When Angels Fall (Demon Lord)

by Southwell, T C

  Sherinias sniffed and wiped her cheeks, and he wondered where Kayos was; probably avoiding the stricken girl, so she could not cry all over him. Bane was glad Mirra was less inclined to give in to tears. He noticed the girl shooting him surreptitious glances through her lashes, and knew it boded ill. He had a fair idea of what question was burning in her mind. It only remained to be seen if she found the courage to air it.

  Her voice was soft and timid. “My Lord…”

  “No, I am not going to restore the cities, Sherinias.”

  “It would mean much to me, and -”

  “Why not ask your Oracle to do it?”

  She pulled a face. “It does not work like that. If I asked it to remake those cities, it would destroy the ruins and create buildings of crystal, alabaster, jade and obsidian. The Oracle cannot replicate man-made structures. They are too complex, but at the same time, too crude. All the people would die, too, in the flux that would ensue.”

  “Do you have any idea how tiring it is for me to remake the past?”

  She shook her head. “I am sure it saps you, My Lord. Perhaps just a few…?”

  “You are a creator.”

  “Again, it does not work like that. I can only create such things as buildings in a dreaming, although we generally do not. Besides, this domain is already created, so to dream now would, again, kill most of the people.”

  Bane sighed. “It is too tiring. I have done enough.”

  “You have, My Lord. No one will argue with that. Perhaps just one city?”

  Drevarin remarked, “It might convince these people that we are here to help them.”

  “I am sure they blame us for the demons and the destruction,” Bane said. “They will see it as just another show of power.”

  “What if you went to the leader first, and extracted some promises in return for the city’s restoration?”

  “Then he would see me as a blackmailer. And protestations of innocence about the destruction will just make them roll their eyes and click their tongues in disbelief. I know humans. I am one.”

  Sherinias bowed her head. “The devastation will prevent them from being able to fight demons -”

  “I am well aware of that. It is why the bloody demons did it in the first place!”

  Mirra’s hand tightened on his, and he flung her an exasperated glance and asked, “What, you too? Really? If I go down there, they will probably try to shoot holes in me.”

  Sherinias said, “I will order the Oracle to protect you, My Lord.”

  “Enough!”

  “What about part of the city?” Mirra suggested. “Just as much as you can do without it tiring you too much.”

  Bane jumped up and swung to face them. “All three of you now? Those people do not deserve more help than they have already had, and they have had plenty!”

  “They did not deserve this. It was not their fault Pretarin was killed and their domain fell into disarray and darkness.”

  “No, but even if I restored all the cities – which I will not – it will not change the ultimate fate of this world.”

  “Do not do it for them. Do it for your sister.”

  Bane snorted and ran a hand through his hair, feeling beleaguered. “No.”

  “It does not use the darkness, does it, My Lord?” Sherinias asked.

  “No.”

  “It is a gift of your mortality; the ability to command all matter, move mountains, if you wished. Your power is truly a wonder, My Lord.”

  “Do not think to appeal to my dark side, My Lady; that is perilous.”

  “Dark side?”

  “Pride.”

  “What about sympathy?” Mirra asked. “You have done similar things before, to save villages, goddesses and people.”

  “Not on this scale.”

  “It would make Sherinias happy, and give her something pleasant to view in her Eye after we leave.”

  “The demons will just destroy it again.”

  “Perhaps not.” Mirra rose and took his hand. “They will not know you have left, will they?”

  “No.”

  She lowered her eyes to his chest. “You know what gives me more joy than anything, and fills your father with pride?”

  “Let me guess; restoring cities?”

  “Seeing you do good.”

  “I have done enough good! I am all tapped out of good! I have done enough good to fill five lifetimes!”

  She nodded and looked up at him. “You have.” A smile curved her lips. “Do you remember the day at the lake, when you asked me to marry you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think that city would look much better as it was, Bane.”

  “Oh, really.” He frowned at her. “Ah. I see. Now you have a request, and you are not joking.”

  “Yes. Just as much as does not overly tire you.”

  “I should not have made that promise.”

  “I have not asked for that much,” she protested.

  “If I had known you would be asking me to restore entire cities, I would have restricted you as I did my father.”

  “No you would not.”

  Bane met Sherinias’ hopeful, pleading eyes, then Drevarin’s sparkling, amused ones. He looked down at Mirra again and cupped her cheek. “Whatever brings you joy, I shall endeavour to provide. This is within my power. I do not do this for Sherinias, or those stupid people. I do this for you.”

  She blinked, her expression solemn. Bane swung away, strode out of the gazebo, and Moved.

  Mirra turned to Drevarin and Sherinias. “Did I ask too much of him?”

  “My Lady,” Drevarin said, “he will only do as much as his love for you requires of him. It would only be too much if he did not love you with all of his heart.”

  “He does not need to prove it.”

  “He is not. He is doing it because it will bring you joy.”

  Sherinias looked vague for a moment. “I have asked the Oracle to shield him. Oddly, it is reluctant, but it will obey.”

  Drevarin rose to his feet. “We should go to the ship, so the others can watch this too. It will be spectacular.”

