Authors: Darcy Town
***
Paimon and Lucifer stood under the earth.
Hephaestus molded the dirt and rock around them.
Paimon and Lucifer shared an uneasy look.
Lucifer reached out and touched his arm.
“You must not let go of me while I play.”
“Understood.”
Hephaestus tensed.
“Are you ready?”
The two nodded.
“Yes.”
Hephaestus ripped the earth open and formed a staircase to the surface.
Lucifer went first, violin in hand.
Paimon ran up after him; he held Dahlia’s teddy bear.
Both Fallen were dressed to kill, compliments of Spider.
Lucifer wore a designer suit in charcoal gray.
Paimon had on his finest leather lab coat, replete with too many pockets and several flasks.
A digital camera hung around his neck.
Paimon hiccupped.
He’d consumed several bottles of vodka on the walk up.
He blinked against the afternoon light and gazed at the humans around him, a protective haze of alcohol between him and them.
He smiled warily; the rush of the crowd ran through his veins.
He turned his camera on as they reached the grass near the media center of the Nashville Superspeedway.
He spun in a drunken circle and snapped photos.
“Paimon?”
Lucifer sighed.
“
What
are you doing?”
“I’m getting before and after shots!
Furcas will want to see.
He hates this human pastime.”
The ground closed up behind them as Hephaestus hurried to get deep below the surface.
Lucifer dusted off his polished shoes and looked away as Paimon took photos.
Media crews oriented on the pair.
Cameramen filmed Lucifer and Paimon, ignoring the race that occurred on the track.
Past the grass and concrete garages, fans stared in astonishment.
Racecar drivers continued their loop to the left, circling Lucifer and Paimon like colorful torchbearers, unaware of what went on.
Lucifer took in the spectacle and shook his head at Paimon’s choice of venue.
He motioned for Paimon.
Paimon grabbed his shoulder.
Lucifer plucked a string on the black violin, one note, a warning to any remaining Lilliam in the area.
The reverberation deafened and spread outward as anti-sound.
The humans in the stadium held their heads and staggered.
Those closest to Lucifer dropped dead.
Blood ran out of their mouths and eyes.
Paimon winced, but remained shielded from the effects of the sound through contact with Lucifer.
Lilliam across the southern United States felt the note.
Those that had mobility fled away from the noise.
Those that could not, the ones held in the chambers of the Solomon Soldiers, laughed at their captors.
The humans did not hear anything.
They did not know why their captives began to laugh despite bleeding and dying at their hands.
The Lilliam grinned and waited for their release.
The sound died as Lucifer lifted the bow to the instrument.
Reporters held up cameras, feeding the image of Lucifer and his violin to news stations around the country.
Lucifer smiled at them and spoke to Paimon, “I have not put on a show in quite some time.”
Paimon snickered.
“Might as well freak them out.”
Lucifer shrugged and gazed at the cameras as one reporter dared to get near.
The man, balding and in his mid-life, held out a microphone.
“Who are you?”
“Lucifer Morningstar.”
His response echoed in the stadium and was carried over radio and news stations.
The man gulped.
“
The
Lucifer.”
“Yes.”
A second reporter chimed in, “You do not look like the Devil!”
Blue flames engulfed the man where he stood, reducing him to ash in seconds.
Lucifer looked at the camera with blue eyes blazing.
“I do not
like
that
term
.”
He smiled.
“But how should I look?
Should I have horns?
Those are easy enough.”
He concentrated and two magnificent sharp black horns grew out of his temples.
Paimon took a picture of him.
“You’re supposed to have a tail and cloven feet too.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes.
“I never understood that.
I like my feet and backside as they are.”
The other reporters backed away, leaving the balding man by himself.
He spoke on, “Why, why are you here?
Uhm, Mr. Lucifer?”
Lucifer smiled and looked at his violin.
He played another warning note, bringing the humans to their knees.
He let the sound fade.
“I am here to collect you.”
“To…take our souls?”
“No, just your life-force.
Humans do not have souls.”
Lucifer brought the violin up to his chin and played a melody slow and haunting.
He closed his eyes and let their destruction song flow through him, the notes that would undo humanity’s creation, reverse it as if it had never occurred.
The humans near him vibrated and vaporized into red light, leaving behind clothes, microphones, and headsets.
The light sank into the earth.
The radius of death expanded from Lucifer in a circle.
Paimon managed to keep his eyes open as the sound pounded at his temples.
He dropped his camera and clutched the teddy bear as the song of death flowed through him.
His eyes turned from jade to silver.
His teeth chattered.
He focused on his body and Furcas’ status.
The song hit the enclosed media center.
People watching the race on TV saw their announcers disappear.
The image jerked and swerved as the cameramen behind them disappeared.
