scurried back, flames rising from his nostrils. “Beelzebub,” he said. “How did you get here?”
Beelzebub walked toward his father-in-law, his old servant, this great archdemon who had once served Lucifer. He tsked. “Angor, Angor... did you really think you could betray me and hide?”
The hill of bones, which served as Angor’s bed, was dry and bleached. It had been years since blood had covered those bones. Today blood washed them.
When he was done, Beelzebub pulled the hood back over his head, his hands stained with Angor’s blood. Still smiling, he walked away, back to the tunnel, back to the world where his war waited.
Nukes are such coarse things, he thought. Barbaric. Angor would never know what hit him. Angor needed to know who killed him, to feel the fear before death. Laila might be guarded by a host of archdemons, high in her tower, unreachable to him now... but soon she too would die. Beelzebub nodded, the blood staining his hands. Now, with Angor dead, we can go ahead and blow this place away.
+ + +
Upon the highest steeple of Moloch’s fort she stood, her halo of flame crackling, her fangs bared. Ashy winds howled across Limbo, streaming her hair, thudding her black cape behind her. The water had mostly been drained, leaving only scattered pools. The hellfire was gone, and the countless steeples of Limbo glittered with torches, rising from the surface like blades of jet. Battalions of shades flew across the great cavern, drilling and hissing.
Limbo. My home.
Below Laila, across the craggy landscapes of black boulders and towers, countless shades glistened, eyes burning red as they gazed up upon her. They sprawled into the distance, a sea of diablerie.
“I am Laila!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, voice echoing over Limbo. She drew Haloflame and held it high. It shone as a beacon. “I am Queen of Limbo. I am soon to be Queen of all Hell. I am Lucifer’s daughter! Hell’s throne is mine. Soon, my friends, we will take Beelzebub’s throne. Soon we will be the ruling circle of Hell.”
Leaving the demons to cheer, she flapped her wings and entered the tower, sheathing her sword. They must see me, hear me, know that I’m real, know that I rule them. Laila nodded, walking down the stairs to her hall. Here was the heart of her kingdom. Once she killed Beelzebub, she would rule all of Hell from this place, from Limbo.
She entered her towering hall of black marble, whence Moloch once ruled. Torches lined the walls, their light glittering over jet columns and crystal statues of a hundred fallen angels. Between the columns, Laila could see the landscapes of Li
mbo, her glittering black towers rising as a forest.
Thirteen archdemons sat around a table in the hall, rising as Laila entered, bowing their heads. Laila nodded to them and sat at the head of the table. A feast covered the table in golden dishes, steaming.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “thank you for joining me at my table. Please enjoy this dinner.”
The thirteen nodded, all glittering scales and horns. Five were white as snow, five were blacker than darkness, and three glittered blood-red. These were the greatest archdemons in Limbo, once servants of Moloch. There had been thirty once; seventeen had refused to join Laila and now their heads rotted upon her towers.
Laila reached across the table for a steak, still bloody, and ate slowly, sipping her cabernet. It had been years since Laila had enjoyed such a meal; upon her table lay fine aged meat, caviar, cheeses, fried mushrooms, shrimps, endless wines. A decade ago, when she was Beelzebub’s paramour, he would pamper her with fine foods. Today none need pamper me. This hall is mine, and all that’s in this fort I’ve earned. In Limbo does Laila the half-demon reign as queen.
“Give me news of the front-lines,” she said, and the archdemons spoke, each in turn. The white archdemons guarded the tunnels that ran deeper into Hell, the black archdemons guarded the passageways to the human world, while the reds maintained order within Limbo. Beelzebub’s troops kept harrying them on all fronts, slamming at her guards from all borders. Assassinating Angor had been his most brazen attack. But if Beelzebub planned a major assault, Laila saw no sign of it; for now, her rule was safe.
“You will reign forever as Queen of Limbo,” hissed Belial, chief of her archdemons. He crunched a lamb’s bone between his teeth and chewed, grease dripping down his white scales.
Laila nodded and bit into her steak. Queen of Limbo. She had a home now, for the first time in her life. Since I was born, I’ve been a freak, outcast from Heaven, banished from Hell, hunted on Earth. Could it truly be that she belonged somewhere now? Might I even find some peace for this war within my heart? She would make this land a place for all outcasts, she decided. For the Nephilim, those misshapen spawn of angels and the humans they knew. For Volkfair. For sinners. For anyone seeking asylum from Hell or Heaven. Here, instead of an outcast, fleeing and hurting, she would be a great ruler.
Laila shut her eyes, the old pain resurfacing inside her, now mingled with fear and hope, tingling through her. I don’t know what will happen next, but if happiness is in my future, I won’t fear it, no matter how much it might hurt.
She had drunk four glasses of wine, and was filling her fifth, when a knock came at the door. Two shades entered, holding between them a human girl.
Laila rose to her feet, frowning. Kayleigh. Mud covered the girl, and her hair was knotty, but Laila recognized her at once.
“The girl says she knows you,” said one of the shades who held Kayleigh. “She came from aboveground to find you. She was unarmed, so we let her through.”
Laila stepped toward the shades. “Let her be.”
The shades released Kayleigh, who fell to the floor, scraping her knees against the tiles. Laila knelt by the girl and examined her for wounds, but Kayleigh seemed healthy, if muddy and trembling.
Laila turned toward her table of archdemons. “Dinner’s over,” she said, and the archdemons nodded. They rose to their hooves, bowed before Laila, and left the room, scales creaking. When they were gone, Laila helped Kayleigh to her feet and led her to the table.
“Sit down,” Laila said. “Have something to eat and drink. You look famished.”
Kayleigh nodded and sat down, glancing around as if searching for more demons. When none appeared, she gingerly reached toward a turkey leg and began to eat. She drank from a goblet of wine, and slowly her trembling faded.
