Chapter 82

~~Day 137~~

~~Keziah~~

From high above, Keziah watched. She was alone. If her captain learned she had done this, a young angel like her, he would tear her to pieces. But she had to see.

There was one element to the council’s last order that had struck her as strange. It had struck everyone as strange. They were to kill any unmarked trying to reach False Gate; legend had it there was a way to reach the Forgotten Place through False Gate, and the only conclusion anyone could come to was that the unmarked were trying to reach Lucifer’s prison. Why not kill all the unmarked, though? Why only go for the ones attempting to make the journey?

At least one unmarked was not making that journey. A girl. She had grown in power under the watchful eye of the Navameere Fields’ spire ruler Morgana, and now, instead of heading to False Gate, she unleashed her powers on the Red Pits. And her powers had grown to include transformation.

It was dangerous for any angel to brave the vortex, now that the Heavenly Islands were in civil war, with only the exarch angels there to stop it from erupting into overwhelming violence. But Keziah had wanted to see. She had demanded to see. And Netanel had let her pass.

Now, she hovered from on high, so the battle below was nothing more than a small pond of red and black bodies crashing into each other. Like surface ants, battling in an empty field of dirt. Only the girl unmarked’s strange hellbeast was large enough to see from so high, at first. The spider died, and another spider-like monster rose from the battle. Not a spider, not truly, but a fleshy mass of pale skin with limbs protruding from it in almost random directions.

Keziah risked a closer look. That was no spider. That was the unmarked girl, transformed.

The monster woman lasted mere minutes before another monster rose to meet her. David? Brother of Mia. Heaven knew of them, knew their names, but Keziah had not known he would be in this battle.

For a fleeting moment, she saw freckles and red hair on the growing monster, but those features disappeared, melting into a flesh mass that morphed into a colossal centipede. A centipede covered in a thousand faces. Two thousand. Ten thousand. It grew wings and sharp arms on its back. It grew human-like arms on its front half. And the monster, well over a hundred yards long, squashed the other unmarked into mulch.

The unmarked were transforming into monsters.

The province itself ripped apart with a thousand tears, and over the course of the battle, the tears merged into a canyon. Keziah could do nothing but stare, hovering high over the ravine, as it ripped open and exposed not only the guts of Hell, but what lay beneath. Several miles down, past rock and stone, past lava and amber veins, past endless remnants and uncountable bones, was oblivion. Endless nothing. It glimmered slightly, hints of starlight in the swirling black, but it held none of the beauty of the starry sky of Heaven. No, whatever this void was, it was a cruel reflection of the night sky, as if a black hole was disguising itself in a twisted facsimile.

And from the depths came the alien. Tentacles rose, held the canyon open, and pushed it further apart, shaking the entire province. An army of humanoids, the ones spoken of by the army that Ezekiel, the reaper, had helped, poured up from the darkness below.

And the monster unmarked slaughtered them all in a barrage of hellfire. Like some walking battleship from the surface, the unmarked lay waste to the aliens, unleashing several thousand beams of pure hellfire upon them. Destruction on a scale by a single entity that Keziah could not fathom.

And for the first time in Keziah’s life, she wondered if there were an entity that could defeat an exarch like Netanel. The Old Ones? They were dead and gone. The archangels? Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel lay dead on Angel’s Spine, their bodies so huge they covered the entire province. And Lucifer, if they were even alive, was trapped in a prison devised by God. The council? They had not used their power since the First War, and more than a few angels suspected they were now impotent.

The guardians, reapers, and muses were beyond powerful, the only beings alive capable of affecting the surface world. And in the afterlife, they were juggernauts of might. But even now, Ezekial still recovered from his bout with David and the aliens that followed. The greater angels were limited by their own power, magnificent beings that needed time to recover.

But the unmarked could not only wield the ancient power and control Hell’s body, but they could transform? Transform in ways only spoken of in the old texts, of the ways the archangels warped their bodies, and looked upon the Great Tower with a million eyes.

The sight froze her to her grace. What could angels do against such pure destruction? Were they tainted, twisted, corrupt archangels? The giant monster that had to be David slowly walked alongside the canyon and bombarded it with endless death. The demons from the Red Pits killed what few aliens escaped, but David slaughtered the alien in untold numbers.

