[The Celestial Wars] CHAPTER 1.7

CHAPTER SEVEN

“How in the nine levels of hell could this have happened, Father?” Ludovic raged, waving his fur-covered hands above his head and storming back and forth in front of the hastily assembled Hellion Highborn Court. He stopped suddenly and turned to face his father Belial.

The great demon sat on a throne of souls reaching higher than all others in a blatant display of his command to all that lay before him. The living souls crushed into the throne groaned and whimpered beneath his immense weight, but none of those assembled paid any mind to it. “I put enough tefsla into that child to stop her from shifting so much as a single molecule and then I thrashed her beyond thinking about anything but her own pain. She should not have even had the inclination, let alone the energy reserve to go into a blood rage.”

“A blood rage from a five-year-old Highborn Lady! Has anyone heard anything so ridiculous?” Innis cut in, causing several smaller comments and conversations to break out around the chamber.

“What I cannot fathom is how the child could possibly channel any ill at all towards her sister whose only crime was attempting to uphold our values, let alone focus on what she believes to be a legitimate reason for attacking her,” Plouton added, his plated lower body quivering with barely leashed rage. “For hell’s sake, Father! She attacked Columbine! Her own sister and fellow Highborn Lady!”

“This really has gone too far, father.”

“She is showing far too much of her father’s blood,” another declared.

“Aye, something has to be done about that girl!”

“And quickly!”

Belial sat at the front of the gathering, absorbing what each of his sons and their subsequent male offspring had to say on the matter. When he felt they had all said their piece, he held up one hand and the assembly immediately fell into silence. “I am already fully aware of young Cora’s attack on her sister and I have spoken at length with Ludovic on the matter.” His voice rumbled to a halt, as if trying to decide on the best way to word his next sentence.

He rubbed his chin with a single long talon, then paused and pierced the skin near his lips, penetrating the flesh up to the knuckle joint. “It would appear …” he said, removing the talon and licking the moisture from the nail and fingertip with his long, split tongue. “… that Lady Columbine is not entirely without fault in this matter.”

Tensions increased across the room, but when no one spoke, he went on. “Lady Columbine has attempted to overthrow Lord Ludovic’s disciplinary actions by absorbing a measurable amount of Cora’s tefsla into her own body.”

“WHAT?” Cries of disbelief and outrage burst across the floor, for never in the history of Hell, had a Lady ever deliberately attempted to reverse the decision by an elder lord. No one had ever interfered with a tefsla punishment, period!

Even Beelzebub, Belial’s militant commander and head of the Hellion Highborn Guards, looked at the supreme demon with a slightly hitched eye-ridge. As the only non-family member in the room, his presence half a pace behind Belial’s throne was almost as familiar as the throne itself.

“Enough.” Belial brought the room to an uneasy calm with just that one word. “Columbine is not the subject of condemnation here. Yes, she will be punished for her part in this, but that is not why you have been assembled and you will leave her discipline and situation to me. A decision must be made about Cora’s fate, for her blood rage is but the final flame in a countless line of other more minor occurrences in her young life—all of which appear to be escalating rapidly beyond our tolerance levels. That child has deliberately refused to conform to our practices and as you said, Plouton, she bears too much of her father’s blood and state of mind to be permitted to remain here. Mystallian women are completely unsuitable for us.”

When all the assembled demons nodded in unison, he added, “Unfortunately, because of her youth, Lady Cora cannot be banished from Chaos either. Our ladies have an expected level of decorum that is innate in each of them and I will not allow her to wander the realms, creating the same level of difficulty that she has done here, in my name. She is still only a child with absolutely no sense of Highborn obligation. So, although her mother will grieve her loss, I see no other choice but to have her executed.”

“Before your decision is cast, Father, I believe there may be another option,” Uriel said, tapping two fingers of his armoured left hand against his chin as a distant smile worked its way across his lips. “And, given its circumstances, you may even find this one entertaining.”

The gold and silver of his Heavenly armour shimmered against the flickering hellfire-light. When Belial didn’t answer, he lowered his hand and said, “None of us share any love for Avis after what he did to Clarise, yet for the moment he is here in Hell again. Clarise speaks highly of his healing capacity now that he has awoken and claims he will be on his feet properly within a matter of days. I seriously doubt that he will be welcome here once he has reached that point of his recovery?”

When Belial shook his great head, Uriel went on, “Then why not give the child back to her father? It is his name she will smear instead of ours, and the blood in her which belongs to us will make his life in years to come a living nightmare, serving a dual purpose.”

Many of the gathered Hellion Highborn grinned cruelly at the thought of the Mystallian attempting to raise one of their own, especially one who appeared to be nothing but trouble. Even Belial found it difficult to keep from imagining Avis’ dilemma.

