Chapter Seventy
"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!"
Hugo's singsong voice pierces through my hazy dull. Moaning, I stretch out along the bed, reaching for a body beside me that isn't there. The faint vestige of warmth on the sheets is unsatisfying, and it helps to wake me up – with a sleepy mumble, I peek my eyes open.
"Ah, good." Hugo, already clad in his servant's uniform, lifts up the stiff maid's dress. "Remember this? Suit up."
"Noooo," I groan into the pillows, diving back face-first. "'S too early."
"I agree with you," he sighs, muffled by the pillow, "but Michael's on a warrior's schedule. He wants to get the meeting with the archangels done by the time breakfast rolls around. Get your lazy ass up."
"Wha?" I strain my eyes against the light, glancing beneath my arm. "Why is he callin' a meeting?"
"Remember how Lucius woke up the other day?" Hugo's mouth is settled in a flat frown. "Well, so did Jane. He's going to try and get some information out of her before he kills her."
"Information…?" I sit up sleepily, raking hands through my hair and yawning. "'Bout what?"
"About Theobella." He sighs, tossing the dress towards me. "Like I said. Suit up. Today is going to be particularly long."
The maid's uniform is even more uncomfortable than before, if that makes any sense. A particular strip of fabric along my hip is chafing me like mad. I shift awkwardly, trying to give my raw skip a bit of a break, and accidentally draw Michael's eyes to me again.
I try not to blush as he stares at me boringly. Raffe's only glanced at me once, seeming to avoid me almost stubbornly, but Michael keeps glancing this way. I can't figure out why, and it's bugging me a bit. If he didn't want servants here, then why did he specifically request a pair, just in case?
Sitting here on the edge of the hall, waiting for a call to service that I have a hunch shall never come, is weird. Directly beside me is Hugo, stiff-backed and professional, his copper eyes faced diligently forward. I've been doing my best to imitate his smooth authority with varied results. He barely seems to move, his eyes only roving the other wall on the end of the cafeteria, grazing along the tables that'd been pushed away.
It's not like anyone would notice if I tripped up, either. The angels look utterly exhausted, the only ones remotely awake Titaniel, Michael, and Ariel. Raffe looks like he's thinking about making a pillow with his uneaten biscuits. Uriel's hair has a cow lick. One of Ariel's cherubs is asleep on her shoulder. An angel I don't know the name of lazily drags his spoon through some coffee.
Down the hall, a ruckus sounds, drawing them more at attention – Michael looks up expectantly, and stands, opening his arms welcomingly as one of his elite stumble through the door. The elite tugs at a long length of chain, and, through the doorway, he pulls a terrible snarling beast.
"We invite you to sit, Jane," Michael intones, smiling icily, gesturing the creature forward. "Come. We mean no harm."
The wolf snarls, throwing back its head, only to have the angel at her tether yank her harshly back down. Cursing, he grapples with her, dragging her further into the room. Jane digs her claws into the tile floor. Each step Michael's guard drags her makes an awful scraping noise.
With an angry shout, the angel manages to drag her to the center of the room. He drags her chain towards a hook directly in front of Michael's seat at the table, and makes quick work of binding her. Jane roars in the back of her throat, lunging at him furiously, but he scurries back quickly, leaving her straining at the end of her leash.
Unable to do anything but glare maliciously at her captors, Jane paces in the broadest of circles her chain will allow. Her pupils are narrower than usual, narrowed with hatred. She snarls and bristles at the angels, upset at having her prey so close and yet so far.
Jane looks like she's had a terrible time. An iron muzzle encircles her jaws and head, keeping it locked painfully tight, judging by the red, furless skin bordering the metal shackles. One of her ears has a chunk out of it, and her fur is missing patches along the ribs. Bruises and bloody patches can be seen through her fur.
I glance towards Hugo. He's standing stiffer than before, his expression more tight-lipped, his fists clenched. I bump my shoulder against his. When he doesn't respond, I refocus my attention on the scene in front of us.
