The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy

by Terra Whiteman

  We’d never chosen it to happen and had stood by helplessly as our ships drifted further and further away. Now, I was lost at sea.

  The music made my knees weak. A man like him shouldn’t have been able to produce such beautiful art but Qaira had always managed to surprise me, whether it be in horror or delight.

  Everyone on deck had stopped to listen, confusion and intrigue playing across their faces. Even Adrial seemed moved.

  But most interesting of all was Oraniquitis Loren, perched on the hangar observational deck. Her hands were clasped together, pressed against her heart. She watched him play, reverent.

  And it was then when I knew that Adrial’s theory was wrong. The Scarlet Queen didn’t intend to destroy Ezekiel, or the angels, or The Atrium—;

  Only Qaira.

  VIII

  JUST IN CASE

  Avarice Delvori—;

  I HATED THIS FEELING; EMPTY YET FULL, ravenous yet sick. My head swam and my stomach felt hollow.

  I should have never woken up. I was dead.

  I’d been dead.

  But how did I know that? Did I really know what it felt like to be dead?

  Right before sleep, whenever I closed my eyes, I relived the chilling of my blood, the slowing of my heart—that peaceful moment I’d never been afforded. And now that I’d known it, I craved it again.

  What had Lucifer done? How had he done it?

  My hands trembled as I put on my armor. My limbs were weak, like I’d slept a hundred years. I didn’t want to see anyone, but Commander Raith had insisted that I join them.

  It took me thrice as long to suit up, partly because I kept having brain blanks, as if I’d never done this before and had merely watched someone else perform the task.

  What was the next step? Which button should I press?

  Commander Raith had explained that my hindered functioning was because of brain damage. I don’t remember having my brain damaged. There’d been no blunt force against my skull.

  Only a bullet. I could still see its smoke; smell the scent of my own flesh burning.

  I wished these thoughts away. Then the image of Yahweh’s brother came to mind. Such a beautiful, angry creature, the blue fire in his eyes dwindling as I’d raised my ion blade over his head.

  My skin tingled as I relived that moment over and over, relishing Ixiah’s fear. There was a certain rush to be felt, knowing a God Killer looked upon you with fear in his eyes.

  Before I knew it my armor was on and I was heading toward the door, sliding my ion blade into its charger at my hip.

  *

  “If they manage to take the cataract, Orias is all but lost before they even step foot on it,” said Mastema Tryess through the holo screen, her face plagued with worry.

  “She’s right,” murmured General Soran, contemplative. “Anevhin Cataract is the only water supply Orias has. It leads into the basin, and if the angels have it, they have everything.”

  “And surely Archdemon Vakkar knows this, too,” said Commander Raith. “I have to assume Argentia will attack Anevhin.”

  Samnaea nodded. “I propose that Archdemon Lier’s army move to guard the cataract, while Archdemon Tryess’s army remain on standby outside Tehlor City, at least until we know Ezekiel’s course through the layer.”

  “That’s a sound maneuver,” said the Commander, looking to Mastema and lifting a brow. “Where is Archdemon Lier, by the way?”

  We all could see Archdemon Tryess shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Azazel is in Tehlor City right now, defusing a … situation.”

  Lucifer tilted his head, feigning fascination. “And what type of situation might that be, Mastema?”

  Archdemon Tryess lowered her eyes. “A mutiny, sir.”

  I’d said nothing since the war council had adjourned, crossing my arms and residing in the furthest corner. I always preferred to just watch and listen; words were meaningless by themselves and most people spoke lies anyway. I could gather every piece of information I needed to know by watching their expressions, gestures— their nervous ticks and idle fidgetings.

  I was just a wallflower. An armored wallflower, decorated in not petals but shiny weapons.

  There was a long pause to follow, spent with the council sharing looks of concern. Any second now, I would receive my orders.

  Lucifer sighed and rubbed his forehead. “A transporter is set for Tehlor City and will undock in an hour. General Soran, you are to accompany the transporter and aid Archdemons Tryess and Lier with morale recovery.”