“You have a vicious mind, Uriel,” he said, scraping his claws against the sides of his seat, causing those he sat on to moan pitifully. “And I approve. Notify Avis that either he takes the responsibility which should have been his from the moment of her birth or be the one to end her life and return to his former residency in the Nine Levels. If he loses or abandons her at any time, his freedom is forfeit. He may have no desire to be with his child, but the knowledge that we will take more than a passing interest in his eternal torture should be enough to convince him to try.”

“And here is hoping it is not,” Ahriman sneered, leaning towards Yima, who nodded in sombre agreement. As two of the younger sons of Belial, neither brother had been given what they considered their fair share of Avis and both were itching for the chance to make up for that lost opportunity.

They were not alone in that belief, and any chance to bring Avis back in barbed chains was met with great enthusiasm. It never once occurred to them that Avis may actually succeed in this endeavour, or that Cora may grow to adulthood. Sooner or later, he would mess up, and they would be waiting for him …

“Then this court is adjourned. You all have duties to perform,” Belial rose and flew up and over his throne, then dove into the large opening that led to his private chambers below.

Beelzebub tipped his horned head ever so slightly at everyone assembled, acknowledging them all as the offspring of his master before disappearing—literally.

The others broke into smaller groups to discuss the intricacies of how they would monitor Avis’ progress and what methods would be put in place to bring him back when he failed to control the young Highborn Hellion.

A few started betting their private stash of souls on how long he would last (not if), while others began the uncomfortable task of deciding who would be the one to force Avis to eliminate Cora when he had at last admitted defeat.

One made an interesting point of mentioning how at least the brat would fulfil a useful purpose before her death, which was really all any of them expected from the ladies anyway.

The source of that comment could have been any number of the gathered Highborn Hellions, so Uriel didn’t pay it much attention. Instead, he slipped out of the chamber unnoticed and made his way through the caverns.

He wanted to inform his brother-by-marriage of their decision as soon as possible. Like his brothers, he shared no love for the Mystallian, but unlike them, his motives were more than they appeared to be.

As an avatar of Heaven, he was all too familiar with the power of an orderly mind, even though such a thing did not exist in Hell. Likewise, he could not bring himself to hold Cora responsible for taking after her father’s way of thinking, but at least some comfort could be gained from the knowledge that Columbine didn’t follow in her sister’s footsteps.

On that thought, he paused.

Or did she?

The truth of the matter was, as Denizens of Chaos, they had no way of knowing for sure. Hellions were shapeshifters: Masters in manipulations of all things physical, both theirs and anyone else’s. The workings of the mind benders were as foreign to them as shapeshifting was to those who followed the path of Order.

One strain or the other proved dominant and prevailed in the birth of a child and, depending on the bloodlines, aspects of the other would come into their own after puberty.

It was the way it had always been, yet Uriel couldn’t help but wonder if the boundaries of that expectation were being tested. No child of the Hellion Highborn was anything other than a shifter at birth. The Hellion bloodline was simply too strong.

Cora seemed different in that regard. Despite his personal, intense hatred for Avis, and by proxy his entire realm-damned family, Uriel couldn’t refute the mental power that lay within that bastard, which meant the balance between mind and body was technically equal.

Columbine was anointed by the Highborn Hellions, so the balance swung in their favour, but Cora had been anointed by one of her Mystallian uncles at birth and her essence split was right down the middle. Never had a Nexus lord procreated with a Highborn Hellion lady to produce such a uniquely difficult … child.

As these and other thoughts entered his mind, the eldest son of Belial wove his way through the caverns in silence, barely looking at those he passed until he found himself outside his sister’s chambers. “Avis, if you are asleep, rouse yourself,” he commanded as he swept through the Mystallian sitting room and gestured dismissively at Clarise’s two servants. “If not, I have words which must be spoken to you immediately.”

As one, Frash and Tilu bowed and withdrew into the cavernous hallway outside.

When Uriel entered the bedroom, his eyes scanned the space before him. He’d had little to do with Avis since Clarise rescued him from between the eighth and ninth levels of Hell and thus he had not seen the rooms that she had arranged for him to recover in.

Though it was still opulent with the glint of marble and precious metals wherever one chose to look, Uriel noticed with a vindictive smile that Avis had changed every other iota of the room. The heavy set, redwood four-poster bed had been redesigned in stained charcoal with heavy engravings depicting the wildlife of Mystal and the weighty maroon curtains which had once served to block out the outside world were now a transparent silk composition.

The ochre stretch lounge that had lined the wall to the left of the doorway was gone: in its place were a feminine dressing table, a writing table and their subsequent sitting chairs. Even the balcony doorway had been refitted with a more feminine touch.

Avis could delude himself into believing he had chosen to make the changes himself to please Clarise if he wanted to. The Lords of Hell knew the truth.