At last, she pauses in front of Michael, braced for a fight, and pulls her lips back. Her voice is like a whip to my brain. What is it that you want, cur?
"Merely to talk," Michael says easily, sitting back in his chair for the first time. "Civilly, of course. Can't have you beheading us all, can we?"
I see nothing civil about this arrangement. She yanks her head back, rattling the chain. I am not an animal. I will not be treated like one.
"That's too bad," Michael says pitilessly, dismissing her. "We have a few questions for you, Jane. Well – I do. Would you mind answering them for me?"
That depends entirely on what they are. Tell me, Michael – are your puppets aware to whom they're dancing for? Her eyes seem to glitter with spite. Do they know who I am?
"You're the angel killer," Ariel answers in her throaty purr, stroking at one of her cherub's back. "We are here not at Michael's demand. If it'd been up to him, we would've all still been sleeping. Now please. Let him ask you."
Not puppets, but witnesses. The wolf chuffs, shaking her head. Witnesses at the execution of the angel killer. Very well, Michael. Tell me – what do you wish for me to share in my last moments?
"Be careful," Uriel hisses. "Be very specific – I don't trust her –"
Michael lifts a hand, silencing him. "I don't trust her, either, but she's in chains, and can do very little, Uriel." He leans forward, a smile pricked at the corners of his lips. "Tell me, Jane – is it true that you partook in the experiments of the creature known as the Tyab'la?"
Yes. I was their accomplice.
"Excuse me – Tyab'la?" Ariel leans forward, eyes narrowed. "I have read many different accounts as to what that creature is. May I request your definition."
Jane studies Ariel impassively for a long moment. An immortal creature that was once something beautiful. It holds no emotions. Only strict intelligence. Terrible, terrible being, but quite clever. It maintains the unique ability to control another's body.
Ariel nods grimly. "I see. Is this a threat for us, currently?"
How would I know? Jane cocks her head. They only told me what I needed to know. I did not need to know that for our experiments. Besides, I do believe that this territory is claimed by Theobella.
"Is there a difference between the two?" Raffe wonders, leaning forward.
"Who's… Theobella?" wonders Uriel, glancing around in confusion.
Theobella is almost as merciless, not as powerful. She is capable of love. Selective love, of course, and love that… perhaps isn't quite healthy. Emotions are vague and wretched, but they are raw in Theobella. I must admit, I know very little of her.
I breathe out slowly, sparing a glance at Raffe and then at Hugo. Neither of them seem sure what to make of that – Hugo shrugs furtively, and Raffe avoids my gaze.
"Yes… fascinating." Michael claps his hands together once, regaining attention. "What I want to know from you is how much of the information I can leech from you about the experiments. You were using she-angels from this aerie, yes?"
She-angels that were willing to hand their souls over to the enrichment of science.
Ariel shivers, scowling at Jane. Titaniel cocks his head to one side.
"What experiments were you performing on them?" Michael's eyes gleam. "What did you learn? What did you know?"
Jane hesitates, her ears folding back, glancing around the room. She bristles, her guard hairs creeping slowly up. I do not know if I should share that information with you, if only for your sake.
"Michael…" Uriel sighs, kneading at his forehead. "Honestly, did you drag us out of bed to listen to a mad animal ramble about monsters?"
"Quiet, Uriel," Raffe growls, glaring at the archangel over Michael's shoulder.
"Both of you, don't even go there," Ariel snaps, her eyes flashing. "This is not a professional environment, and, trust me, it should be. Do not show weakness to an enemy."
With a bit of grumbling, the two refocus. Raffe cracks his knuckles under the table, and Uriel taps his fingers along the edge of his empty dish, but neither of them do anything more than threaten.
Jane, who had been watching the exchange with sharp eyes, chuffs again. She paces to and fro, her chain dragging along the tile floor. I could tell you, I could. I would have to explain everything to you in great depth, but I could. I won't, though. She stiffens, head lifting, staring Michael defiantly in the eye. I won't breathe a word.
"And why not?" he asks smoothly.
