Chapter Fifty Six
People panic, fleeing like mice as a terrifying cloud of angels swoop over the farmland at alarming speeds. Their shadows are like arrows cleaving through the golden sea of wheat. My heart hammers in my chest primitively. Fear exhumes itself at the neat warrior's formation formation they soar towards us in.
Stumbling backwards for cover, I stare dumbly at the approaching brigade, searching for a familiar pair of wings amongst the feathers – I'm not certain if the knowledge that Raffe's not among them is a comfort or a calamity. No last-minute rescues for this girl; I'll have to make for the hills like the rest of them.
I wheel around, unsheathing Emilio's knife as I do so, and involuntarily notice something unimportant and oddly specific in my periphery: Theobella sitting on the pinnacle of the church, watching the approach of the angels calmly. With a start of guilt, I realize I simply don't have time for saving her.
If worst does come to worst and she stupidly sits there, then she'll probably just be reborn again.
If she's not… I'm not utterly certain I'd cry over it. Belle is dead, and my dislike is mounting for Theobella.
People flock behind barricades, and I automatically realize it'd be a poor place to hide. Instead, I pelt for the forest, like several others smarties – true, the barricades have traps designed to snag and snare feathers, but angels can fly over it. The concentrated number of vulnerable people is a danger. It breaks my heart, but I don't have time to warn them.
The angels draw closer and closer. My heart pounds in my chest. I can't properly sprint because I keep looking back to steal glances at them. Just like a bird can't turn its back on a snake, I can't seem to look away from heaven's might.
"Not one flap closer."
It's strange because the voice that echoes over the plain sounds calm, collected, unlike the hoarse shout I would've expected. I screech to a halt, casting uncertain glances towards the sky. The voice had been so loud it seems to echo off the inside of my head, and it'd been blown beyond recognition by the massive increase in sound, but I recognize it, I know I do…
The angels above falter in the strokes of their wings, but the dark-skinned one that must be Titaniel drives them onward with a single bellow.
"Don't you imbeciles listen?"
My mouth drops open. Frantically, I yank my gaze around, searching for the source of the voice I'm now certain I recognize.
A pure white figure slips from the shadows of the trees, striding lazily towards the angels despite the frightened cries of men and the swivel of gun barrels to him. My mouth drops open.
A slender white hand reaches towards the sky, and, with a snap of the fingers that echoes throughout the valley, their guns drop to the ground. Some issue cries of pain, all watching with disbelief as the metal on their guns heats and smokes upon the ground.
"I told you. Shame you didn't listen."
A single angel looms before the rest – the freckled angel, I realize, the one with the spotted wings. And whereas the rest of the angels had halted in their tracks after a warning call from Titaniel, probably recognizing the Prince of Hell amongst the people, the freckled angel darts forward. His blade shines valiantly in his hands.
Lucius is the more terrifying of the two, of course. My heart skips a few beats as the wings usually folded so tightly against his back stir, two black crescents, rough and encrusted with blades. Slowly, they crane upwards, revealing their full glory. The sun shines through them, gold glinting off the cruel, jagged black of his blades.
The air stirs as, with one sweep of those wings, Lucius lifts into the air.
I've never really seen him flying before. Can't say I ever really want to again.
There's a brutal ferocity in his movements in the air – not that the angels don't have that, but there's always this notion of grace and holy righteousness with them. Lucius is both incisive and malicious with his movements, showing neither of those heavenly traits in the cruel flap of his terrifying black wings.
He wraps the unfortunate angel in those hellish wings, impaling the other's feathers with the great scythes along the edges, using them in a way Raffe never had. The angel's holler of pain causes me to shiver in my shoes, gripping Emilio's knife for dear life.
As the angel plummets downwards, frantically flapping in an attempt to free himself but only causing his wings more damage, Lucius seems to merely drift. The broad sides of his wings extended like gliders help him casually fall back down to the earth as the angel drops like a stone.
Landing in a crumpled heap, Freckly fruitlessly pulls away from the sharp barbs holding him in place, wailing, slicing at Lucius's wings with his sword. Sparks fly as the blade bounces harmlessly off the hooked armor.
Casually, Lucius drags the angel closer, only annoyed with his efforts to escape. The angel leaves troughs in the ground where the desperation to survive overtakes him and drives his feet into the skin of the earth. He emits chilling wails as the demon draws him closer, calling for the assistance of his friends, his comrades, the ones that wait idly and watch as their ally is destroyed by his foe.
Once he comes within range, Lucius nonchalantly knocks the angel's sword aside, causing it to fly several feet as if it weighs nothing. A moan of loss escapes the angel's lips. With his face still a mask of brutal indifference, Lucius snakes his snowy white hand forward, clamping around the angel's neck.
Initially, the position he holds it at is bizarre – after all, I believe that the demon's going for strangulation, not leverage. But as his other hand settles on the base of his wing and tendons bulge in Lucius's arms, I realize otherwise.
