by Nazri Noor
Morning Star
Nazri Noor
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This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MORNING STAR
First edition. March 20, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Nazri Noor.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979-8-6220-8301-3
1
My muscles bunched as I slashed with my beloved new instrument of warfare, with the fury and delight of a man wielding a whip. The wind sang with every lash and stroke, the laughter in my chest matching the whistling of the air as I attacked again and again. Metal clanged against metal when my morning star met its mark.
“Hey!” Raziel stumbled backwards, the weight of the blow striking heavily against his shield, leaving pock marks and dents. “Be careful, Mason.”
I hefted my weapon over my other shoulder, preparing for another strike. “This is me being careful.”
As light as divine steel could be when deployed in battle, it still landed with the brutal force of forged metal. Weightless to wield, but more or less unstoppable when it came to crushing things. Or people.
Metal clanged again when my weapon’s three heads crashed against Raziel’s shield.
“Dude,” Florian said, feeding himself another peanut. “Take it easy.” Next to him, Priscilla ooked in agreement, shaking her head at me in disapproval.
It was a nice, warm day in Paradise, birds twittering, trees rustling in a gentle breeze, with nothing else disturbing the peace except for the grunts and clangs of two angels locked in battle. Well, an angel and a half, I suppose.
Florian and Priscilla were bored enough to peel themselves away from the television Artemis had somehow rigged to work in the center of Paradise, neatly accessible from each of our huts and the domicile’s entrance. Artemis herself was nowhere in sight. If she’d been napping, Raziel and I would have found out the painful way at least a half hour ago, probably used for archery practice for the crime of waking her up.
“Mason, I said to slow down.” Raziel’s eyes and nose peeped above the top of his defensive barrier. My voluntary sparring partner had clearly summoned an enormous full-body tower shield because he was worried about getting his not-fake designer threads all mussed up.
The outfit of the day was a distressed tank top, holes slashed haphazardly all over what little fabric still clung to Raziel’s body. His jeans were similarly distressed, his leather boots intentionally scuffed. I never realized people paid such a premium for clothes that looked like they’d been fed into a woodchipper, but there we were.
“I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” I took another swing, perhaps a little too proud of the weapon that I’d improvised out of thin air.
The only thing better than a mace, I’d learned, was a morning star. Sometimes it’s called a flail, just a handle or a shaft with some chains on it, and with huge, heavy balls on the end of each chain to smash people with. Stop giggling, this is serious.
Now, a morning star? Imagine every ball is studded with spikes. Now we’re talking. Of course, that’s the kind of thing that can seriously injure someone, maim them, kill them. Morning stars would have a limited use if I was just trying to fend an attacker off and not actually end them. They were great for caving in chests and skulls with both blunt force and some truly awesome spike action.
And those spikes? As far as I knew, they didn’t keep morning stars in the armories upstairs. The spikes were my own special, unique touch, attached lovingly through the magic of creatio ex nihilo – of making something out of nothing.
Clang. Clang. Even with the morning star’s feather-lightness, my muscles strained with every attack, meaning to deliver maximum impact with every blow. Raziel could take it, right? He was an immortal angel and everything, plus he was leagues better than me at all this Vestment stuff.
Clang. Thud. Raziel’s shield went flying. My heart surged with the excitement of being strong enough to knock the damn thing out of his hands. I admit, it was amusing seeing how Raziel’s eyes went huge when he found himself defenseless.
But I should have stopped when that last blow smashed Raziel’s shield clear out of his grasp. That would have been the sportsmanly thing to do, but the battle in my blood kept on raging, singing, and without meaning to, I let my muscles carry on their rampage, bringing the morning star down in one last, decisive blow against Raziel’s torso.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered, just as metal clanged against metal yet again, just as a golden flash of light dazzled me long enough that I had to shield my face and stumble away.
From somewhere nearby, Florian gasped, and Priscilla gave a long, awestruck “Ook.”
It only took seconds for my vision to clear, but I couldn’t believe my eyes. Raziel stood before me, only it wasn’t him exactly. I’d never seen him unfurl his wings before, and I never knew that he had four of them. One pair was wrapped protectively across his torso, their feathers stronger than steel, enough to repel my morning star. The other pair loomed above his shoulders, majestic, radiant, reflecting the light of the sun. I’d never seen the angel of mysteries look more, well, angelic.
“Holy crap,” I murmured.
“Holy, yes. Crap? Not quite.”
Raziel brushed a loose feather off his shoulders, then spread his arms. His wings sprang out to meet them parallel, then folded up, disappearing back into his body like they’d never been there. Just like that, we had the old Raziel back, just some slightly awkward dude in his thirties with a striking sense of fashion and a perpetual look of disapproval on his face.
“You were enjoying that far, far too much, young man. That’s quite enough.”
My morning star’s chains rattled as it thudded to the ground, then disappeared. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I definitely got a little carried away.”
“I expect a firmer grip on discipline in future, Mason.”
Florian swallowed noisily before speaking up. “You could have hurt him, dude.”