Because you will not comprehend it. No matter how many times I explained, you would not keep up. Your mind does not work… on the same frequency, let us say, as mine does.
"I promise I would do my best," Michael vows, smiling thinly at her. "And if anyone at this table misunderstood, we would be sure to ask each other and you questions."
You will think me a madwoman. Only hesitance stands between Michael and his answer. My eyes flick nervously from Jane to the angel – his gaze remains open and steady, whereas she seems more anxious, like a schoolgirl nervous before presenting. Her hind feet skitter back and forth, and her tail wags apprehensively.
"My dear," Michael sighs, his tone like honey, "I already think you one. At this point, I only want to know what's going on."
Then prepare your mortal mind. Jane sits, tucking her tail beneath her, and narrows her amethyst eyes. You were not meant to think on very many planes of existence, so this might strain you slightly. Just open yourself and drop all prejudices to what I have to say.
Uriel sighs and shakes his head, sighing. "Michael, you can't seriously –"
He slams his mouth shut abruptly, paling as if he'd seen a ghost. Hands flying to his temples, he groans and tries to massage himself, as if struck by a sudden headache. I wince, eyeing Jane, knowing full well who'd been the cause of his premature silence.
You are aware of the theories of many dimensions, correct, Michael? In terms of shapes and lines. Mathematical things.
"I am." Michael leans forward, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Why? What does that have to do with… your research with the Tyab'la?"
Everything. Absolutely everything. You see, Michael, the world can most eloquently be described in mathematical terms. I will do my best to relay what I have learned to you. We – us – everything we do, everything we are – can be expressed in a figure in an equation. When we are all added and subtracted and multiplied and all those other tedious things, we equal the whole of existence. However… it is more complicated than that.
"More complicated how?" Michael urges in a soft tone of voice, seeming raptured.
The web connecting us all – the equation signs – those are what can be considered the fourth dimension. Seeing how we all connect. Seeing the whole of the world, how things… interact. That is the fourth dimension. It is honestly as I can explain it to you. For sake of relating it to your terms… She cocks her head to one side. We – our physical forms – exist on the second dimension. Our thoughts, our minds, our souls… they are the third dimension.
"Alright." Michael frowns, his brow puckering. "I'm trying to understand. I think I'm doing decently – this is not so difficult as you made it seem, is it?"
You're probably not understanding at all. Jane heaves a massive sigh. Now, my experiments both with trying to better understand the fourth dimension and seeing how we can fully understand the concept of the third dimension. Think of it now; we, in this world, metaphors aside, have a vague understanding of the fourth dimension, since we exist in the third. We do not fully understand it, though science says it is highly likely we use it in day to day life. My gifted partner in research, the Tyab'la, had extraordinary insight on this phenomenon.
"Can you consider it a phenomenon, really?" Michael inquires.
Life itself is a phenomenon. Why does anything exist? Because it does. That is the reason. If that is not a phenomenon, what else could be?
"Wise words." Michael steeples his fingers. "Continue."
Theobella and I pressed the limits of a being bound by the "second dimension". We found that what we explain as sleep or unconsciousness is really being purely immersed in the "third dimension", and that only select minds had the power of understanding it completely. We discovered that these minds were the ones that were pushed to absolute madness, those that did not cling to a scrap of so-called sanity. Specifically, those who were under Lucius's influence.
My throat tightens.
What you consider sanity is only life on the second dimension. Your everyday lives only exist in a certain plane. And so when someone ascends – becomes bigger, greater, more powerful than the average being in ways you can't explain, can't understand with your fickle minds – you blame it on insanity. That is what true madness is. It marks the difference between someone who is madly enlightened and someone who is mentally challenged.
"Perhaps some of Lucius's victims can see into this other world," Ariel pipes up, "but there are many different types of insanity. Surely they're not all from this sight."