A quiet movement from the bed drew Uriel’s attention back to his purpose for being there. He rested his left hand on the pommel of his hellfire sword as he strode over to the bed and took hold of the silk curtain, thrusting it aside to expose the elusive occupant within.

It had been weeks since he’d kicked Avis across the lower levels of Hell and into Clarise’s arms. Even though Avis had been unconscious for most of that time, Uriel had expected some form of respect or pride to have returned to the infamous Life God.

Instead, the pathetic weakling huddled as far into the corner of the bedpost as possible with his arms wrapped around the post and his knuckles turning white from the pressure. His eyes were wide and shining with open fear, though he knew enough to keep his gaze no higher than Uriel’s waist. His legs were tucked beneath him and his entire body shook. His skip-breathing was haphazard, and he spoke not a word.

Uriel stared down at the supposed Supreme Ruler of Mystal in disgust. It was only two years! What kind of a god allowed himself to be broken beyond all recovery in just two short years?

The longer Uriel stood beside the bed, the more Avis shook with terror and the more Uriel began to wonder about the wisdom of his idea. If Avis was this broken, he was already beyond use. Cora needed a strict hand whatever the outcome, and Avis was clearly in no position to offer it.

Breathing out heavily as the alternative became a very real likelihood, he turned to leave.

“Wh-what … did you want, M’lord?” Avis stammered.

Uriel paused and squared his shoulders, his wings flexing menacingly. “Did you just speak to me?” he asked, in a tone that suggested it would be in Avis’ best interest to deny it. He kept his back to the bed but turned his head to give Avis a withering look over his shoulder.

Silence again.

“I did not think so.” Uriel took another step towards the door.

“You … said … you wanted … to speak … to me …”

“You really do not learn, do you?” Uriel asked, turning sharply to face the cowering god with both hands resting upon his sword belt.

Avis’ momentary bout of courage abandoned him. “M’lord, w-wait!! I-I was only asking … and … I am not amongst the Damned … anymore …”

“No, you are not,” Uriel agreed. His failure to hide behind his wife’s name or their union during that statement gave Uriel the hope that perhaps things weren’t as bad as he had feared.

Avis’ ragged breath escaped him as if he had run a dozen marathons and his grip on the post loosened. “So, you did …want me …for something?” he asked, daring to lift his gaze to Uriel’s face.

Uriel had to remind himself that he could not beat him senseless for it. “You will be escorted from Chaos the moment you are strong enough to do so, from which you must never return.”

Avis nodded and released one hand from the bedpost. Then he nibbled on the edge of his thumbnail; a childish habit that only served to irritate Uriel more, if that were at all possible.

“W-Was that all, M’lord?” Avis stammered.

Uriel steeled himself against the desire to cause him more pain for his impudence. Two years just wasn’t long enough. Not for his crimes. An eternity would not have been enough. Avis was the last being in existence to deserve this reprieve … or any other. “No,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You are to take your daughter Cora with you when you leave. She attacked her sister in a blood rage and will now share your exile for as long as you can control her.”

It surprised Uriel to see the fear leave Avis’ eyes as he considered the archangel’s words. His posture relaxed a fraction and he frowned for a moment; his gaze shifting from one imaginary point on the bed to another and back again. Finally, he looked up at Uriel and asked, “And what will happen when I lose control of Cora?”

A strangled cry of disbelief came from Uriel’s throat and his right hand flashed to the hilt of his blade.

In response, Avis dove from the bed and used the corner post of the bed as cover. “ I-I-I only … I only asked!” he blubbered, cowering behind the post.

Uriel gnashed his teeth and with the greatest of efforts, forced his fingers to release the hilt, allowing the blade to slide back into its sheath. Unbelievable! The son of a scallye had not even spent a single moment with Cora alone and already he wants to know the penalty of abandoning his charge!

The archangel closed his eyes and ground his jaw in tight circles, fighting a losing battle to remain calm. His fists clenched at his sides and his breathing became long and laboured. It took him a long time before he could bring himself to speak semi-civilly.

“When the day comes that Cora grows beyond your capacity to control, we will find you both, and after you have been forced to kill her, you will be brought back here to serve out the rest of your sentence in the Nine Levels – Husband of Clarise or no!”

He spat the latter as a curse, knowing he would do almost anything at that moment to prevent his sister from being married to such filth. “Perhaps you should save us all a lot of grief and kill her now and be done with it!”

Avis said nothing. It seemed he’d used up all his endurance to leap away from Uriel, and now that the shock had worn off, he was sliding heavily down the bedpost.

Not trusting himself to spend another moment in the sla-el’s company, Uriel turned and stormed from the room; his mood more dangerous than any had seen in many years.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

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