The music enveloped the pit crews.
Cars came in to be refueled only to find no one was there.
The drivers had seconds to look around before they too were deconstructed.
Flashes of red light engulfed the stadium.
Cars on the straightaways lost their drivers and careened into each other and the walls.
Cars driving towards the straightaways plowed into the empty cars as they themselves disappeared.
Fire and smoke joined the sparks of red.
Up in the stands, the crowd could only gape.
The seats went up in a pyre of light and the stadium emptied, but Lucifer did not cease.
The sound pushed outwards and blanketed the parking lot.
Tailgaters, security guards, and fans in RVs vanished, leaving behind their possessions and bottles of Mountain Dew.
The red swirling light raced back towards Lucifer.
It went through him to Paimon, then to Gaea who waited in the Sanctuary with Dahlia and Furcas.
Gaea pulled the energy to her, wove it into a sphere, and concentrated, focusing on the force itself.
Before her, Dahlia and Furcas were laid out unconscious.
The radius of death moved ever outwards, crossing roads, homes, and businesses.
Police cars raced to the scene, but their drivers disappeared and cars smashed into buildings and each other, clogging the roads with debris.
Helicopters filmed overhead.
Those that dipped too low suffered the same fate as the other human-occupied vehicles.
Fire and smoke surrounded the Speedway.
Lucifer paid no attention to things outside of the small circle that he shared with Paimon.
He became the song and the sound.
He was the conduit of destruction.
His hands moved to sunder what the Archangels had bound together.
Paimon sagged against Lucifer, sick to his stomach.
He slid down Lucifer’s body as he passed in and out of consciousness.
Lucifer slipped off one shoe, then another.
He kicked off his socks.
He touched Paimon’s hand with his bare feet, keeping them connected as Paimon shook off the effects of the music.
The song was not something for an Archangel to know, not for a human or any sentient creature.
It was Lucifer and Dahlia’s only.
Paimon’s nose began to bleed.
***
In the palace, the remaining Fallen waited in one of their massive armories.
Apple’s brothers and the City Guard sparred or repaired their armor.
Berith and Apple paced.
Helion and Whitney floated overhead, circling the ceiling.
In a shadowy corner of the room, Andy watched Belial, his face gaunt and pale.
He rubbed his chest as if in pain.
Belial rummaged through her ancient battle gear.
Bits and pieces of her favorite outfits hung on the walls like trophies.
The room was massive and items stretched floor to ceiling.
She searched aimlessly, not looking for anything in particular.
Belial jumped for a helmet.
She missed and fell.
Her tongue stuck out between her lips and she jumped again, but it was too high up.
Irritated, she scaled the wall.
She leapt from stone to stone, getting ever closer to the item she wanted.
She missed a foothold and jabbed her talons into the wall to keep from falling.
Her feet rested on an antique shield of Berith’s; she had enough sense not to scratch it.
She looked around.
“Shit.”
Andrealphus leapt past her, grabbed the helmet, wrapped his arm around her, and dropped to the ground.
He set both down lightly and walked back to his spot without a sound.
Belial watched him go and fiddled with the helmet.
The place he’d touched her burned.
Her heart fluttered with fear.
Helion’s words rang in her head.
She put the helmet on and covered her eyes.
She sat against the wall and stared into the black leather and metal.
She could still smell the ash and blood of warfare.
The scent calmed her nerves.
Celeste poked at her leg, wanting to fight.
Belial shook her head, determined on being moody.
Celeste frowned and went back to wrestling with Tokala.
The other princes watched the pair enviously.
Fighting a berserker was a rare pleasure.
Berith bowled into Celeste and tossed her into the air.
Celeste hit the floor with a crack of bones.
She shrugged off the blow, grinned, and charged Berith.
Tokala backed up to avoid the pair.
He looked at his brothers smugly.
Berith did not often spar with anyone other than Apple or Grendel.
Helion and Whitney flew around the ceiling.
Neither spoke, both pensive.
Whitney let go of Helion’s hand and flew on her own; white mist followed her flight.
She watched it and aimlessly drew patterns of mist in the air.
Helion followed her and dove through the circles.
Jacob blew into the room and closed the door behind him.
His clothes were stretched and torn.
His hair was a mess.
He gasped.
“Safe!”
Belial pulled her helmet off, looked at him, and laughed.
She pointed.
“I told you that you’d get mobbed by girls!”
Jacob jumped up to join Whitney in the air.
“I can’t get away from them, and they all know how to fly better than me!”
He scraped up along the wall.
Whitney pulled him away from the stone as swords fell to the ground below.
Berith broke off from Celeste and caught the falling objects.
Belial smirked.
“Better learn fast then.”