Perhaps not all, Jane relents. That was a theory we were investigating. The minds that are not Lucius's that are insane tend to have the ability to see into the third dimension, an ability that frightens and shocks the mind into a state of insanity that most commonly occurs.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
That said, you don't have to be branded "insane" to have this madness. Many more than you would ever consider have the capability to exist on his plane, one of the most notable the Nephilim King, rest his soul, for he grew skilled at… seeing? Seeing in the third dimension. I know for certain that some do it without thinking. One of Jane's neatly pricked ears swivels directly towards me. The den of the Black Wolf, for instance, is a place of pure mentality. It exists on an upper plane.
A shiver runs down my spine. I wonder how Jane could possibly know about my connection with Black Wolf, blushing and trying to hide my face from the archangels. Even Raffe can't see my confusion.
The Garden of Eden is also a higher plane, but there is no hope of achieving it. The Tyab'la has tried and failed to gain entrance; she could not break through the stronghold if she tried. There, it is said that they physically exist in the third dimension, and their thoughts are in the fourth. Does this make sense to you?
"I'll admit," Michael chuckles, "I'm having difficulty seeing the giant lizard as a madman. He seemed a simpleton, not one to mix himself in this."
You're very wrong. He saw everyone with a sort of simple clarity, yes, but that simple clarity stemmed from his extensive curiosity with the planes of thought and existence. Bryon was one of a kind; not everyone convenes with the one you refer to as God.
"God." Raphael jolts forward in his seat. "Explain the concept of a God."
Like every equation, there must've been a writer. It is uncertain why there is a writer but it's also uncertain why there's an equation. As discovered by Lucius and shared with me by the Tyab'la, the purpose of this world is to create a new God to create the next world. All of our individual elements – yours, mine, the tile beneath our feet, the algae floating on a fish pond – teaches them about how to create an equation of their own and continue what they consider a cycle. Like a child maturing beneath a parent's wing. There are two contestants for this role in this particular unit of the cycle – Lucius and the Tyab'la. It is unclear if there are any more, but it is highly unlikely.
"What?" Raffe's voice shakes. "What do you mean? Lucius? The Tyab'la?"
Their blood is both five-eighths. That percentage gave them both the right boost to elevate them into… the playing fields. Of course, there is also their traumatic childhoods which motivate them both in very different ways – it's so strange, isn't it, to think that you were the cause of both's misery? Jane cocks her head, staring at Raffe through narrowed purple eyes. You taught Theobella that the world is vicious and that she needs to be to survive. And you taught Lucius that his love will only hurt him when you killed the only one who'd ever love him back. Quite strange, I'd say.
"Don't turn this on Raffe," Ariel says quietly. "The conversation is still based on Lucius and Theobella. You're saying that the purpose of all of us is to teach them how to… read this equation?"
Basically. I think. Your ways of explaining things are beneath me. It's very curious, seeing their different ways of exploring our world. Theobella has thrown herself into the midst of everything happening around her. As Lucius said… she is the zero. All of the past, present, and future levitates around her. In order to learn how something ticks, she rips it up and examines every little piece, and, most of the time, she doesn't bother to put it back together.
Lucius's adoration of Bryon can be seen in his approach on life. I find it fascinating. Instead of taking on the viewpoint of a god from an early age like Theobella, he chose to walk alongside us. Arrogantly, of course, but he chose to love and laugh and cry and let his heart be broken like any human. He doesn't look at humans as being numbers in the equation, try as he might. As opposed to Theobella's benevolence and belligerence, he is the embodied element of the careful balance of madness and intelligence. And, instead of tearing things apart, he is like an artist who creates the world around him. Jane chuckles softly. He gives second chances. He knows that life comes at a price, so never come begging for a miracle, but the fool tries to help anyway. He grants opportunities. Ask him someday about his gardens. He creates life there, too.
"Gardens?" Michael repeats.
"Is he a gardener?" Ariel asks, sounding amused.
I have never seen flowers so diverse and aesthetic. Some of them truly belong in the Garden of Eden. It is a clever way to go about learning the multiple logistics of living organisms – creating a life form that cannot feel pain, cannot think of its misery. He cannot drive a tree mad. Poor stupid child.
Jane fidgets, pulling her tail out from under her and flexing her wings.
