Morning Star

by Nazri Noor

  “You think that killing my servants slowed us down. You think my detachment from your alraune friend means that this is over.” I didn’t like the way the grin spread itself slowly across his lips, creeping like the carpet of flowers threatening to choke the city below. “Dearest, sweet Mason. We’ve only just begun.”

  Belphegor spread his hands, and the first red petal fell.

  “No,” I muttered. “No, no.”

  The Prince of Sloth turned in place, swaying in a gentle wind as flowers issued from his bare hands, from the soles of his feet, tumbling from under the locks of his hair, like a great, ruby dragon shedding its scales. The petals drifted like bloody snow, a storm of crimson flowers, some falling above the city itself, others carried off by the wind.

  Belphegor hummed to himself as he went on his endless pirouette, a blissful smile playing on his lips. “Valero, then California. Then the country, then the world.” His eyes met mine as he spun in place. “It’s curious, isn’t it? The places the wind can take us.”

  I didn’t need any big, fancy speeches to tell me what those petals would do if they took root. I slashed at a cluster of them that flew too near my body, but all that did was toss them about uselessly in the wind. The Lorica couldn’t handle this shit. No one could. Not their international body, not even the Hooded Council in Europe, not anyone. Belphegor was going to put the world to sleep, claim power on his own terms, and siphon the life out of everyone and everything.

  There was only one thing to do: rend and smash. I flew forward, my wings beating desperately against the wind to reach Belphegor, to aim for his heart. The sword in my hand was blazing with white fire, my skin almost to the point of burning from the searing heat. But inside, I could hear faint voices. Without words, the sword was telling me to kill, destroy, to raze and ruin.

  Yet every slash, every slice I attempted against the prince was met with derisive laughter, the brilliant cocoon of energy around him forming an invulnerable sheath. My muscles screamed as I fought, my skin beading with cold sweat. I couldn’t punch through. I thought I would crush my teeth to powder with the frustration, the sword’s hilt cutting into my skin as I gripped it harder and harder. Who was I, anyway? What was I against the might of one of the Seven?

  “A light in the darkness.”

  That voice. It was the sword. Before this point, every little thing it had told me was relayed as an emotion, a compulsion, the momentary glimmer of an image in my mind’s eye. But now, actual words.

  “A light in the darkness,” I echoed under my breath, petals swirling around me, the night a surging vortex of red. And then it happened.

  The flames on the sword built to a roaring head, raging with white heat, licking at my wrist, my arm, consuming me. I screamed in agony, in terror, the sigils on my chest searing as painfully as the day they’d appeared on my skin, branding me for the abomination I was.

  “Not an abomination,” the voice told me. “A blessing.”

  A blessing? No, a blight on the world. A curse. But nothing I could have ever done in my short life could compare to the complete devastation Belphegor would cause if his plan came to fruition. Time, no, life itself would grind to a halt, every human withering slowly in Sloth’s blissful, fragrant paralysis. No. I could never be as terrible as Belphegor. Taint, curse, abomination that I was – I still had work to do.

  I cried out in anger, in sheer pain, lifting the flaming sword to the heavens, howling as my mind begged for whichever archangel owned this terrible relic to come reclaim it. Yet I knew they wouldn’t come. This was something I’d stolen from them, fire from the gods, something that shouldn’t have ever come into mortal hands. And it was consuming me. It was killing me.

  The world burst into white as the sword’s fullest fury unleashed. I could hardly hear my own screams over the horrific outpouring of energies, a blast so powerful that I should have been obliterated on the spot. Yet light kept spilling from the blade, piercing the dark of night, reaching down to the world below. I gasped as I saw the entire city, even the woods and mountains beyond lit up like pure ivory – from darkest night to starkest white. Even the shadows were gone.

  A light in the darkness.

  And there, layered just above the terror in my voice, were Belphegor’s own screams. The sword’s rush of power kept flowing. It felt as though I was touching the heart of the sun itself. I was going to lose that hand for sure – if, by some miracle, I managed to live at all.