  Samnaea looked like she’d been slapped. “What?”

  “If anyone can charm them, it’s you.”

  “But who will advise you? I’m the General of the fleet!”

  “You’re a general, not an advisor. I don’t need an advisor.” Lucifer frowned with scorn. “A general leads, and right now I need you patching the cracks in our army’s wall. Is that a problem, General Soran?”

  I couldn’t stand idle any longer. “Commander, I am better suited for that task. I could also offer them better protection.”

  “Better protection?” asked Lucifer, turning to look at me. There was a glimmer of mockery in his eyes and he wore a cruel, whimsical smile. Never, ever had I seen his face like that. “You think I can’t see the limp in your gait, Praetor Delvori? Sending you out in such a weakened state is like putting you to death. You aren’t set to lead the primers again for at least another week. No, Samnaea will take your charge until then.”

  … Why was he doing this?

  I could understand why he might want to punish me, but what had General Soran done?

  While she possessed one of the most dangerous abilities known to celestial-kind, Samnaea was no soldier. She was a politician, and no one sent a politician to the front lines.

  Even though I’d objected on her behalf, she still seemed to think I had something to do with Lucifer’s decision. The stare she’d given me then was so sharp it could have drawn blood.

  “No, sir,” Samnaea said, defeated. “No problem at all.”

  “I wish you a safe trip, General Soran,” said Mastema, bowing her head in respect before the transmission ended and her holo-image faded from view. Lucifer stood and declared that the council session had ended.

  I waited until everyone left, and once I was alone in the room I moved to the thin, rectangular window overlooking the eastern deck. Snow streaked the otherwise sable sky—Junah was far too cold for rain. Snow was seldom, too. Usually the weather here was nothing but darkness, frost and wind. The little flecks of light falling from Junah’s sweat left me melancholic, wanting.

  And then I thought of Qaira Eltruan, my fist tightening on the hilt of my blade.

  I remembered the moment my parents died—moments, if you will, since I hadn’t any idea how long it had actually taken for them to die, trapped beneath thousands of tons of burning rubble of Sanctum’s Yema Theater.

  I’d watched it all on screen, from the safety of my home. My classes had run over that day and I’d been unable to attend the Peace Ceremony with them. Both had worked for Theosyne’s Diplomacy Council. They’d received front row seats. I could still smell the staunch aroma of my dinner burning, abandoned atop the stove while I watched paralyzed as Crylle reporters documented Yema Theater’s attack.

  Since that day, I’d never felt whole again.

  Before then I’d only been thinly aware of the issues between Sanctum and Crylle. I’d known what they’d taught us in school, starved within the residential sector of the Ark. But all of the fear and hatred of the Nehelian race evaporated once Heaven was formed.

  Or so I’d thought. It’s hard to carry adult burdens and concerns when you’re so young. Everything had seemed so ephemeral.

  For a reason still unknown to me, I’d felt betrayed by Regent Qaira Eltruan.

  Maybe it was because I’d always secretly fancied him; unheard of, an angel finding beauty in a Nehelian. Feelings like that would have faced a lot of scrutiny had I told anyone. But I couldn�
��t deny the flutter in my chest and the tightening in my stomach whenever I’d caught his speeches on my screen. It was only a youthful crush, like the ones my friends had had on other boys in our classes.

  Perhaps that was an early sign; I’d already had one foot within the waters of malice.

  My parents and friends wouldn’t recognize me now. Once upon a time my hair was silky white, eyes bluer than the sea—now I looked just like my mark, twisted with scorn.

  Yet still beautiful he was, covered in so much blood.

  Qaira had to die.

  I needed to convince Lucifer to send me to Orias.

  *

  Only a dozen primers were stationed on Junah. No need for more, floating so far behind front lines. Most of them were assigned tactics counseling for lesser fleets.

  Meanwhile, I’d been assigned a routine daily check-up from Dr. Caelis Jonarr, who had absolutely no medical experience whatsoever other than creating sentient bioweapons. I’d spent more than three decades under his vigilance yet we’d never shared an informal word.

