by Cate Corvin
"Of course you are." Belial looked like he just managed to resist rolling his eyes skywards. "Is there anything you didn't do while we were apart?"
I looked down at his chest again. "Well... I managed to piss off Satan, as well as Lucifer and Azazel, but that's about it."
"You have a talent for it." He backtracked as soon as he saw the look on my face. "I don't mean that in a bad way. It's one of the reasons I wanted you so damn much. You fell into Hell and took over."
I managed a tiny smile. I would be a team player, but I didn't think I'd ever manage to completely stomp out my need to take care of things myself. It just wasn't the way I was made.
"Well, hopefully they see why I chose to do that. It was for Tascius. Besides, I have a plan that we don't need the Sword of Mourning for."
Belial leaned on one of the doors, slowly pushing it open. "You always have a plan, angry angel."
My stomach flipped abruptly as he pulled me inside the Nightside arena. I pressed a hand to it, willing the nausea away. Was I really so nervous I felt like I was going to throw up everywhere?
I knew I'd fucked up, but surely they'd see why Tascius needed to be made whole. There was no reason to feel sick to death over what I'd done.
As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that my wing-framed throne wasn't sitting empty.
Tascius was on it, his arms resting on his knees, his head bowed so all I could see of him was his silver hair. The white wings that framed his shoulders cast a faint aura around him.
The longer he had them, the more he looked like the archangels. But no matter how he felt, no matter where he came from, he would never be like them. After years spent with Gabriel, I knew there was no resemblance between father and son.
"It's a beautiful sight," Belial breathed, his brilliant eyes focused on Gabriel's gilded wings. A slight grin spread across his face, the expression morphing from pleasure to wickedness. "Knowing that prick will never fly again was worth every second of pain."
Tascius raised his head as our voices reached him. The darkness had left his eyes. He got to his feet and crossed the floor to us, taking my other hand and standing so I was sandwiched between them. "How did you do it?" he asked.
I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb, surreptitiously checking him. He'd calmed down, though God only knew how many fighters he'd had to tear through to finally work it out. He leaned into me the tiniest bit, just enough to let me know he was fine.
"I used the chains that had kept Yraceli imprisoned." Vicious pleasure filled Belial's voice. "They were designed to hold down both demons and angels. He did get several good cuts in, but Gabriel's downfall was always destined to be his own vanity and pride."
Tascius gazed at the wings. "Make him suffer. He deserves it. I'd do it myself, but I don't think I could hold out as long as he deserves."
I felt, rather than saw, them glance at each other over the top of my head.
"If that's what you want," Belial said, sounding oddly neutral for a man who thrived on drawing out torture.
Tascius finally tore his gaze from the wings. "It is. I've spent a lifetime imagining what I'd do to the man who left my mother to suffer. He deserves every ounce of pain she had to endure."
He bent down and kissed my cheek, then my mouth. "Vyra was looking for you, friend."
The last thing I wanted to do was leave either of them, but my stomach had moved past nausea and was twisting itself into knots. Maybe it was a sign that I needed to face the music, and if anyone would know where Azazel was, she would.
"I'll go find her." I kissed them both, and gave Belial a narrow-eyed look as I ascended the stairs. "Don't you dare go anywhere. Not a single step outside those gates."
He gave me his crooked grin. "I won't even go near them."
I sighed in relief and raced up the rest of the steps, fighting off a wave of dizziness when I reached the top.
What the hell was happening to me?
Vyra wasn't in her bedroom, but when I pushed open the door to mine, she popped up from my bed with a look of profound relief. "Oh thank fuck you're back," she said, talking so quickly her words were almost blurred together.
"What's wrong?" I leaned on the door frame, taking a deep gulp of air as another wave of dizziness came over me.
For once, my sharp-eyed friend didn't seem to notice anything out of sorts. She pulled the door shut behind us and dropped her voice.
