The Fallen 4 (16 page)

The third joined the others. “Show them who you truly are.”

Satan did not care for their advice, finding it all too obvious.

“They know who and what I am. How could they not?”

The Sisters of Umbra huddled together once more. He felt his annoyance grow.

Finally a Sister said, “You will have a chance to prove your supremacy.”

“It will come in time,” said a second, with a slow, assured nod.

“But until then you must look the part,” said the third.

This made Satan laugh. He spread his armored arms and presented himself to the three hags.

“Do I not look like a king? Do I not look as lovely as any god?”

“You blind our poor old eyes with your majesty, Star of the Dark,” one said, raising her hands to cover the front of her hood, as if his form were too much to look upon.

“But the Community, they are a materialistic lot,” said another.

“Measuring worth in material gain, gold, land, bone, blood, and meat,” added the third. “How do you show them you are king?”

“By not killing each and every one of them,” Satan snarled.

“Yes, yes, that shows mercy. But how do you impress them?” a Sister asked.

“How do you show them your godly stature?” asked another.

He pondered about that for a moment but had no answer. “Enlighten me,” he ordered.

The Sisters turned the darkness of their hoods to one another before setting their glowing stares on him.

“A dwelling,” suggested one of the three. “A dwelling to demonstrate your magnificence.”

“A dwelling crafted to honor you as a god,” said another.

“Now, where could such a structure be found?” asked the third, extending a clawed finger inquisitively.

Satan looked about the great church. In spite of the damage his earlier rage had caused, it was still quite a sight to behold.

“This church,” he stated. “You believe that this church will impress the Community enough that they’ll follow me… worship me?”

“In time, yes,” they all agreed as one.

“But it cannot remain deep beneath the ocean waves,” said a Sister.

“It must be visible for all to see, human and inhuman alike,” said another of the Sisters.

“It must be raised.” The third Sister held her spindly arms toward the ceiling.

“Raise it up!” exclaimed the three together, their arms up. “Raise it up!”

And Satan, the Darkstar, agreed that that was what he would do.

Yes, he would raise it up.

*   *   *

Lucifer Morningstar felt the weighty penance of God’s anger writhe within his chest.

All the rage, pain, and sorrow of Lucifer’s actions, and of those who had stood with him against Heaven, had been collected by the Lord God into a seething, crying, screaming miasma of emotion.

And He had placed it inside the Morningstar so that he might remember what he had done, and suffer for it.

Lucifer Morningstar had then been cast down, his body thrown from the heavens to earth so that he might learn from his grievous mistake.

The Morningstar experienced it all again, deep within the prison of his subconscious mind. Even after the crushing defeat at the hands of God’s legions, even after having what could best be described as
Hell
placed inside him, Lucifer had still been too stubborn—too vain—to admit that he had been wrong.

In those early days of exile, Lucifer had viewed himself only as the loser of a war, and would have taken up arms again in an instant if he and his armies had not been so thoroughly routed.

He loathed humanity and all that they stood for. How could such foul creatures have so captured the love of the Almighty?

That question had seethed within his mind as he had wandered the world of man for countless ages.

And he still had not been able to understand it.

Until
she
had come into his life.

Lucifer watched as the landscape of his subconscious memories shifted and changed. All the places he had been in his seemingly eternal exile morphed before his eyes.

He knew where his visions would stop, and found himself both dreading and anticipating what he was about to relive. The air was lush with the aroma of freshly cut grass. And it was all there, just as he remembered. The park crowded with people on their lunch hours, some sunning themselves during the first real warm day of the season, others walking their dogs.

Lucifer saw himself as he had been that day, a wanderer. He had been sitting beneath a tree, and he distinctly remembered feeling a sensation akin to serenity.

And as if in reward for opening himself to a peaceful calm, a golden-haired dog approached him and dropped a stick at his feet.

“Brandy,” Lucifer said aloud, watching the scene from his memory play out. “The dog’s name was Brandy.”

He’d attempted to ignore the animal, but she had insisted, barking for him to pick up the stick and throw it for her. Lucifer had almost spoken harshly to the dog, but he didn’t want to spoil his moment of placidity. Besides, what would it hurt?

So he picked up the stick, wet with the dog’s saliva, and tossed it as far as he could. He watched as Brandy bounded off in pursuit. He marveled at the beauty of her design, at her interaction with the world around her.

The retriever quickly snatched up the stick from the grass
and was heading back toward Lucifer, when she stopped to interact with a human.

A woman.

And Lucifer found himself enjoying the beauty of her design as well.

The dog bounded away from the woman and raced back to him, the stick clamped tightly in her jaws.

The woman followed, and Lucifer recalled the strange feeling of his heart fluttering.

“I’m sorry. Is she bothering you?” the woman asked him.

Lucifer saw that she was even more beautiful in this memory than he had remembered. He watched the expression on his own face as she spoke to him, petting the dog that had again dropped the stick at his feet.

“Her name is Brandy,” she told him, and they started to talk.

He wasn’t sure exactly when the Lucifer Morningstar of old—the angel of Heaven who had led a revolt against his Creator and been cast down to live amongst the very creatures that he despised—started to die.

But he guessed that it was right around the time when the beautiful woman told him her name.

“I’m Taylor,” she said, extending her delicate hand to Lucifer.

“Taylor Corbet.”

CHAPTER TEN

M
allus looked down at the lines of the sigils tattooed upon his chest, and at the new pink scar that broke them.

“It appears that you’ve healed quite nicely,” Kraus said, leaning in to examine the wound.

“With your help, of course,” Mallus said. “And for that I thank you.”

Kraus bowed, stepping away to stand in waiting against the wall.

Mallus dipped the point of a needle into a puddle of black ink that he had made by breaking open a ballpoint pen. Then he went about repairing the sigils, hoping to restore the magick that had once flowed from them. Mallus dug the needle into the fresh scar tissue, pushing the ink below the new skin.

“Does that hurt?”

Mallus looked up to see the Nephilim Aaron observing him.

He dipped the needle into the black ink once more. “Not really,” he said, poking the scar tissue again. “But when it does hurt, I just think of the pain if the Agents find me, as it will be much more permanent.”

Mallus paused, staring at the boy. He’d heard about this Aaron Corbet. He could see the resemblance to his father almost immediately in the way that he carried himself, the way he fought in battle. He had no doubt that this was the Morningstar’s son, but Mallus saw that the Nephilim had acquired his mother’s traits as well.

Taylor.

It had been a very long time since he’d last thought of her, the human who had somehow managed to quell the Morningstar’s fury.

The human who had transformed Mallus as well.

How is it possible?
he thought, continuing to poke at his flesh with the needle, injecting the ink beneath his thick rope of scar tissue. She had been human, something that he had despised with every iota of his divine form, but still, somehow, she’d manage to touch them both.

Bringing the needle back to the ink, he glanced at Aaron, unable to stop the flood of memories that poured over him.

Mallus had still been working for the Architects. He’d actually been searching for his former leader, the Morningstar, and had found him in a human city, in a park. He’d been just
about to make contact, when he’d seen the Morningstar and the human woman together.

At first Mallus had believed she was some sort of wicked enchantress. How else could she have controlled and manipulated one of God’s mightiest angels? And then he’d realized there was no magick present.

She was just a woman.

How was it possible?
Mallus wondered again, continuing to repair the sigil that would hide him from those he’d once served with relish.

“That’s Archon magick,” said a woman’s voice, interrupting his reverie.

Mallus looked up from his work to see a female Nephilim enter the room, walking with the help of a cane. She was accompanied by a young man. At first glance Mallus thought the woman rather old, but then he caught a whiff of magick upon her. It was slowly eating her alive.

“Malakim, actually,” Mallus corrected her, making reference to the powerful angelic beings that had taught the Archons to use the forces that would define their magick.

The woman moved closer, her eyes following the lines etched upon his flesh.

“These are amazing,” she said, reaching to touch the marks with slightly trembling fingers.

“This is Lorelei,” Aaron introduced her. “She’s our resident magick user.”

“But for how much longer?” Mallus asked softly so that only she would hear. He watched her eyes. A tiny rodent watched him from beneath lengths of the woman’s snow-white hair.

“Long enough to do what I have to,” she said, meeting his stare.

This one was strong, but fading fast.

“And him?” Mallus asked Aaron as he looked away from Lorelei at the man who had entered the room with her.

“That’s Dusty,” Aaron replied. “He’s new here.”

Mallus studied the young man, not sure what to make of him. That one would bear watching.

Mallus turned his attention back to the task at hand, restoring his sigils. It felt as though they could be working again, but he wasn’t completely sure.

A yellow dog trotted into the room, followed by three more Nephilim, one being the boy who had brought him here. Mallus caught a whiff of something coming from the animal, something that aroused his senses. Something had happened—
was happening
—to this animal.

“This is Vilma, Melissa, and you already know Cameron.” Aaron introduced the Nephilim, then motioned toward the dog. “And that’s Gabriel.”

Mallus set the needle down and dabbed at his chest with a damp cloth. What an interesting lot. “Are we all here?” the angel asked, knowing full well that there was still at least one more to arrive.

“Where’s Verchiel, Gabriel?” Aaron asked the yellow dog.

“I told him you wanted to see him,”
the dog growled in his canine tongue.

Mallus could feel Verchiel’s approach before he’d even appeared. It came as a sudden electricity that made Mallus’s every instinct cry out to flee.

And then the angel emerged from behind his wings to stand in the corner of the room, glowering at them all.

“Glad you could make it,” Aaron said with sarcasm.

“What do you want?” Verchiel asked with a sneer.

“We need to talk,” Aaron said, looking at them all.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Verchiel said, directing his attention to Mallus. “Especially with that one present.”

Mallus chose not to respond. The former Powers leader was seemingly still upset with Mallus for not ending his life when he’d had the chance. But if Mallus had done that, then this gathering would never have taken place, and the Architects’ machine would have rolled on.

“That one has a name,” Aaron announced. “His name is Mallus, and just a short while ago he was attacked in the infirmary.”

Lorelei immediately reacted. “But the defenses weren’t—”

“Somehow it found its way through the defenses,” Aaron cut in.

“Your defenses are nothing to an Agent,” Mallus announced.

Aaron walked over to the corner of the room, where something had been concealed beneath a blanket. He reached down,
dragged the object into the center of the room, and then pulled away the cover for all to see.

Mallus watched as they saw the face of their enemy—their true enemy—for the first time. Gabriel growled.

“Who is he?” Melissa asked.

“Dude looks like a caveman,” Cameron said, laughing nervously at the sight of the corpse.

“That’s because he is,” Mallus responded. “Or at least he was, until his masters had their way with him.”

That got their attention.

“Masters?” Lorelei questioned. “And who might they be?”

“Ah,” Mallus said, pausing for a moment to consider what he was about to do. He studied them all, their expressions tense with anticipation. They hadn’t a clue as to what was happening around them, what was
really
happening to the world, and who—what—were responsible.

So why now?
Mallus thought. Why not just keep going as he had been, hiding from his former employers, hating what was happening, but powerless to act.

Why should he risk so much now? Was there even a point?

His thoughts again drifted back to that day in the park, to Lucifer and the woman—Taylor. He guessed that that’s where it had started, and now it would come to an end, with Aaron.

Mallus stared at the Nephilim, marveling at what he sensed in that one. Was Aaron Corbet to be humanity’s chance to survive?

They were all waiting for Mallus’s response.

“What do you know about the Architects?” Mallus finally asked.

There was no turning back now.