"Perhaps I should grant you a reason to give my warnings a little more thought…"
With a shriek of pain, the angel's attempts to escape double in aggression; snapping at the air with his teeth, pulling at Lucius's hands, kicking out at the wings, desperately trying to free himself.
These creatures, these angels, are built for war, with every fiber in their being solely created for the reaping of death – but the angel is helpless, utterly helpless, in the clutches of Lucius, the Prince of Hell itself. The sound of ripping flesh fills the valley.
I wince at the hideous noise. Somehow, Lucius had gotten that to amplify, too.
The angel casts back his head with a final shriek of agony, tears running down his face, as the wing jars loose. A sickening pop echoes off the mountain. Left behind is a bloody mess of tendons and bones that'd not properly ripped. I realize that my knees are buckling moments before I hit the ground, and only barely manage to catch myself.
Raffe once ripped through stitches to get his wings back – but to rip a wing off?
I shudder, imagining Lucius ripping off an arm, something I'm now deadly certain he has a full capacity to do.
I don't want to see him repeat the process with the second wing, I really don't. Especially since the angel goes limp in his grief, leaving Lucius to rip apart a defenseless man. Regardless of species, it's a terrifying sight, seeing one so helpless. One wing becomes two on the ground, lying in a sticky, bloody mess.
"I can cripple you."
Tossing the limp, beaten angel away from him, Lucius folds his wings by his sides, the bloodied hooks streaking scarlet over the white fabric of his suit. He seems to be on the verge of fainting as the angel feebly crawls from Lucius. Watching the angel's pathetic attempt at an escape, Lucius has no mercy in his face, no mercy at all – only a stone cold exasperation, as if wondering if it's truly the best Freckly can do.
"I can torture you."
Lucius kicks the blade Freckly had been scurrying closer towards away, sending it skittering down the hill. Releasing another moan of loss, the angel watches it bounce further from him, extending a single hand after it as if it could float back into his possession.
The demon's foot slams cruelly into the angel's side repeatedly as Lucius kicks Freckly over onto his back – it's a sort of kick that I've never seen before; I would not call it dainty, but there's something in its manner that's royal and immaculate, only dirtying the tip of his shoe.
Groaning from the repeated blows, the angel tips onto his back, looking spent. I recall when Raffe got beaten up and his wings ripped off – he'd been an archangel, and he'd had to sleep for ages to get even remotely better.
Lucius sets his foot upon angel's chest, leaning down to look at his captured prize.
"I can so utterly dominate you in every manner."
A slow, black smile creeps over the demon's face. My blood curdles in my veins at the sight of it, riddling with pure white needles as teeth and dripping with thick, black venom.
"I can even change your very being."
Smiling nastily down at his prey like a cat with a mouse's tail caught beneath its paw, Lucius chuckles softly, the sound of it only just echoing over the valley, like a soft drumbeat to ripple at the edges of the imagination. My skin crawls as slowly, that terrible, spindly-fingered hand reaches up to the sky. I want to stop him from whatever he's doing, to save Freckly from the wrath of whatever hellbound punishment awaits him, but I'm glued to the spot in my terror, unable to look away yet unable to stop the horror.
I wince at the snap of the fingers.
Freckles's screams of anguish as he flounders beneath Lucius's sole, clawing towards the sky for help, or perhaps in prayer for holy relief in death.
"Look upon your comrade, your friend, as he turns from godly to filthy. He did not heed my warnings and suffers accordingly. Watch him as his treacherous blood festers in his veins, as he changes from angel to Son of Man. Watch as he becomes the very creature he attempted to massacre. Unless you, too, wish to lie upon the ground and watch as your strength fades from you, I advise you to turn tail and scheme up another plan for another day. These people and all the good God's people are under my protection. Now, go, and good day to you!"
I gape like a fish out of water. Trying to understand his words in vain, I watch as the angel crashes to the ground, released from Lucius's grip. He doesn't look like an angel. My mind no longer feels the same predatory sharpness with the angel's presence. He doesn't seem like an Adonis anymore, all hunched and skinny and scrawny and bony.
Had Lucius said a Son of Man?
A terrified tingle dances down my spine.
Does he really have the power to… to turn an angel into a person? A human? If so… why hasn't he done so before now?
For reasons I can't quite explain, my gaze lingers on the tiny dragon sitting atop the church's pinnacle, tail like a flag in the wind and eyes like beacons.
The angels, initially shocked, staring down upon their fallen comrade, whisper to one another. I'm not sure who is the first to fall back – but I do know that whoever it is strikes a movement. Shouting frightened curses at the demon, threatening to tattle to his father, they surge back towards the aerie. Something in the way they soar tells me that they're trying to maintain dignity, but they only look like a pack of dogs crawling over each other to get back underneath their security blanket.
