V.
The next twilight the Devil woke up in his lush tent Soneillon had carried along with his troops. He stayed longer than necessary under the soft fur plaid and the fine woven sheets made from wooly shrubs. Luxury in midst of austerity. He stretched his muscular body, enjoying the sensation after yesterday's battle. He felt well rested and invigorated. His clothing lay over the wooden lectus at the feet of his large cot, already cleaned and polished. On the small table at the side he found a ceramic cup and a pot containing hot moss infusion. He sniffed at it. The moss disguised the sulphur aftertaste and he poured the liquid into the light brown cup, in its simplicity similar to Japanese ceramics. It made him chuckle how the torturers had copied the little luxuries or habits he had 'imported' from his various excursions to Earth or they had seen in the hell loops - and how those had trickled down over time to the humbler households ignoring the origin. Moss could never replace camellia sinensis, but it altered the taste of water sufficiently. He sipped, carefully holding it between his ochre and sienna patterned claws. To a point they still resembled hands and had not lost their full mobility. Nevertheless he was in desperate need of a good manicure.
The Devil looked around and his eyes rested on the thick fur carpets covering the interior walls. The ancient Mongols would have fancied it, even if their yurts had been far more lavish. However, they lived in them and this was simply a military tent, although a very cozy one. He finished his cup before he looked for a copper plate to use as a mirror. No luck there. There was no polished surface he could use. It would need to wait. He looked down on his body. It was his usual dark red and partially ochre devilish hotness, no changes there. Lucifer had promised himself he would not change into his angelic self until he had punished Dromos, succeeded to unite all denizens of Hell behind him and secure his position for good - he intended to keep that one, for he didn't want Charlie to take his place, nor Amenadiel. He was now fully aware it was his responsibility, and his responsibility alone. Nobody else should be cursed into this existence where one had to guard one's back at all times.
Cleaning himself with a cloth and some water he had poured out of another jug into a washing bowl, he performed an extensive cleaning ritual to purge himself of any ash flake capable of infecting neglected injuries from sharp hell blades and got dressed. This time he chose to wear a fitting woven shirt under the new hooded and padded leather jacket that almost reached down to the knees. Vozothin had outdone himself decorating it with at least a dozen fibulae made of engraved bone and geometrical symbols of power branded on the cuffs of the sleeves. Pants and boots were yesterday's - scratches and tears symbol of half sidereal in battle.
Outside the tent life was already busy. Demons were carrying or storing provisions, polishing weapons, getting ready to advance further and clashing with another legion of adversary Lilim.
It never stopped to amaze Lucifer how much stamina demons had in comparison to humans since he had been forced to take his place back. The precinct would have had a collective hangover or, and that was more likely, ended up in an emergency room due to intoxication. Before his travels to Earth the only being to compare demons with had been him and they had always looked weak. A mistake.
The Lilim-possessed corpses would have destroyed California, nay, Earth, if he would not have had put a stop to it.
Clarity washed over him. Dromos would have reigned merciless in both realms and Father would not have moved even one tiny toe to protect his little, now neglected toys. It did not matter that humanity was destroying Earth, mass destruction had happened before. Living creatures were moved like chess figures, even if they had free will, when Father decided it. Lord Acton was right when he assessed that power tended to corrupt, and absolute power corrupted absolutely.
He needed to be just. Demons respected that more than power.
Stepping out, he inhaled the scent of brimstone. Right. The battle had ignited some and it had burned for a good part of the resting cycle, and well past twilight. He called for his ride and jumped onto it. It was the sign to pack and to search for more of Dromos supporters.
Generally demons were like hounds following a blood trail or a savory sausage. They knew where to find their prey instinctively. Lucifer Morningstar let some of the best trackers and skinners lead the way, following them on his giant afanc. He sat upright, barely moving an inch and his features unreadable, quite akin to a Carnelian statue, magnificent and eternal in its own right.
