Chapter 4
Lucifer began at Saer’s silver hooves.
He refused to cry out, swallowing screams behind gritted teeth as his weary maker stretched and reformed his flesh, altered bones, and reattached structures for him to adopt the shape of humanity’s two-legged stance.
“You’re doing well, my Saerkhanum,” Lucifer whispered as It sculpted his calf muscle, pulling its rigid tendon to adhere to Saer’s heel bone with Hellsfire. “You’ll be exquisite.”
Each approving word swelled in Saer’s chest, warring with pain. Deep aching flared with periods of sharp agony, and Saer stood through it all—a slab of marble repurposed by Lucifer’s artistry.
The fallen angel took immense time and care with Saer’s flesh, draining it of the onyx hue until—Saer noted through ragged breaths—his flawless skin shone as pale as his maker’s.
It was worth it. The pride in mirroring his creator in any way warmed through him; no one could argue Lucifer’s beauty.
His maker worked Its way up, and Saer struggled to control his trembling with the long sweeps made against his torso, his abdominal musculature, his hips, his arms.
“Humanity won’t be able to resist you,” the fallen angel murmured.
Saer wanted to ask what his creator meant, but feared parting his lips, lest he howl in anguish. He focused on the thudding of his heart, the in-and-out of the air in his lungs.
Too much and too little time passed before Lucifer reached Saer’s face. His creator’s thumb grazed over his mandible. “Look at me, my Saerkhanum.”
Saer shifted his gaze to Lucifer’s, and his creator smiled. “Your pain, so like mine. It’s spellbinding.”
His brow furrowed, unsure of how to respond.
One of the fallen angel’s fingers touched the corner of Saer’s right eye. “You’ll keep your eyes. My eyes. My perfect likeness.”
Saer had never seen his reflection. With Lucifer’s declaration, he realized he’d been given irises the color of ice, alight with blue fire.
Lucifer’s eyes.
The fallen angel moved to Saer’s jaw. “I’ll give you lips fit for tempting, a strong jawline to counteract their softness.” Lucifer squinted, as though picturing Saer’s finished face in Its mind. “Black hair, so our eyes might stand out more.”
Our eyes.
Saer swallowed, his heart stumbling at the thought of the pain to come. He never tore his gaze from Lucifer’s face.
“And these.” Lucifer’s focus shifted outward, Its palm sliding up along one of Saer’s horns.
“These I’ll change to hair. You’ll keep them.
Silver crescents to frame your desirable face, apart from the black tresses.
” The fallen angel nodded to Itself, a slow and contemplative motion.
“You’ll be my masterpiece. Lower your gaze, Saerkhanum. ”
Saer couldn’t deny the sharp spike of umbrage and denial in his heart whenever Lucifer commanded he lower his gaze. But he did, and braced for further torture.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Once finished, Lucifer slumped, and would have collapsed if Saer hadn’t caught his maker by Its arms. The fallen angel leaned into Saer, pressing Its forehead to his. They listened to one another’s breathing, the sculpted shaking with residual torment, the sculptor with unfathomable exhaustion.
“Travel back to the surface,” Lucifer whispered. “Bring me what I need, Saerkhanum.”
Tell me what you need! he wanted to scream. Instead, Saer replied with a hushed tone to match, “Anything and everything, Master.”
He wished he could see Neyu before leaving again.
Lucifer’s weary lips smiled, and Saer paused, his chest aching to witness it. His maker created him. His maker loved him. His maker deserved the best he had to give.
As soon as Lucifer could stand again on Its own, Saer stepped away. The sooner he left, the sooner he could come back to It. To Hell.
To Neyu.
Hellsfire swallowed him, returning him to Earth.
Saer’s arrival met with a cacophony of alarmed shouts and activity, forcing him into an immediate, defensive stance as his Hellsfire snuffed out.
He stood in a circle of charred remains, a field of tall stalks surrounding him on all sides.
What vegetation had escaped Saer’s Hellsfire reached taller than his head in neat rows, planted with deliberate precision.
A crispness hung in the atmosphere—it didn’t carry the same bite he’d experienced before, though Saer’s every exhale still painted the air.
The low-hanging sun cast ample light in a blue sky, moving towards warm hues of orange and pink.
Hollers closed in from multiple directions and Saer readied to strike down the makers of such sounds on sight. The memory of their spears and his subsequent punishment lay fresh in his mind. He bared his teeth, forcing a barked growl past his human lips when the stalks parted before him.
A figure froze, dark eyes wide. His head came to Saer’s chest, and his scrawny, brown torso held the beginnings of lean muscle. A smaller human. A…boy.
The human yelled over his shoulder, sounds of warning. Voices answered him, but all movement stopped.
Saer growled again, his muscles tensed. Ready.
The boy held out his empty hands. He wore bottoms made of animal skins, but nothing on his upper half. A mess of black hair half-covered his dark eyes. This human didn’t have a sharp stick. And he didn’t appear intent on attacking.
Saer relaxed some of his guard.
The young human gestured at Saer’s naked body, something between confusion and incredulity on his face. Did they cover themselves with skins to avoid the cold? That, he could understand.
Shouts resurged behind the boy, taller figures appearing, and Saer tensed again, a rumble in his throat.
He didn’t expect the boy to show him his back, nor the exasperated but somehow calm yell as he called for—Saer assumed—de-escalation.
These creatures of the Grandfather held similar mannerisms and expressions to his maker. And not. He recalled what Lucifer said as well as what he’d felt during his first encounter. These humans must hold the key to his maker’s recovery.
He made an effort to relax once more, though his eyes darted to and fro, hunting for any incoming threat. In the end, his gaze returned to the boy.
No sticks or weapons. No fear in the young man’s eyes.
The boy touched his palm to his own chest. “Ruki,” he said.
Saer narrowed his eyes and stopped his growl at last.
The one calling himself Ruki patted his sternum. “Ruki.”
“Ruki.” Saer attempted to repeat the sound, then frowned at the feel of words coming from his new throat, the way his tongue worked in a mouth he had no practice using. He ran that same tongue along the roof of his mouth, then over his flatter teeth.
Ruki grinned, and somehow it looked different than when the Daemoenica snarled. It reminded Saer of the Twins.
“You?” The boy pointed at Saer when he said the word, and though Saer didn’t speak their language, he understood well enough.
He raised his hand and touched his chest, the mirror of what Ruki did.
Another of the Grandfather’s creatures burst through the plant stalks—an older version of Ruki with red paint on his face and torso—and snagged the boy’s arm while yelling.
Saer took a shuffled step backwards and flexed his arms, readying to strike or flee as the man forced himself between Saer and Ruki.
He yelled and gestured at Saer’s nakedness.
Why did they all care so much that he was naked?
More nearby shouts rose. Ruki shoved himself around the man, and they wrestled for position. Control was slipping as tensions rose. This could end as before—Saer attacked and returning in failure.
He had no more time for indecision.
Slapping his own sternum, he yelled to be heard above the quarreling duo, “Saer!”
They halted their movements, and a surge of pride welled in Saer’s chest. Once again, Ruki grinned, then uttered a series of excited phrases to the man who appeared intent on protecting him.
The man gazed at Saer with distrustful eyes. “Saer,” he said in a cautious voice.
Saer nodded, then pointed at Ruki. “Ruki.” He pointed at the adult man and cocked his eyebrow.
Ruki laughed.
The man looked like he tasted ash on his tongue. “Asheda,” he said.
Something heated emanated from the man, familiar to Saer. He’d felt it once before, when one of the other humans approached him during his first trip to Earth—a warmth that touched his skin, not born of fire. It flared when the man spoke his own name.
“Asheda,” Saer repeated, the sounds still difficult for his new tongue.
Asheda huffed and assessed Saer from head to toe, taking in his lack of clothes, his far paler complexion, then the scorched landscape he appeared upon.
After too long, Ruki tugged on Asheda’s arm and uttered another series of rushed words. Asheda listened with apparent doubt, but eventually shifted his focus back to Saer, who remained in place.
Saer looked back with annoyed impassivity.
An aggravated sound left Asheda, and he pointed a finger at Saer, then at Ruki, issuing what could only be a warning by his tone of voice.
Protective.
The trait resonated with him. This man worried Saer would harm the boy.
As Ruki had when Saer first spotted him, he lifted his own hands to show them empty and benign.
Asheda sneered, then barked more orders behind them. Other voices answered. Before long, another man came from the stalks with a sort of fur blanket. Asheda took it from him and unfolded it, holding it out to Saer.
What in the Hells was he supposed to do with that?
He stared at it, then shot a skeptical look at the man.
Ruki offered a subdued laugh, then darted forward and grabbed the blanket before Asheda could protest. He stepped closer to Saer, then wrapped the fur around his own, skinny shoulders, modeling it for him.
Saer tipped his head, but nodded, then held his hand out.
If they felt more comfortable with him clothed, so be it.
Grinning once more, the boy closed the distance between them and placed the blanket in Saer’s waiting palm.