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She wasn’t surprised he balked. It was in his nature to deny the truth. “I’ve seen their futures. The males do not have the acuity to survive the trials.”
“I disagree.”
“Because you view yourself as male when you are a celestial being, neither male nor female. And you view my assessment of a male’s inherent weakness as a personal attack on you. It is not.” She moved to the nearest bassinet and focused on the first infant. The babe had dark brown eyes and a tuft of blond hair on her round head. This one, she will fight every step of the way, and, in the end, she would be fearless.
Iaiél looked at Belial. “One female. One demon. One Celestial. A trinity.” Belial smiled. She knew the reference would appeal to him.
With a flick of her thumb, she pricked her forefinger. Light pierced the opening. “Shall we begin?”
The air charged. “You ask for too much, Seraph.”
“I do.” Iaiél sighed and withdrew her hand. “You are correct. It is too much for you. I will find another to replace you.” Her flesh suit began melting as her celestial light seared the skin.
“Wait!” Belial growled. She knew he would. “Who will replace me?”
“The only one who could. Lucifer.”
Fire danced in Belial’s soulless eyes. “You know where he is?”
“Of course. I and the other Seraphs have always known his location. Convincing him of the merits of my plan will not be difficult. This act will be a good legacy. Perhaps engaging in this selfless act will pique his interest in other things.”Like returning to Hell and resuming his place there.
Though unspoken, Belial heard every word. He moved to the opposite side of the bassinet and raised his left hand. She waited as claws extended from his fingertips, unnecessary, but Belial and his theatrics hadn’t changed. He sliced his wrist.
“A drop is just as good as a pint. You do not need to tax yourself when we have more than one infant to seed.”
He looked around the room. “Agreed.” His wound sealed, and he pricked his left forefinger.
What leaked out of the tip was inky and oily yet of the same viscosity as the drop of grace pearled on her finger. She willed her grace to separate from her body and fall. It landed on the infant’s forehead and seeped into her skin. Her remaining grace protested when Belial did the same. The infant blinked slowly as her right eye turned blue and the other black.
“These females, what will become of them?” Belial chose now to ask.
The question came too late to change the outcome. “Pawns, sacrificial lambs, fodder... warriors.”
Together, they moved to the next bassinet, then the next. The two didn’t cease until the deed was done, the alliance formed and sealed in a pact. Afterward, Belial paused at the threshold. His pitted eyes shifted to each bassinette. “Actions have consequences.” He nodded once, answering his own question. “These consequences will change this realm...”
“And the next.” Iaiél finished for her.
Face grim, Belial stepped through a portal and returned to his domain in Hell. The fool. He had his role to play as did they all. Iaiél, her light significantly dimmer, returned to Heaven.
Michael met her at the Council entrance. His face twisted in horror and revulsion. She couldn’t hide her diminished state, and the stench of humanity and brimstone clung to her like a shroud. Both were apropos since she was dying. Slowly. Painfully. Iaiél had no regrets. Not one. “I did what I had to do.” She made her way to her seat and, with all the dignity she had left, perched on the edge.
“You’re dying, Iaiél.”
Death would come in a few centuries. For an immortal, it took a while. “Yes. The first of many in the coming war.”
“War?” Michael stood in front of her. “When?” He’d never doubted her and didn’t start now.
“Soon, my friend. And you must prepare.”
Michael, leader of the Seraphs, Archangel warrior when it suited him, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Tell me, Keeper of the Future.”
And she did. Iaiél told him everything.
Chapter 1
The human screamed. A high, piercing sound born from the agony it endured. Agony that, granted, was unnecessary to achieve the end results. Her death. Yet necessary because Shait, demon of the First Order, deemed it so. The dulcet shrieks filled the gladiatorial arena and echoed through the stone stadium on the third level of Hell in Prince Belphegor’s realm. Her pain was a symphony to his ears, an aphrodisiac to the ichor in his veins.
From his makeshift throne of random bones, he studied the empty seats and regretted they weren’t filled and enjoying the human’s execution. He wasn’t known for his discretion, but what he did there required the utmost secrecy until Heaven and Hell were less than ashes on the wind. And he, Shait, would’ve orchestrated it all, Heaven’s defeat and the return of the King.
