Chapter 36
Murmurs from outside the warming room door melded with the peaceful crackling of Kalia’s fireplace and Saer’s unnerved, heavy breathing. Saer held little control over his instinct to cower, yet a smoldering rage burned inside—the caged animal desperate to fight instead of flee.
If Saer could admit it to himself, embers of the impossible also seethed beneath coals of terror and fury—relentless, crushing devotion and an enigmatic desire to be back in his creator’s favor.
He shoved that inner desire away.
Another determined knock sounded at Kalia’s door, and the demoness’s head curled towards it with sinuous precision.
“The sun is down, Miss Kalia. Has—are you well?”
Sloth’s full lips split into a disconcerting grin, and Lucifer’s honeyed voice resonated throughout the chamber, Kalia’s mouth unmoving. Children, our guests are here. Simple as that, her bare feet glided to the door to allow the monks entry.
…a girl who spoke with angels…
Saer hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, his brain fitting the pieces together. Kalia had done this before. The visits from the fallen angel must be on a pattern, as the brothers predicted that evening, for Lucifer’s possession.
His maker’s reaction upon seeing him, however, Saer couldn’t make sense of.
Drowning black eyes were worn for hostility and disfavor. Onyx bled to crimson to foreshadow pain and punishment.
Yet, his maker within Kalia’s body smiled.
Heart hammering in his chest like a bird skirring in a cage, Saer watched and held his breath as Kalia’s hand pulled open the door.
As though a beacon of divine radiance was bestowed upon the brothers past the doorway, they collectively gasped and murmured. “The light is upon us.” “Praise be.” “This is a blessed day.” A handful of monks bowed their heads in subservience
When Lucifer answered the door to the monks, It gazed upon them with a glowing, ivory gaze, no pupil or iris.
The Seventh’s body pivoted as gracefully as a lullaby, and the flicker of beaming white shifted to midnight in Kalia’s eyes.
Displeased.
Murderous.
You see how they worship me, Saerkhanum?
None of the monks reacted to the question. His maker projected it into his mind, and his alone.
The First didn’t have the chance to respond. Brother Thomas’s voice from earlier gasped and called, “The drifter! He’s been healed!”
“Praise be!” “A miracle.” “Angel-touched!”
They were poor, na?ve, deceived fools.
Supplicating, the brown-robed men filtered in. Kalia turned, lilting towards the fireplace. The last devotee shut the door.
At least a dozen other bodies spread out in the room. A sheen of sweat formed on their brows upon entrance into the cramped, heated space.
One monk split away from the group and approached Saer, kneeling in front of him with a kind smile. “The Light has seen fit to save you this day, traveler.” The First recognized his voice—Abbot Maurice.
The abbot nodded with encouragement, mistaking Saer’s apprehension for awe. “You’re chosen. I invite you to pray with us.” Gesturing to the gathering of religious practitioners, Saer swallowed and shook his head once.
Abbot, lock the door. We’re not to be interrupted this evening. The dulcet command hummed from within, too much for one of the brothers, who fell to his knees, weeping with ecstasy. Kalia’s body faced the fireplace, her back to the room.
A brief flash of curiosity graced Maurice’s face but was quickly doused by unquestioning faith. “Yes, of course, Light.”
Light. They called It ‘Light.’
The abbot moved to comply, pulling a ring of keys from his belt and locking the calefactory door with harrowing finality.
Saer’s mind ratcheted in double time. What was It doing? What did It intend?
Kalia’s hand curled out from her body after Maurice completed the request. The key, Abbot.
Again, with unfaltering trust, the brother went to the Seventh’s side and placed his iron keys in her offered palm.
Digits curling over the handle, Kalia’s limb sank to her side, dismissing the abbot without another word.
Maurice took his place amongst the rest of the brothers.
Saer hadn’t moved from his place on the floor.
Saerkhanum.
The misery dripping in that single word was anguish to Pride’s heart, making his breath catch. Hells help him, he wanted to protect the bearer of it, to turn that agony into joy—and not. Why! Why should he worship and cower when he’d been made better? Made more?
The monks heard the address as well, and some released sobs, clutching at their chests.
No!
Shoving his palms into the floor, Saer focused on its coldness, the unyielding rough surface. Lucifer hadn’t asked him a question. He bit his tongue, silent.
Kalia’s body turned. The endless obsidian in her gaze lightened to Saer’s reflection—the color of pale kyanite. Lucifer’s eyes.
Pride’s eyes.
I’ve missed you, my child.
Saer choked on a whimper and a curse, all at once.
Crouching down with impossible elegance so they were the same height, those icicle eyes fixed on Saer’s face from across the room. The monks watched with silence or hushed sobs. Her face encompassed the picture of perfect torment. Have you missed me?
Yes, he wanted to scream.
And no. Not for a moment.
Saer opened his mouth to answer but faltered, unable to give Lucifer a truth It wanted to hear.
The hesitation hung, and a flicker of void crossed Kalia’s gaze.
Sadness flushed out of her face like a landslide, leaving behind careful and deceptive apathy.
In the next blink, the expression peeled back as though it had never been.
Saer questioned his own sanity, whether the change occurred at all.
