But the Morningstar had persisted. As Lucifer stood alone at the end of the war drenched in the blood of his brothers as they lay fallen around him, he had felt a part of his soul crack. He finally saw the awful results of his foolish quest as he gazed out over the field of battle.
Luc sighed and gave his head a shake, trying desperately to will away the horrible images of his fall from grace, wishing he’d known then what he knew now. They had been much like children in the beginning, despite having the appearance of grown men. Their freedom wasn’t withheld, they were being given the opportunity to mature, to grow up.
Rubbing his hands over his face, Luc looked down at the document in front of him — a summons from the boss, hand delivered by Red Devil Courier. Satan was such a fucking egomaniac. As usual, the missive was written in what looked suspiciously like blood…which may or may not have been human. The boss did love to have fun with his souls…before they died at times, and the tortures he meted out were…unique at best. Luc had once made the mistake of entering Satan’s private office without an invitation. He’s witnessed a rather disturbing scene involving a St. Andrew’s cross, razor wire, and one of Satan’s souls being whipped with a lash made of human vertebrae. If only he had the option of putting in a complaint with human resources…
Some days Luc just wanted it to be over. Too bad decapitation was the only way out for an immortal…a bit tricky to cut off your own head, and he didn’t see any of his friends lining up to do the honors. Not to mention, killing himself would guarantee his soul would belong to Satan eternally. He’d already earned indentured servitude; he’d keep what was left of his cracked and damaged soul, thank you very much.
The longer he was away from Heofon, the more he lost of his angelic essence. The blood in his veins now felt like an insidious black sludge that slowly permeated every cell in his body while replacing everything that was once good and pure with undiluted evil. Over time, the demons had developed the ability to exercise free will, much like the angels. Those who chose to remain tethered to Satan belonged to him body and soul and Luc expected nothing less for himself. Just one more “fuck you” to add to the list.
For centuries, Luc dreamt of finding a way back home. At this point, the dream was gone, its memory like a whisper of the angel he once was. His light was gone, now he lived in the shadows with only his fellow fallen-angels as companions. Now he’d been summoned once again for a little face time with Satan, which meant another trip to the inner ring of Sheol and the fortified castle, Halja, at its center.
Luc rubbed the heel of his palm against the angelic sigil etched into the skin above his heart. The sigil had once glowed with a bright gold light. Where it was once light, it was now a black mark that burned a bit more painfully with every task he performed in the service of Satan. The once smooth, pale skin surrounding it was now a mess of blackened veins radiating from the sigil like snakes spreading out across his chest. The heart beneath it felt dead and frozen — like the lake of frozen blood surrounding Satan’s castle.
Luc dreaded every message he got from Satan, you just never knew what he’d be after. Most often, it was soul-reaping duty, sometimes it was contracting murder-for-hire, occasionally he had to get his own hands dirty…deeds he’d rather forget. Each time, he felt a bit more of his own soul chip away and the darkness within him grow. Death, destruction, and pain were routine, much like his morning coffee. Sad, he thought, that delivering souls was considered a best-case scenario.
Cold comfort, but at least he could tell himself the souls had brought it on themselves. When you make a deal you should always read the fine print…buyer beware. Luc knew exactly what Satan and his minions were capable of and eternal torture was not worth youth, wealth, or power. Once a human was marked by a demon’s sigil, there was no turning back. Their name was permanently etched in Satan’s Red Book. Game over.
Across the bar, a loud groan and a victory whoop caught Luc’s attention. Glancing past a group of Vampires playing poker, he watched as Samael smiled as he pulled the black eight ball out of the side pocket of the pool table. He chucked it carelessly at Baal and tossed out a “Better luck next time!” He turned toward Luc’s table, eyeing the dark look on his face, and raised his eyebrow in question. Samael began threading his way through the crowd toward him. As he made his way, the women turned one by one to mark his progress.
No surprise there, Samael attracted attention everywhere he went with his short, stylishly-disheveled, light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and dusting of five o’clock shadow. He dressed casually in worn jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his toned body to its best advantage. Given all the female attention you’d think the guy had it made, but things weren’t always as they seemed. In his former life he’d been the angel of death, an angel of high rank who oversaw the collection of souls to be brought into Heofon.
After his fall, Samael had been ordered to continue as a Reaper for the Sheolic side, working closely with the dark, skeletal Thanatos – Death himself. Not much of a change on the surface, but the devil was in the details…he was cursed to never come into contact with any living being. As soon as he came into direct contact, Samael’s curse would activate, ripping the soul right out of his victim, condemning them