  The sword’s light flickered, then faded. I caught a final glimpse of Belphegor before my eyes fell shut, my body giving out. His clothes had been torn from his body, the skin seared from most of his torso, his arms nothing but exposed bone and flesh, purified by the light of divinity. Miraculously, his face had survived, the crimson light gone, his eyes now filled only with tears of terror. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  But more importantly, every petal in sight, even those drifting to earth – even those that had taken root and grown across the city – had burned to ashes. The sword’s power had destroyed them all. Belphegor’s plan was no more.

  As one, the two of us fell back to earth. My wings were nowhere to be found, gone from my shoulders. Was I just too weak to fly? Maybe the sword’s fire had incinerated the corrupted parts of me, taking the nephilim away.

  Did that mean I was going to die? My head turned slightly towards the ground thousands of feet beneath me, and I chuckled despite the thick lump in my throat. This was it. I was a goner either way.

  Mom, I thought. Dad? I’m coming to see you. I’m coming home.

  28

  I should have passed out from the pressure and speed of the fall, but I was horribly, terribly conscious through it all, waiting for a painful death when I inevitably struck the streets below. I wondered if I would break through the roof of a car, instantly killing its driver and causing a pileup. Or if I fell just right, I could be skewered on a flagpole. How would they even get my corpse off it? Man, what a way to go.

  Belphegor shrieked as he plummeted, the light of the archangel’s sword not only burning his flowers and most of his body, but apparently nulling his demonic magics as well. Whoever the hell owned the damned thing had to have been so powerful that their leftover essence in the blade could actually hurt – no, absolutely debilitate a demon prince, a member of the Seven.

  But my descent slowed. I was still falling, though not quite as fast. Slowly I realized that there were hands clasped underneath me, carrying me by my back. The air rushed and sounded with the beat of great, huge wings, each flap sending a gust across my skin that made me shiver.

  Far below, from a distance away, I heard a sound that would infest my nightmares. Bones crunched and meat squelched as Belphegor’s husk struck concrete. His wails filled the night, as pained, desperate, and begging as something human. The thing carrying me in its arms chuckled.

  Was it an angel? It had to be. I forced my eyes open, almost immediately needing to shut them again when all I saw was an overwhelming radiance, a blazing light not dissimilar to what the sword had produced.

  The sword which, I noticed, was still grasped in my fingers. I sputtered softly, laughing to myself. Even plunging to my death, something in my body was trying to hold desperately onto it. I kept my eyes shut, allowing my savior to carry me. Savior, I thought, little dribbles of hope filling the cavity left by fear in my chest. Maybe it wasn’t my time yet.

  Who else could it be but Raziel, though? I relaxed as I descended, jerking slightly when we touched land, when I was laid slowly onto what felt like a silken bed. Through my eyelids I could tell that the light had faded, and it was okay to open my eyes again.

  “Thanks, Raz,” I mumbled. “You really saved my bacon.”

  I blinked, my vision still blurry, seeing nothing but the outline of someone humanoid. Somewhere nearby, Belphegor was whimpering, sticky sobs emanating from his ruined lips. I could hear the voices of my friends whispering hurriedly to each other. I made out Florian’s words clearest of all,
even though he had to croak them out.

  “Mason,” he said. “Dude. That’s not Raziel.”

  My fingers dug into the satiny surface that I now knew to be flower petals. I sprang to my feet, fighting the dizzying rush of blood that shot straight to my head. My shoes scuffed at the ground as I stumbled away from the thing that had rescued me, away from the bed of flowers. Slowly my sight returned, and I could see that these blooms were pink. Not Belphegor’s poison, just some peonies that Loki had planted there.

  But more importantly, there was the person who had saved me, standing barefoot on the flowerbed. My breath caught in my throat as I studied him, taking in the impossibility of his long, golden hair. It flowed down his back, down to his ankles, nearly touching the ground. I couldn’t tell where his hair ended and his wings began.