"I didn't notice until after Tascius got back. He was losing it, so they brought him down to the training grounds to work his rage off, and…”
"Where are they?" I asked, determined to get this over with. I couldn't live with this level of guilt if it was making me sick. I had to tell them why I’d done it.
Vyra shook her head, making her silver-white hair spill all over her shoulders. Her bat-like wings were quivering. "Azazel had to return to Blackchapel to call back the Grigori, and Lucifer had to... he had to return to the Pit. Just come look at this, please, but don't get too close."
She was really freaking me out, which overtook my disappointment to hear they'd managed to evade me again. I draped an arm around the succubus's shoulders, as much for her comfort as to keep myself upright as my head swam.
The light in my bedroom was dimmer than usual, which was surprising given the eternal semi-twilight of the Nightside. Until she led me to the window.
My mouth dropped open. Against her explicit orders, I braced myself on the windowsill, looking out into the courtyard garden.
Or rather, what had once been the courtyard garden.
Thorny, blackened vines climbed up the trunk of the willow tree and along the walls. Spiky leaves grew in a riot, and the black roses I'd come to hate had burst into full bloom, releasing their fetid smell into the air. Every climbing bramble had choked the life out of the glowing plants that had lived here only a day ago. Even the willow's long, thin leaves were slowly darkening.
I looked down at the rose nearest me, its petals crawling with beetles. My fists tightened on the sill.
How fucking dare he?
"I gave the Chainlings orders to rip it all out and burn it, but we're running out of time, Melisande." Vyra unhooked my clawed fingers from the sill and drew me away. "He's not going to wait much longer to make his move."
I gritted my teeth. My face felt frozen in a permanent snarl. There was no way in Hell I was going to let Satan drive me away, not with his implicit threats, nor with his disgusting flowers.
He might've been here first, but if there was one thing I was good at, it was exterminating pieces of shit with extreme prejudice.
"That's fine," I said, my voice sounding unnaturally tense and gravelly to my own ears. "Let him make his move. I'll cut off his head and shove it up his own ass."
Vyra looked pained. "It's not that easy. What if- no, hear me out- what if we all just... left? We could go to Tuonela, or Yomi... somewhere far away."
I shook my head before she finished speaking. "I'm not asking all of you to leave your homes and run away with me just because I happen to be a magnet for dickheads. They've been planning this for a long time, and I intend to see it through alongside them."
She frowned and flicked a beetle off the windowsill, clearly disapproving.
"I don't run, Vyra," I said gently. "You wouldn't be happy leaving everyone and everything you know. Who's to say the rulers of Tuonela and Yomi aren't just as terrible? Haru left Yomi, and if it was too much for an asshole like him, it's probably even worse than Dis."
That got a tiny smile out of her.
"If you feel safer living in Blackchapel, then that's where I want you to be. But I'm not leaving Dis. I'm going to stay with them and clean house."
My stomach knotted again and beads of cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Vyra's rose-colored eyes finally narrowed as she took in what I'd tried to hide. "Are you sick?"
I shook my head, but she didn't stop with her laser-like scrutiny. "I'll feel a lot better once I talk to Azazel and Luci
fer. If we're going to do this, we need to be together. You were right. I need to shelve my pride and stop doing things without thinking."
"That's because I'm always right," she said, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead.
"This is just guilt. The physical manifestation of guilt eating away at me from the inside."
"You're not hot," she mused. "And of course you feel some guilt, but what you did, you did for love. Tascius is the way he was meant to be." Her voice dropped. "No winged demon should be separated from that part of themselves. Not being able to fly- it's like being dead. You're missing a huge part of yourself."
I'd never seen Vyra fly. Something Azazel said came to mind- that his sister didn't like to fly. Not that she couldn't.
I realized there were depths to Vyra I hadn't seen. Depths she might never let me see.
"Vyra, are you-?"
"Don't change the subject," she said quickly, cutting me off. "Of course you feel guilty, but you did a good thing. Honestly, though, I think we should call in a healer to look at you."