  He was a peculiar man, looking half his age with unevenly cut black hair and eyes a shade of yellow. Despite his line of work, Dr. Jonarr was always ambivalent. I couldn’t understand how. A part of me was convinced Lucifer had taken him under his wing because Caelis was a demonic Yahweh. A surrogate son.

  Cay-less. I’d always liked that name.

  “How have you been?” he asked absentmindedly, analyzing my biopic chart. “Better? The same? Worse?”

  “Better,” I replied, “but I don’t feel like myself.”

  Caelis paused, looking over his shoulder. “Who do you feel like?”

  I hesitated, unsure whether I should tell him the truth—that I didn’t feel alive. Soulless, like there was something missing. “I can’t explain it.”

  A knowing look crossed Caelis’s face. “You sustained some damage. More damage than ever before. That’s understandable; give it time.”

  “Convince Lucifer to let me accompany Samnaea to Orias.”

  “Commander Raith has made up his mind, Praetor. Once he makes up his mind, there’s no persuading him otherwise. You know that.”

  “I have faith you could.”

  “Do you?” asked Caelis, giving me an incredulous frown. “And why would that be?”

  I tilted my head. “He thinks very highly of you. Like family, almost.”

  He caught my meaning and glanced away, uncomfortable. “Lucifer’s always thought very highly of Samnaea too, and now he’s sending her off for execution. I’d rather stay off that list, thank you.”

  “So, you think the same as me.”

  Caelis’s ambivalent façade vanished for the first time ever. Now he looked nothing like Yahweh. “What I think, Ava, is that you should heed the Commander’s charge. Need I remind you of how you ended up here?”

  I feigned sheepishness. “I’m sorry, doctor. Forgive me.”

  Caelis sighed and removed his coat. “Your biopic report shows excellent progress. You’ll be better in no time, chin up.”

  “Holding my chin up sounds uncomfortable.”

  Caelis only smiled.

  His silence was my cue to leave.

  I did, thinking about Dr. Jonarr’s anger when I’d asked him to get involved.

  It wasn’t anger at all. It was fear. He was afraid of Commander Raith, afraid of what he might do if Caelis dared to question him. The fact that such a fear would even be necessary was world-shaking. Lucifer had never ruled by perpetuating fear. His subjects had followed him because he was honorable, noble, selfless in most cases… and now he was something else. Not any of those.

  He was changing, embracing that inner-demon the angels had warned their kind about; the Nehelian brutality scratching at our insides, begging to be let out. This war was bringing out the worst in him, and I found that strangely attractive.

  Lucifer had invested too much in me to send me off for execution. I’d already defied him once, and here I was. Caelis had turned me away, but I was never good at manipulation. That was Samnaea’s game.

  No, I would go directly to the source.

  *

  “I’ve already told you the concerns of your health,” said Lucifer disapprovingly, eyeing me like a rebellious child.

  I’d accompanied him out on his private veranda, where he smoked a malay cigarette without any judgmental looks from his subordinates. Malay cigarettes were legal and consumed by many at a voracious rate, but that didn’t stop the general public from knowing what it truly was—;

  An escape. And how dare the Commander of the Obsidian Court want to escape his sobriety at a time like this?

  “Samnaea Soran is the General Archdemoness, not a soldier,” I said, leaning against the sill. “You’ll be placing her right in harm’s way.”

  Lucifer said nothing for a while, gazing out into the night. “You’re right,” he finally murmured, “she’s not a soldier, but Samnaea isn’t a meek little thing either, believe me.”

  Oh, I believed him, but that didn’t mean she could survive the front line. I held that thought, pretending to muse while watching the troops load and calibrate the transporter below.

  Somewhere, Samnaea was shaking like a leaf, counting down the minutes to when she’d have to board that thing. “And if we lose our only general?”