Their fear is not lost upon me, for this is not supposed to happen. An angel is not supposed to become man. It is not to be. Their fear is the same that drives into my people as Lucius slowly turns about to face them, the same fear that causes them to trill with fright. They lunge for their guns, which have miraculously cooled off, and position their scopes on his back, shouting out threats.
"Guns down!" shouts a familiar voice, thundering over the words with depth in every syllable. I shiver with recognition, ripping myself from the trance I'd been thrust into with the help of Bryon's voice. "For the love of God, he just saved your hides, guns down!"
"Sir –" I hear one begin to protest as the familiar tall figure walks in front of the futile barricades, cut off with a simple flair of my uncle's hand. His eyes are stormy, and his face is brutal, his entire appearance almost unrecognizable, had it not been for the flap of his silky brown cloak.
I've only seen Bryon a few times the way he is now – caught in the beginning stages of his transformation from man to beast. His eyebrows have hardened, their ridges wrapping around his head to emerge as his horns. Black slits slice through his unnaturally bronze pupils. Against the nape of his neck, brindling with his brown hair, his mane grows, swaying with each stride.
My gaze darts around, but none seem frightened by his appearance – rather, he seems to relax my people. Is it possible they know him already? That they're already so impacted by his personality they no longer fear such a gruesome face?
Perhaps responding to my uncle's slow but steady advance, Lucius turns to face us all, his shoulders sagging and his knees bending slightly.
I probably shouldn't even pretend to be shocked by the strange demon, but the same startled jolt shakes my stomach at the sight of the Prince of Hell staggering towards my uncle – staggering, taking a few unsteady steps, before collapsing like a rag doll.
"Prepare him a bed!" Bryon snarls. "Don't bother with food or water, he doesn't need any of that!"
Leaping forward with a snap of his cloak, my uncle dashes to Lucius's side, falling to his knees before the demon. Bryon cradles the devil's head in his lap and murmurs something to Lucius, looking down at him with concern in his eyes. I jar into action, moving forward towards him.
Who knows if I can trust Lucius? Bryon I'm certain I can stand by.
His eyes yank up from the body of Lucius, shining irately, staring right past me at the audience he'd created. "Well? What are you waiting for? Should you not shower your savior in praise and adoration because he looks funny? Get on with it! You have been protected, and your guardian is in need! Do not forget your humanity!"
For some reason, that seems to jar the people into action. As I watch them in the corner of my eye rushing towards houses and embracing loved ones as they curiously creep closer, I wonder if a speech of Bryon's had contained something about not forgetting humanity.
"Hey," I breathe, hanging over Bryon's shoulder. "Hey, Bryon, what just happened?"
"He choked," Bryon reports. "There was a reason those little microphone pills of my brother's were mere prototypes."
"What?" My brow furrows. "Oh, that's not what I meant, but, uh, good to know. I mean, what happened with Freckly over there? Is he really…? Did Lucius…?"
I observe the angel with a critical eye. Once perfectly fitting his gorgeous features, his hair is now grungy and long, hanging in his eyes. Any supernatural beauty he has is lost; true, he's not particularly ugly, but he wouldn't get a job at a modelling agency. He sits in a confused heap of clothing and dislodged, chunky armor, looking around with puzzled brown eyes.
"Well, I don't know." He glances up at me, smiling that gentle smile of his, eyes soft despite their feral appearance. "If it did work, that is one confused angel-man. Perhaps you would like to investigate it while I dislodge your father's microphone pill?"
"How did he even get one of those?" I mutter, staring down at Lucius's still face. "Why is his choking on it disabling him? Doesn't he not need oxygen, just crazy mojo?"
"How do you think he ingests this crazy mojo, Penryn?" Bryon chuckles softly, gently bracing a thumb on Lucius's chin to peel back his mouth, revealing those slender teeth and that black ribbon of a tongue. "Poor bastard. Trying to do the right thing for once in his life, and he chokes onstage. How embarrassing."
"I would call it terrifying." I stare at my ominous reflection in his sunglasses. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about in that performance. What if Freckly bites?"
"Good question." With a single finger, Bryon nudges at Lucius's tongue, bobbing his head up and down as if to get a better view down his throat. "You don't have to check him out. Here comes Bay, most likely drawn by Lucius's great big voice. He'd most likely be a… softer, more understanding candidate."
Lifting my head to catch sight of the Fallen angel's black wingspan gliding over the ranks of the humans, I nod, agreeing wholeheartedly that a gentle angel like Bay, one that underwent something similar, would be a much better reception for Freckly. As I study him, I meet Bay's gaze briefly. He smiles, setting down my sister, but waits before approaching.
"Bay," Bryon calls. "Get the angel-man some help. Not here, take him to Sercem Domu. Ah, actually, arrange for him to be delivered to Sercem Domu, stick around. If he's truly a Son of Man now, he'll be vulnerable to tranquilizers. Excuse me, miss –"
Bryon waves a hand towards a woman with an intense expression.