My toe dug into the ground, and I bit on my bottom lip. “Okay. I swear, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. But hold up, how come you’ve got four wings?”
“Yeah,” Florian said. “What’s up with that?”
“Oh, those?” Raziel brushed his shoulder off again, a smug little smile creasing his lips. “It’s kind of a status thing. That’s a simple way to translate it into mortal terms. You know about the hierarchies of angels, yes? Well, the stronger you are, the more wings you have. That about sums it up.”
I looked over each of my shoulders, suddenly aware that I hadn’t even used my own wings in ages. “Will I get more than just the two?”
Raziel shrugged. “In time, as your power grows, who knows? You might discover that you’ll have grown another pair yourself.”
“Hah. He said to grow a pair.” Florian guffawed as he popped another peanut in his mouth, the pile of shells between him and Priscilla steadily growing into a little mountain. Priscilla chortled.
“That’s not at all what I said. The point is, Mason needs to use his wings more.”
“Nope. No way. Not after the first time. I didn’t know I could get airsick so badly. Never even been on a plane, and figuratively driving from the cockpit all by myself was not a great way to discover that my stomach was so sensitive to that shit.”
> Raziel harrumphed. “Ridiculous. An angel who refuses to use their wings? You’re being absolutely ridiculous. Flying is like a muscle, Mason. It needs to be trained. You’ve gone without using your wings your entire life. Of course it’s going to be difficult at first. You’re very much like an infant learning to walk. Imagine if you mastered the gift of flight. Imagine the advantages you could have in battle over your enemies.”
“Pssh. Don’t need flying for that.” I flexed my biceps, posing and grunting for effect. “Check out these guns.” I pointed at the indentation in the ground left by my now-missing morning star. “Plus I can summon the Vestments, or enhance them.”
Or fire an entire cannonball into someone’s face. I left out that last bit because I didn’t need Raziel lecturing me about learning to control my ability to create matter, either. Making that cannon had drained me physically and spiritually. It took a hefty amount of time to recover from the strain and get back to normal again, whatever normal meant for me, that is. The two weeks of intermittent fever and chills weren’t very much fun, either.
“I’d caution you not to be so smug about your abilities.” Raziel folded his arms and sniffed. “You need to be ready for battle, any time, any place, and if that means calling on all of your talents to help you, then so be it.”
“Oh, please. Let me rest a little, Raz. I only just went through that crap with Loki, and I still need to collect his fee. Don’t tell me you expect someone to come and attack me again so soon.”
A pillar of crimson flame burst out of the ground just then, sending bright red sparks up into the sky. Priscilla leapt to her feet and beat her chest, howling. Florian sat there, mouth agog. Raziel raised his hand above his eyes as he retrieved his shield, and I readied myself to call one from the Vestments as well, just in case. I knew who was coming, anyway, even if I didn’t like it.
I couldn’t help my teeth clenching as I grunted out a greeting to the thing emerging from the fire. “Belphegor,” I grumbled.
The demon Prince of Sloth stepped out of the shaft of flames, kicking at a crimson ember that happened to be sitting in his way. “Mason Albrecht, and all your little friends.” He grinned, sharp teeth burning red in the firelight. “Long time no see.”
2
I folded my arms, lifting my chin as I scrutinized the demon. “It’s a little early for you to be showing up, isn’t it?”
Belphegor’s eyes flitted to either side of him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He wore the same skin he’d been using for months now, the one that made him look like a teenage skater, eyes rimmed red from all the pot, hair hidden under the hood of his jacket. As for what hid under his hair – I shuddered. Best not to remember what his third eye looked like.
“It’s practically morning.” I tapped at the back of my wrist, at the watch that wasn’t there. “Shouldn’t your kind still be asleep?”
“You must have me confused for vampires. I can walk in the day, nephilim. It’s no big deal.”
The very distinct sound of a tautening bowstring squeaked from a little off the side, and like one unit, everyone in the clearing turned towards the noise. Artemis stood there, arrow nocked and pointed directly at Belphegor’s heart.
“I thought I said that you weren’t welcome here.”
“Then how come Raziel is welcome?” Belphegor said with a whine. “That’s not fair.”
Artemis turned her gaze from demon, to angel, and back. “Raziel brings me the right offerings. Raziel is polite about showing up when it’s convenient for everyone. And most importantly, Raziel doesn’t do things to put my boys in danger.”
Belphegor scoffed. “Oh, please. What’s the worst thing I’ve done to them? The very worst thing?”
I scoffed back. “You stole Mammon’s sword all that time ago. It’s why the Prince of Greed wants to eat all our guts for breakfast.”
“Okay. Besides that one time, when did I ever put you in harm’s way?” Belphegor rolled his eyes, then started fanning himself with one hand. “Don’t you people get hot here? It’s so damn hot.”
In bewilderment, I shook my head. “But you live in hell. Or at least one of them.” He was right, though. My kingdom for an air-conditioner.