I will admit, however, that he… frightens me. Whatever Lucifer did to Lucius – whatever terrible, terrible curse he inflicted – it did something… truly awful.
"Awful?" Uriel prompts, at last seeming to have recovered from the headache.
To put you into perspective… we only a vague understanding of the fourth dimension. We believe we know how it works, yet we cannot experience it and have no way of proving if our theories are accurate. That said about the fourth dimension, the one you know as Lucius can elevate his mental state – his thoughts, the ones we have on our third plane – to the fifth plane.
A chill runs down my spine.
"Fifth?" Raffe echoes. "What is the fifth? What the hell does that mean?"
I wish I knew more than I do, because I honestly and truly can only guess. Understanding the third dimension gave Bryon extreme clarity and peace. I do not think the same can be said about Lucius and his multiple levels. And, in that matter, Lucius frightens me very, very much.
Michael's eyebrows furrow. "I'd think that Theobella should frighten you more. After all, if she is truly looking to dissect us all, you'd be a primary target, with your intelligence, wouldn't you?"
Certainly. I cannot do anything more for her. My death is almost inevitable at this point. Most of my research will rot, old and forgotten, inside of a tunnel made with skulls… Jane's ears fold back. I must admit, I am not fond of that idea. Never in all my life did I consider that I would die before the Dragon King, the last one that can read my ancient language. But perhaps it is for the better. Some tests need only be performed once.
"She has gruesome ones, I think," Raffe says hesitantly. My heart squeezes as I remember the pitch-black tunnels lined with thousands of lost souls, and the poor angel trapped in her tests. "I've heard that, at least."
"I've read a few of her journals," Michael says quietly. "Their translations, at least. I'm well aware of her cruelty."
Terrible things must be committed. I am not sorry for what I did. It was terrible. Very terrible. But had I not done it, you all would've been idiots stumbling in the dark.
"She raises a fair point," Ariel admits, sighing. "We can't judge her methods of receiving intelligence if we're going to be the ones using it."
Uriel grunts. "I wasn't aware that the truth meant so much to you, Ariel."
"Please, don't," Michael sighs, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "Does anyone have any more questions for Jane?"
"How dangerous is Lucius?" Raffe questions immediately. He leans forward, his blue eyes unusually bright, filled with malice.
You would stand no chance against him in any aspect he would agree to. He likes making deals. He doesn't like being forced into duels.
I suppress a smile as Raffe sinks back into his seat, looking a bit like a scolded toddler – I know I shouldn't, I know his hatred of Lucius stems off from Lucius's control over me. But… My suppressed smile crashes. Lucius is literally a God.
Lucius is literally a God.
I shake my head slowly and refocus my attention on Michael.
"…I'm not really sure if that has anything to do with it, but I'd like to just know."
That was the biggest heap of bullshit I've ever heard. Mathematical terms were a figurative way for me to convey my message in terms you could understand. We are more than numbers and figures.
"It was a simple question," Michael sighs.
Ariel raises her hand, looking uncertain as to how to gain the party's attention. "You made it sound as if Theobella and Lucius were enemies, but you never specifically said… are they hostiles?"
They would be fools not to be. Both have options to be granted what they both assume is unlimited power, but only one can achieve it. They were born cousins, you realize. They grew up together. But their paths separated, and innocent adoration has turned into mature hatred. I believe Lucius regards it with more of a wistful note, believing it to be the nature of things or something else equally poignant and silly along those lines, whereas Theobella views it almost like another childish game.
"I have a question." Titaniel has been as quiet as a mouse and as still as a statue for so long that I'd forgotten he existed. He leans forward, eyes wide, huge, and dull, like lusterless riverstones. "What does any of this have to do with Black Wolf and White Wolf?"
A chill runs down my spine, like a drop of icy liquid rolling down my vertebrae, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow thickly; Black Wolf, the one with the doomed family, father of Theobella. For some reason, I'd forgotten all about that. Tonight, perhaps if I speak a prayer, he'll allow me to talk with him again. Maybe he'll explain some more of what's going on. Maybe he was once this angel, sitting at a table of comrades, instead of a miserable thought-wolf existing on a mental plane.