Ash was whirling, forming patterns, not unlike milk in a steaming coffee mug, the trek pushing through, disturbing the light grey forms like a teaspoon. The Devil was evoking the smell of espresso macchiato in the morning and the Detective's potion with that dreadful but sweet smelling soy milk, which wasn't milk at all, as he would have frequently pointed out to Paul, the handsome and fitness-enthusiastic barista, who would in return chuckle and nod, and after some weeks call it soy extract - just for his peace of mind. Paul then had to add a sweet sentence on the cup with a heart or a smiley and Lucifer would leave a juicy tip in the box, always reciprocating the toothpaste ad smile of the man and once in a while gifting him with seductive fluttering eyelashes. Poor Paul! He had been stuck in that coffee shop for years and only found some commercials instead of a main role in a movie. He could have connected him, but he had been a selfish Devil, not wanting to let go of such skilled and friendly staff. Paul had very skilled hands – beautifully manicured and cared for – and remembering him was much safer than the final recipient of the caramel drizzle latte.
Glass shattering screams pulled the Devil out of his daydreaming and the cohort next to him to a halt.
Female and demonic, no animal screeched like it, and they were not coming from one single being. What had happened? Had they been too careless? Apparently.
Were the females actually kidnapped or was it merely a distraction?
A demon wanted to rush forward and shouted a name, some of the screams obviously belonging to a kin, but was pushed to the floor by a fellow combatant. Most likely it would turn out to be a trap.
Lucifer ordered his warriors to split up into three groups, the brothers circling the wasteland further ahead on each side and Soneillon's passing straight through yesterday's battleground and beyond. The Devil sent out five demons to follow the screams, careful, in hiding and not rushing in.
Soneillon was again surprised of how composed and levelheaded the Devil had returned. In earlier times the Lord of Hell would have rushed to meet the supposed danger and put it out immediately, not thinking of the consequences. It had a somewhat soothing effect on the lower demons, tired of the visceral demands of the Lilim, many too young to remember the former reckless and often condescending behavior of the fallen celestial. Soneillon remembered that the Goddess of All Creation had escaped many centuries ago. Did she reach him? Had he fought her? The news of Eve summoning Dromos to help Lucifer had either been a blunt lie to be able to go topside, disobeying explicit orders, as apparently the abdication had been, or his Lord had had a rather sudden change of heart, something Soneillon couldn't believe after observing his Sire's behavior. The Morningstar had always been a formidable warrior, but after last sidereal the centurion could appreciate his tactics and annihilation of the adversary's troops, any doubt on a dim state of mind had been dispersed like spores in the howling winds around Dis. He had returned altered in body and mind, but instead of being weak and "mushy" as Dromos had put it, he was now almost as frightening as his father, ice cold to a certain degree and with a plan. Soneillon expected a more instinct driven sovereign when he admired his new, far improved complexion which had awestricken virtually all demons and seduced more females than the angelic form. It was most certainly one of the reasons the lower demons followed the Devil almost blindly. They saw themselves in him.
The Devil observed how willingly orders were complied with - a word from him and all moved without fault, proud and eager to battle again – and they hadn't been distracted by the screams. This was favorable.
The warriors pushed toward the location where he expected to encounter the usurper and his fellow Lilim. They advanced fast along the Great Valley and beyond, over the wastelands without encountering any resistance. Four twilights later they stood in front of a structure, unknown to Lucifer. It copied the basaltic steles of the torture chambers, but it was constructed as a fortress apparently. Dromos hid inside according to intel received from spies. The demon was obviously afraid to see the Devil eye to eye and this cowardice would cost him more followers. Lucifer only had to wait; time played into his hands.
He looked up the walls. For him they posed no challenge, but he wanted his legion to ransack the fortress and getting their trophies, like hyenas taking game from a big cat and fighting between each other over a juicy marrowbone from it. They enjoyed a good fight and looked forward to show who was stronger or smarter, or more devious. Some took pride in running against the gates and shaking them, others made some ladders and tried to get a hold of the place climbing over the walls while the inhabitants defended themselves with fiery arrows and other sharp and burning objects.
"Dromos!" he bellowed.
The name resounded at the walls and was returned as echo, shaking the grounds.
"I have come for what is mine."
The Devil inhaled and spat large flames against the wooden portal which caught fire immediately, amber tongues licking their way up along heavy iron locks and hinges, celebrated by the demons behind him.
