The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy

by Terra Whiteman

“And what sparked such a witch hunt?”

  Samnaea looked away, watching a pile of trash burn; shadowed figures in rags were huddled around it. “I was trying to find out who tipped the Jury off to the manifest. I have no doubt it was him.”

  “I thought your brother gave the Justice Commander that list?”

  “Belial made its existence apparent. She got her dirty claws into my brother and threatened my impeachment if he didn’t hand it over.”

  “And how did he know about it?”

  “Belial told him, too. Isn’t that peculiar?” She let that question hang for a moment, and I had to admit that I was intrigued. “Why would he tell Leid and Samael? Whatever the cause, it certainly stirred some shit. Now my brother is dead; Caym, too. Not to mention the angels have tightened our noose.”

  There was something about the look in her eyes that told me Samnaea wasn’t relaying everything she knew, but I let it slide. For now.

  The twin spires of Parliament came into view across the street, wrapped in steel-knitted barbed wire. We paused, surveying the guard station. There were no patrol units, but a lone guard stood watch from the tiny glass cubicle near the entrance. Convenient.

  Too convenient.

  “Do you think he knows about the meeting?” I whispered.

  “Of course he does. Who do you think let everyone in?”

  “Pity. I’ll need your expertise, then.”

  “…Should I kill him?”

  “No, no murder, please. Just make him fall asleep or something.”

  Samnaea nodded, and together we crossed the street.

  I waited by the gate while she strolled up to the cubicle, striking conversation. I couldn’t hear what was said, but then Samnaea leaned in and the guard slumped in his chair. She waved a hand in front of his face, verifying unconsciousness, and then beckoned for me.

  As we ducked under the median, I caught a glimpse of the guard. His eyes, nose and ears were bleeding. “Samnaea.”

  “He’s not dead,” she assured, smiling. “He’ll just have a nasty migraine for a couple of days.”

  Sometimes she even sounded like him.

  Of all the potential traits, she’d acquired Qaira’s brain apoptosis. If only he knew of the legacy that he’d left.

  Arguably Samnaea was more powerful than he’d ever been, as her ability was much more specialized. Mind control was a weapon with no equal.

  Rotating cameras atop the guard station followed our movements, but given the occasion I doubted anyone was on surveillance duty. We would have to do something about them later on.

  The winding stone walkway to the entrance was vacant. Lamps oscillated over the front steps, covering us in shimmering, gold light. I stepped out of sight as Samnaea at the glass double-doors. A figure was at the front desk, head down, reading something over.

  She knocked.

  The figure stood and slowly made their way to the door. It was Dia, Malphas’ secretary. She released the lock and Samnaea stood back as the doors opened.

  And then I stepped into view.

  Dia’s eyes widened and she tried to shut the doors again, but I barged through and held them open, snarling. Before she could run, Samnaea took hold of her mind and forced her on bended knee.

  “D-Don’t kill me,” whispered Dia, trembling. “Please, sir, don’t kill me.”

  I stepped aside, gesturing to the entrance. “This is your only chance to flee. Tell no one, or I will find you and have you executed for treason.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise,” Samnaea murmured, leaning in.

  I ignored her.

  “Yes, I promise! I’ll tell no one!” Dia squeaked.

  “Release her,” I said.

  Samnaea did so, and without another word the frightened secretary bolted through the doors, fleeing into the night. She’d even left her purse on the desk.

  “We should have killed her,” said Samnaea, watching her retreat.

  “That’s not how I do things.”

  “I guarantee she’ll snitch to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “And who is that? Her boss has no idea of her activities, not to mention after tonight, no one will care to listen anyway.”

  Samnaea shot me a look. “I suppose you have a plan all figured out.”

  I grinned. “Of course I do.”

  “Why didn’t you just order your guards to bust the meeting?” she asked. “I don’t really understand what we’re doing here.”

  “Guards are too impersonal.”

