by Paul Sating
"A lazy stereotype," Bilba smirked.
"Touché." My spirit lifted but my apprehension—young demons don't easily admit fearing anything—remained staunch. "I can't trust what they say. What if they're lying? What if they've never even been to the Overworld? How can we be sure?"
For all of my superior analytics, he didn't seem impressed or moved. "Why?"
The answer seemed simple. Why was he missing it? Too many demons unquestionably trusted the Council, but not me. Anyone with too much power was a more frightening proposition than staring down a gang of angels in an alley fight, armed only with my shaggy-haired good looks and short stature. "To get us to buy into their message. To support them and their objectives. Think about it." I tossed the grass aside and brushed off my hands, pointing at the open palm of one hand as if it contained all the Truth with a capital 'T.' "We don't know anyone who has ever been lifted up. Our families have been around for millennia and no relative, friend, a friend of a friend, or cousin's cousin's cousin has gone. Don't you find that odd?"
Bilba raised his eyebrows. "Oh, a conspiracy. I love this stuff. Kind of like how the humans faked their moon landing! What if no demon has actually ever gone? Imagine, you'd be the first to test it out, to see if the stories were true. A true pioneer, if you come back alive."
"Are you done?" I asked flatly, eliciting a laugh from my friend. "I'm being serious."
"You're being ridiculous, and I honestly don't get it," Bilba said. "What do you have going on? Nothing. No job, you have had nothing to do since we finished school. So you've spent five hundred years watching movies, playing video games, working odds-and-ends jobs, and getting your ass kicked in our sparring sessions." He lifted a finger, pinching the tip with his other hand. "The reason we don't know anyone who's been to the surface isn't that strange. We're nobodies, all of us. Your lot and mine. Why would we ever know someone that important? It's as simple as that."
There was a reason the Council would lie about sending demons to the realm of humans, but I doubted Bilba was interested. During dozens of conversations over the past few hundred years, in school or over drinks, no one bit on the controversy I saw so clearly. Not Bilba. Not Ursel Thrasher, someone I stopped hanging out with—or who stopped hanging out with me—after too many heated debates. Not my parents. Not Evenise Dangast, the one succubus I thought I had a real chance at having a relationship with until my opinions became too opinionated for her. Everyone refused to explore the possibilities. Bilba was like that now. Sometimes I wondered if by conferring magical Abilities to the rest of His demons, Lucifer balanced those actions by imbuing the recipients with an inability to think independently. To his credit, though, he sensed my unease. "You've got to trust that they're doing this for a purpose and they selected you because of a special trait you have."
"No one has ever told me I have anything special to offer."
"Screw everyone else!" He flipped his hand through the air as if swatting away a gnat. "Who cares about them? Half of them are driven by jealousy and the other half by envy. All that garbage you're getting from them comes from a place you don't need to pay any attention to, trust me. I'm happy for you. You're about to do something special. There's no other reason for the Council to select you."
I examined him. What he was saying, he believed. I didn't doubt him. Still … "Don't fool yourself."
Bilba waved his fingers over the open air. A small pebble flickered into existence. He pulled his hand away and the pebble remained floating. "This stuff is for show," he said, nodding at his trick. "We're entertainers to the humans. Well, most of us are. But there's something about you, something special you just haven't found yet. That's why the Council chose you. When they tell you what your mission is, that's when you'll start understanding your true gift, I bet."
"I hope you're right. I really do."
"I am." Confidence radiated from him as he plucked his own blade of Kentucky Bluegrass. "When do you meet with them?"
"Tomorrow," I groaned.
Bilba pinched the grass between his thumbs and made it whistle.
4 - Underworld
The Council's meeting chamber was only slightly impressive, if I'm being honest. But the five demons sitting on the other side of the massive table definitely were.
Swallowing down my apprehension in their presence was difficult, like I was trying to swallowing a sylph. I can only imagine what I looked like to the ancient demons staring me down as I squirmed before them.
The table was broad and long, larger than required to seat the five, no matter how important. Long enough that Lucifer Himself must have some use for it—and, no, I'm not talking about blood sacrifices; you humans cornered the market on that sick stuff well before our kind considered them an option. Made of jade so dark it almost looked black, the table had to weigh thousands of pounds. Gilded goblets sat in front of each of the Council members.
Spaced out evenly along the back wall, three attendants stood by, holding charcoal colored pitchers, condensation droplets dripping to the floor.
Beyond that, six black pillars, as wide as several incubi and taller still, reached up to support the ceiling, painted with a panoramic view of the all-consuming Hellfire. The blue flame of annihilation. I imagined the original Council members chose it instead of Lucifer because images and likenesses of our Lord have been forbidden since the dawn of demons—which makes it impossible to know what the Big Man actually looks like, and that creeps me out. Demons complied with the edict, unquestionably as they do with everything. I swear, if Lucifer outlawed farting tomorrow, the air in the Underworld would improve drastically, so eager to abide is my species. Mortal pop culture is all over the place with their interpretation of Him, but at least you have evolved from your early paintings, which were really biased and unfair if you stop and think about it.
Inside my head, my brain tingled with anticipation.