Villagers brought a battering ram in place while buckets of tar poured down from the defensive walls of the stronghold. They caught fire from the portal and the Lilim on the covert way were unable to extinguish them, making them ran up to the counterguard from where their defense was much more difficult to hold up.
The king's infantry under Purcel's order marched in pig formation - he had joked about it, sharing the sense of humor of his brother - against the enemy's portal. Strong velites were throwing spears over the wall, opening the way to the warriors behind. Their light armor clang but the arrows from above had lost their force and precise trajectory, and so they proceeded swiftly.
But the portal did not fall. Not yet.
The demon soldiers had to climb the tared walls and were exposed to the still well armed Lilim inside. Lucifer could hear their battle cry, the sounds of blades hitting another, wooden clubs and stick finding their target, as well as the screams of the injured, the cursing and roaring. It did not take long for him to bare his teeth and rush to the wooden structure, his sheer force breaking the locks and splintering logs and planks. Did Dromos want him to knock down gates? Here was one down, the lower demons pouring into the moat, making the ones within fighting fiercely, but slowly being overrun, severely injured by spears and sharp blades and subsequently killed. Demons did not take prisoners.
Lucifer Morningstar's flaming red eyes searched for the usurper. He took two treads at a time, dodging razor-sharp blades of fighting combatants, running along bastions and ramparts, looking for a way into the inner hexagon where he assumed Dromos and his most trusted Lilim awaited battle. He wouldn't call him a coward, not yet. It was most likely strategy.
Waiting like a moray eel in its crevice. Dromos was very much alike that fish: an opportunistic, carnivorous predator. He was feeding on the fear of others and relishing in torture while waiting for the optimal moment to make a move. 'Very much like his former king' the Devil mused, 'but a treacherous liar'.
"Dromos! Show yourself! Or are you afraid, you disgraceful coward?" The King of Hell stood tall in front of an entry to the structure. "I am waiting!"
A moment later he knocked down the iron door and stared into the pitch-black nothingness. The Hexagon was empty. The information given had been misleading and they had been losing their time on some stupid Lilim who were naïve enough to be lured in false promises of honor and wealth and left to perish by his hand or his demons. He had been outsmarted! Wrath grew in him and inner flames almost consumed him. The so longed return to Southern California was again out of reach. He cursed and couldn't even blame his Father for having been too trusting. Gathering his thoughts and suppressing his emotions somewhat, he left the building. He would need information of the demons left here.
"Stop the fighting immediately!" He shouted over the fortress and every demon all of a sudden stood still, like frozen in time. "Followers of Dromos! If you surrender and pledge loyalty to me, Lucifer, King of Hell, I will not incinerate you nor will you be slaughtered disgracefully by gatherers, blacksmiths or tanners." He took his hood off and showed them his devilish features. "I am expecting you here before me at once!"
Various defenders of the fortress presented themselves and kneeled before him, bowing their heads, just to be beheaded by fighters who still supported the usurper. Heads rolled against the wall and down the stairs, bouncing like balls while their helmets were clinking, making sounds comparable to heavy church bells, their eyes staring blankly into the void. Blood spattered around, making the stony gangways slippery and sticky at the same time.
Dromos' Lilim jumped over the slumped corpses and rushed towards him, blades and axes held high. Lucifer grinned fiercely. He hadn't wanted it any other way! Reaching for his steel and immediately slashing around him, cutting whatever limb came close to it, he almost fell into a bloodthirsty frenzy after having tasted the first drop on his lips, but succeeded to hold himself back. The Devil delivered punishment, but unlike in the first battle he did not truly enjoy the slaughter. The Lilim here were tricked by Dromos as well and in another time and place they might have been loyal to him.
Therefore Lucifer Morningstar did not slay the metal-and-leather clad warriors; he left it to the lower demons, knowing it would be extremely humiliating. Lilim thought of themselves to be the pinnacle of Hell. This would be tormenting punishment.
Angry screams filled the air but were soon drowned by the war cries of Purcel's people.
When the ashfall had increased so much that sight was almost impossible, the fighting subsided. Only two handful of Dromos' followers had surrendered to the Devil and survived. It would suffice to obtain any knowledge on the insurgents whereabouts. Hopefully.