  “So you’re taking this personally?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, casting her a venomous look. “Members of my court are attempting to usurp my rule. They’re coercing my people into doing horrendous things—things of which I stand against completely. They’re making Hell a dangerous, ugly place, Samnaea.”

  “And what exactly are you doing to make Hell a less dangerous and ugly place?”

  My voice caught in my throat. All I did was glare at her.

  “The Sanguine Court formed because you aren’t doing anything. Hell is collapsing and you haven’t taken any steps to keep us from sinking with it.” As I stood there, stunned, she pulled a malay cigarette from her bag and lit it, fouling up the air. “At least they keep the tallies in our favor, so we aren’t facing slavery, too.”

  The poor, poor girl. She had no idea that the Contest was a farce. There had never been an agreement to compete for re-slavery. All Yahweh and I had done was bade time for blood. But time was running out.

  “Come on,” I muttered, heading for the hall. “We can talk about this later.”

  Other than the lobby, Avernai Parliament seemed abandoned of staff. The halls were decorated in paintings, mock-oil lamps and modern, black grate wall shelves that held memorabilia of political achievements. This city was the oldest, built directly over Sanctum, and it showed.

  Every layer was unique, all depending on the Archdemon who ruled it. Each layer was a territory, and over time the need of identity generated cultures, even dialects. Avernai’s theme was much more classical than Junah or Akkaroz, having placed a heavy emphasis on old-Crylle architecture. The pillars and statues outside the governing house reminded me of Theosyne, and thoughts of Heaven always left me melancholic.

  Soft, orange light bled through the cracks from the council room at the end of the hall. The murmur of conversation filled my ears, and I noticed Samnaea was losing her nerve. She’d strayed behind several paces, staring at the light with trepidation.

  I stopped and look over my shoulder.

  “Are you sure you want to see?” she asked.

  “See what?”

  “Them. You’re going to be surprised, and possibly hurt.”

  I said nothing and gestured for her to enter first. Samnaea sighed and lowered her head, moving through the door. The conversation turned into heated demands of why she was so late. I could already recognize a few of their voices. Before Samnaea could respond, I appeared in the threshold, and their demands turned to silence.

  My eyes swept across every guest seated at the rectangular table, stopping at the end. Betrayal built to anger at the identity of their leader.

  Vetis Cull.

  He’d been thrown out of office half a century ago for sedition, infamous for rallying citizens against their Archdemons. Fanatical yet charismatic—Vetis was never charged of any crimes because his protests were always nonviolent. Until now.

  Thinking back, I should have suspected him sooner, but the Sanguine Court wasn’t his modus operandi. Whatever the reason, Vetis’s psychotic vision of seizing Hell would end tonight.

  Almost a minute passed; no one said a thing. Samnaea inched to the side of the door, smoking her cigarette, eyes cast to the ground.

  I moved across the room until I towered over Vetis, who cowered in his seat. Never a brave man when it came to facing his dues, more the type to mutter insults at your back. The other members saw this, undoubtedly, and their silence held.

  “I’m sorry to interr
upt your meeting,” I said, and he finally dared to meet my gaze. His eyes were like malachite, flecks of amber peppering each iris. The crimson rings around them seemed black in comparison. “Please, by all means, continue.”

  “L-Lucifer, I—”

  “None of you have anything to say?” I interjected, looking around the table. “Because your actions have a lot to say. Not only has your sense of absolution placed all demons under persecution by the Celestial Court, but you’ve nudged us on the brink of a war that we’re not ready to fight.”

  The members—among them Azazel Lier of Orias, Mastema Tryess of Lochai—all looked at the table like scolded children. I’d expected them to be a little more gallant. Pity.

  Then again, I’d stolen Samnaea’s loyalty. Without her, they were powerless against someone like me.

  Vetis didn’t try to speak again. All he did was sit there, staging a pathetic attempt at placidity. “Go on,” I said to him. “Recite our decree.”

  Reluctant, he only shook his head.