In the larger scheme of things, the ones you refer to as Black Wolf and White Wolf have no significance. They are only another hurdle. Another subplot in a huge world of subplots. Their story is only better known than most.
Titaniel nods, as if he'd expected no other answer.
Sighing, Michael leans forward, his expression lost in arcane thought. "So. Madness is a ruse leading to true intelligence –"
No, it is vision into another realm, few actually have the ability to comprehend what they're seeing, what they're understanding, leading to what is commonly interpreted as madness.
"– Theobella and Lucius hate each other, God is a lie, we are all pawns in one huge game, the Prince of Hell has a lot of issues, and Theobella is trying to pick you apart, likely to sweep in at any given moment. Am I correct?"
King.
Jane's mind is soft, without any explanation to it. It's like the soft, wistful plink of a piano key at the end of a song, or the sound of a drop of water hitting a leaf. Quiet, yes, but so, so important. For reasons I can't quite explain, my blood runs cold.
"King?" Michael repeats. "What do you mean, King?"
You said the Prince of Hell. Jane cocks her head slowly, blinking perhaps for the first time. I was correcting you. King. King of Hell.
Silence seems to scream around the hall. The rustle of feathers ceases, and the frozen angels turn to look at Jane. Slowly, she peels back her lips over gleaming fangs in a grim, malicious grin.
Three hours prior to this moment, Lucifer was killed. It could have nothing to do with Lucius's cold-blooded fury I sensed earlier, but the odds are that it's not the case.
Beside me, Hugo gasps, tucking his chin on his chest and staring intently at his shoes with a look of horror. Raffe stands up, throwing his chair backwards, his hand on Pooky Bear's hilt. Ariel pales, her eyes going wide. Michael's hands tighten around his goblet. Uriel scrabbles over the table, like a frightened rat. Titaniel just sort of looks up.
Also, Michael, I feel obliged to warn you: his fury isn't solely dedicated towards Lucifer. Jane leans forward, licking her chops almost coyly. After all, it wasn't Lucifer that hit him over the head and knocked him out cold, was it? And, let's be honest here – not only did dozens of humans he'd sworn to protect die, but also, one who truly, truly loved him… last time that happened… well… you all see Lucius's cruelty towards Raffe now. She levels her gaze with Michael's. You are a dead man walking, same as me.
A silence watches with brutal indifference, keeping the air still aside from the panicked breaths of those trapped. If a battle of wills could be measured, the tension between Jane and Michael would be off the charts. Her hackles are raised, her fur bristling, eyes ablaze with the thrill of a final stand.
"Make sure she's secure," Michael orders calmly. His little guard scampers from the wall, pulling Jane's chain tight, forcing her muzzle down so that her head bows forward. Try as he might, he is unable to break her vicious glare on Michael.
The archangel rises slowly, drawing his sword in a manner that depicts both jaded lethargy and the petulant toying of cat and mouse. His eyes, alight with fire that does not quite reach their inner calm, yet lapping insistently upon his patience, do not leave Jane's. The silver metal gleams as he lifts it over his shoulder, vaulting over the banquet table.
Other archangels look as if they wish to protest. Their eyes flicker to and fro, caught in a battle between what they believe and what they are willing to do for that which they believe in.
"I am sorry for how this turned out," Michael apologizes insincerely. "You had such a long run, too. The world will mourn your passing."
Jane bares her teeth, showing the white fangs peering from black gums. Do not patronize me. You enjoy this as much as I shall enjoy the look upon your face when the New Satan comes for you.
Smoothly, Michael says, "We both know that you'll be dead long before –"
A white ghost slips past me. I jump out of my skin, flattening myself against the wall as a frigid hand brushes against mine as the figure whisks past. Heels click across the marble floor, drawing the attention of all.