"Yes, hello, you." Bryon smiles beatifically. "Do you mind shooting this angel-man with a tranquilizing dart?"
I don't have the time to blink before she's fired her gun.
"Well, that didn't require much thought!" Bryon says with a chuckle, refocusing on Lucius, gingerly reaching inside his mouth with two fingers. "A bit zealous, weren't you? Bay, take him to Rumbbaa, then send the wolf on his way. Penryn, stay here by my side, I might need your help… Oh, Paige, honey, go find Hugo, will you? And then find Ms. De La Flor!"
"Be careful!" I shout after her, unable to protest as she nods crisply and darts off into the crowd.
Bryon glances up at me, the streak of bronze coiling around his pupil in a curious manner. Gingerly, his fingers work to extract the tiny microphone from Lucius's throat, his opposite hand still prying the demon's jaw gently open. Despite the complications he works with, his mind seems to still be trained on me.
"Hello, Penryn, it's been a little while," he greets, smiling in his warm, fatherly way, his eyes reverting back to their former softness with a nice, round pupil. "I'm not in a coma anymore, needless to say. When I woke up, they told me you had spent the night with Hugo and Baelan… do I even really want to know how that went?"
"They woke me up early, but it went pretty good," I reason, deciding not to bring up Hugo's lewdness on their location throughout the long cold night. "Hey, shouldn't you be giving that" – I point towards Lucius – "your hundred percent?"
"Well, I suppose that would be a smart thing to do." Bryon laughs softly, bringing a smile to my face and reminding me just how much I've missed his company. "Just don't bump into me, and I'll be fine – if his fangs pierce my skin, I'm going to slip right back into that coma. I'm good at multitasking. What else have you been up to? Other than this unfortunate event with Belle… and Theobella." A troubled gleam once shafts through his gaze. "Other than that, what's been going on in your spiel of things?"
"Oh, uh…" I blink several times. "I spent the day primarily with Audiat until this popped up. Did you know that?"
"I did not!" he exclaims with a touch of hesitance, a flare of longing and grief appearing in his eyes for mere moments. "Funny, you'd think something like that would come up in conversation. How do you like her?"
"She's a strange little angel, that's for sure," I laugh. "Do you just attract eccentric people or something?"
"That'd explain why you and I get along," Bryon chuckles, his eyes flashing humorously up at me.
I resist the urge to elbow him. "You think you're hilarious. But yeah, it was nice, talking to Audiat. I can totally see how the two of you get along. She was… she wanted you to know that she loves you with all her heart, you know. She can't wait until she sees you again."
"And I her." Bryon quiets, his beautifully content smile wiped from his face, slit pupils once more slicing through his eyes, the sliver of black growing thinner and thinner as his mind grows further and further, becoming small as his thoughts become deep. "I love her more than this world, Penryn. I would die a thousand times over for her."
I open my mouth to say something, but words I cannot summon. What should I say? What could I say? To restate what has undoubtedly been said by thousands of other well-wishers would do him no good.
An excuse to not say anything at all arises as Lucius begins to cough, his body convulsing. Bryon's hand snap back, something gripped tightly in between the fingers stained black with Lucius's saliva. Rubbing the black ooze on the grass, Bryon gently shakes the demon with his opposite hand, intense expression filled with concern.
The first movement Lucius makes is to snap his fingers.
My stomach plunges with unease, knowing that whatever he just did, can't be good.
Bryon sighs with relief, not uttering a word. He bows his head and shuts his eyes, a faint, thankful smile playing with his lips. As Lucius stirs, righting himself, sitting up, Bryon begins to laugh. Clapping Lucius on the shoulder, my uncle's small little smile swells into a broad grin.
"These whiskers aren't because I haven't shaved my beard recently," he sighs with a grateful, heartfelt tone. "I'm actually trying to grow a beard, but they won't get any longer. It's why I never need to shave. I'm quite embarrassed by it but I refuse to give up hope."
A moment of silence passes.
I stare at him, pursing my lips to avoid breaking into a grin. "…What?"
Bryon looks baffled, glancing up at me and cocking his head. "The only reason I want to grow a beard is so that I can stroke it and look clever."
His bafflement turns to mortification.
Poorly stifling giggles, I look down at Lucius. "Did you do this?"
"Oh, yes." The demon stretches, his spine popping into place with a rhythm of revolting crunches. "Can't have him giving me his pathetic speech quite yet. Now, he's just going to blurt out little facts about himself that he doesn't want anyone to know."
"I was the one that braided the abalone chips into Hugo's hair." Bryon claps a hand over his mouth.
Lucius chuckles, pushing up from Bryon's lap. "I'm quite enjoying this, Dragon King, you're quite the funny man."