And when the battle was done, he reverted to normal, nothing more than a young man. From so high, Keziah was a single white dot against the burning sky, and hopefully the two angels with David would not see her. She risked staying, and watched a small boy work his strange magic, and over hours, close the canyon.

He closed the canyon.

Keziah sucked in a breath and flew higher, risking the flames to mask her retreat. The boy had killed the other unmarked, ripped her apart and crushed her, then fought off the alien. Why? She was tempted to fly down and ask, but Netanel had made it clear. A special permission. She could take a peek, and that was it.

Maybe, before she returned, she would take another.

~~David~~

David and Daoka walked over to the others, a minute away from the new mausoleum. Tsila and Moriah were there, finding leather to wrap their wings and bodies in. Laoko sat with the Las, checking them for wounds while they did the same for her. Jes sat with Pegasus, checking his wings and stroking his neck.

Acelina stood up and took half a step toward David, but stopped. Like someone had tugged on her tail, she froze, slowly putting her hoof back down. Whatever she wanted to say, she kept it to herself, sitting back down. And without a single feature on her black canvas face, he couldn’t tell what she was looking at as he sat with the group.

The ground had been cracked in various places by the hellquakes, and it was a bloody mess. At least blood faded in a few hours, usually. And the girls had found a dry spot among the armies, a large, slightly raised area of dirt where they could sit and wait.

They all looked at him.

David looked for the words. “I’m ... here. I’m...” Was he here? He barely felt here at all.

“Tsila explained,” Laoko said. “As much as she can help us understand. And we do understand, despite the angel’s condescending tone.”

Tsila smiled and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“What do now?” Laria said, and the other three Las nodded.

“Nothing’s changed,” David said. “We recover, and we keep walking, same as we always have.” The words came out deadpan. He felt numb.

He half expected the Las to whine or cry about it. They certainly looked sad. But they weren’t children. Imps and grems were more like red goblins with wings. Simple, but adults. They handled Caera’s death the same way everyone else was: decidedly better than David.

David continued. “But ... I ... I um ... I’ll need time to ... And—”

Laoko nodded. “As I said, Tsila explained what this ... situation, does to a human. And we have all seen humans in the scrying pools, David. It is not as if we do not understand. It is just ... we have never seen it in person before.”

‘It’. She meant his mourning. He almost laughed.

Nodding, David walked up to Pegasus, and Pegasus immediately trotted over to meet him. He rubbed the horse’s head and horns, unicorn horn included, and sighed with relief as Pegasus pushed into him. If David’s transformation had scared the goort, made him afraid of David, Pegasus showed no signs of it.

Jes joined her lover, pressed her forehead to Dao’s, and the two shared a kiss before joining David’s sides.

“We could take a break? Rest?” Acelina asked. “Perhaps, after today, it could very well be an efficient idea.” Everyone looked at her, an eyebrow raised, and the spire mother shrugged. “Tsila must be drained, healing Jeskura, Daoka, and Laoko as much as she has. And we are all drained and...” She aimed her eyeless gaze at David, and lowered it. Acelina never lowered her head. Ever.

“She makes a good point, David,” Jes said. “I know you want to get on the march. End of the world and all that. But after today, let’s just ... not?”

David looked between the girls. At first, he got the impression they were trying to spare his feelings, thinking that he’d be happier resting for another day instead of getting on the move. And sure, Mia would tell him he needed to time emotionally process. But it was also true that it wasn’t good to dwell and dig yourself a pit; might as well be an early grave, in Hell.

He felt numb. He felt so damn numb. Every word spoken felt empty, like trying to hold something with numb fingers and not feeling it.

A day or two of rest couldn’t hurt.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’ll grow us some forbidden fruit. I am starving.”

With Pegasus at his side, David pointed his hands at the ground, and played a little song. Tired and sore, only his skill allowed him to conduct a song—that and how many remnants grew within the ground of the Red Pits. Easy access to the trace remains of resonance and essence in millions of damned, all nearby. And the forbidden tree grew cleanly, a short thing of withered branches that grew fruit that looked all too similar to hearts.