  Mirra nodded, still a little stunned. She had not expected Bane to cite one of his wedding vows as his reason for doing this. Her request had seemed harmless, easily refused, but now she felt as if she had forced him.

  Drevarin approached her. “You did not truly understand the import of his wedding vows, did you?”

  “Apparently not, although Lyriasharin did explain them somewhat.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do not make yourself uneasy, My Lady. You specified that he should not make himself overly tired, and so he will not.”

  Sherinias bowed her head to Mirra. “Thank you, My Lady.”

  Drevarin’s hand tightened, and then they stood in Retribution’s mess hall. The god and goddess went to their couches, and Drevarin beckoned to the groups of people who sat at two tables. “Come, join us. You are about to witness a most amazing event. Ethra, run and fetch Sarjan and Nikira.”

  Mithran rose and came over, his brow furrowed. “What’s happened? Where’s Bane?”

  “He is all right,” Mirra assured him.

  Drevarin indicated that she should sit beside him, and the others went to stand behind him as he waved an Eye into being. Sherinias did the same on her couch, her eyes sparkling.

  “Demons destroyed many human cities,” Drevarin explained to Mithran and the others, “but now you are about to witness a true miracle. The Demon Lord will restore Darjahan.”

  Mithran’s jaw dropped. “He can do that?”

  “Oh yes.” The light god indicated the Eye. “Observe.”

  Bane rematerialised in the centre of the city, which, ironically enough, turned out to be the Great Hall’s square. He stood atop the hall once more and viewed the ruins. The demons had done a good job. The hall’s walls were cracked and collapsed in places, parts of its domed roof sagged, and many of its ornamental pillars leant, while others were broken.
Even the streets were cratered where air cars had crashed and exploded. The pools of grey sludge had dried to black dirt, and mounds of demon dust blocked roads, especially that from the giants, which formed hillocks of sulphurous soil. The rain had stopped, but the moisture would turn the dust to rock if it remained. Demon dust built mighty walls. He remained visible. Few would spot him on his lofty perch, and he sensed the air shield around him.

  More buildings were succumbing to structural weakness as fires ate away at their guts. Even as he watched, a partially collapsed building crumbled in a cloud of dust, ash and sparks. Rescuers poked through the rubble, and weeping groups were herded into flying vehicles to be taken to safety. He wondered how they would react to what was to come. Mirra’s request pleased him, oddly enough. She asked for far too little. He spent too much time saving others, and neglecting his wife. If this made her happy, it pleased him too, and not much did these days. He wanted to make up for the trials and tribulations she had suffered, and a few days of rest did not seem sufficient by his measure.

  Gods measured things differently, he was discovering. Perhaps he was more of a god than he had thought, for it took far more to please him. World-shattering events were insignificant to him, but fulfilling his wife’s wish was important. The demon battle had not taxed him much, and he carried little dark power, which suited him. He only needed enough to return to the light realm when this was done, and he did not want its mockery to be too strong. It sneered, deep in his mind, but he ignored it and closed his eyes.

  Millions of tainted souls became visible, and he stretched forth his senses. Never had he tried to encompass so much with his mind. It seemed to expand, pushing at its established boundaries. He needed more power than he had ever used before, and perhaps exercising his inborn abilities would enhance them. That could only be a good thing. Most of the city seeped into his ken: bricks and mortar, cement, glass and steel, ceramic, wood, tar, and the strange material these people called plastic. Even cloth was known to him, along with carpet, copper wires and coloured paint; everything that had been used to build the city. Once, it had all been the same; the cosmic dust that had formed this world, and stemmed from chaos.

  Bane spread his arms and opened his hands, reaching out further, delving into the depths of what was and what had been. Restoring a ship’s corridor had been trifling compared to this. There was no possibility of a mistake in this. His command would reorder the city’s matter into what it had once been, but in order to do that, he had to understand it. Most of it was simpler than the ship’s construction, but vaster, denser, and more inert. He saw time as just another force, which had been present when this city had been destroyed, and, while he was not actually reversing time, he was looking back into the past to reform it.

  Bane gathered his focus and solidified his grip on matter. Every particle was known to him and under his command. The concentration required was fierce, and, if Nikira had turned one of her clever scanners on him at that point, he knew his brain would have shone like a white-hot beacon. His head even grew a little warm. Sensing that he had everything under his control, he commanded the restoration and opened his eyes.

  The air thrummed with a deep, resonating hum, raised the hairs on his head and arms and made his gut quiver. Bricks, glass and cement dust rushed back into buildings and reformed walls and windows. Fires died, burst water pipes stopped gushing, and twisted wrecks turned back into air cars with soft crunches. Craters filled in, papers flew back into offices and returned to drawers; shredded curtains became whole and reframed windows. In the distance, fallen towers began to rise. Dust and rubble rushed to remake them; glass flew back in sparkling streams. The towers tottered upright, a deep rumble accompanying their settling back into their foundations. It reminded him of restoring the seventh ward in the Overworld, so long ago, only now he no longer needed to use the shadows.