  I removed the gun from my coat pocket and pressed the barrel against his temple. The hiss of its charger made Vetis flinch, and his hands trembled on the table’s surface. No one else said a thing, yet their shame escalated to fear.

  This wasn’t exactly my modus operandi, either. But drastic times called for drastic measures.

  “U-Unity and peace among the citizens of Hell,” stammered Vetis, his courage all but gone as the cold metal brushed against his skin. A bead of perspiration trickled from his hairline. “Protection from harm, shelter from cold, edify—”

  I pulled the trigger, and Vetis slumped over. A third of his head was gone and blood flowed from the still-smoking exit wound, running like a river down the table.

  I looked over the horrified crowd, cocking my gun. “Run.”

  The other demons scattered, fleeing the meeting room, the thunder of their feet heard all the way down the hall. Samnaea lingered in the doorway with a hand clasped over her mouth. Her cigarette had burned out a while ago, now just an arch of ashes threatening to fall from the filter at any moment.

  Pocketing the gun, I headed for the door. Samnaea flinched, cowering against the frame.

  I shot her look. “Don’t be silly. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “The security room. I need to confiscate those tapes and deactivate the feed.”

  Samnaea pointed at Vetis’ body. “What about him?”

  “That’ll send a message to the others, loud and clear.”

  She said nothing else, following me to the basement elevator. I caught her look from the corner of my eye, knowing that she viewed me in a new light. Prior to this moment, I was never pictured in blood-splatter. The Fall had changed everything, especially how I dealt with traitors.

  And the look in Samnaea’s eyes wasn’t fear, but respect. Dominance and aggression were attractive qualities to our kind—it was scary how close we’d grown to our predecessors. The cure had done much more than altered our appearance.

  The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and we stepped into the cool, lightless corridor. As I suspected, the security floor was vacant. Easy as pie.

  ***

  “No, no murder please. That’s not how I do things,” mocked Samnaea as we hurried back to the cephalon. “I’ll just shoot my cousin in the head, that’s all.”

  “Second cousin.”

  I burrowed into my scarf, thankful for the darkness that hid the blood on my coat. But I probably could have dragged Vetis’ near-decapitated body through the streets in broad daylight and not a single person would have batted an eye. Just another day in Central Avernai.

  “And what will you do now?” she asked, stepping over a drunken homeless man lying in the middle of the alley.

  “Not sure,” I admitted.

  “You should have killed the others. They might come back for you. For me.”

  I laughed under my breath. “Always so quick to kill. For someone who’s feared across Hell, you sure have quite a bit of it yourself.”

  “At the very least they could tell the press.”

  “Tell them what? That I came busting through the doors of their secret meeting and murdered their leader? Sounds like good PR for me. Uttering a word of this would ruin their careers, and they know it. They’ve learned their less—”

  Something caught my eye.

  A figure huddled near a cluster of waste bins, shadowed by a looming sill.

  I froze, and so did Samnaea.

  “Lucifer?” she asked, confused.

  I didn’t respond, approaching the waste bins.

  It was the corpse of a little girl; near-naked, bones jutting from her skin. She had died alone in a slow, painful process of starvation. I imagined her curling against the trash in a last attempt to keep warm, shaking and crying as her body finally gave up. Her dead, glazed eyes relayed such hopelessness.

  I looked away, swallowing hard.

  Samnaea took my side, gazing down at the girl, stoic. “There are a dozen of these every day. Avernai and Lochai have started bringing out sanitization crafts to haul bodies away every morning. Where have you been?”

  That was an excellent question, and I didn’t know the answer.

  But one thing was clear: this couldn’t be about keeping peace anymore. I couldn’t place a transparent alliance over the lives of my people.

  Not anymore.

  I turned away, tossing Samnaea my gun. She caught it, startled.

  “Congratulations,” I muttered, vacating the alley. “You just became my General.”

  III

  CHECKMATE

  Lucifer Raith—;

  THE TEMPLE OF MAGHIR RUINS, MORITORIA.