"I don't need a healer," I grumbled. "I was fine this morning."
I wondered what else she was hiding under all the pink and glitter, what dark things went on inside that pretty head of hers... and if she'd ever open to me.
Someone knocked on the door. "Are you hiding from us, angel?"
"Is that Belial?" Vyra asked, and I thanked the Chain that he'd chosen that moment to interrupt. Maybe she'd forget about the healer if she could get the happy ending she'd wanted to see.
"I brought him back," I said, forcing a wide grin. "The family's almost together again."
She strode across the room and threw open the door. Both Belial and Tascius stood there, surprised to see Vyra rather than me in front of them.
"You're back!" she said brightly, but I swiftly blocked the door before they could come inside.
"Let's go down to the arena. We have a lot of things to plan together."
Belial was perfectly happy to go anywhere with me, and Vyra caught my gaze and read my thoughts there before pulling my door shut behind us.
If Belial and Tascius saw the roses overtaking my garden, they'd be ready to go to war that day, and I still needed to let Azazel and Lucifer know that our plans weren't over yet before we went that far.
Our plans weren't over by a long shot.
5
Lucifer
I hung in the air a mile over the Eighth Circle, gritting my teeth and staring across the abyss at the other side of Dis. Somewhere in that tangle of electric lights and shadows was the Nightside Arena, where Melisande probably was by now.
Unless Belial had managed to find another way to chain her down in the Brightside, which I wouldn’t put past him.
My seething anger from earlier had finally dissipated to a low hum of annoyance. So we didn't have the Sword of Mourning, the weapon I could use to finally cut down my father. It was irritating, but not the end of the world.
But it was impossible to maintain the rage at the looks of wild happiness on their faces as they flew. She might not be able to see it yet, but I'd seen it, clear as day, as brilliant as the halo of light I'd once possessed myself as an archangel.
Tascius was healing again and regaining that heavenly glow. Soon he'd be as powerful as the archangels themselves, with the bonus of the Nephilim's unstoppable wrath and healing ability.
I expelled a long breath that turned white in the coolness of the atmosphere. Instead of rage, I should feel thankful. She'd have someone powerful to defend her if my father grew tired of letting his eye wander and decided to act on his corrupt desires instead.
But it still ate at me, that she hadn't trusted us with her plan. Did she honestly believe we would've said no?
It took me less than a minute of reflection to arrive at the grim answer to that.
Of course we would've said no. Not when the Sword of Mourning was so integral to our plans. She might believe she could still hold the Sword of Light, but the risk of her being burned alive was too great to even consider that idea.
As much as I hated to admit any empathy with my old nemesis, I thought I understood a little of how Belial had felt when she'd tricked her way out of his arena. Not having her trust us despite the things we'd gone through together stung, pricking at my conscience.
But she had him again. She had to be happy now, while I had to descend into that abyss.
I'd been gone too long. The summons had come loud and clear, cutting through my shock at the sight of seeing Gabriel maimed and bound by Belial. The tattoos etched over my body burned as hot as hellfire, sinking into my bones and constricting like vises.
My father had called, and if I failed to obey the summons, they would eventually cut through me like knives.
I took another deep breath of clean, untainted air before circling over the center of Dis, tucking my wings, and plunging straight down.
The wind screamed in my ears as I descended, ripped at my feathers, whipped at my face. The blue flames dancing far below drew me like a lodestone, and I kept my eyes open as I drove through them.
They felt like ice, so cold they ripped the breath from my lungs, sub-zero temperatures forming an instant glaze of ice over my entire body. Very few demons aside from the Princes would be able to make it through the barrier.
I spread my wings with a sharp crack, sending shards of ice flying everywhere when I hit the floor of the Pit moments later with an earth-shaking landing.
Ice tinkled to the obsidian floor and melted instantly as I straightened up. Unlike the layer of arctic flames above, the palace beneath the abyss was exactly what the human mythologies had thought of as Hell: so sweltering hot the frost on my skin liquified immediately and mixed with my sweat.