All five of the Council members watched me. I gulped, knowing who they were and disbelieving they could know the same about me. Michael, Beelzebub, Seraph, Apopis, and Azazel; the true rulers of this immortal realm.
Mortals may find the inclusion of Michael and Seraph shocking, and alongside a name like Beelzebub upsetting, but I assure you, one thing humans do not have is the full story of what happens behind the celestial curtain. As a very minor demon, I'm at a loss about political wheeling and dealings most of the time, so I can only imagine what these influencers must be like for mortals. Suffice it to say, the pair of them were included in a trade for two of ours who took the escalator in the opposite direction. Don't be shocked, Lucifer and Yahweh don't have the adversarial relationship the stories claim.
The line between angels and demons is fine.
The Council dressed in formal black robes with red embroidery around the cuffs and collar. I wore my button up and khakis, the nicest outfit I own. The image of my mother begging me to upgrade my attire floated in the back of my mind. But, hey, clothes aren't free, except for demons who possessed Construction magic and who have all the materials to make outfits, much of which isn't readily available outside of Gluttony Square, in the Third Circle, Hell's finest retail center. Even I was uncomfortable about my outfit now that I stood in front of the Council. And I rarely care what I look like, which would probably explain why I've been single for the past thousand years and only ever had one girlfriend, and she was more into me out of curiosity than anything else. Once she figured out how boring having no Abilities was, she bounced.
At least I'd combed my normally shaggy black hair. The Council should be honored. No, I didn't ask if that was the case.
"Hi, sirs and ma'am," I said after a while when none of them spoke.
Five faces, all focused on me; five unreadable expressions. So much for breaking the ice. Then Michael turned his gaze down the length of the table to take in his peers. "Shall we begin?"
Four heads bobbed in agreement.
"We imagine you're curious why we have called you here?" Michael cupped his hands.
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"Yeah, I guess," I said, trying to ignore the tingle inside my skull.
"You guess?" Seraph raised a blond eyebrow. The room seemed to grow colder once she spoke. The only female Council member, she sat straight and tall. Half-tempted to take a step or two to the side to validate the rumors that her wings hadn't yet dissolved as Michael's had, I thought better of my actions. The Council member validated my decision by inching her already-raised eyebrow further toward her golden hairline as if she could read my thoughts.
Wings unconfirmed, the horror was immediate. What if they could read my thoughts? All of them were ancients, Founders, the first generation of demons who were the most powerful of our kind except for Lucifer. It wasn't beyond reason to think they had that power.
If they knew what I was thinking, they said nothing.
"My parents claimed they didn't know anything," I said. "I tried, trust me. To be called by the Council is … something demons like me aren't used to, so it's all a little overwhelming."
"Understandable," Michael said. "Then let's help clear the picture so you can understand. If you are ready for us to begin? Beelzebub, would you do the honors?"
The large demon to Michael's left nodded. Calling him large was an insult; he was massive, with round shoulders that looked like small boulders. His thick biceps pushed against the material of his robe, showing an impressive level of definition. His head was shaved save wide blond sideburns that stood out against his dark skin. When he spoke, his voice rumbled down the length of the room. "Ezekial Sunstone, we, the Third Council, have selected you to conduct an important mission in the Overworld. On—"
A disbelieving laugh burst from me. What I would have given to shove it back in my mouth, but it was too late. It happened, so I felt I needed to justify it with the question that had been burning on my lips since the news first came. "Are you really sending me to the Overworld?" My throat felt raw.
Beelzebub's jaw tightened. "If you wouldn't interrupt, I'd appreciate it, boy."
I pinched my lips in an apologetic grimace.
"As I was saying." Beelzebub eyed me. "We have chosen you to conduct an operation, one of great import, time-sensitivity, and discretion."
He stopped. I waited. No one spoke. No way in all the Underworld was I going to speak out of turn again. If this turned into a test of the wills like some twisted initiation, someone would be very disappointed.
"Okay." The word came out within seconds and I recognized that the disappointment was named Ezekial. I couldn't even brag about putting up a good fight.
"You're to go to the Overworld to conduct a search," Apopis said, a distinct elongated 's' remnant to his words. He wore his black hair slicked down and back, reminding me very much of the way my father wore his. Apopis had a thin face that hinted of a vegan diet, and his skin was pale enough that I figured he didn't go outside to enjoy the Hellfire too often. The entire left side of his face, from chin to his ear and up his hairline was tattooed in blue inscription I could not read.
"For what?"
"Not what, but who." Azazel shifted forward, almost poking the jade table with his long white goatee formed to a point sharp enough to do serious damage on a demon or inanimate object. The hair on his head, unlike his ivory goatee, was a mixture of gray and faded orange, and his light freckles spotted his aged skin. "We need you to seek someone, one of our own."
Michael snapped his fingers, and a three-dimensional image of an old incubus floated in the space between us. As it spun slowly, I made out more detail. His alabaster hair reached to his waist. Skeletal, his stance was slightly angled, as if his head pulled him down and he lacked the strength to fight it any longer. When the image rotated to face me, I stared into his eyes so blue they reminded me of the horrific images of Heaven's icy landscape from our school textbooks. I stepped back.