"Why do you have to do stuff like that?" I sigh, trying to maintain the appearance of a mature adult, knowing full well that I'm going to tease the living hell out of Bryon for this later.
Through his sleek, shiny sunglasses, Lucius meets my gaze, a cruel smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Why is Baelan wearing a pair of five-inch stripper heels?"
Bay releases a high pitched yelp, suddenly stumbling about in my periphery. I gasp, whipping my head around in time to see the massive Fallen angel face-plant into the ground. A ripple of laughter echoes throughout the human camp, and people whisper to one another, pointing cruel fingers towards him with their starved desires for entertainment. Even humiliating an innocent man like Baelan gives them cause to group up and chuckle.
The fury already settled in the pit of my stomach grows more ferocious as Bay curls up in a ball, hiding himself with his wings, frantically trying to pull the clear plastic heels off his feet.
"Why did you have to do that?" I snarl, glaring down at Lucius.
"Why did Raphael's shrimp suddenly come alive?"
"Uh…"
Mike, the waiter charged with catering for the little get together with the albino angel and the other blue-eyed one, turns, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. His draw drops at the sight of dozens of little creatures wiggling over the platter, infecting the rest of the appetizers. The blue-eyed angel spits out one of the little shrimp, gagging slightly, leaning over the edge of the table.
The albino angel pleads with red eyes. "Uh… help?
"You're such an asshole," I hiss, standing up beside Lucius, glaring at him furiously as he fiddles with his cuffs and straightens his tie. "You just did something almost sort of nice! Kind of creepy and terrifying, but for a nice reason! Why do you have to ruin – oh, crap."
Lucius grins sleazily my direction, his white eyebrows shooting up. "Why is Hugo wearing a pair of five-inch stripper heels?"
"Why isn't Hugo wearing a pair of five-inch stripper heels is a better question." The boy's familiar voice comes from the crowd that'd grouped around Bay.
He struts from the midst of the cruel audience with a stride that seems better fit in a magazine, or on a runway. Pity gleams in his copper eyes as he stares down at his boyfriend. "Okay, all y'all laughing at him, know that each and every one of you is going to hell. Bay, here, let me fix this…"
Apparently, I'm not the only one watching his strut as he approaches his boyfriend and kneels before him.
"That boy walks better in heels than I do," acknowledges Bryon. I half-turn towards him, seeing enough to glimpse the shame in his gaze and the slap of his hand over his mouth.
"So, what did it mean, your whole rant there?" I question, careful to avoid the dangerous word, why. "Are you protecting this place? Just this place, or all human places?"
"Eventually, I hope to envelope all of humanity in a warm, loving glow," Lucius mutters, pulling his deck of cards from his suit and rifling briefly through it. "This settlement is the first, of course, and I simply wouldn't have the strength to abolish that little group in the way I did that angelic bastard should they attack, never mind an entire army, but I shall call in the cavalry soon enough."
"The cavalry?"
"You've met White Wolf, haven't you?" Again, through his glasses, I feel his hair-raising glare. "I sent him after you once you escaped the car accident. That is the cavalry. He simply itches for instances to avenge the helpless and weak. Merely needs to be pointed in the right direction."
"That was you?" I glance towards Bryon. "I thought that was…"
"I believe it was a joint request." Lucius pulls at his tie again, as if unsatisfied with its angle. "As I am certain you understand, Young, I'm a very busy man with many appointments. I cannot be bother by you any longer. As it so happens, I'm going to have to face a fuming Daddy Dearest unless I want him to hunt me down. Good day, Miss Young."
I step forward, still requiring one last answer from the demon, but my mind baulks from the word why and wastes precious time. "…What made you want to do that? Protect us?"
"It seems to be a relatively overlooked fact that I, too, am a Nephilim of sorts." Lucius sounds bored with my question. "That gives me a lot of human blood, you know. I'm every bit as entitled to fight for these people as you are. Now, good day."
Again, I step closer, driven by curiosity, caring not that I might be rubbing him the wrong way. "What made you remember that now? What have you been doing all this time?"
"That's my business and my business only. You're overstepping your boundaries, Young. Good day."
I'm not quite sure where he goes – a sound like a snake trying to bark causes me to flinch away, and, with a streak of white, he vanishes into the neighboring woods. After him surge a few furry coats, most likely belonging to his hellhounds. With a tingle down my spine, I realize that he probably has a Nephilim beast form, too – and I'd bet my lucky stars it looks like a hellhound.
"I pride myself on my ability to get through to others, but he's always infuriated me." Bryon gives me a meaningful look, smiling triumphantly, as if letting me know in his bizarre way that it'd been a talking-to from the Dragon King that'd changed Lucius's mind.
"How long are you going to be talking like that, Bryon?" Hugo calls over his shoulder. I smile at my friend, watching as he gives the miserable, ashamed Bay a foot massage and noticing that the boy's stripper heels are still strapped firmly on.