I didn't want to look at the walls. Satan's palace was loud, louder than the arena of the Seventh Circle multiplied by a thousand, because the souls of the damned were fused with the obsidian like living sculptures, eternally writhing over each other and screaming their agony to ears that thought it was music.
The palace rose around the Pit in tiers, with those twisted souls merged to every wall, and far above the cold flames danced like the aurora to the sounds of their pain.
I flicked my wings and the water droplets sizzled on the burning-hot floor. My tattoos were pulsing, squeezing the breath from my lungs. Satan's impatience was growing by the minute.
I strode across the wide floor to a set of stairs, nearly a hundred yards across, that led still further down. One of the souls fused to a nearby tower reached out for me, her blank eyes gazing right through me as she screamed for water.
There was no water here. No reprieve. Only endless thirst and agony.
A brilliant flash of color caught my eye in a tall, thin window set in the tower, there and gone in a flash. So he hadn't run through his current crop of Brides. A demon from one of the upper Circles was trapped in there, knowing she would die soon, knowing it would be only days before she was summoned down these same steps.
She couldn't leave on her own. The door to the tower was overgrown with black roses. I'd seen an escape attempt once with my own eyes, and witnessed how the thorns grew to nearly a foot long to impale the escapee before Satan molded her in his clawed hands and crushed her into the walls like putty.
The idea of Melisande being brought here was sickening. It was impossible to hold onto the last of my rage, knowing she was doomed for this if my father had his way. All that was left was a hollow acceptance.
We'd find another way. We had to, or we'd die trying. Perhaps Vyra would take my advice and convince her to leave.
Another pulsing wave of heat went through my tattoos. He knew I was here, and knew I was taking my sweet time coming to him.
I turned away from the tower of the Brides and descended the stairs. Whoever she was, she was on her own for now.
There was nothing but endless darkness as I left the palace behind, but something enormous stirred in that darkness. I had the fleeting impres
sion of scaly, rust-colored limbs sliding over each other, and the sound of screams had faded to a background roar. Now there was mostly the sound of those scales sliding over each other, a dry rasp that made me grit my teeth.
A head that could swallow several Princes whole in one gulp finally slid over one of the steps nearest me. With the light of the blue fire above, I could just barely make out the skeletal ridges of the draconic features, the flare of ragged scales over the cheekbones and forehead, the glint of long, snarled teeth.
One of his eyes flicked open, the striated pupil condensing until it was as thin as my finger, even though his eyeball was over a foot wide. The color reminded me of Pestilence's rotting horse: a sick shade of green, the color of flyblown corpses.
"You finally obeyed the summons, my son."
Satan's true voice was nothing like the quiet, rasping tones of the puppet-bodies he used to walk the Circles above. It was thunder and trumpets, shaking the breath out of my lungs and shifting my organs.
I wiped away a spurt of blood from my nose with the back of my hand. "I came as soon as you called," I said, keeping my voice neutral. I'd only let my hate for him shine through clearly once.
It wasn't an experience I cared to repeat until I had a sword capable of killing him in my hand.
"You came when it suited you." The Dragon shifted again. Another head slid over the first, keeping its eyes tightly shut against the light, however faded and dim that light might be.
"I do need to be present in order to run the Circles," I said acidly, but I wondered what he wanted me for. He had Brides; he had all the entertainment he needed.
Perhaps I was the entertainment today.
That theory seemed more likely as a clawed hand the size of an ox scrabbled over the lower stairs. It was ridged with those rusty scales, but each finger was long, almost human-like despite their beastliness.
A claw that could rip right through my abdomen tapped a stair, sending out a series of hollow-sounding tinks.
"Run the Circles?" Satan laughed, and more blood gushed out of my nose and dripped over my mouth and chin from the sonic force of it. "From... Acheron, perhaps? Do you run them from the city of those cunts with their short and blinded Sight?"