Lucius lays a hand upon Jane's flank, and, almost instantly, she begins to dissolve. My jaw drops as, bit by bit, her flesh and skin and blood and dimension fall apart, becoming diaphanous dust as white as a bleached desert bone. The chains rattle to the floor, and, with a final, shit-eating grin, Jane vanishes entirely.
All the bravado of Michael has faded, the spotlight has been stolen. The dust curls around Lucius's feet, floating into the air with a pale dusty cloud, swelling about him affectionately. It halos his head, lapping at his cheekbones and giving him a holy glow. Perhaps it is the illusion of knowing him better that gives him more beauty, fierce and rough as an uncut mountain's peak. Perhaps that is it.
But such illusion does little to explain why so many others stare at him gawkingly, entranced.
"Dearest Michael," Lucius purrs, pulling at a cuff link, deliberately directing his attention to his sleeve, "I don't take kindly to you threatening my Wives. She was already under such stress."
"What did you do?" Michael demands hoarsely, pausing to cough up a cloud of the white powder. "What – what the hell?"
"She's safe now." Lucius leans down, holding the thick black chain in his hand – he studies it indifferently for a few seconds, holding it up to the light. The muscles in his jaw clench lividly. "Is this how she's been treated? Chained like an animal?"
"She is an animal." Shaking his head to rid the very last of the white powder from him, Michael squares his shoulders, glaring down at Lucius. "A smart animal, but an animal nonetheless."
"But of course," Lucius says coolly. "Just like the monkeys."
My stomach drops.
They regard one each other for a few long, dangerous moments. It looks almost bizarre, the stark contrast between personalities, between auras, between appearances. Lucius, shorter than average and white as an eagle's feather, standing with perhaps a greater sense of danger about him than Michael, tall and dark and gold and regal. Manipulative intelligence and profound observation. Dangerous skill, personal ability, and fierce determination for a goal that might've once been liable and natural talent, forced cleverness, and an impassive ambition for power and military strength. Nobility hidden beneath false lechery and lechery hidden beneath false nobility.
Opposites. Utter opposites.
Lucius's voice is cold and smooth, like the face of an icy lake before the first thaw. "Do you know how many monkeys died at the hands of your warriors, Michael?"
The silence grows tenser. Raffe and Titaniel reach for their swords. Michael says nothing, but his eyes glitter and narrow, as if trying to understand the turn of Lucius's conversation.
"One hundred and thirty-seven people." Lucius tilts his head to one side, leisurely shifting his weight back onto his heels. He lets it hang in the air for a few seconds before shaking his head and continuing in an angrier voice, "One hundred and thirty-seven people that died because of you."
Michael studies Lucius, but does not say a word.
Lucius walks forward slowly, drawing closer and closer to Michael with a slow, jaunting prowl. It's almost identical to the predatory saunter the archangel had used when approaching Jane, right down to Michael's defiant glare, the sort that hides fear.
"Do you know how many angels you have in your personal army, Michael?"
Silence. Michael swallows, his eyes blowing wide.
"Seventy-five." Lucius leans forward, hands curling into fists by his sides. "Seventy-five, Michael. That's less than half of the people that they murdered." Suddenly, the demon jerks back, looking off into the distance, his voice soft, lilting, teasing. "Still, though… it should be enough."
Michael jerks forward, the tendons in his neck snapping taut. "What?" he snarls, defiance replaced by horror. "What have you done?"
Lucius glides past Michael, heels clicking, and amblingly approaches the table of additional archangels. A cruel grin twists his features. "Titaniel!" he calls out, linking his arms behind his back. "You didn't used to be all nasty and black, did you, now?"
Titaniel blinks slowly.
"Spit it out, man!" Lucius growls, cruel laughter laced through his words. "Because Titaniel, oh, Titaniel, I know you remember. I can see your scars from here. But you're lucky, you know. So lucky. If I had gotten a full bite in, a droplet more of venom more in your system, and you'd be dead on the floor."
"It was a demon," Titaniel says uncertainly. "You – you are not a wolf. You are a man."