Everyone plucked a fruit, sat around the little tree like a campfire, and ate. A single fruit barely put a dent in David’s stomach, so he grew more. He ate more, and grew more, and ate more, until all the girls were staring at him.

“Doing what I did drained me,” he said. “A lot.”

“Yes,” Laoko said, “but the vessel can only hold so much resonance. If I ate a dozen hearts, I would vomit them back up.”

“Don’t know what to tell you. I noticed it months ago that I never get full. And right now, I’m just trying to take the edge off the hunger.” Each bite should have been delicious, like savoury medium-rare steak with some exotic spice he couldn’t put his finger on. But every sensation was dulled, and the deliciousness faded away, until he might as well have been eating raw liver.

“You transformed into a ... strange creature,” Moriah said. “A colossal creature. If you had kept growing, David, you would have perhaps reached the size of an Old One.”

“Yeah?” He finished another fruit, the twentieth one, finally enough to ebb his hunger. “I ... I didn’t realize.”

“And the form,” Tsila said. “We have seen something similar to that before. Angels speak of it, have written of it, when visiting Angel’s Spine. The bodies of Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel.”

Hands on his knees, David nodded and stared down at the tree, the memories running through him.

“When I ... play the music really loud, I can get lost in it. I get pulled out of myself, and the simpler me, the more primal, primitive me, he floats around with Hell in the ocean of song.”

“And that happened this time?” Moriah asked.

“No. This time, it was the opposite. Everything was inward. No music. I had complete control over everything. Every mouth. Every eye. Every finger.” He clenched his eyes and almost fell back as the memory poured over him. Too many senses, too much sensory feedback, a million times as much of anything and everything. Overwhelming. “I changed. I ... changed myself.”

Tsila nodded. “Like the archangels could.”

Slowly, he found enough feeling to take heavy breaths, and his voice came out wavering again.

“I just ... I just gave in. I was so angry, I just gave into the emotion, you know?”

The gabriem shook her head. “We do not know, not as you do.”

“I mean, Mia would probably talk about the superego and the id, and then talk about how antiquated those ideas are, but still, she’d talk about higher-level reasoning battling baser instincts and desires. But I just ... didn’t do that. I just leaned into it. I was ready to...” For the duration of his rage, he’d been ready to burn down all of Hell, because it was the only thing he could feel. “I guess we know why I can change my body during sex.”

“You are the son of Lucifer.” Laoko said. David set his eyes on her, but Laoko waved a dismissing hand. “You can read the ancient language, play the music of existence, and change your own body, something not even the Old Ones can do, as far as we know. What else is there to think? And surely it is a good thing. If there is any power that can save us from this alien invader, it is the power of an archangel.”

David shook his head. “Satan doesn’t have the best reputation on the surface. And besides, son? Angels, demons, and hellbeasts don’t procreate. Seems like the only things that procreate are from the physical world. So ... how’s that work?”

No one had an answer.

With a warm smile, Daoka plucked a fruit from the forbidden tree and handed it to Tsila. She chirped at her, and chirped again when Tsila took the offering.

“Yeah,” Jes said. “You saved our asses, Tsila. Th ... Thanks for that.”

The two angels blinked at the gargoyle, surprised.

“You’re welcome,” Tsila said, and she returned the smile. “I...” Her voice wavered, and she looked down. “It wasn’t enough, though.”

Everyone looked down. And despite himself, David’s autopilot felt the need to chime in.

“Dao’s right,” David said, but the words came out flat. “You did amazing, Tsila. Laoko, Jes, and Dao all got hurt badly. They might have died if you hadn’t helped. Then I...” His autopilot glitched-out and froze. The fuck could he say? A small part of him wanted to scream at her for not being able to save Caera, that she wasn’t strong enough, her healing ability not powerful enough to save the one who needed it most. A larger part of him was so damn thankful, because if Jes and Dao, or even Laoko had died, David knew he’d have crumbled like a fucking sandcastle.

Or have given in to the rage in his limbs that’d changed him, and never come back. But Dao had asked him. She’d asked him ‘don’t become mean’.

David sucked in a slow breath, and let it out slower. Tremors worked through him, and tears threatened to come back up, struggling against the icy numbness in his skin. He forced them down. He’d cried enough for today.