  Those were gleaming and metallic, too, every feather sculpted out of filaments so delicate that they could have been wires of the finest gold. The man stood there completely naked, his body lean, his skin smooth, almost pulsing as if with its own radiance, like a lantern illuminated by divine fire. Then his wings unfurled, stretching so long and so high that they shadowed me from the moon. My jaw dropped as I counted them, each wing like a huge, shimmering golden leaf.

  Six. He had six wings.

  My legs buckled. I fell to my knees, my hands cold against the pavement. I felt as though I could be blinded by the archangel’s beauty, but especially his face, which I was only truly seeing for the very first time. His eyes were bright yellow, nearly as gold as his hair and his wings, his features far too flawless to be human. He watched me imperiously, his mouth in a straight, unreadable line.

  I ran my tongue across my lips, tasting salt from new tears, my muscles tightening with awe, wonder, and despair. I’d never seen anyone or anything so beautiful, so perfect, yet terrible, horrific in its majesty.

  “Dear God,” I heard myself mutter.

  The archangel chuckled, his voice like soothing balm, like the sound that silk makes as it rushes over bare skin.

  “God? No, not at all, child. I am the Prince of Pride. I am the Morning Star. My name is Lucifer.”

  29

  My heart lurched as Lucifer took a single step towards me. Where his foot landed, more of the pink flowers bloomed. When he took his next step, those same flowers shriveled, dead in an instant. I scrambled away, stumbling and falling on my butt. Lucifer laughed.

  “Do not be afraid. I saved you, didn’t I? I have no reason to hurt you. In fact, I’m only here to thank you.”

  Yeah, none of that helped. This was Lucifer. Fucking Lucifer, the Morning Star himself. Angels and archangels and demon princes, well and good – but this guy, this guy was all of those things rolled into one. Six wings, man. Six fucking wings. Game over.

  “Th-thank me for what?”

  “For that.” Lucifer cast a finger across the rooftop, at the squirming, writhing pile of agony and screams that used to be Belphegor. “And for finding my sword, of course. It’s been very naughty, hiding from me like that. And you were even naughtier, stealing it from my armories in the first place. Very naughty indeed.” He tutted and waved one chiding finger, then stretched his hand out. “I believe that belongs to me.”

  My hand shook as I lifted the blade and offered it to the King of Hell. I heard no objections from Royce, Maharani, Florian, Artemis, or Quilliam. Certainly not from Belphegor, who probably didn’t even have enough of a mouth left to protest with. Listen, if Lucifer wanted to, he could have easily annihilated everyone in that garden – and the building, and probably the whole city block, if he felt like it. I wasn’t about to play games.

  He sighed as his fingers made contact with the blade, and I watched in horror as the sword entered, tip-first, through his wrist, sheathing itself inside his arm. Within moments the sword was gone, completely absorbed by Lucifer’s body. He shook his glorious mane of hair, sighing pleasurably. As if it was somehow possible, his skin glowed even more.

  “Ah. Much better.” He lowered his eyes to look at me, giving me a smile that was somehow menacing and warm, all at once. “It’s a good thing you were so easy to find.”

  My forehead furrowed in confusion, then I stared down at my wrist, silently cursing Beatrice Rex for making me a lemon. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Don’t be so disappointed. It’s a trinket, as good as a bauble. Just a strip of leather. Nothing but dead skin to me. It might hide you from my lessers, but how could anyone really hope to hide from me, of all people? Besides, what really piqued my interest was my sword coming to life.”

  I raised my arm at him, showing him the back of my wrist. “You – you can see that?”

  Lucifer laughed again. “I see everything, dear boy. I see, for example, that you are slowly and surely coming into your own as a little princeling.” He folded his arms, his eyes drifting over my body appraisingly, and gave me a wide smile. “Your father would be most proud of you – nephew.”

  His mention of that princeling thing alone should have made me shudder. But – but nephew?

  I knew in my heart of hearts that Belphegor would betray us some day. It was inevitable. I only hated that I didn’t prepare for it to happen. Never trust a demon, but especially not a demon prince. Mom did always say to be careful of the company I kept. I looked across the gardens, finding the faces of the meager family I’d built for myself, of the tenuous, perhaps temporary alliances I’d formed with the Lorica, with my nemesis.