"I am not a man, nor a wolf, nor a demon, but the unholy offspring of all three." Lucius's lips split open in a terrible black smile, riddled with those thin needles of teeth in his black gums. "Remember the fever, Titaniel? Remember as you stumbled away from me, holding your hand up to the moonlight, watching as your pale skins stained black before your eyes? Remember the awful churning in your stomach? The feeling of undoing in every particle of your body?"
Titaniel blinks a few times, but does not say anything. His emotionless must be conflicting with terrible memories.
"Would a demonstration help jar some memories?"
Lucius's head whips around, his grin turning more into a snarl, and fixes his gaze upon Michael's sole guard. With a serpentine hiss and a white blur, he lunges. Teeth flash. Blood splatters over the tile floor. Red dribbles down Lucius lips, licked up by a black tendril of a tongue.
The guard staggers back, wailing and clutching his hand to his chest. Almost instantly, his breathing becomes ragged and wet, but whether that's from Lucius's bite or pure shock, I don't know.
Hugo yelps on the other side of the room, eyes bugging out, jaw dropping at something he can see but I cannot. The guard's back is to me, I cannot see him, I cannot see anything. Ariel shouts a surprised curse and knocks her chair back as she stands. Michael watches, mouth open, helpless.
The guard wails pitifully again. Uriel squeaks out a prayer. My hands fly to the dagger hidden beneath my clothes, but it's unnecessary, so unnecessary, because the guard pitches forward, staggering towards Michael. Strangled cries of help escape his lips, garbled and nearly unintelligible. He pivots slightly, and I see him.
Blackness is creepy up his arm terrifyingly quickly – not a blackness in the veins, or a sourness of the skin, but pure black. It's not so much that the fluid inside him is turning dark, but his flesh changes tone. Blacker and blacker he becomes, until he is an ebony plume in the darkness. The brown of his eyes begins to pale – it grows intensely colored, saturated, a bright hazel pale against the dark pallor of his skin. Screaming, the angel arches his spine, sparing us a glance at the black gums and pearly white teeth.
He howls in anguish, feathers dropping one by one. I flinch away from the terrible screeches, heart pounding in my throat, watching in the corner of my eye as Michael leaps forward, attempting to pillow his warrior's head, murmuring in a soft panic to his soldier. Over the terrible cacophony, Lucius can be heard.
"He's got exactly twenty-four minutes and a half to live, with the dosage I gave him," the demon brags spitefully, heels clicking as he turns his back upon Michael. "Same dosage I gave to the rest, actually."
Michael freezes like a deer in the headlights, head whipping up. "What do you mean?"
Lucius peers over his shoulder, a smile as black as tar spread wide over his face. "My dear man, what do you think I mean?"
"You wouldn't dare!" Raffe snarls, adjusting his grip on the sword like he really might do something stupid like attack.
Tipping his head back and walking languidly away from the charged scene, Lucius laughs his low, terrible laugh, the kind that haunts my nightmares. "The first one was bit exactly twenty five minutes ago. …And now the second one's dead, too. I'd hurry to their bedsides if I were you. Really, I gave you next to no time to say goodbye."
"You wretched demon," Michael hisses, bolting to his feet, quivering from head to toe. "You ugly, unloved, lonely creature!"
Lucius pauses, tilting his head back, as if considering Michael's words with the nastiest of expression. "I think it's better to be lonely by choice," he hums thoughtfully, "than being left alone after everyone they care for dies at another's hands, wouldn't you?" He smiles wickedly, prowling off towards the door. "Good day, Michael. Good day, Raffe. Good day, Ariel, Titaniel, Uriel. Good night, Chamuel."
Lucius lifts his fingers up, snaps them, and the writhing angel upon the ground goes limp.
Oh Lucius, sweet Lucius, how I love you.
Michael is relatively defenseless now. I wonder how that'll play out. Hmm.
POLL: Jane mentions there being a difference in Theobella and the Tyab'la. Here's a question for you - would it be wise to trust Theobella, seeing as she one of the few she still loves is Penryn? And, more importantly, would it be wise to trust Lucius?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh