27
Marcellixis tumbled through the sky, his claws buried in the chest of a fallen angel. His wrath set the very air around him on fire, scorching feathers and flesh alike. Blood leaked from the deep gashes in his side, and his arms were raw after the violent clashes.
He hadn’t counted the tally of fallen enemies, and he didn’t care. All he wanted was to sate the hunger for vengeance that consumed him from within. In every drop of blood, he saw Amanda’s face, which added more gasoline to the already raging inferno inside his heart
A sudden mind-splitting pain in his back and chest drowned out everything else for a moment. He looked down. The tip of a lance protruded just below his collarbone, rupturing a perfect circle of flesh, spilling blood down his abs and shoulder blades.
“Eligor!” Marc growled and spun around so hard that the lance snapped and broke.
A winged knight in shining armor hovered in the sky behind him. His blond hair fluttered out of his helmet, and he looked every bit like a holy crusader, apart from his eyes. Bottomless pits of malice glared at Marc in wicked triumph.
Marc turned in the air, trying to redirect his momentum and wipe the grin of the knight-angel’s face. Something crashed into him from a dead angle before he could act, and sent him veering, a spiked chain tearing through his bicep.
Another hard smash from behind knocked him out of balance. Blood rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. He blinked. Suddenly falling as gravity plucked him out of the sky. Wind whooshed past him. The ground came closer and closer.
Excited shrieks rang through the sky as the fallen angels dove after him, eager to finish him off. Pain and exhaustion polluted Marc’s senses. A smile touched his cracked lips. Darkness swallowed him whole even before he slammed into the ground.
He drifted through nothingness. He felt like he was back in the Pit. Except this time, there was something there in the distance – a soft noise. He strained his ears to hear, but warm liquid splashed against his eardrums. For a moment, he couldn’t place the chamber that opened before him. But then he realized what it was – a memory that flickered through his mind like an old movie – he was back where it all started.
The skulls that adorned the giant throne glared emptily into the darkness of the throne room. A few candles lit up their bleached bone and the blackened rock of the elevated dais. Marcellixis strolled up the steps into the throne room of the castle at the top of Mount Gehenna.
For the first time in centuries, he laid eyes upon the sculptures that lined the aisle. Men and women, whose carved faces were twisted in agony, flashed by on both sides. The Sinners’ Lane curved around the massive chamber, ending at the foot of the ruler’s seat.
“I’m here,” Marc said evenly, his smoky mane flowing behind him as he approached.
“Welcome,” a familiar voice said, a set of scolding red eyes flaring up deep within the darkness. “It’s good to see you.”
“Why have you summoned me?”
A low laugh echoed through the chamber. “You remind me of my younger self – that impatience – that barely contained… wrath.”
Marcellixis crossed his arms. His bottom lip dropped slightly. A fiery spark rolled across his coal-black eyes. He remained silent.
“Very well.” Hooves clopped against the rock as the shadows drew closer and the candlelight burned brighter. “You know me. I’ve not called you here to chitchat. I’ve decided that it’s finally time.”
“Time?”
The crimson skin and curved horns of Satan pushed through the darkness. He flexed his wings, fanning the flames around him. Lines ran down in his face like cracks in dried mud, and his shoulder slumped slightly. He looked older than Marc remembered.
“Time for what?” Marc repeated when silence fell between them.
“Change has always been in our nature. Timelessness is a virtue in the eyes of the Heavens, but down here the pot needs stirring. The furnace needs new coal. Eventually, every foundation must be torn down and rebuilt.”
“Mandated change?” Marc said, a swift smile hurrying across his lips. “I’ve better things to do than listening to your vague lectures.”
The great devil bellowed with laughter. “See, this is why I know it’s time! Few demons would dare challenge me in my own court. It’s a refreshing sight!”
He took a step closer, his red eyes catching fire. Marc stood his ground as the smoldering temperatures pushed into him like the heatwave out of an oven.
“Of course...” Satan said, pointing a clawed finger at Marc’s heart. “Of course, your growing influence should not be discounted. You’ve built a fine network of alliances and supporters. And in time, you’re destined to challenge me for the throne.”
Marc stiffened but managed to keep his voice in its usual nonchalant tone. “Despite our differences, you know my allegiance resides with you, father.”
“Father?” Satan’s lips curled into a razorblade grin. “I’ve not heard you call me that since the Roman Empire fell.”
“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you thought?”
“I think I have a pretty clear picture of who you are, Marcellixis,” Satan said, his eyes narrowing.
The sound of heavy hooves and whipping tails filled the throne room. Most of the Great Dukes of Hell gathered around them. Among them were the fair but treacherous succubus queen, Lilith, with her flowing raven hair and bloodred nails. Mammon, the Archdemon of Greed, with his gold-studded horns and his fingers sparkling with the largest of gems. And Belphegor, whose folds of skin and wobbly fat distorted all of his features, and who stood as wide as he was tall.
“Did you bring me here to have me assassinated?” Marcellixis said.
“Oh, no. Quite the opposite.” Satan leaned heavily on his giant pitchfork, lifting the Jeweled Crown off his head. “I’ve decided to step down, and the burden of leading falls upon you, my firstborn son.”
The memory of the throne room shuddered. Was this how it all ended? Had his father been wrong in his decision?
Like hitting a brick wall, Marc crashed back into reality. Gasping, he forced his battered face to move. Each muscle screaming as his eyes opened. At first, he saw only the churning sky, then a dark shape with long oily hair fluttered by.
“Lix Tetrax,” he croaked.
Out of all the fallen angels, it had to be one of the cruelest and most twisted ones to find him amid the rocks and piles of bodies on the battlefield. He felt a hand on his cheek and tensed up. But no pain came, just a gentle kiss on his forehead.
“Amanda?”
He stared into her bright face. She looked tired but very much alive. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her. Somehow her touch soothed his broken body, and when she wrapped her arms around him, he shuddered despite the heat.
“I think I’m… starting to catch feelings for you...” he mumbled and hugged her tightly. “...mortal.”