“I can’t get too mad at the fact that the human half of your brain renders you so stupid.” Belphegor grinned at Raziel before looking back at me. “And the angel half just makes you gullible. But the point is, not all hells have to be exclusively hot. Or cold. But this place? Ugh. I can’t deal with this.”
In one smooth motion, Belphegor unzipped his hoodie, and – I wish I had a better way of explaining this – unzipped the rest of his body in the process, too. The teenage skater boy’s skin fell into a wrinkled pile on the ground, shortly before being consumed by plumes of crimson fire.
“Ah,” Belphegor said. “Much better.”
She shook her hair out, letting it fall in gleaming tumbles across her shoulders, a bottle of sunscreen already in one hand, the other applying dollops of it to bronzed skin. This body wore a swimsuit, a wide-brimmed hat, and very little else, just another of the Prince of Sloth’s manifestations. Luxury is, after all, just the sin of sloth in another skin.
That was how I first met Belphegor, in the guise of a woman sunbathing on what she considered her own private island. Gender didn’t matter much to the demons, or the celestials, or the gods, for that matter. Keep in mind that Loki is both the father of Fenrir and the mother of Sleipnir.
“Dang,” Florian said, whistling.
Raziel harrumphed. “Don’t let the body distract you. That’s still a demon. A demon prince.”
The bottle of sunscreen in Belphegor’s hand vanished in a puff of fire as she smirked. She gathered her hair up above her shoulders, exposing her neck, then turned playfully to look over her shoulder at Raziel.
“Jealous, angel? Then pick a different skin suit and shut up.”
Raziel stamped his foot lightly and tugged on the hem of his shirt. “I like this one, thanks.”
Artemis cleared her throat noisily. “This still doesn’t explain why you’ve decided to sully my home with your presence, demon.”
“Oh. That’s right.” Belphegor pointed with one long, clawed nail at Florian. “Him. I came for him.”
Florian blinked, looked at Belphegor’s finger, then over his shoulder, his eyes filled with the hope that the demon was pointing at some other dude who happened to be sitting behind him.
“I had an agreement with both of you.” Belphegor folded her arms, her eyes flitting between me and Florian. “The alraune was supposed to be rehabilitated, waking up to his full powers, and the nephilim was supposed to do all the rehabilitating.”
My hands went into fists. “And we’ve done both of those things already. What more do you want from us?”
The demon prince poked one nail against her bottom lip, smiling. “You’re forgetting that Florian still owes me a favor. You performed yours, quite admirably at that. But you still need to participate, because this final act is what really qualifies as helping Florian awaken to his true glory. Oh, stop sulking. You’re getting a reward out of it too, you know.”
“From a demon prince, which is hardly any incentive. Trickster gods are one thing, but you people are probably even sneakier.”
Belphegor held a hand to her chest, her nails pressing against her skin. “Sneaky? Perish the thought. Plus, I shouldn’t have to remind you that refusing to help me is a breach of contract.”
“I never signed a damn contract and you know it.”
Belphegor chuckled, raising her hand. Flames flickered in her palm, then guttered out, leaving a scroll of parchment clutched between her fingers. The contract. My heart fell.
“You never had to sign anything. The pact was sealed just as soon as you agreed to do me a favor. It’s that simple. And if you violate that pact? Well, there are consequences.”
“Like what?”
I shouldn’t have said that. Belphegor grinned, then snapped her fi
ngers. A spark leapt from her left hand to the right, consuming the contract in a wreath of flames.
“All I did was send it back to my study, mind you. I didn’t burn our pact.” Her smile stretched wider, her fangs wet, and her bangs shifted just then, revealing that horrible crimson eye that hid on her forehead. “In fact, you might say that I just reinforced it.”
Florian clutched his head, then screamed. My heart thumped as I ran towards him, as the veins in his neck bulged from the agony. I wished there was something I could do stop him from feeling whatever pain was burning him from the inside – but then I felt it, too.
I fell to my knees, my eyes bulging out of my skull as an ember began to sear me from inside of my brain. I clawed at my skin, knowing that I couldn’t rake my brain out of my skull, yet still believing in my panicked delirium that it was the only way to make the torture stop.
Despite the screaming agony I still noticed Priscilla shrieking, thumping her chest, then taking off into the trees towards her kitchens. Raziel was suddenly in possession of a massive golden spear, his teeth bared as he poised to strike just feet away from the demon. Artemis’s posture was deathly still as she kept her arrow trained on Belphegor’s face.
“Make it stop,” Artemis commanded. “Or I’ll send you back to your hell in a matchbox.”
Belphegor rolled her eyes. “Ugh. You’re no fun.” She snapped her fingers again.
And just as the pain had come, so did it fade, quick as a flash. I was on all fours, my palms pressed into the ground, my entire body slick with sweat. Florian staggered over to the river nearby, retching and heaving.
“Honor the pact,” Belphegor said, unfazed by the sharp, deadly things pointed at her face and her heart. “Or suffer further consequences. I’ll send instructions to the two of you for how to access my domicile. In the mean time, rest well. You’ll need all your strength for the challenges ahead.”