"When I was angry or frustrated as a child, I used to pee on trees and pretend they were Raphael."
I fight a losing battle against my laughter. My breath comes out in stuttering gasps.
Bryon shoots me a sulky look, sticking his lower lip out. "The first time I heard about Hugo's Fallen angel crush, I despised Baelan with all my might." Stricken, Bryon glances in horror towards Bay, his lips moving in silent apologies.
"I could tell," Bay sighs sadly, looking even more crestfallen.
My heart pulls at his pathetic misery. My laughter chokes off as I take on a more serious expression with much difficulty.
"I spit in your coffee." Before Bryon can clap a hand back over his mouth, he squeaks out, "And your muffin."
Bay looks down at the ground. "I noticed."
"You saint," Hugo whispers, cuddling up against his boyfriend and burying his face into Bay's shoulder, still wearing his heels.
"But now that I know you better," Bryon pipes up, looking like he desperately wishes to remedy the situation, "I've been praying every day that you become part of my family. I can think of no one better to call my son-in-law."
Hugo's soothing croons become squeals of delight. "See, Bay, he can't lie, I knew it, I knew he loved you! And you were skeptical! And you were skeptical! What was it you said? He was just trying to be nice to you? You were wrong! Oh, I know my father after all, you son of a bitch!"
Bay hushes Hugo, smiling down at the emotional teenager with a kind twinkle in his eyes. "Hugo," he whispers with a nervous chuckle, "I said that ages ago. I don't believe it anymore!" Clearing his throat, Bay announces, "Sir, it would be an honor to join the lineage of Youngs, and I look forward to doing it as soon as possible."
Bryon gives Bay the special smile that's equivalent to a big, warm hug. "There's a spot between my horns that causes my leg to jerk like a dog's when scratched."
That's it for me – I break into more laughter, covering my face. Bay follows suit, but I think his laughter is more of a relieved, contented thing. Hugo's cackling is most certainly not – he rolls around on his back, the whites of his eyes wildly flashing.
Glancing around dejectedly, Bryon walks off, dragging his feet ever so slightly as he goes.
"At least you can take stripper heels off, poor man," Bay sympathizes, staring after Bryon sadly. "My own dilemma pales in comparison to his."
"I wouldn't call this dilemma a dilemma at all." Hugo leans back against Bay, grinning snarkily up at his lover. "I saw you watching me, Baymobile. You think I'm sexy. Don't you, Bay? Don't these stripper heels just make me look hot?"
"I would never objectify you like that," Bay declares, but a smile pulls at his lips, and his eyes trail down Hugo's body. His voice is low enough that I can only hear the faintest whispers of the Fallen angel's other, darker endearments, making me smile.
Both of their heads snap up in unison, like a pair of kittens after catching scent of catnip. A silhouette grows closer with flaps of snowy white wings. Around me, humans cry out, shoving their fingers up towards the sky. They watch, initially unperturbed by the flying warrior. That certainly changes when he crosses some imaginary line and the first person begins to flee.
I watch, exasperated, as tiny children and big, buff men hefting machine guns alike dash off around me. The intense-looking woman with the tranquilizing gun is the only one around us that seems to keep her cool, her lips screwing up as she lifts the scope into position.
Crack!
A wooden ladle falls back into position, held at the ready in a round woman's grasp.
"That is my son!" Ms. De La Flor snarls ferociously, shaking her ladle at the soldier. "The only one who will be tranquilizing him will be me!"
As the woman falls to the ground, knocked unconscious by the wrath of the ladle, I back away from the Spanish mother. Holding up my hands in surrender, I smile sweetly at her, trying to appear nonthreatening and friendly – the last person she'd want to hit upside the head with a ladle.
Luckily, though, Ms. De La Flor's hands drop by her sides, and she smiles tenderly at me. "Penryn, senorita, I must make you lamb!"
"Mama," whispers out a strained voice. With a burst of wind and the sound of feathers scooping the air, Emilio appears on the ground beside her. "Oh, Mama…"
Her smile fading almost immediately into weeping keens, the rosy old woman turns to her son and wraps him up in a big hug around his torso. Tears streak over her face, expression clenched with the anguished emotions of a mother. My heart clenches as Emilio does the same, buckling over his mama, stroking at her salt-and-pepper hair, whispering through the strain of his voice and smiling through the cascade of tears down his face.
"Oh, Mama, I was so worried about you…" He pulls her even tighter against his chest, planting a kiss on the top of her head, his eyes swimming with emotion. "When I heard that Gabriel had been found, all I wanted to do was to come here. I don't know what I'd do if something had happened to you… Mama." He kisses her again, blinking another tear down his cheek. "I cannot lose you too, Mama. It is decided. I will not allow you to stay in this camp."
"You cannot choose my fate for me," Ms. De La Flor sobs, "and I refuse to leave you so far from family. I came here for you!"