  But now, here I was, owing a debt of gratitude to the Devil himself.

  Lucifer lowered his arms, again turning in place, flowers blooming and dying in his wake as he approached Belphegor’s remains. “And now to attend to business.”

  A sound like sobbing emanated from Belphegor’s ruined body, the pile of bone and gore writhing as Lucifer came closer. I took the opportunity to back the hell up, bumping into the huddle of bodies that was my friends, plus the Lorica – a whole gaggle of them, Royce’s newly arrived support team. Florian dug his fingers into my shoulder, and he hugged me in welcome. I squeezed him back, not even caring that I was getting dirt and soil all over what was left of my clothes.

  We turned to watch as Lucifer knelt, extending his hand towards the sludge of Belphegor’s body. He bent closer, whispering and incanting before touching the mess of gore and bone with the tip of his finger. White light pulsed. Lucifer rose to his feet.

  And then it began.

  Belphegor screamed as his twisted body rearranged itself, a baleful, hellish magic stitching his pieces back into something almost humanoid again. He stared down at himself, at the palms of his hands, marveling as his fingers locked back into place, as nails grew over young, new skin. Within a matter of seconds, Belphegor had gone from a pile of dying meat to the three-eyed stoner teenager I knew and loved to hate.

  “Bless you,” Belphegor said, naked and newborn, sobbing as he crawled on all fours to Lucifer’s feet. “Lucifer, bless you. Thank you. I am forever in your debt. Forever in your service.”

  “Groveling does not become you, brother.” Lucifer stretched out his fingers, studying them with the professional interest of a manicurist. “And neither does lying. That’s Beelzebub’s territory. Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

  Belphegor froze, his voice suddenly stuck in his throat, caught there like a little bird. He whimpered. “No. I didn’t do anything wrong. My plan didn’t work, so I didn’t. Didn’t do it. No harm done. Nothing.”

  Lucifer tutted, bending forward at the hip, laying one hand on Belphegor’s forehead. The Prince of Sloth trembled, his face glazed in cold sweat, little tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

  “Please, Lucifer. You must understand. I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to show my worth. Everyone laughs at Sloth. Nobody takes my kingdom seriously. I’m the weakest. I’m the smallest.” It might have been a trick of the light, but Belphegor did seem to shrink as he whimpered. My chest twinged as he sobbed, but I steeled myself again. It was hard no
t to feel so sorry for him. “I’m the weakest,” he repeated, snot dribbling down his face. “I’m the smallest.”

  “What’s that line the humans like to feed each other?” Lucifer turned to me, his hand still absently caressing Belphegor’s skin. “Ah. The meek shall inherit the earth. That’s the one. Contextually, it does have its applications.” He went to his knees, gathering Belphegor’s cheeks in both hands, lifting his face by the chin. Belphegor quivered, his eyes huge in terror, his entire body coated in sweat. “But that doesn’t apply today.”

  “Please. Lucifer. Please.”

  The Prince of Pride shushed the Prince of Sloth as he would a beloved little sibling, sweeping his sweat-logged hair away from his face, revealing the third of Belphegor’s eyes, which wept blood.

  “I only mean to restore the balance of power,” Lucifer murmured. “A gentle reminder, brother: all of it belongs to me.”

  Lightly, ever so lightly, Lucifer pressed a kiss to his brother’s cheek. A tiny mote of white radiance passed between them, a little spark that gently penetrated Belphegor’s skin.

  The night air dropped several degrees, and a shadow passed over the moon. Belphegor shrieked, convulsed, then collapsed to the ground, clutching at his eyes and kicking his legs. The way he squirmed, the way he suffered told me all I needed to know of the pain.

  Lucifer lifted Belphegor into his arms, the Prince of Sloth screaming in agony, blood weeping from each of his three eyes. With a stab of chilling fear I realized that this was how I must have looked just minutes ago, borne in Lucifer’s arms as he saved me and brought me down to earth. The parallel was unsettling, but nowhere near as disturbing as Belphegor’s twitches and howls.