  The people on the streets shouted and ran around as all manner of material whizzed past them on its journey back to its former place. Flattened lamp posts rose, crushed trees lifted from leafy graves and broken branches became whole. Bane closed his eyes again and tilted back his head, revelling in the sweet coursing of his own special power, which uplifted him. His heart seemed to swell, even as it thudded, and his fingertips tingled. A floating sensation invaded him, as if the expansion of his mind made the world forget him. He drifted in a state of bliss as he sensed glass towers glinting in the sunlight again. For the time the restoration took, it was as if the city, and, indeed, the world, had become a part of him.

  The Demon Lord lifted his head and opened his eyes. He drifted above the Great Hall, whose roof was once more whole. The rune scars under his wrist guards itched, as did the ones on his nape, but euphoria filled him still, and the buoyancy in his heart held him aloft. Perhaps it had been the increase of his gifts, or his mental encompassment of so much of this world, but somehow, he had triggered his natural ability to fly. He smiled, allowing the ethers to caress and carry him, as they had always been meant to do. For the first time, he truly felt like a god.

  Mirra gasped, and Drevarin gave a crow of delight, slapping his knee. Sherinias shot him an uncertain look.

  “He has done it!” the light god said. “He flies!”

  Kayos appeared several paces away, his brows knotted. “What have you done?”

  Drevarin’s grin vanished. “What do you mean?”

  “He is free of the frathess runes.”

  “Was he not supposed to free himself? Why would you want him bound?”

  “I do not, but now…” Kayos ran a hand over his hair. “He may not be ready.”

  “For what?”

  “His full powers!”

  Drevarin eyed the Grey God. “This has unleashed others?”

  “Of course. Do you think Arkonen bound him just to prevent him from flying?”

  “I do not know. What harm can it do?”

  “That depends on what the powers are, does it not? No one can predict what powers a god will attain, least of all a greater mortal god. He is so young…” Kayos sank onto a spare couch. “I just hope he is ready.”

  “Perhaps he will need them to free Ashynaria.”

  “Perhaps.” The Grey God looked glum.

  “It is almost as if the universe, or fate, has rewarded him for his deeds. We tried, a while ago, to release his natural abilities, and failed, but now… they just… came to him.”

  “Who asked him to restore Darjahan?”

  “I did,” Mirra said.

  “And me,” Sherinias added.

  “Me too,” Drevarin chimed in.

  Kayos eyed them. “You are all insane.”

  “Only he could do it, Father,” Sherinias protested. “My people suffered!”

  “Sherinias… if they do not love you, you cannot claim them! Your people are safe on holy ground where no demons could harm them.”

  “Not all. Some were in their homes when the attack happened. Several have died.”

  “That is regrettable, but now they are safe in the White City.”

  “But -”

  “Enough.” Kayos raised a hand. “I know why you asked him. You do not have to explain it to me.”

  “We did not know this would free him,” Drevarin said.

  “I know.”

  Bane floated down and landed on the rooftop, lowered his arms and scanned the city. A little quake damage remained on the outskirts, which had been beyond his reach, but the rest was restored. A deep sense of accomplishment warmed his heart. This victory was his alone; it owed nothing to the darkness. The itching under his wrist guards increased to a dull burning, becoming painful. Frowning, he unlaced the left one and pulled it off. The runes glowed deep red, and the fire was spreading into his blood. He could sense it coursing through him, heating his flesh. He rubbed the sigils, and his skin peeled off to reveal raw flesh. Blood welled out and dripped onto the roof in scarlet drops that sizzled and steamed.

  Bane fought the urge to tear at his skin as the burni
ng increased, his lungs filling with fire. He breathed steam, and his vision clouded, then darkness slammed down.

  Drevarin gaped at the image in his Eye. Bane’s knees buckled, and he sprawled on the rooftop, starting to slide down the slope. The light god jumped up.

  “He is in trouble!”

  Drevarin Moved, rematerialised just below Bane and caught him. Kayos appeared beside him, swept Bane up and vanished. Drevarin followed, reappearing in the light realm. The Grey God placed his son on the diamond sand and knelt beside him, his hands on Bane’s chest.

  “What is it?” Drevarin asked.

  “I do not know yet.”

  Drevarin squatted and examined Bane’s left wrist. “The scars have gone.”

  “Impossible.” Kayos frowned at the unmarked skin. “Rune scars cannot… Damn!”

  “What?”

  “It is a curse.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The scars have gone,” Kayos said. “They are inside him. Arkonen ensured that if he ever freed himself, he would pay the price.”

  “What price?”

  “I do not know.”

  “What can we do?”

  The Grey God shook his head. “Only a dark god can remove another dark god’s curse, and obviously it cannot be the one who is cursed.”

  “The demon gods!”

  “No. They are not even true dark gods, and they will not help. They will revel in Bane’s downfall.”

  “They swore an oath to him.”

  Kayos snorted. “Do you really imagine a demon god will honour an oath?”

  “We must help him!”

  “We will. I must think.” He gazed across the gardens.

  Drevarin jumped up and paced around, casting anxious glances at Bane. “If only we had not asked him to restore the city.”

  “Shush.”

  “We need someone who knows how the dark power works.”