"I know," Emilio says quietly, closing his eyes, allowing the tears to flow without much resistance. "Hush, hush, I know. But it isn't safe here for you! Surely you see that!"
"I see nothing more than a foolish boy looking to escape his mother's lamb with foolish American cooking – bah!" she scolds, laughing fruitily through her rich tears. "I got you lamb, ungrateful brat! Good lamb! You will eat it and you will like it and you will quit acting like you know what's better for your mama!"
"Yes, ma'am," Emilio sighs, smiling down at her. "But I won't let this go."
"None of them ever do, stubborn Spaniards," Hugo mutters, tapping at my arm. "Now, c'mon, Penryn, they've got enough people staring as it is. I don't want that not-quite-angelic bastard in Bay's arms any longer than necessary – it's a luxury only for me."
"Hugo," Bay scolds softly.
"What?" The boy glares at his boyfriend with an arched brow. "It's true. Who cares if it was a task given to you by Bryon? How are you supposed to hold me now? You've been defiled by another man!"
"Hugo," Bay scolds again, harsher this time, smiling and rolling his eyes. "You are too possessive. And you're right, Bryon gave me a job to do, one that I better get to work on. You don't have to come, Hugo, or you, Penryn," he adds, smiling towards me. "But I'd give the De La Flors their space if I were you."
"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Hugo growls. "No matter what you say."
"Hugo." Bay sighs, smiling tenderly at the boy. "I love you too much to even consider this man in any other way as a stranger. I love you enough to understand that your people need you more than I do at the moment. Do you love me enough to let me have my freedom?"
"Why do you twist my words?" Hugo groans, yanking at his hair and rolling his eyes. "Okay, Bay, but if that man tries to make a move on you, I reserve the right to throttle him."
Bay smiles, closing his eyes and tilting his head to one side adorably as he unfurls his shadowy wings. "Don't worry, you won't have to!"
Hugo crows a farewell as the demon lifts off into the air.
I crane my head back, watching as Bay becomes no more than a speck in the sky. Hugo chuckles, watching him go and shading his eyes, a bittersweet smile spread across his face.
"Well, Penryn, he was right," he says at last, interrupting me again from my observations of the De La Flor reunion. "I'd better start consoling our people about the strange demon that could've stuck around for a chat and made this much easier. Instead I got you. Since you were pretty much the only one that spoke to Tallulah, I'm going to need you around too, Penny Poo."
"Seriously, don't call me that," I chastise, cuffing his shoulder.
"Pff. You think you'd have learned something from all of Pigeon-Bat's whining. Hope I won't have to go through the whole shebang with you again."
"Bryon?"
Pausing in his tracks, the old man sighs, smiling grimly to himself. His eyes seal over for a mere second, brooding about the logic of turning around to face the lonely inquirer. Each lethargic beat of his heart aches more than the last. Slowly, Bryon swivels about to face Lucius, his staff gripped as if it were his lifeline.
Before responding to the inquiry, Bryon allows his gaze to linger nostalgically over his surroundings. The sky is like a burst heart bleeding across the sky, the yellow sun the center of the ensemble with a thousand tails of pink, orange, and red. The dusk's weary gaze bathes the world in shades of gold and black. Against the horizon, the chapel stands out like a shout – as does the sole guardian of the church colored so white it contrasts greatly with the rolling black of the hills.
The church isn't the only thing pure white in color that catches the eye.
"Hello, Lucius." A traditional smile pulls over Bryon's lips. "Can I help you with something?"
"I just noticed that you seem to be slinking off, dear Dragon King," the boy purrs, hiding in the shadow of a willow tree, toying with a deck of cards. "Your wife will be here any second now, to check and see if there's any damage, and to assure human leaders that she was in no way a part of the attempted attack. In fact, your son" – with a note of puzzlements, Bryon notes the acidic tone in the word, almost like an accusation – "was quite insistent I excuse her. Why aren't you flocking to the closest public space to flag that one down?"
"The time isn't right yet." Bryon shakes his head slowly. "I hardly want to listen to you right now, Lucius, if you are here to make a mockery of me."
Lucius shakes his head, a certain hastiness to it. "No, no, that's not why I'm here at all. It was a point of interest, a conversation starter, so don't amble off quite yet. I just… I noticed something as I was reading the petty human bible you were transfixed with." He shuffles the deck, lost in his thoughts for a mere moment. "About my father. In Revelations, perhaps the most infamous section."
"Revelations 12?" Bryon questions, his interest piqued. "'Then war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. The great dragon was hurled down – that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.'"
"Yes, that bit, and… the rest of it." Lucius cocks an eyebrow. "Dear Lord, do you have the entire thing memorized? How on earth do you have that much free time? It's just that… it doesn't quite fit. Not only is the time zone completely off, the angels that threw down my father, and… the rest of it that you didn't mention. I don't feel like it's referring to Lucifer."