  Crumbled pillars lay beneath a thick blanket of fog, swirling around the stone plateau on a floating isle. Stardust glittered in the air, never rising nor falling, suspended by pockets of warped gravity. Moritoria marked middle ground for The Atrium—Purgatory just an island away—and here I traveled every few months to strip away my title.

  Here, I regressed.

  I cleared the fifty feet from ground to plateau, folding my wings when I landed. The cure had painted my hair and wings black, my Archaean traits all but gone. Fallen, some called us. Demons, others said.

  Nehel, everyone knew, but wouldn’t dare speak it.

  Yahweh was already seated at the stone bench, setting pieces across the chessboard. At my approached, he turned and nodded solemnly. Seldom did he smile anymore.

  Clad in a black business suit and powder-blue tie, he was a long shot from the boy I’d raised. A young man now, forced to lead the Argent Court and rule over Heaven, time and events had snatched all geniality from him. Sad, but inevitable.

  And I was proud of him, still.

  “You’re late,” he said as I took a seat at the table.

  “I’m always late.”

  “You’re later than usual. Trouble?”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  Yahweh gave me a thin smile, but didn’t press. Instead he made his move: white pawn to F3.

  I slid a black pawn to C5.

  We had played chess thousands of times since our separation, but never before had I scrutinized his methods. Yahweh had no idea how much this game mattered, but he would.

  “So,” I said, reclining as he mulled over his next move, “you told me you had news.”

  Yahweh sighed, dismissing my inquiry with a wave. “One moment.”

  Pawn to G5.

  “Caym Stroth died in Atlas Arcantia,” he said then. “He was involved in a scheme to kill Leid Koseling; revenge for Samael Soran.”

  I stared at him, stunned, fingers hovering over a bishop. “Atlas Arcantia? That’s not even—”

  “Yes, I know. When I confronted the Jury about it, they told me…” He paused, worry in his gaze. “Leid told Samael about a statue that she’d hidden in Atlas Arcantia. Word of the statue got to Caym, and when she tried to correct her error and destroy it, your demons pursue
d her.”

  A statue.

  At the mentioning of that, my face fell. Yahweh needn’t explain.

  “Calenus promised that the statue was destroyed; the threat of the Scarlet Queen gone. That’s the only reason why Leid was selected for Justice Commander.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I was there; I know.”

  Exiled from the Court of Enigmus, Leid had returned to The Atrium seven hundred years ago to salvage a life lost to tragedy. But the life she’d had was gone; the world she’d known changed forever. The Ring War had just ended and talk of a demon-angel alliance was in the midst. Her re-appearance was fortuitous, and we’d offered her and her guardians a job of playing mediators of the Contest. In return she was granted asylum in The Atrium.

  Calenus had assured us that the statue was gone and Leid could never pose another threat. None of what had happened to Sanctum was her fault, not entirely—yet just the same a disease never chose to infect anyone. It simply did.

  And now the horrors of our past were re-surfacing all at once. Dead Vel’Haru queens, Qaira Eltruan—there was a hidden meaning in all of this, but I couldn’t find it.

  Bishop to H6.

  “Caym was killed by Leid, then?”

  “No, Alezair Czynri.”

  “… He was with her?”

  “Yes.”

  She’d taken Qaira to the site of the dead queen’s statue? Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous…

  “Alezair didn’t claim to kill him. He said Caym’s head exploded.”

  My stare trailed off. “So, he remembers?”

  “No, not that I could tell.”

  “But then how—?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Neither of us knew how to handle the situation. While our shock at Alezair Czynri’s employment was mutual, we couldn’t simply demand to know how Leid had found him or how he was still alive. We couldn’t demand that she remove him from The Atrium, either. Instead we were forced into faking normalcy, meanwhile the former Regent of Sanctum walked around with his melon scraped out. Any inquiries would have had him asking questions, and while it was apparent that he didn’t pose a threat right now, should he ever remember…