by Rex Jameson
***
Lucifer woke up in a familiar predicament. His restored left arm hung between his legs under the table, but as he turned his face to look at the right arm, he found nothing but void. The pain was once again excruciating, and the brightness gave him a headache.
“You know how long it’s going to take me to grow that back?”
“What?” Garion asked.
Shut up, you fool, the pattern said.
“Nothing … delirious …” Lucifer said.
“Obviously.”
The brightness finally drained to outlines, and Lucifer saw Garion’s bulky, robed body stepping through the door. He could see the other two guards through the walls.
“Garion?”
“Yes, Prince Lucifer.”
“Where are you taking them, anyway?” Lucifer asked.
“The King awaits on the balcony over the market place,” Garion said. “He hoists the appendage in the air, and the crowd boos him.”
“He’s crazy.”
“Undoubtedly,” Garion said. “But he’s still my King.”
Lucifer nodded. “Garion Agalal, I presume?”
“Yes.”
The door closed and locked, and Lucifer ripped another section of shirt with his teeth and clamped his bleeding stump.
“He’s not taking another piece of me,” Lucifer said.
Then don’t let him.