Savage Divinity

Total Word Count: 40002 ((Approx. 2000 words done in a half hour. Go me!))



Sharp word laced with sharp fingers and their nails, stroking daringly down his sides. "If I\'m here, and you\'re here, there\'s only one thing I can possibly want from you."



He opened his mouth to reply. A hand covered it. A mouth by his ear whispered. "If I\'m here, and you\'re here, that one thing has to be destruction. There can\'t be creation with the two of us involved; you understand that much, don\'t you, little demon-in-training?"



Demon in training? I am not! Reson thought indignantly. He would have protested aloud, but with Lucifer making such obviously vicious remarks, and the uncomfortable air caused by the touches – bordering on sacrilegious – he didn\'t know that he could. He was afraid, frightened truly for the first time he could recall ever being. This fear, it consumed him, and too, made him think. Forced his mind open. If he\'s touching me, if he\'s planning on destroying, then, what possible aim does he have? The question answered itself, but still questions remained. What use does he have in destroying an angel from Heaven? What will he get out of it?



"You still don\'t get it do you?" Lucifer asked quietly, breathing into Reson\'s ear. His hands were around the Vilyte\'s shoulders, caressing still. That tender, gentle touch that bordered on painful in its simplicity. The base desires it was meant to arouse, to instill in a being such as Reson – it was sickening and so… Despicable. There was no other word he could think of to use for it. Despicable – an easy enough word to spit off the tongue, to force into open air. Don\'t touch me, don\'t use me. You\'re despicable.



He would have said it aloud too, but Lucifer was there, there and watching him, touching him, holding him. He would have made the sounds that would have freed him from the confines of the insides of his mind, held up in chains built of his own guilt and fear, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was helpless, and that helplessness was something inbred, something he was unable to escape. Helpless… How he hated it.



Reson felt unable to reason. It was an odd feeling. What with Lucifer still talking to him, still speaking in a language that was far too familiar for him to understand full, or to comprehend in its entirety, he was lost. Lost among words that had once been sanctuary – he had been a speaker himself, he knew the power words could hold when used correctly. But when used as they were being used now, not for support as Nemsohiriel had once asked him to do – how long ago that felt! – but to destroy, and to break down, what fear was this then, that they instilled in him? The fear of the end, the fright of one who had seen the end and knew what awaited. It was not a pleasant thought and even less pleasant was the thinking that invaded his mind, pervaded the senses: perhaps this was something that had to happen, that was inevitable.



Lucifer had rescued them; that much he was sure of. If the Devil had seen fit to rescue angels from their own kind, and to bring them back to a sembalance of health, then there had to be something about him that was remotely caring. Even if there was nothing, then there was still something, some greater purpose perhaps that he was planning with them. There was an ulterior motive – a goal worth reaching. Whatever it was, Reson cared naught for. He only knew he was alive, knew it was thanks to the hands of this stranger-turned-Devil that that was true, and while he was mortified, he was grateful as well. Who wouldn\'t balk at losing life? Who wouldn\'t rejoice at regaining a chance at it?



So he relaxed, though his inner being fought, and screamed and riled at him. He was tired of fighting, and he had fought for so long. Not that it was a long time by his standards – the standards of Heaven, or in the greater scheme of things – but he had been raised in the middle of wartime, and had fought in war, and had survived war, but by the barest threads of fate. It was something to be spoken of, late at night when the clocks had broken and the midnight hour frozen. It was a story he supposed would have been passed down, if he had been lucky enough to not have ended up here. Hell, as he supposed it had to be.



Hell. What a terrible sounding word. It evoked images of raw flames, spitting and jumping around dead bodies, burned to ashy crisps by the red and gold and blue at the heart. It was a terrible image, a terrible picture, but compounded with it was the scent – the burning ashes that were left over, and the final rotting stench of human skin burned away from bone. He wanted nothing to do with Hell, had never though he would have anything to do with the place, and yet here he was – held so closely in the hands of the ruler of Hell himself.



"Do what you will." He was surrendering himself, tired of the battles that had been waged for so long, both within and without. Reson bowed his head. The hands that were around his shoulders strayed to his chin, lifting it back up, tilting his head backwards, exposing his throat.



"Then you have learned a lesson easily." The Devil\'s voice was soft, caressing. It didn\'t feel good in the way that doing good felt good, but Reson hardly cared any longer. He wanted nothing more to do with morality or angel kind. It was about time he broke the mold. They had been wrong about so many things; was it possible they had misjudged this one as well?



He saved us… He seduced us. There it was – all the cross examination he had to make. Lucifer, king of Hell, ruler of the Underworld and the undead: the greatest and the least of the Heaven born. And Reson was giving himself into the others hands.



Done. Finished.



"Don\'t worry; when I\'m through you\'ll bleed red, just like the rest of your kind."



As if he knew what that meant. As if he had the strength to care any longer.



xxx



"Milord?" That was the Other, coming to check on him. Lucifer wiped his mouth on his sleeve, turning to face the Other, his face quirked into a sort of odd non-expression.



"Yes?" he replied. "Was there something you wanted?"



"Are you finished with the three, milord?" This was not his own attendant – that one was away, doing more major work for him. This one was a simpleton, it seemed, intent on providing \'milord\' at the end of every sentence just to keep him pleased and well happy. It was annoying enough as a trait. It made Lucifer shrug to himself. What could be done with them, after all? He could let them be themselves, and let them fester amongst themselves. It wasn\'t a big thing, after all, in the end. He didn\'t need them for more than occasional attacks when desire grew greater than ability to control. Mostly he kept the Others around simply as amusing creatures, pittering back and forth among the other residents of the Underworld. Watching their antics was…amusing. More so than it probably should have been.



He nodded, absently, realizing he\'d been caught up in his own thoughts, letting them wander. "Yes," Lucifer added in, just in case the thing was too stupid to understand a nod. "Yes, I am quite finished with them. Unite the three, and return them to their rooms. That\'ll be all for now."

The Other bowed in its quirky little way – so like all the rest of the breed – and then was off, half bowing out of the room, in a jerking motion that encompassed only the top of its body and head.

Lucifer chuckled to himself. So… One had been conquered. It hadn\'t proved all that difficult. He wondered what it would be like to break the other two. Breaking two of the Angel-stock… Their kind was even more like to humans than the Vilyte were.



They should bleed red already! There shouldn\'t be corruption necessitated by the divine blood that supposedly inhabited their veins. It was a nuisance.



Making them bleed red…that would be an experiment in and of itself.



"Milord?" Another Other, come to speak to him. He was impatient now, and merely nodded sharply. "Milord, the stock are nearly finished."

Nearly finished? How could that be? It hadn\'t been that long yet… Months hadn\'t passed, not even weeks or days. Barely hours since they had been brought together.



"What do you mean?" he inquired sharply.

The Other winced under his tone. "The stock," it repeated, its voice going high and squeaking slightly. "The stock are ready."



"How can they possibly be ready?" he demanded. "They were exchanged mere hours ago."

"It means that the stock are ready to be set up for the night."



He turned. The Other entering was his own personal assistant. It was a miracle that there was someone who actually knew what was going on with these creatures. "Thank you," Lucifer said, slightly more sharp voiced than he intended. "You are dismissed," he added to the Other that was still kneeling before him.



The Other nodded and took its leave, rushing out of the room in such a hurry as to be almost a blur. It was hard to tell if it had bowed on the way out or simply bobbed as it sprinted for safety. It made no difference to the ruler of the Underworld. He cared not at the moment for Others and their treacherous selves.



"What on earth was that about?" he asked, rubbing his hand across his forehead as he sank onto the ground.



"You look tired, milord," the Other answered instead, not replying directly to his question.



"Funny story – I feel tired," Lucifer snipped back. "And I have a headache." It was annoying to the greatest degree. What was the use of being a super being if there were still the flaws of the minor ones wired in? Just like what was the use of being a king if one still had to obey the law and pay taxes? It made no sense.



Right at that moment, Lucifer thought he could kill something if it came within his reach, be it one of the Others or something more sinister seeming. He wanted to feel something crunch beneath his hands, feel the wrench of bone as it twisted and snapped. It was an odd feeling, but an appealing one. He vaguely thought about simply upping and going after the Other that had invaded his time with so useless a piece of information as the bit about the stock.



"It\'s a good thing you\'re around," he muttered, looking up at the Other that was peering down at him in confusion.



"Well, perhaps it is," the Other admitted, as though it wasn\'t sure there was supposed to be agreement. "But, milord, there are some matters that require discussion on your part."



"Can we deal with it later?" Who would have thought the ruler of the Underworld would sound like a teenager? Certainly not any who had known him when he had been an angel of the Arc. Back when he had been in Heaven. The mere memory had him clenching his hands in distaste. He had controlled one of the angels – had achieved a partial victory over that terrible place that had cast him out. He was well pleased with himself and hoped that no one would ever be able to undo the damage he had done himself to them.