Seraph snickered, a sexy sound even coming from an older converted-succubus. "Don't worry, that's just a projection. Nothing to fear. This demon is in the Overworld. He is who you will find."
"Who is he?"
Michael stood and came around the table to stand next to the floating image. The table had hid Michael's true height. Well-groomed and handsome, with strong cheekbones rising above his short-trimmed beard, the hairs on my arms rose when he neared. Tucking his hands into the robe sleeves, he dipped his head toward the image. "That's Aries the First."
The first of his name? A major demon?
"Not only are you going to find him, but we want you to bring him back to the Underworld."
5 - Underworld
"You—you want me to what?"
Michael turned away, and the image blinked out. "Don't worry about memorizing his likeness. We'll send you with the information and tools you need to do the job."
"I don't understand."
By now, Michael had reached the table and took his seat. Beelzebub used the pause as an opportunity to continue pressing their message.
He grunted, sounding like a rumble from deep inside the earth. "I fear we've chosen poorly with this one," he said with a jerk of his thumb.
Apopis smiled, splitting his face in a grin.
"He'll come through," Azazel said.
"He has to," Seraph added.
I appreciated the sidebar conversation as if I was not standing right in front of them, but it did nothing for my unsettled anxiety. Aries was the first of his name. Many had shared it since him, but he was the first, the most powerful of demons besides Lucifer Himself. And the Council wanted me to search the Overworld and bring him back? Me!
I didn't want to show a lack of confidence—it wouldn't change their minds even if I became a blubbering mess—but my shaking limbs hadn't come about because I'd just finished an epic workout. "But … me? He's a Founder. I'm just … I'm nothing."
Azazel shook his head, almost looking disappointed. At least my disbelief might get me kicked off this task, keeping me safe at home instead of traipsing through the Overworld. "We're very familiar with Aries and have no need for you to explain him or his background. And his background is the only correct thing you've said."
"What my peer is trying to help you see, Ezekial," Seraph said with a grin that was neither benign nor malignant, "is that you are the perfect candidate for this job. In fact, we've had discussions amongst ourselves." Her head swerved down one side of the table to the other. "We believe it is fated for you."
"Couldn't you just check with the Big Guy to ensure you're not making a mistake?"
"Insolence," Apopis hissed.
Michael moved his hand up and down. "Give the imp a chance; we're dumping a lot on him. But." He turned those ancient eyes on me, adding a hint of heat to his words. "Do watch how you refer to Our Lord, at least until you've taken his role as leader of the Underworld."
"My apologies, sirs and ma'am." One of the Founders groaned, maybe two; I wasn't counting. "But I really don't understand what you want of me. I'm sure someone told you, but I don't possess an Ability."
Azazel smacked his hands together. "That's the thing! Your lack of Abilities is your greatest capability, and exactly why we chose you. The fact you do not have an Ability makes you immune to danger in this mission."
Seraph waved her finger toward the back of the room. I turned around to see another image appearing, cast with a casual flick—the privilege of major demons, even if they're fallen angels, am I right?—spreading across the entire wall, completely blotting out the gateway.
When the image focused, I gasped, the tingling growing stronger. Unlike any of the mortal movies I had seen or re-creations in textbooks, this was real. The actual Overworld!
"That," Seraph said forcefully, pointing at the image, "is a city in the Overworld. A place called Seattle."
I studied the image. At an angle of about three-quarters, the view allowed me to see the city from above, but not quite straight-down perspective. Amorphous details filled the image, but streets crisscrossed each other at hundreds, thousands, of points on the map, boxing in buildings of var
ying sizes. I took a tentative step forward.
"Go on," Michael urged from behind. "Seraph will hold the image for you."
With permission, I took a few steps closer, revealing the finer details of the city. The downtown area, the residential zones that spread far and wide. The water. What it would be like to stand at its shores since we only have demon-made water holes in the Underworld. The sky. Lucifer, I didn't want to see that.
I squinted to make out the tiny details. If I looked hard enough, I could make out vehicles moving along the streets.
The Overworld. And I was being sent there.
"This is it, what the Overworld really looks like?" I asked, more to myself than the group of powerful demons occupying the most important room in the entire Underworld.
All our stories made the mortal realm out to be an amalgamation of sights, sounds, and smells. Demons of old who had visited it categorized it as exciting, stimulating, because it was so different from the Underworld. Mortal movies showed a fantastical world, but everyone knew that was because humans used their magical Ability called Technology, which they had to create because they had no true magic. Most demons, the ones who acted like imps regardless of their age, used that as a stick to beat mortals with, but I got it, I understood. As the Segregate, I would, wouldn't I?
Looking at this image, I didn't feel the need to go rushing into this mandatory mission. To me, it represented one thing.
Danger.
"Seattle," Michael offered, "is where we believe Aries is."
I looked at the city and wondered what would have to happen to an ancient for them to travel to this realm. The utter grayness of the human world made it unappealing. Where was the color? All grays and blacks of Seattle, bordered by that large area of greenish-blue, provided none of it. Where was the life? What was the draw for a major demon?