Skittering along the ground, arms and legs slinking, Kalia bypassed the monks. Saer pushed his heel into the stone floor, shoving his back further into the wall behind him. His breath hitched as she drew closer, somehow both disturbing and beautiful. The Seventh’s body flowed into a kneel.
As Kalia’s hand reached forward, he closed his eyes and fought the instinct to shiver. The side of Sloth’s fingertip skimmed along one of Saer’s metallic crescents, then the palm pushed forward and cupped his jawline. The touch intoxicated and nauseated him all at once.
He wanted it to stop.
He never wanted it to end.
My beautiful mirror. We should be in this together. Look at me.
A harsh breath escaped him, and Saer opened his eyes to Its gaze. A million possible responses fell dead on his lips, halted by infuriating fear.
The demoness’s shoulders rose and fell with a long, refined sigh. Your temper tantrums. Your willful nature. You make this so hard for me, my Saerkhanum.
Forgive me, he wanted to scream.
To Hells with you, chased its heels.
Kalia’s eyes snapped from void to blood, as though It heard. Had It heard?!
His entire body tensed, awaiting physical pain.
Another creature screamed.
A loud crack, crunch, and pop.
Something warm and wet splashed across Pride’s face, painting his pearlescent skin scarlet.
More gasps and screams catapulted the room into pandemonium.
The Seventh’s body stood shorter than any of the other creatures in the room, and yet she’d somehow twirled, lunged, and snatched Abbot Maurice’s face.
Kalia’s hands had gripped his head at the temples, and squeezed with enough power that his cranium imploded, splattering gray brain matter and ruby ichor across the room.
Half the remaining brothers fled for the locked door in a panic. They slammed their bodies into it, pulling uselessly at the handle. The other half fell to the ground in terrified veneration.
All ended up covered in drips and fragments of Brother Maurice’s tissue, shattered skull, and blood.
Lucifer stared at Kalia’s hands, rubbing thumbs to fingertips.
Look what you’ve made me do, Saerkhanum.
Kaliaspher is so upset. Blazing ruby eyes darted to Saer’s from across the room.
You’ve taken this away from her, the reason for my visits.
She’s crying. Howling. Years of establishing herself here amongst the brothers, and you’ve ruined it.
The spark of rage grew, and Pride latched onto it, fueled it, finding his voice at last. “You do as you will! No one makes you do anything!”
He regretted the outburst as soon as it fled his tongue.
Still.
The monks continued in their flurry of activity, shrieks, orisons, and horror.
Lucifer stood still.
Sloth’s head canted to the side as the fallen angel whispered in Saer’s mind, Master.
Every nerve along Saer’s spine shrieked.
Kalia’s hands snapped down, clutching the neck of one of the begging monks. She twisted and ripped. You… Half of the man’s head came off.
Lucifer clasped another at the jaw before the first brother’s body slumped to the ground.
…will call…
Jerking down, the Seventh’s grip wrenched the mandible off the screeching postulate’s face. Brother Thomas.
The demoness’s body stood soaked in blood.
Her crimson-stained fingers slid over the bald scalp of a crying third monk, gripped his ear with terrifying intensity, then slammed him temple-first into the ground.
His scream cut off in a dull, crunching thud as Lucifer’s voice hissed in Saer’s mind, … me, ‘Master.’
With frightening quickness, her form slunk in front of the First. Her bare feet should have slipped. Lucifer didn’t allow it.
The remaining monks in the room scrambled for the warming room door, pounding on it, breaking their nails on the wood as they scratched and screamed.
Saer flinched when Kalia’s dripping hands snapped around his wrists, Lucifer pushing them into the First’s chest between their bodies.
Kalia’s deranged face hovered before his, her breath hot on his cheek.
With every ounce of innate pride in his body, Saer forced his steely gaze to meet the vermilion one in front of him. A single word emerged, strangled between gritted teeth.
“Master.”
A sigh flowed through Saer’s mind, touching parts of him it shouldn’t have, and he fought back a shudder. Kalia’s eyelids closed in a languid blink, and when they reopened, the scarlet pulled back to onyx. Never forget, Saerkhanum.
The words meant so much beyond what Lucifer said.
One of Kalia’s hands lifted, and his maker ran a blood-stained finger along Saer’s lower lip.
I love you, my brilliant First. It’s why your absence and defiance hurts me so.
The fallen angel tracked Kalia’s digit as it painted red on Saer’s frozen mouth, Its tone absent.
But I understand it. You’re so like me. Destroying you would be to destroy a piece of myself.
Lucifer’s touch, even filtered through Sloth, boasted a combination of torture and rapture. He couldn’t move.
Kalia’s black eyes darted up, meeting Saer’s paralyzed gaze. You will come back to me. The chilling prediction slid under his skin, unpleasant and too pleasant all at once.
Kalia’s red-painted hands cupped each side of Saer’s face. Blood smearing, Lucifer leaned forward and pressed Kalia’s lips to Saer’s forehead in an unhurried kiss.
Then, as if all the bones disappeared from her anatomy at once, Kalia slumped against him with a sob.
Saer felt more than saw Lucifer’s absence as his maker departed her body.