“It’s tasty,” she said to Laila.
“I’ll get you new clothes, too, after you eat, and a hot bath.” Laila herself had found new garments here. Instead of her old tattered cloak, she now wore a cape of black velvet, clasped around her with a ruby fibula. She wore leather pants tucked into heavy boots, and sported silver vambraces on her forearms. Across her chest, she had strapped a breastplate of black iron, molded to fit the curves of her body. She had polished her great bat wings with oil; usually dusty, they now gleamed a deep black, sucking in all light. If I am a ruler in Hell, I must look the part.
“We might not have time for that,” Kayleigh said, placing down the wine goblet. She looked up at Laila, fear in her eyes. “I had to come see you, Laila. I walked into the empty lake until I found the tunnel. It didn’t take long, and I found myself here.” Kayleigh took a deep drink of wine, hands shaking. “Beelzebub came to see me yesterday. I had to come give you the news.”
Laila pulled lake weeds out of Kayleigh’s hair. “What did he say that’s so important?”
“He plans to nuke you, Laila.” Kayleigh shivered. “In his passion, he was. I know how to make him mad with his desire. He will say anything then. It was his wife’s idea, he said. They have some nukes, great weapons we humans made before you demons and angels came. He says they can destroy Limbo and everyone in it.” Kayleigh finished her wine. “You are my friend, Laila. I know you meant it when you said we’d be friends, that you understand me. I wanted to help you, to save you. You can still run from here, back into the forests.”
Laila turned away from the table, walked toward the jet columns that lined her hall, and stood between two columns, gazing upon Limbo. The craggy towers glistened in the light of a million torches, while armies of demons swooped to and fro through the air like schools of piranhas. The cavernous Limbo stretched miles across, so large Laila could not see the ends of it. This had been her home for only a week, and now Beelzebub would destroy it?
Laila ran her fingers along one of her silver vambraces, tracing the delicate engravings of demon chants. Her fiery halo crackling, she gazed upon her new kingdom, and refused to lose it.
I have no nukes of my own. Zarel knows that. She knows they can nuke me without fear of retaliation. But I am Laila, of the night. I have run for too long, hidden for too many years. She let her hand rest upon the hilt of Haloflame, which hung at her waist. I won’t give up this place, not so easily, not without a fight. This place is mine now. In Limbo does Laila the half-demon rule, and that will not change.
Her halo crackling with fire, she turned back to face Kayleigh.
“I will rise to the world and meet her. I will meet Zarel in duel.” She once swore to Angor that, while he lived, she would grant clemency to Zarel. But Angor is dead now, like so many others in this war. Everything is changing.
Kayleigh joined Laila by the columns and stood, muddy, watching the craggy horizons of Hell. “Would she agree to fight you?”
Laila nodded, caressing the pommel of her sword. “She will. If she refuses, she’d think herself a coward. So would everyone else. She will agree to duel me. She would prefer to kill me herself, with her own claws, rather than nuking this place. If she kills me, she’d even get Limbo back whole.” Laila closed her eyes. “It’s the only way. Beelzebub would agree to it too. If Zarel kills me, he loses me as an enemy, and can go ahead and conquer the world. And if I kill Zarel, well... he’ll be equally happy, free to pursue my sister in peace. It’s a win-win situation for him.” The air suddenly seemed hot to Laila, too heavy in her lungs. She forced herself to take deep breaths.
Kayleigh took Laila’s hand and squeezed it. “Can you beat Zarel?”
“I don’t know. But I have to try.” Laila opened her eyes and looked upon the human girl. “It’s in my destiny to face her. It has been this way since I returned to Jerusalem. She knows it and has been waiting. I can’t escape this fate.”
Kayleigh bit her lip. “But Laila... even if you do kill Zarel... what’s to stop Beelzebub from nuking Limbo anyway?”
Laila squeezed Kayleigh’s hand back and forced herself to smile. “I’ll take care of that. I know what to do.”
That is, if I survive, sh
e added silently. The armies of demons swarmed outside, shrieking through the darkness. The two girls stood between the columns, watching the landscapes of Hell, silent.
19
The earth was still fresh over Raphael’s grave when Michael began mustering a force to reclaim Beelzebub’s fort.
He moved grimly between the troops, silent, gripping his lance. His officers dared not approach him, and his glower, they whispered, could cause baby angels’ wings to fall off. Michael did not care if troops whispered, did not care that Laila had abandoned him and ruled, silent and still, in Limbo. He cared for only one thing.
Bat El.
“I will get her back,” he swore over Raphael’s grave that evening. “I will make her one of Heaven again. I won’t let her become a fallen angel, turned dark and cursed.”
The grave was silent, covered with stones and flower petals, but Michael seemed to hear his baby brother’s voice in his mind. Is it for her sake that you want Bat El back, or for your own? Michael shut his eyes, kneeling over the grave, lance in hand. He was a soldier. He had no emotions, certainly not love. Why would he love Bat El? The girl was thousands of years younger than him, infinitely less experienced and wise. If I do feel love toward her, I’ll bury that feeling. I’ll feel no love now, only hatred toward Hell. I am a soldier. That’s all I’ve been for thousands of years. You, Raphael, were the one who loved and healed. I came to this world to kill.
And yet the thought of Bat El’s eyes and pink lips still filled his mind.
A month since Laila claimed Limbo as her domain, Michael stood upon a steeple, staring down at rows of angels among Jerusalem’s ruins. Tens of thousands of troops stood there, wings spread, gilded armor dusty, swords drawn. Their banners flapped feebly in the ashy wind, white and gold. Standing above them, Michael raised his lance, and they shouted, a battle cry that rattled the city, sending birds into flight.
