Morning Star (Sins of the Father 3)

I regretted leaving my jacket behind, but I didn’t want it ruined. How angels dealt with clothes and wings, I couldn’t even fathom. My shirt had ripped open and apart the moment I’d engaged my wings, falling into a tattered swirl into the abyss far beneath me. The night wind was cold, icy as it sheared against my skin. All the more reason for me to hate Belphegor, for this potential future bout of pneumonia, for what he did to Florian.

And yet all I could think of was how much Tylenol I was going to need to kill the big honking migraine I would get after touching down. That presupposed the possibility that I was going to survive, but I liked Maharani’s way of thinking, of looking ahead to the better eventualities despite how hopeless everything might seem. If I was going to take advice about the future, I was going to take it from the lady who could play with time magic.

The worst part was knowing that all this creatio ex nihilo stuff wasn’t going to help me in the slightest out there. You can’t just conjure a cannon and hold it up in the clouds. I work out, but I don’t have the upper body strength for that. No one does. Concentrating on flying and not plunging to my death was hard enough.

But not far now. I could see from Belphegor’s position that he hadn’t moved in the last few seconds or so, content to stay in one spot. Of course, that could have heralded worse things. It meant that he was brewing something, gathering his energies for something big. I chanced a look at the world below us, hardly able to tell what we were flying over, exactly, only vaguely aware that the splotch of concrete and steel beneath us – with its occasional blooms of magical fire – was Valero. I looked closer, and among the twinkling city lights, even from far above, I could spot the unmistakable blood red of the flowers crafted by Belphegor’s witches and their awful hagriculture. The fight wasn’t looking good. The flowers were still spreading.

I clenched my teeth and soared forward, resolute. Then the key really was to destroy Belphegor, to stop this madness at its source. He couldn’t be allowed to become the strongest of the Seven. The prime princes were just fine the way they were, already dangerous in their individual capacities as demon nobility. Humanity didn’t need one running amok and trying to turn the planet into something out of Sleeping Beauty.

“Belphegor,” I shouted. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

His eyes burned red, even redder than the crimson glow of his skin, and he extended a finger at me. I flinched, expecting him to hurl another of those dangerous energy projectiles he’d used to attack Quilliam. But what came at me instead was far worse. It was an evil, gloating monologue.

“So, the son of Samyaza comes,” he shouted back, sneering. “He’s a big man now, isn’t he, using his wings? Your father would be so proud.”

“Well, now you’re just being an asshole.” I flew on a gust of air, rushing Belphegor so suddenly that he didn’t expect me coming. My sword was poised to strike at his throat, but he was quick to react, one hand lifting to deflect the blow with the clang of metal on metal, a red flicker of light flashing from his palm.

“Look at you now, biting the hand that feeds you.” Belphegor’s lips drew back. “Haven’t I treated you so well? I could have

killed you at so many points during our fragile friendship, nephilim, and yet I spared you. Was that all worth nothing?”

Gritting my teeth, I doubled back, hating that my anger made it so easy for Belphegor to read my actions. He raised his other hand, and I landed another glancing blow that made my arm shudder with the impact.

“I don’t take kindly to people who hurt my friends. For that matter, I don’t take kindly to people who threaten the world I live in.”

He scoffed, his forehead wrinkling, his third eye blazing with red fire. “You’re a mongrel. Only half human, and yet you show these people your loyalty. Why? You are nothing to them. And they’re nothing to you, as they are nothing to the Court of Sloth. Let me do this one thing. Let me take what’s rightfully mine, and I will give you a seat in my house, nephilim. Heaven won’t take you. You’re an aberration. And you’ll never be truly human, either. Come to me. Join me.” He reached forward with his hand, talons glinting in the moonlight as he stretched out his fingers. “What choice do you have but to go to hell?”

The flames in Belphegor’s eyes burned hot when he grinned, thinking he’d maneuvered me into a corner. But the fire in my heart, the sigils on my chest burned stronger, casting a golden haze against the clouds.

“There is always a choice. I have my free will, as you have yours.” I raised my sword again, ready to rush for another assault, as many as it would take to break Belphegor’s demonic shielding, to make him yield. “I choose what’s right for me, for humanity. You can go fuck yourself.”

Red fire flickered as Belphegor’s eyes twitched, making every effort to keep his anger to himself. But based humbly on my own experience with demons, restraint was never really one of their strong points. He sucked in a deep breath, for a split second seeming almost larger than the teenage vessel that contained him. Something was coming, and I was sure I wasn’t going to like it.

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

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

“No,” I muttered. “No, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

“A light in the darkness.”

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

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

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

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