  “Praetor Delvori,” cautioned Lucifer in that soft, disciplinary tone of his, “might I remind you that I don’t have to explain my orders.” He took a long drag from his cigarette. When he exhaled his breath intermingled with the hazy, violet smoke. “Rest assured that I have a reason for sending Samnaea to Orias, and if you are half the leader I thought you were, you might be capable of figuring it out on your own.”

  I frowned, scathed. “I wasn’t questioning you.”

  “You were, but it’s fine.” He gave me a charming smile, the very smile that had made my heart sigh so many years ago. “I’m not sending you to Orias, and that’s final. I’ve wasted too many resources on you already.”

  “What kind of resources?”

  He didn’t answer my question and instead smoked the last of his cigarette in silence. After a while I stood, heading inside.

  “Are you leaving?” he called from the veranda.

  I wasn’t giving up that easily. “No. Where do you keep your liquor?”

  Lucifer hesitated, and I could picture his confused stare. “You want to drink with me?”

  “I want to stay the night,” I said, breathing in. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

  Alcohol would soften him up, ease him into a more agreeable state. I was sure that he already knew of my plan, but I was also sure that he couldn’t pass up on my offer. Hopefully once we were in his bed, he wouldn’t care anymore. At the very least I’d get good, rough sex and several orgasms out of it. At the very most I’d be headed to Orias tomorrow morning.

  His response was latent, but then I heard the door to the veranda slide shut and the hiss of the lock. That was enough for me to continue uncorking the bottle of wine in my hands. Let the festivities begin.

  Maybe manipulation was my thing after all.

  IX

  WAR PAINT

  Qaira Eltruan—;

  “ONCE THE SIGNAL FLASHES GREEN, you’re on,” said the Chief Analyst, nearly shouting over the automated sounds of fingers hitting keys on the sea of computer terminals behind him.

  Naberius and Belial stood vigilant at the front of the room, recording bots hovering eye-level around them, awaiting their cue. Belial seemed excited, while Naberius looked like he was about to vomit.

  I’d cast a critical gaze to anyone in power shy of the camera; once upon a time I’d hated public speaking—broadcast or in real time—but at least I’d had the wits to pretend otherwise. Archdemon Uhnem was showing his stripes, or lack thereof.

  We were a day out from the Anevhin Cataract, our next targeted zone. Everyone on Ezekiel mutually anticipated an enemy army waiting for us, but our reinforcements were strong. There was s
till a chance that we could lose, but life was always a gamble.

  I glanced at the time on the holopanel nearest me. In just under an hour I had to be in the conference room, briefing my team on their future role in our upcoming scuffle. But all I could think about was Oraniquitis, wandering Ezekiel somewhere, and the inevitable moment when the Court of Enigmus would crash this party and kill her.

  Kill Leid.

  I thought of Oraniquitis, her black eyes tracing the horizon. She’d worn a look resembling that of my wife.

  It’d been hours since she’d presented herself to us, yet not a hair on anyone’s head had been touched. She agreed to help us, only if I reciprocated. The Scarlet Queen wasn’t as crazy as I thought.

  Yahweh, seated at the center pew, turned to look at me.

  My skin pricked with the warning that I was being watched. I kept forgetting what he was now. I had to steel my thoughts around him, like Adrial, or else he’d sense my emotions. There was no privacy on this ship anymore.

  “Hurry up,” I said, pointing at the time.

  “You can’t rush this!” cried Belial, already in theater mode, speaking with his hands and eyes. “Give him a few more minutes; he has to get it perfect. A single mistake could lose us the war.”

  I shot Naberius a disgusted look. “He’s about to puke. Perfection isn’t going to happen; not in a few minutes, not in a few millennia.”

  Belial waved his cane at me with an aggravated hiss. “Can someone please remove him? He’s giving off negative vibes and it’s ruining the atmosphere.”

  “Can’t you just do the speech?” begged Naberius.

  “He can’t,” interjected Yahweh. “You’re the Archdemon of Lohr. You need to address your own people.”

  Exasperated, Naberius pointed at Belial. “He’s the Archdemon of Tehlor! Which, if I know my proper geography, is the layer we are currently flying over! If anything, Belial should speak with me.”