Bryon laughs deeply. "Well, that's because it's not, child. I think you know who it's about. Why? Are you drawing… parallels?"
Lucius is silent for a moment. "She's watching you right now, isn't she? Watching you from her perch. You're afraid to speak. Is she blackmailing you? Do you have a noose around your throat? Is that why you're acting so bizarre?"
It's as if Bryon cannot swallow, though he tries, though he chokes himself trying. Tears sting the corners of his eyes, tears he dare not allow escape, tears that become all the more difficult to contain as a shadow passes overhead. Abandoning the conversation to watch the tiny she-angel soar overhead like a little sparrow, he whispers a soft, "Not around my neck."
Lucius stares at him as if he'd suddenly began speaking in Greek. After a moment, he looks up to the sky, following Bryon's line of gaze, and tenses.
"Oh." Spite barbs the boy's words. "Of course. You'd sacrifice yourself in a moment, wouldn't you? So it'd be nothing to threaten your life. That's why you haven't leapt into your sweetheart's arms, why you've kept your distance from Penryn, from Paige. I was wrong. What a novel concept. No, she's the reason you're so conservative."
Bryon squeezes his eyes shut. A tremor runs through him. "'Then another sign appeared in heaven: an enormous red dragon with seven heads and ten horns and seven crowns on its heads. Its tail swept a third of the stars out of the sky and flung them to the earth. The dragon stood in front of the woman who was about to give birth, so that it might devour her child the moment he was born.'"
"Why are you telling me this?" Lucius growls, glaring hotly at him. "I don't want to hear it! I've already read it! Is it for the reader's benefit? Well, then, fuck it! Seven crowns – King of Nephilim, Queen of Nephilim, Messenger, Clockwork Angel! Those we know she already has! Seven heads – one for each time she'd died and been resurrected at the time. Ten horns, one for each of those who she had devoured in mind and soul! She already has three…" Lucius's breathing hitches. "Why do you remind me? Why?"
"'She gave birth to a son,'" Bryon persists steadily, his eyes as dull as clay, "'a male child, who 'will rule all the nations with an iron scepter.' And her child was snatched up to God and to his throne.'"
"Hardly," Lucius mutters with a roll of his eyes.
"'The woman fled to a place in the wilderness to a place prepared for her by God, where she might be taken care of for 1,260 days.'"
"I don't know what that was talking about, God was never there, it was only you," Lucius snarls, turning his back on Bryon. "Quit unlocking my past! It's locked away in the deep recesses of my mind for a reason, Bryon, and you know that."
He does. He does know. And he knows that unlocking such painful times would bring waves of agony beyond words upon a heart so long shriveled, so long hardened. But the agony that beauty grows from. No pain, no gain.
"'The woman was given the two wings of a great eagle, so that she might fly to the place prepared for her in the wilderness, where she would be taken care of for a time, times and half a time, out of the serpent's reach.'"
"A very generous gift from the Clockwork Angel, that bitch," the boy growls.
"'Then from his mouth the serpent spewed water like a river, to overtake the woman and sweep her away with the torrent. But the earth helped the woman by opening its mouth and swallowing the river that the dragon had spewed out of his mouth."
"Noah was the only survivor in that unfortunate country, and I'm mildly certain the Watchers still haven't forgiven you for dousing them," Lucius mumbles darkly. "Apparently, the Pit was a swimming pool for months."
Bryon quells a smile. "'Then the dragon was enraged at the woman and went off to wage war against the rest of her offspring – those who keep God's commands and hold fast their testimony about Jesus.'"
"Well, that's obviously not true," Lucius growls. "I'm an only child, you realize. Believe me, I checked – other than the tombstones until this new era. A special boy, I am, one of a kind."
"You are a special boy." Bryon's lips quirk. "You're already too deeply embedded in this to leave now and escape her wrath, so you might as well pick up where I left off, and not make my mistake. Do not trust in my God." His voice roughens as it quiets, as if whispering a sensitive secret. "You've decided who you're going to be, Lucius. And I'm so proud of you." Bryon blinks a tear from his eye. "But you've bravely chosen the hard and lonely path, a path where going halfway will mean oblivion, not just for you. For us all."
Lucius's eyebrows lift over the lens of his glasses, his way to express emotion without ever actually needing to say a word.
Bryon smiles at the boy's simple response. "No pressure or anything."
Okay! Here we are again!
Due to certain elements mentioned last chapter, I'm going to have so much difficulty in killing all my characters off. These are my babies. And I'm just now realizing... I don't want them to go.
POLL: It's mentioned here and elsewhere that Lucius is the reverse of a Nephilim. He is the offspring of a Fallen angel and (in theory) a human, which (in theory) would be more common than an angelic Nephilim due to the stereotypical rowdy nature of Fallen angels. However, none others have been mentioned, and Lucius most certainly does not represent them in this war. Thoughts?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh