DesdemonaDeBlake

“Even knowing the insurmountable nature of Tezcatlipoca’s curses, I wanted to blame someone. For a long time, part of me wanted to hate Dufaii in return for his loathing of me … and after all we shared. A part of me that believed love conquers all, wanted to think that he simply had never loved me as I had loved him.  But … that simply wasn’t the truth. Were it not for my own madness, I would have never been able to understand how thoroughly his madness overcame him.  Another part of me wanted to blame myself for not having come up with a safer plan to dispatch the god. I also wanted to blame the gods for having allowed themselves to crumble into their state of Madness. I wanted to blame the Creator for the storm which made Dufaii so fragile in his own way.  However, the truth is that there is a doom present in the fundamental nature of reality. It applies to immortals as much as it does to mortals. I watched millennia of human parents utterly breaking their children through abuse and neglect, the children powerless to prevent their own psychological demise. I saw countless physical injuries that were unavoidable and that ended the lives of humans well before giving them the mercy of death. Illnesses that wiped out entire civilizations that each might have made humanity more than it was. Peaceful nations of learning and enlightenment put to the blade of the ignorant who thought themselves holy. Starvation as lands would simply cease nourishing those upon them. As many tragedies that were the fault of nobody as those which were the fault of sadists and those which were the fault of fools. And in each case, people broke all the same.  Breaking is the only foundational truth of the universe. Fractioning, Injustice, Madness, and Death are the constants which have formed this world, nourished it, and which will inevitably end it.  So the only target I found for my loathing was the fundamental nature of existence. I hated it and I was justified in hating it. Like with every other being within it, existence had broken me. And yet … I was fighting to preserve it.” “Final Manifesto” page 112 by General Ammon -O- Dufaii watched as the loyalist he maimed returned an hour later, followed by the Archangel Gabriel and two stereotypical guardians. They flew first to where the severed hand had been left on the ground. As soon as they did, Dufaii took flight. Within an hour, he had created a portal and returned to his hut on the edge of the jungle. He entered and immediately went to work, checking what was left in his inventory and what had spoiled in his absence over the past eight years.  Days went by.  Dufaii tried not to think about Exousia, which he managed with some success. It seemed that he had become quite skilled in forgetting.  Except … in those moments when he lost immediate awareness of all that had happened. In those rare split seconds, he would turn to ask his apprentice to pass him some tool or ingredient and then realize that the child was gone. Other times, he would think of a lecture about the properties of different plants and almost say it aloud. He corrected himself before he did, but feelings of guilt and loss still came.  Dufaii worked tirelessly for a week with not much success. At times this was because his brain felt tired, so his measurements were not precise. And at others, he would become frustrated and give up on a project mid-way through.  It was during one of these latter points when Dufaii heard someone open the door to his shack. He knew this presence well, and every muscle in his body tightened, ready for a fight. So this was it? His final showdown with Ammon. Dufaii span as fast as he could and threw a highly flammable compound.  Ammon caught the glass bottle in his hand and set it down on the shelf. He folded his arms and regarded Dufaii with a somber expression. “I thought I'd find you here. I heard that you had gotten a loyalist to replace you … after all the work and sacrifices you made to gain the child’s allegiance.”  Dufaii clenched his fist. “You knew that this would happen. You planned for this. I would get attached, figure out I couldn’t take care of her, leave, contribute to breaking her mind, and leave her as any easy ally for you to collect.” He put a hand on his sword.  “I knew that you would have difficulty,” Ammon replied. “But … you give me way too much credit in your current state. I’m guessing she attached to you faster than you were ready for.” Dufaii grit his teeth and turned his back on the conversation.  Ammon continued regardless. “An essential part of a child's humanity is to seek out parental figures. Surely, you knew that.”  “I was fine with her viewing me as a teacher,” Dufaii said. Feelings buzzed in his head with the raw intensity of a hornet's nest. “If it were that simple, you would have let her think what she wanted while you trained her to be the greatest thorn in my side possible,” Ammon replied without a hint of irritation. “Much like you did with the young deities who once called you Uncle while you waited to cut out their hearts. I think … maybe … her becoming like you made you feel like a father. And … maybe … that scared you?”  “I’m not a father!” Dufaii shouted, slamming his fist on the table. He felt himself losing his calm, but he couldn't stop himself. “I don’t even know what any kind of real parenthood would look like. I just know that Exousia needs either a parent who will be capable of caring for her like she deserves or a competent teacher who can make her ready to survive against you! I’m incapable of being either. I've done my part; I’ve given her the power she needs. Now someone better at child-care than an assassin can determine what will be best for her.” Ammon listened quietly until he was finished, waited a moment for Dufaii to take a few breaths, and then calmly sat on the stool beside him. “So you're afraid that you’ll fail her, just like you feel that you failed me, and the rest of our kind before that. Dufaii, you couldn't have stopped me from becoming what I am.” A minute of heavy silence passed. “I don’t believe that,” Dufaii said, his voice hoarse and quiet. “If we hadn't been captured by the old god, your mind wouldn't have been twisted. You wouldn’t look like you sometimes don't even know who you are. I would be able to speak with you without the desire to cut your head from your shoulders. We … we wouldn’t be … what we now are … to one another.” Ammon seemed genuinely surprised by his words. He sat there for a moment without saying anything and then began to work on one of the many half-finished healing compounds. He mixed the ingredients and then heated them in a spoon over a candle. “I don’t suppose I can persuade you of the truth–that there was nothing you could have done to stop what happened? Dufaii did not reply. Ammon sighed. “Then, I’ll speak of Exousia. I don't know everything about what being a parent to a human entails. But I know that if those creatures can occasionally do it with proficiency, then you can … if in your own way. No loyalist will be able to teach her as well as you can … nor care as much as you obviously do for her.”  Dufaii did not know how to reply. He knew that Ammon was right, as he often was. But this was difficult to accept through Dufaii’s own shame. The feeling that there was something so broken about the core of his identity that he could only possibly bring pain to those near him. It was the best he could do to suppress the feelings and ask with a strained tone, “Why are you trying to help me?” “Selfishly? I see Exousia's potential and want her as my ally at her full potential when this stupid challenge is finished,” Ammon said, looking less than happy. “I don't believe that the Creator will really give us a fight on equal terms. And even if they do, and I win, I believe the loyalists will retaliate with war. Either way, having the two of you on my side when war comes may mean the difference between victory and a fate worse than eternal torment.”  Dufaii nodded, but he also knew that Ammon also wanted to help for reasons that were not selfish. Unfortunately, he could not find the words to say this and instead turned his head away. “So … great strategist … storyteller to children … what happens now?” Ammon again sighed, walked behind him, paused, leaned his head tiredly on the back of Dufaii’s shoulder. Dufaii froze, his body immediately filled with pain. Yet … he dared not move. Ammon spoke softly, “The end of one story and the beginning of another. The hero—you—finally confronts his greatest fear. In your case, that which has terrified you from the beginning of time. You will connect once again, this time as a father. You will be what was never given to you—a loving parent. It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done; it will come with sacrifices; it will scare the hell out of you. And there will be days when you wish with all your heart that you hadn’t. But you’ll do it all the same, because that is who you are.” Dufaii felt hot tears spill onto his cheeks. His body trembled—halfway between the panic that the person his soul had been tormented to hate most was touching him, and the wish that this moment could last. He whispered, “I don’t know if I can. And even if I could … it sounds unbelievable.” “Unbelievable as leading as three kids leading a revolt against the Creator of the Universe?” Ammon asked. Dufaii let out a small laugh, despite himself, and shook his head. Ammon continued. “It will happen this way because it is who you are; it couldn’t happen any other way. And as for realism, that which makes all this more than a fantasy–it comes at the cost of everything you’ve sacrificed. Everything we’ve all sacrificed.” Dufaii reached his hand back to try to touch the side of Ammon’s head. Without warning, his hand just stopped. He began to tremble … all the pain of everything they had endured welled up inside him, and it was all he could do not to turn the loving gesture into an attack. Fresh tears let out and he let his body go limp as he nodded in understanding. Mercifully, Ammon lifted his head and pulled himself away. “For what it’s worth … I’m so proud of you.” And without another word, he turned and exited the building. Dufaii fell and began to weep … but only for the few minutes he felt he could afford. Then he rushed out the door of his hut and took flight. -O- Dufaii took longer in his return to the country house than he had in leaving. Even after making a portal close to the new dwelling for Exousia, his flight was slow and indirect. The prospect of dealing with the damage he'd done was … daunting. What could he do? Go in, tell his apprentice to get back to work, and then kick the loyalists out of the house? The notion seemed undesirable and pathetic, but no other idea occurred to him as he flew. It became so troubling that he stopped flying when he was about a mile from the house. Though Dufaii didn't explicitly mean to, he found himself stopped at a home-run gift shop that looked like it had been a barn at some point. Oddly, it featured none of the flags or other symbols of racial hatred he often noticed decorating places like this. On impulse, he changed to his more human appearance and entered the shop. The shopkeeper was a male human wearing overalls and boots. He smiled pleasantly, though he seemed to be missing most of his teeth. “Hey there! My name's Jedidiah. Can I help you?” He spoke with the deepest Southern drawl that the demon had ever heard.  “What would a human child like … as a gift?” Dufaii asked. It felt strange to ask any sort of advice from a human, especially such a comical-looking one. But perhaps a human would know better on this particular topic. “Human …” Jedidiah said, tapping his hairless chin. The way he said it made it seem like there wasn't much going on in his mind. But then he asked, “Boy or girl … Oh! Or the kind that ain’t got binaries?” What difference did that make? Absolutely none. Still, Dufaii replied that she was a girl. “How old?”  “Nine,” Dufaii said, wondering if this had been a mistake.  “Hm. Probably need to wait another year before you get her her first rifle,” Jedidiah said, looking at his assortment of firearms and shaking his head. He unlocked a glass case with a key he pulled out of his pocket and removed a small paper box with a strange red insignia on it. “Whaddya think about this?” “What is it?” Dufaii asked, looking at the box that was about the size of the man's fist.  “You ain't from around here, are ya?” Jedidiah asked, with a good-natured but loud cackle. “That's alright, friend, you look like an okay sort. This here is a Swiss Army knife. A classic model, medium sized, so it fits nicely in your pocket. But it's still big enough to use. My daddy got me one when I was five, though I guess that's a little young, nowadays. Anyways, it’s something special, helpful in a pinch and something you keep with you, ya know?” Dufaii raised an eyebrow.  Jedidiah reached into his pocket and pulled out a burgundy pocketknife with the same symbol. It was faded and well-used, but it seemed to be significant to the man, especially considering that he still carried it on him. Additionally, a weapon was an item that meant something. It communicated a trust of power and responsibility … like the sword.  “I'll purchase it,” Dufaii said, and paid with a card that he'd been given by the demon financier. Though it felt a little odd, he nodded appreciatively at the human who had aided him. Jedidiah smiled a big gapped-tooth grin. “You're welcome, anytime. And just you come back here next year, and I'll talk you through what sort of guns would be best to start your daughter out on.” He waved.  Dufaii noticed that the human calling Exousia as his daughter was a bit startling … but not compared to the terror he had felt before. He walked down the road a little ways, until he was out of sight. Shifting back to his demon form, he took flight towards the house.  A couple miles out, Dufaii noticed that something wrong. Massive black trails of smoke billowed upward from the direction of the house. Dufaii pushed to top speed, feeling a hot prickling sensation cover his face, body, and wings. His vision became blurred, and he could not even think to slow down.  There was the house–on fire! He hurled his body through a window, shattering the glass, and rolled on the debris-covered ground. He looked around for any sign of Exousia but saw only her green jacket, next to a pile of collapsed roofing and fiery embers.  Holding it was a charred hand.  Dufaii ran to the roofing and frantically dragged it off of the body below. But upon moving the roof, he quickly discovered that the body underneath was not that of his apprentice. It was that of the loyalist guard from before. His face was covered in black spots where the flesh was still burning. The skin had yellow puss bubbles in some places and red scarring in others. His wings were little more than loosely attached bones. Recovery from something like this would be painful and take several months. “Where's Exousia!” Dufaii shouted over the roar of the fire that would have choked him out if he had not been able to hold his breath indefinitely. He could smell his own singed wing-feathers. “She left the house,” the loyalist replied, his voice a miserable hoarse croak. “Probably north … no other humans. Please get me out of here-”  But Dufaii wasn't finished. “And the guardian angel that Gabriel assigned to her?”  “They all left after you went,” the loyalist said between heavy coughs and miserable moans of pain. “She was quiet until today … She called me over … and when I turned on the light … the gas stove … and everything was fire. She had left out the other door. Please … that's everything. It hurts so badly.”  Dufaii picked up the loyalist and slung him over his shoulder as the house began to burn hotter. He walked to the window, stepped out of it, and threw the loyalist onto the grass. He then walked to where a small metal faucet stuck out of the ground and kicked it so that the pipe broke. Water quickly began to puddle on the ground.  Dufaii used his sword to create a portal to the loyalist's home, walked over, and kicked him inside. Then he picked the faded and burned green jacket out of the grass and took flight.  It took Dufaii about a minute to reach the head of the local forest trail and then land. Though flying was usually the easiest way to find someone, there would be no way to see through the canopy. So he began to sprint down the path and didn't stop. Until, a half-hour later, Dufaii saw a pair of flip-flops in the grass beside a large magnolia tree. He was surprised that he hadn’t picked up on any aura … and, admittedly, impressed. Exousia was there, sitting in the tree and staring lethargically at the woods. Her eyes were red and swollen.  Taking a deep breath, Dufaii walked beneath the tree. He realized that he’d been wrong before, about Ammon’s earlier presence being some sort of final showdown. Both in that they hadn’t actually fought … and that Dufaii’s greatest fear and challenge was before him.  With nervous breaths, Dufaii tried to get his thoughts into order. Eventually, he managed to look up again. He said, “I'm back.” Even saying it, he realized how wholly inadequate his words were. Exousia glared down at him and didn't say a word. By her glare, it seemed like she would have liked to have had a second gas stove.  Dufaii tried not to dwell again on the likeness between them. He clenched his jaw and inhaled slowly. “I'd apologize …” Exousia turned away. “But I’m afraid it’d be meaningless,” Dufaii said, exhaling. “I did a terrible thing and won’t put the burden of forgiveness on you, on top of everything else. So I'll simply give you the truth, and leave the choice of reaction to you.” Still, Exousia said nothing. Dufaii clenched his jaw. “I was … afraid that I wouldn’t be a good enough caretaker for you. I guess fear causes one to make poor decisions, and self-doubt inevitably becomes … well … a self-fulfilling prophecy. I allowed this to happen; I am at fault for it; and I deeply regret hurting you. If you wish, I'll make sure that your next teacher is a demon who surpasses me in every possible way. Or, if you prefer it, I will stay and be better.”  Exousia waited a minute, and then slowly looked at him. She didn't stop glaring, but her eyes didn't project rejection, either. Despite her anger, she seemed to be weighing the words in her mind and coming to some sort of decision. Eventually, she said, “I didn't know that demons could be afraid.” Dufaii inaudibly exhaled the breath he'd unknowingly been holding. He nodded as he climbed up into the magnolia tree and took a seat next to her. “At our worst of times, we can behave as emotionally as a human, or as haughtily as a loyalist. Some of us just know how to hide it a little bit better.” Exousia nodded a few times and remained quiet. As the minutes of silence passed, the muscles in her face relaxed just a little, and she breathed more regularly.  It was then that the scene was calm enough for Dufaii to notice that her breath was coming out as steam in the chilly air. He handed her the green jacket.  Exousia hesitated and then took it. She put it on and nodded stoically. The two of them watched the forest together for a while, listening to the fire sirens and watching the woods.  After about an hour, Dufaii finally spoke, “You made pretty short work of that guard.” “He’s a filthy loyalist,” Exousia replied, before dropping her eyes in a puzzled expression. “But he was also kind of terrible. It’s weird. I mean, aren't I supposed to be Heaven's Champion?”  Dufaii nodded, impressed by her as he’d never been by another human. He supposed there were probably other bright ones, some likely even brighter than her in some ways. However … it seemed like this was what parenthood was like.  “I haven't pieced it together, either. But I agree that it's strange,” Dufaii replied. He turned his head to see a camping tent, set up beside another tree. He raised an eyebrow.  “I was thinking about staying out here,” Exousia said, seeming to sense his question. “There aren't as many humans out here … and the ones that are out here don't put off as many bad energies.” Dufaii nodded. He thought about this for a moment. It made sense that campers and hikers would probably be far less stressful auras for her to psychically pick up on. And there were other possible advantages to a more rural classroom, too. He replied, “That seems like an appropriate idea. Though we'll have to find something better insulated than a tent.”  “I was going to go further south as it got colder,” Exousia explained.  “That makes sense, but I don't think it will be necessary,” Dufaii said. On his run here, he'd noticed quite a few large boulders and rock formations. There would likely be caves somewhere, and one of these could be furnished to meet their needs. Dufaii then remembered his excursion before he'd seen the fire. He reached into a pocket in his robe and removed the box that he had bought at the store. He handed it to her. Exousia opened it and said, “A Swiss Army knife.” She sounded a little perplexed but not displeased.  “I thought you might find it useful,” Dufaii said, suddenly finding the prospect of saying that it was a gift to be unusually difficult.  Exousia began to look through the different tools.  As he watched, Dufaii noted that the little metal contraption was rather interesting. It was simple, straightforward, and had a lot of potential behind its obvious uses. It was unexpected and alien to him … but something perhaps worth being cherished. Of course, he realized he was no longer thinking about the knife. Dufaii coughed uncomfortably and forced the words he was scared to say out one at a time. “I …  I’ll be here, as long as you need me. Your life matters to me.” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to put any words into what he was trying to say that would influence how she saw him or that she wasn’t ready for Exousia nodded a few times and then bit her lip. After a few minutes she said, “I don’t like the words, anymore … for what kids call their parents.” “I understand,” Dufaii replied. Having watched the lifetime she’d gone through … and having experienced the same … he truly did. “You can just call me by my name. I’ll know what you mean.” Exousia nodded … and then threw her arms around him tightly. She was quiet except for a few sobs. Dufaii hugged his daughter back and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”   -O- Epilogue - One Year Later Exousia was just arriving at her home in the woods; she’d been out watching the minor faerie beings that had mysteriously begun gathering in the woods around them. They made her happy to see, a visual reminder of the world she had become a part of.  As she got back to her cave, she saw Dufaii kneeling just outside it, in a patch of grass. He looked up from his book.  Exousia said “I’ve … been thinking. I think I know what I need to continue my training.” Dufaii lifted an eyebrow. “I know there aren’t many left … but I want to hunt maddened monsters, or gods, or spirits–like what you and Ammon used to do.” Exousia said, recalling what she’d been thinking carefully about in the earlier hours. Dufaii thought about this for a moment, closing his book and standing to his feet. For a moment, he looked a bit troubled by this idea, though he didn’t say why. But there wasn't much ground to refute the logic in her plan.  The only way that Exousia could ever match Ammon was to begin hunting as he had. At least, that was how Exousia thought of the matter.  Finally, Dufaii slowly nodded his head and replied, “There are vampires rumored to be spreading in New Orleans. The ones there have a long-standing tradition within the city and value the balance. So, a spread means there's a rogue who doesn't. We could work with them to hunt down the rogue. That might be a good start for you.”  Exousia tightened the straps of her backpack, clenched her fists, and nodded–doing her best to keep her excitement subdued. “I’ll let your role grow as you gain more experience. I don’t want to put you in any danger you’re not ready for,” Dufaii said, unable to keep from looking concerned.  “I’ll be safe, Dufaii,” Exousia said, smiling. “Then go pack a bag,” Dufaii said, finally forming a small smile in the corner of his mouth. “We’re going hunting.”

“Hades,  I hope this letter finds you well. I know we aren’t exactly on speaking terms, but I still consider you one of my closest friends. Also … what I would like to discuss concerns someone we both love dearly.  I’m of course talking about Dufaii. It was difficult to see him when he first arrived. Obviously, there were memories of our fights in the rather recent past, and it’s never a good sign when a work one cares about is being countered by one of the few people able to do so successfully. But the hard part, I found, was seeing the state he was in.  Don’t get me wrong; his time in isolation helped with the madness spread within him from Tezcatlipoca. I wonder now if he was the one with the right idea, fixing his mind before returning to serve Hell. But what bothers me is his overwhelming sense of defeat.  We both know Dufaii’s struggled with depression and self-blame for all that the Creator has done to us. But before, he always rose to the top in any struggle set against him. Now, he mostly sits around in quiet despair. It’s hard to believe he’s the same person who stood against the Creator, who volunteered to fight the gods, who shredded his own body to kill Tezcatlipoca. He now just watches listlessly, emotions pouring off him more than he ever allowed in the past.  It’s especially difficult for him to study the Champion. It seems he is seeing the corruption of humankind for the first time, and seeing himself in the figurative position of that child. It’s hard not to … even I have difficulty not remembering the Creator’s cruel words spoken during the First Storm. But Dufaii … for all his fear of connection … clearly has an affinity for it that he will not admit to himself. You’ve experienced that as well as I have.  I keep expecting for Dufaii to blow up in rage—slaughter the human parents, take on the guard waiting uselessly outside, or even just speak to the Champion. And while he has chastised me a time or two for my treatment of her, particularly when my … better judgment was lost to me, he’s not done anything else. I can tell that part of him wants to, but that part of him just seems small and afraid. Afraid of connecting and losing someone else as much as of making another perceived mistake he won’t be able to forgive himself for.  I’m worried for him; he needs someone. Yet you’re stuck in Hell while I am limited by the trauma inflicted on us. Why has this existence taken even our ability to give our loved one the comfort of a simple embrace? Please write him about it … if you can.”  -Ammon  (Personal Letter 50,232 from General Ammon to General Hades) Not knowing what else he could do, Dufaii continued to watch events unfold as he had. He knew that there was something wrong in his approach to all this, but he handled it the same way he had handled similar issues in his past. That was, he became even more quiet and watched everything around him all the more critically. In this case, his attention was on the issues facing the child.  After witnessing the death she’d tangentially had a hand in, Heaven’s Champion fell into a state of prolonged grief and depression. She did not participate at all in school. Upon arriving at home, she went immediately to her room, got into bed, and stared up at the ceiling for hours until sleep took her. The child’s parents expressed rage, at first. However, there was little to stimulate their aggression in a sight that brought them increasing levels of shame–an emotion that poured off them almost visibly. So, instead, they turned their wrath on one another.  Today, like every day before, screams could be heard from downstairs.  Dufaii stood in the corner of the Champion’s room. As in the last few months, he was trying to figure out what it was that he could possibly be doing wrong. He had meditated on the problem, he knew what Ammon intended, he had a general sense of what every party involved wanted him to do. The problem was that the big picture didn’t add up. That … and also … Dufaii had no idea what he expected of himself.  On the surface? He wanted to get through this assignment without making things worse for his people. He wanted to be out of this place … away from the demon who still stirred painful feelings inside of him.  And at the most shallow level, Dufaii wanted nothing more to do with this human child whose life was an unfolding tragedy. He had tried dehumanizing her, thinking of her as an ‘it’. He had done his best to avoid helping in any of the ways he knew a guardian angel should have been helping.  Then again … Dufaii thought to himself … he had involved himself a little more than absolute nothing. He had tried to invoke Heaven to care for the girl. He had given in to his foolish emotions twice–bandaging her face and blocking her view of the death at her school. Sure, these were basic kindnesses that anyone who wasn’t a monster would have done. But Dufaii had set out to be an observer only, even if it meant being that monster. And he’d failed.  Dufaii pressed his fingers to his forehead. Suddenly, his inner conflict was so obvious. Part of him wanted to do his job with utmost efficiency–to play the part of assassin that he had grown so comfortable with and by which he made so many important strides for his people. The other part of him–a painful version of himself whose conviction had earned damnation for his people–clearly wanted to interfere in … some way. And by being oblivious to this side of himself, he had no doubt allowed Ammon tactical information that he could use to his advantage.  The sound of breaking glass startled Dufaii from his moment of epiphany. He looked around. To his surprise, the Champion was no longer in her bedroom! Dufaii rushed out of the room and was horrified by what he saw when he descended the stairs.  The Champion’s father stood over a debris-strewn livingroom. Glass from a table and bits of plastic from some electronic covered the floor. In the center of the destruction, the mother was on the ground–unmoving.  And in the corner … Ammon stood. His expression blank, it was impossible to tell who was in control at that moment. However, he had in hand a fruit that–to demon eyes–shone with silvery light. While he had disguised its appearance, there was no doubt that he was holding a piece of his soul. There was almost no need to check to see that his black shirt was tremendously wet in the center, nor that a black puddle was forming at his feet. Dufaii was so stunned that, when Ammon knelt, handed the fruit to the Champion, and said something quietly into her ear, he could not move. Like all those months ago, this seemed too perfectly orchestrated for Ammon to possibly fail.  And why should he do anything? Everything that he'd ever done only served to bring pain to those around him. It was only in his work that he was any good to anyone. And his work was to watch and report. … And … one other thing that Hades had instructed … to do what he knew was right.  Dufaii clenched his fists, closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and then finally let go. Hades was planning around the part of his nature she knew he could not overcome. And though Dufaii struggled with what was most strategically sound, that part of him which terrified him most–the part of him that had stood against the Creator shortly before being thrown into an eternal prison–had formed a plan. It was the only thing that Ammon would never ever have been able to plan for.  The Champion was holding the piece of soul now … staring. Dufaii, after years of invisibility, made his form seen. He walked over to the Champion, knelt, and–for the first time–did not hide his innermost thoughts and feelings. He knew he could not persuade or manipulate as Ammon could. When it came to charisma, he was entirely outmatched. His only hope … was absolute transparency.  The Champion looked up at him, startled. Trembling, Dufaii knelt and created a psychic link … one that went both ways … and allowed the child to see everything. Their spirits spoke–not just in a verbal language–but in memories, feelings, and pain.  Seeing inside the child’s soul … a spirit that was actively dying … he gradually came to a knowing that she needed the truth and more.  Ammon had told her much of the world she had been put in against her will, as well as the challenges ahead that were absolutely impossible. How could her spirit not die at the knowledge that she was a sacrificial in a lamb in a war she knew almost nothing about? She needed hope … to stand even a fraction of a chance against the powers set against her. She needed the power to truly choose how she would handle this fate. Without it, the Challenge—and her life—were already over. Dufaii felt all this—not only from his perspective but from hers. As their souls connected, he felt all her cold, hopeless terror as if it were his own. And before he really knew on a conscious level why he was doing it, he reached for his dagger and cut into his own chest. He did not bother with any illusion to cover up what he was doing. He carved into his literal soul, paused in a moment of ultimate fear, and then offered it to the child.  The girl whose name he’d always known … Emma … took the soul, dropped the one she had taken from Ammon, and then ate it.  As to cause her as little pain as possible, Dufaii extended his soul past his hand and, with surgical precision, took an equal part of her soul for his own. Only as he brought it to his mouth and swallowed it did he realize that the pieces they had exchanged were far larger than what Ammon ever had with any human.  Dufaii finally stood and beckoned Emma to follow him. Together, the listless duo walked towards the door.  “Where do you think you’re going?” called out Emma’s father. Dufaii looked back to see that he and Ammon were standing side-by-side. Their faces were perfect imitations of one another’s. And on the man’s mouth was black blood. To make matters worse, there was more of the soul dripping in his hand, like a fruit made of fresh meat.  “Get the fruit!” Dufaii shouted. He dashed forward and threw a swing at Ammon. To his surprise, the maddened ones managed to block the attack, and then grab him! Dufaii frantically shoved Ammon and the spirits controlling him into the adjoining room–as far from Emma as he could get them. The spirits cackled and threw ferocious strike at Dufaii’s ribs. They then sent a knee into his groin.  The blows were painful, but Dufaii managed to stay standing. He’d never seen any appeal, combat value, or inherent masculinity of the blatant vulnerability most male angels and demons kept there. Thus, he was able to take the blow.  Dufaii countered by unsheathing his dagger and sending the pommel into Ammon’s jaw. This was enough to send the spirits reeling in pain. Dufaii followed up with a final strike–this time cracking Ammon’s skull with the handle of his weapon.  Ammon fell limply to the ground with a heavy thud. Dufaii turned frantically to help Emma. However, the girl was standing over her father’s lifeless body. She radiated little stress, horror, or rage. If anything, she just seemed … exhausted. And her mind … it seemed to be … rolling. No conscious thoughts flowed from it. The emotional energy that was radiated was not reflected—as with people actively feeling things. Nor was she in the state of deadened numbness characterized after the death of her classmate. Rather, her mind seemed to have been in the process of spewing things out … willingly purging them.  Dufaii had never seen anything like it. He took an exhausted breath himself, and walked over to the front door as he beckoned her to it. Somewhat to his surprise, she followed him. -O- Dear Dufaii,  I understand your trepidation at your actions and the development that has followed. And while this was not an outcome I anticipated, I can’t imagine how it might have turned out better. Not the Lightbringer, nor Ammon, nor any party in Heaven could have possibly planned for you sharing your soul with the Champion solely for her own power. In fact, my spies in every direction are reporting frustration at the very least from all aforementioned parties.  Apart from surprise and ruining their plans, there is something to be said about securing the alliance of the Champion. While I don’t anticipate deciding that Ammon should win the Challenge, we now have options! Win or lose, the outcome of the Challenge is now something we can influence and possibly even decide on. This has also struck a blow to Ammon’s credibility. While not enough, he has certainly lost some support. And our own people have expressed security in that they now perceive our side to be working towards freedom. And that it was the Godkiller who did it certainly helps.  I’ve secured housing and finances for you to have a safe place to go with the Champion. You are to go there as soon as possible and begin training her. -General Hades P.S. I know that this will likely be trying for you. Opening up to anyone … and especially allowing someone to view your past … it’s going to come with emotional ramifications. It’s okay to be afraid. And feel free to write me whenever you need to express that. Though I am here, I will do my best to be emotionally there for you through our correspondence … if you’ll let me. Be well.  -O- Dufaii gripped the steering wheel under pale knuckles as he drove toward the country house that had been purchased on behalf of his new, fake identity as a human. He had taken a smaller and wingless physical form to fit comfortably inside this human vehicle without drawing any attention. There were other changes as well, like a touch of brown pigmentation that made his gray skin seem sufficiently human. And he changed his eyes so that they had pupils and gray irises.  The biggest difference in Dufaii, however, was his utter lack of confidence in any of his actions. Even compared to a few weeks earlier, he seemed a shell of himself. Of course, it wasn’t the driving that scared him. Rather, it was all the time he had throughout to contemplate the choices and mistakes that had led him here.  Sure, Hades had confidence that his actions had been appropriate and even advantageous. But she had far more faith in Dufaii’s continued ability to manage this situation than was wise.  Dufaii looked behind him to check on the Champion yet again. Exousia—as the child had mysteriously begun to call herself after the gruesome final hours in her old home—sat in the backseat and stared silently out the window. Oddly, it felt somehow to Dufaii like he was seeing her for the first time. Exousia was still relatively small for a nine-year-old. The grisly pink scar that ran across her pale skin–from her temple to her chin–had healed well thus far. Her brown hair went almost to her neck. She wore a green hoodie that was much too big for her, over a yellow tee and jeans. She had an intense expression–like her thoughts were running a mile a minute.  Dufaii noted that, in a way, seeing her was like looking in a mirror at who he had been, once upon a time. However, his thoughts were interrupted as he realized that he had finally reached the house with the address he had been sent. He pulled the unassuming silver sports car into the driveway.  The building was small, painted yellow, and was near a large amount of forest.  Dufaii exited the car, stretched his legs, and finally opened the front door of the house. The floor was made of wood; the walls were covered in green wallpaper; and the used furnishings seemed sufficient for the child. It appeared to be clean, empty, and well-maintained. He heard another car door open behind him. Exousia walked in behind Dufaii, made her way immediately to the bathroom, and had nearly shut the door when she turned on the light and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She froze. After a moment of clear trepidation, she turned her face so that she could look at it from every angle, almost as if in a trance.  This went on a little while, until Exousia focused her attention on her own eyes. They were brown with the slight discolorations matching Dufaii’s that had appeared when her soul had been changed. She stared … like she wasn’t sure about what he saw. Then she reached for the light, turned it off, and looked again in the mirror. This made the color in her eyes indiscernible.  It took Dufaii a moment to realize what she was doing. He was left at a loss for words, not quite understanding why the child was making her eyes look dark like those of a demon. “What am I?” Exousia whispered quietly enough that a human wouldn’t have been able to hear.  Dufaii stepped into the doorway and faced the child through the reflection.  “I don’t feel like I did,” Exousia said, speaking for the first time since her rebirth. Her thoughts and projected psychic feelings were an electric cloud of confusion. She looked lost … as if trying to find herself through her reflection. Dufaii felt like he needed to give some reply. But he had no answers and did not know how he could comfort the child without deception. So, he said the only thing he knew to be true: “You are yourself. It may seem more confusing with all the sudden changes … but believe me that most beings spend a large portion of their life trying to find the answers to that same question.” Exousia nodded slightly and then shut the door. She stayed in the bathroom for several hours, in silence. The shower turned on a few times, and there was a small crash that sounded like the curtains falling. The quiet was disconcerting, and the energy being projected was like fever trying to kill a sickness. But, eventually, she reemerged–her face wet and her eyes alert. Almost as if she’d just woken. Dufaii wondered if the child had undergone another transformation. He recalled that his own change at the hands of the old god had been similarly strange. But there was something more going on here … like there had been a struggle inside the child that had nothing to do with the demon magic coursing through her soul.  Exousia was now studying the room quizzically. Unexpectedly, she turned and asked, “How do demons pay for things?”  Dufaii looked at her and raised his eyebrow a little at the question. He replied: “Our kind has pull in all arenas of power–of which money is the most common modern form.”  “So, the devil …” Exousia paused, and doubt visibly flickered behind her eyes.  “The Lightbringer,” Dufaii said, not in a correcting tone but as an offering of information. “The Lightbringer … he owns all money?” Exousia asked. Dufaii shook his head. “They do not rule the demon people. We have a bureau for the management of finances–secured under a number of false identities throughout the Earth. Mostly, it just sits and acquires interest—protected by the power and influence of other wealthy humans. At least, that's my understanding. You'd do better to ask a demon that specializes in human finance or law.”  Exousia tapped her chin and made a sour face. “I don't think I'd like that demon.”  “We're not all savory characters,” Dufaii replied, just barely avoiding an amused smirk. He then tried to think of something else informative to say. But nothing came to mind, and Dufaii became increasingly aware of his own social struggles.  Fortunately, Exousia eventually spoke. “Well … what now? Do I go to some sort of demon school?” “There are no demon children,” Dufaii replied, feeling again somewhat amused by the question. He shook his head, fighting off the warm feelings that discomforted him. “We are awaiting further word as to your eventual placement from the demon general, Hades. Until then, I will teach you. We'll learn history–dating back to the beginning of time. Additionally, I will teach you combat, the many skills of an assassin, the demon language, telepathy, and mental control.” “So … you won’t stay with me,” Exousia said, her eyes falling.  Dufaii felt frozen for a moment, unsure of how to reply. He stammered for a moment, finding himself quite unexpectedly trying to reach for something reassuring to say. “I don’t know how long I will be here. Hades may assign other teachers to you … and the Archangels as well, for that matter. But let’s not worry about all that yet. The demon bureau of financial affairs has gone through the trouble of making a false identity for me and purchasing this home and that vehicle in my name. I expect I will be here for at least a good little while.” He exhaled softly, and scratched the back of his neck. This was already more difficult than he’d thought. Not the child or her questions … but rather the wary voice in the back of his skull that warned him not to get too attached. After all, this was still a mission.  Also … Dufaii had heard stories of the trauma guardian angels faced in dealing with mortals–particularly when set for an afterlife other than what the angels called Heaven. It was a potential wound that Dufaii wished to avoid. Fortunately, his reassurance seemed to calm the child a bit.  Exousia again looked up at him. “What is mental control?” Dufaii nodded. “An important skill so that you do not accidentally give away your thoughts to any demon or loyalist that looks you in the eyes. Also useful for cloaking your energy, so that you're harder to read and find.” “And that will help me … kill Ammon?” Exousia asked, her tone somber. That's right … she had her own history with Ammon. Given the pain in her eyes, she didn’t consider it at all pleasant. While understandable, Dufaii found even through his own trauma that she could have known Ammon before his mind had been destroyed. To her, he must have seemed like a malevolent entity, and not just a misguided one. “To fight him … one day,” Dufaii replied, resisting overburdening her with information about Ammon she wasn't ready for. Then he added, “You're more talkative than I've seen you.” Exousia nodded and blushed. “I feel … different. Like I was sleeping for a long time and just woke up.” She wasn't exaggerating. There was an alertness in her eyes that hadn’t been there in many years. There were no longer any thoughts on the surface of her mind about her family, her scar, or even that final showdown with Ammon. It was as if her memories were slowly being lost in some void. Though Dufaii did not want to remind the child of all that had happened, he needed to know more. “How much do you remember from before you woke up?”  “I … remember that I had a friend,” Exousia replied, wrinkling her forehead as she struggled for thoughts. “I remember you. I remember Ammon … offering me something. It's hard to remember more than that.” Dufaii though about this for a moment, scratching his chin. “When Ammon and I changed, we kept all of our memories.”  Dufaii stopped and wondered how much of this he should really be telling a human. But then, Exousia wasn't human, was she? No, she was something different. Something between human … demon … and even god. This would all be very new ground for them both. -O- “Intermittent reinforcement—it's an obstacle I’ve struggled to overcome. When I first took the child in, her aura was chaotic after any interaction with me. If she was expected to do a chore, her anxieties were up. If she was expected to learn something, just the same. Even conversations left her studying my eyes—searching for any sign that she’d done something wrong.  At first, this seemed like it could work to our advantage. Her inner turmoil provided tremendous self-motivation when it came to training. Additionally, her natural tendency to study micro-expressions in the face made her naturally gifted at learning the psychic abilities of demons faster than even any non-mortal I had ever known. What quickly became apparent, however, was that this stress was like burning a candle at both ends. Her grasp on her emotions was like the shell of an egg—hard enough to be dangerously brittle. If she did not feel safe, the girl would spiral—becoming so obsessive on fixing or controlling something insignificant that she would make herself ill.  I … will admit to feeling uncomfortable with myself for ever having considered using the trauma inflicted by her parents tactically. Instead, I ultimately decided on reinforcing her safety, regardless of mistakes she might have made. It took a long time, showing that there was no error she could make that would make me hurt her. However, after a long time of regular reinforcement, she finally began to gain confidence.  I wonder … with the change in the Creator due to their mental state … did their quick change in mental stability inadvertently cause the same sort of trauma in us? Like the angels slaving away on the walls, had I worked so hard even in the rebellion against them because some part of me was desperate for the safety of pleasing a higher power?" "On Parenthood" by Dufaii the Godkiller, pg. 999 -O- Many months had passed.  Dufaii found himself pacing–alone, outside the house. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Not in the tactical sense, no … there had been no sign of Ammon since they had moved here. Word was that he was rallying his forces in Hell. No … something was wrong inside of Dufaii.  Over the months, Dufaii had watched as his apprentice threw herself into training with enthusiasm. She took to learning the demon language better than her teacher would have thought possible. She remained curious about every facet of demon existence. And when it came to combat, she was absolutely ferocious.  Dufaii taught the fundamentals of his own combat training. This was specialized for destroying joints and small bones, as well as quickly doing grievous amounts of physical harm. As a human living in a modern world, it was unfortunately impractical to plan for her having much in terms of weapons. So Dufaii taught her how to use the things around her–kitchen knives, short metal bars, staves, frying pans, and even leather belts. Dufaii rarely exited a sparring match without bruising, a bloodied lip, or some other injury. Exousia always seemed apologetic … and genuinely confused about how she had done so much damage. Dufaii’s guess was that her body was changing in response to the new pieces of her soul.  Tezcatlipoca’s zombified slaves had boasted power far beyond that of humans. The heroes that Ammon had connected his soul to boasted great powers that were still on the scale of believable. Exousia’s physical strength and speed, even as a small child, were well beyond those of any of Ammon’s heroes–likely because of how large a piece of his soul Dufaii had exchanged with her. So teaching her meant helping her control her new strength, while also encouraging its use for a level of deadliness that would be efficient against demons and angels. The only aspect of Exousia’s new life that she did not take to was social interaction.  At first, Dufaii feared he had passed to her the least desirable part of his own personality. Whenever humans occasionally visited the home–mostly harmless humans such as postal workers, religious pilgrims, and even the occasional child who wanted to meet her–she would hide and refuse to talk to them.   It was through reading her thoughts that Dufaii realized the reason, and thus how expected this should have been. Exousia was developing her demonic psychic abilities even before being taught. And whenever humans were around, she was picking up on their auras … and then their surface thoughts if she ever saw their eyes. Unfortunately, the stress and worry that typical humans carried were too heavy a burden to perpetually feel second-hand, whenever one came too close.  So Dufaii focused his first set of psychic teachings on meditation and mental control. At first, this was the process of sifting through one’s own emotions, recognizing the needs of each individual part of self, and then coming to terms with them. Afterward, he taught an active form of meditation to block out or diminish unwanted stimuli. Extra combat training and martial arts also seemed to have a calming effect on her. And though none of these coping strategies made Exousia want to deal with humans any more than she had before, it at least lessened the level of apprehension she showed at being around them.  That wasn't the only way in which Exousia was becoming more like Dufaii. The way she spoke became more condensed and blunt. She began to walk with a sort of weightless, shadowy power. And the way she glared at those she disliked was through an overtly familiar inclination of her head and narrowing of her eyes–as if they were targets for assassination. Dufaii’s realization of this mimicry came as a surprise to him; it was wholly unlike what he had experienced among angels and demons. He realized that Exousia's identity was developing like that of any human child–through imitation of a parental figure.  … parental figure … Dufaii froze where he stood–no longer pacing as he tried to figure out what was wrong. He knew exactly what was wrong, now. The answer, even before he thought it, brought a sickening nausea to his belly and a trembling to fall over his extremities.  Exousia had begun to perceive Dufaii as her parent. This was the worst thing that could have happened. After all, Dufaii was an assassin demon! He knew he couldn’t muster up gestures of love and care that a human child would need to be healthy! What sort of parental figure could he hope to be? Certainly not any sort of adequate one. And … even if Dufaii could be nurturing … wouldn't doing so jeopardize Exousia's life? To win the challenge, she would need to become a killing machine. That would necessarily mean a cruel and efficient teacher. And if winning was no longer the priority … well, then she deserved a good parent who would at least make her life feel fulfilled until she was destroyed by Ammon. The thought of this eventuality made Dufaii gag. He fell to the ground and heaven nothingness. All his muscles began to spasm. If the trembling had been intense before, it was now outright violent.  No … there was no way he could sit back and watch Exousia become a sacrificial lamb–not any more than he could become the strict and abusive teacher that would make her strong enough to be a hardened warrior.  Dufaii heaved again–his mind now forcing him to replay his failures as a teacher and a parent over and over in his mind. His memory emphasized every moment that Exousia needed a hug or reassurance–only for Dufaii to have given her tactical coping strategies. Every moment when a cruel or severe reprimand would have made her a stronger warrior, where instead he had been gentle with her. How many times had he genuinely punched her in training so that she could learn to take the full brunt of an attack from a demon? Not even once! If Ammon were to launch a crazed attack right now, one strike from him and she would be dead. This last word caused Dufaii’s teeth to chatter audibly, and his head began to pin. Dead. He stood up, as if drunk, and began to stagger to the nearby spot in the woods.  There was stationed the same of Heaven’s guard as in the early days. The loyalist watched Dufaii approach with indifference. Dufaii narrowed his eyes on the loyalist and growled, “Where is the teacher that is supposed to be training this human to be the Creator's Champion? Where are the caretakers Heaven should have had ready long ago?”  The loyalist shook his head and said, “I've received no word from Heaven except to keep watch over her.” His tone was cold.  “What about protecting her?” Dufaii said, baring his teeth as if to show that he was a threat against her.  “I only watch,” the loyalist repeated mechanically.  Dufaii bellowed hot hair from his nostrils, feeling his blood begin to heat steadily. “And why the hell is a guard watching over her? Not a single guardian angel who would actually show a half-ounce of empathy and competency? And I swear to the Lightbringer that if you say anything about how you just watch, you will regret it.”  The warrior's eyes flared just a little at the threat, then his face became calm. “I just-”  Dufaii balled his hand into a fist and struck with an uppercut.  It slammed the loyalist’s jaw upward and caused it to scissor off the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Golden blood gushed from his mouth, and he screamed as he raised his sword. This was a soul-weapon, but it featured a sharp, thin edge. Dufaii drew his sword and blocked the loyalist's blade, splitting it in half. He followed up with a swipe–grazing each of the loyalist's kneecaps. There were two crunching sounds, followed by the thud of the loyalist's body hitting the ground.  Dufaii picked up the remains of the broken sword and used it to cut off the loyalist's right hand—his sword hand. He found an old enjoyment making this loyalist scream in agony–so unused to the very same pain his kind was happy to be inflicted on those who had once been their kin. It was pathetic … and yet even this moment of Schadenfreude felt surprisingly hollow.  This made Dufaii all the angrier as he whispered. “You are going to go to the Archangel Gabriel and bring him to me. His champion needs a suitable teacher, as well as a parental figure who is educated in such human affairs. If you don't, I'm going to be taking this hand back with me to Hell, where you will never find it.” The loyalist garbled out words which were drowned out by the blood still flowing from his severed tongue. Then, he awkwardly moved his wings and propelled himself into the sky.  Dufaii waited, the wind feeling particularly cold to him. -O- “Gabriel, My brother, I know your nature, I know your empathy toward the humans. Never would I dream of second-guessing any of it. You have a heart large enough even to include our brethren imprisoned below for their treachery against the Creator themselves.  It is because of this that I fail to understand why you have asked me to assign a member of the guard for the safekeeping of the Creator’s chosen Champion. And to have personally requested Igtoram … of all the members of the guard. I value each of my soldiers, but even I know there are some who do not meet the standards of character or efficiency that should be minimal. That’s why I had him guarding the walls.  It shouldn’t be a guard at all helping to keep watch over the child. It should be someone qualified, with perhaps one of my best men for training the Champion. If it had to be a guard, I could have chosen someone far better from among my soldiers–if only you had let me. This human … I know she isn’t a saint, but she deserved better than this. The Creator had to have chosen her for a reason. And I think that reason would simply manifest itself more clearly if we took greater care in her training and wellbeing.  I know you said that I was too close to this matter to be involved … due to my connection to the Godkiller. I respect this. I just also can’t help but be concerned.  With all my respects, Michael

“Dufaii, Your report on your meeting with the Lightbringer is troubling. As we feared, it is maddened ones playing games with maddened ones. Thus the result is just as convoluted as could be expected. I find myself doubtful about any of their claims to avoid war. Additionally, I do not trust in this incarnation of the Lightbringer or any of his attempts to win favor with me.  However, this feels very much like it is out of our hands. I have spoken with my counsel, and we have decided that your playing along with this little game is the best chance we’ll get at information which will help us be prepared. We cannot advise on a course of action, but I feel like it would be pointless to do so. You will do what you feel is right when issues arise. The plans I have in mind are being formed with your nature as a variable taken into account. I do not expect you to go against it.  I know you have trouble trusting yourself after what happened in the rebellion. Know that I trust you. And you’ve never made me wish I hadn’t.” -General Hades (in official letter 24,000 to the Godkiller) P.S. On the back of this letter, you will find the coordinates my spies have seen Ammon in with growing frequency. Be on your guard. The Ammon you are fighting will be mostly the same Ammon who was your partner for so many years. Therein lies the danger.” -O- Dufaii rose out of water to pink skies above. He spread his wings and felt them catch the slightly humid air. Of course, the humidity did not compare with that of the jungle he’d known, but the heat was harsher here and less bearable. It was evening … wherever he was … and the large body of water beneath him flowed gently. It was a river, almost a quarter mile in length. On either side of it were lines of trees that grew along the shore except where modern human structures stood. None of these buildings were particularly tall, except for the great metal bridge upon which many vehicles drove. The crowded world around him—all this technology and movement—were unfamiliar. Dufaii took shelter amongst the trees and waited as he watched the river. It was two days before he finally spotted his former partner rising from the water as he had. From there, Dufaii began to trail him. Ammon flew to the side of the river with more development, including a few taller buildings that rose above the trees. The small city seemed to be most heavily comprised of industrial complexes and what smelled like eateries with bright electric lights coming from them. It seemed a bit … dirty, with many mud-covered vehicles, areas heavy with litter, and human dwellings with rusty metal and plastic bits strewn across the yard. Ammon had camouflaged himself, as the two always had when they could have potentially been seen by humans. However, his aura was completely unshielded and so Dufaii was able to follow at a distance.  Judging by the scenery and the specific lettering used on building and signs, Dufaii felt certain that he was again in a section of the New World, in the northern hemisphere. The heat, humidity, and the flora made him think that he was in a Southern region of the United States—somewhere he hadn’t been since he and Ammon had individually annihilated the gods of the area.  Dufaii continued to follow across fields, pastures, and forests, and into an area that clearly had much more in terms of resources. It was a residential area, with large human dwellings that were much better kept than those he’d seen near the river. The vehicles seemed more uniform in age and color, and they shined from cleaning. There were professionally manicured gardens, and wild foliage was cut back wherever it could be.  It was at a white dwelling, indiscernible from the rest, where Ammon slowed and landed on the edge of a window. He opened it and then entered onto the second floor. The building was as big as three of Heaven’s barracks stacked together. Below, there were two black and rather large vehicles. It was not extravagant when compared to the palaces that Dufaii had occasionally entered during his war against the gods. But the large windows, the carefully maintained garden, the sparkling pool in the back, and the stonework that decorated the yard all seemed designed for showing a certain status.  The idea that the Champion could come from such a place seemed bizarre as well. The saints chosen by Heaven rarely came from wealth. To quote an old human saying that actually bore some wisdom, it was more difficult for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for the wealthy to become part of the kingdom of Heaven. Most heroes and especially saints came from more humble beginnings, with difficulties that built their character and made them formidable forces against the corruptive nature of the human societies that demons had helped to design. Of course … like the fabled werewolf, Saint Francis of Assisi … there were exceptions.  Dufaii flew close enough that he could peer within the home. Inside, many more electric devices made noise and light that were abrasive even from where he stood. This was not the only affront to his senses, however. Sensing an odious presence, he looked carefully until he perceived the aura of a camouflaged angel, on the roof of a nearby house. Of course … it made sense that one was here. Heaven was treating the Champion as a saint—complete with a protective detail.  Dufaii took flight, closed the distance between the two buildings quickly, and landed behind the angel.  It seemed that his camouflage was a half-hearted job at best—as he could be seen as just a blurry form now that Dufaii was close. The loyalist’s folded wings were unusually steel-colored, he had tan skin over a muscular figure, and his red hair was cut short. His armor, steel plate-mail with a sword and kite-shield, was more suited to one of Michael's warriors than Gabriel’s guardians. He was passively watching the child’s house. He had not reacted at all to an invisible force, not hiding its demon aura, entering the home.  The silver-winged angel turned to face him, but he did not seem daunted. He did not draw his sword, he did not fall into any stance, he did not even seem surprised that a demon had dropped right next to him.   Dufaii studied him for a moment and then said, “Is this … the Champion’s home?”  The silver-winged angel did not reply, either in words or in any sort of reaction. If he knew about the matter enough not to be confused by the question, it meant that this indeed was where the Champion lived. And this angel would have known that he’d just given this away … and yet he did not seem to mind.  “Did you not see that Ammon, the enemy of the Champion, just entered into that home?” Dufaii asked and pointed at the white house. The silver-winged angel sighed heavily. “My only instruction was to keep the child safe from physical danger. The demon, Ammon, knows that if he kills the Champion or allows the Champion to come to harm, then he has lost this contest. The way I see it, the Champion is safest with Ammon close. So, unless you see a fire, I suggest you take up your criticisms with someone higher up.” Dufaii found himself both irritated by the angel’s words. His logic was tremendously flawed, and his attitude left much to be desired. However, Dufaii had learned something. Such disinterest was as out of place for a guardian angel as this loyalist’s armor. He had come across enough of the naïve and idealistic angels with overt parental natures to know the difference. This was definitely a member of the ever-loathsome guard. This new detail then begged the question of why. If Heaven simply wanted the best warrior for the Champion’s defense, why not station a member of the guard along with a guardian angel? And if they weren’t worried about the Champion being attacked, why station a warrior here at all?  Dufaii shook his head; he’d been gathering intel on this mission for only a couple of minutes and already nothing added up as it should have. Maybe it was exactly what he should have expected, given the players at work. Dufaii sighed forcefully and tried to let the inefficiency of it all go. At the end of the day, his job was simply to report these sorts of details … which was exactly what he intended to do.   Dufaii again took flight and glided slowly until he reached the window where Ammon had entered. It was still open. Dufaii stepped onto the thick stone windowsill and then looked inside. Inside, Ammon—no longer invisible—stood over an infant's crib. An electrical device played loudly from below, and the auras of two humans could be sensed as they meandered around it.  Dufaii stepped through the window and into the infant’s room. Ammon did not react to his entrance, though it was unlikely that he would not have noticed at this proximity. He was occupied with animating a stuffed wolf toy over the crib. He twisted it and turned it with exaggerated gestures, while the human infant watched with bright and adoring eyes. Then he began to read aloud from a little cardboard book with illustrations—occasionally turning the book around so that the tiny human could see the pictures. This seemed a pointless gesture at the toddler’s age and apparent stage of development.  Regardless, Ammon read the story with gusto, speaking out the parts as if he were an actor in a play. Though he hadn’t been here much longer, he had arrived at the part of the well-known fairy tale where the woodcutter began to carve the wolves’ stomach to avenge the small girl and grandmother who had been devoured. It was the end of the story, well … one of several endings that Dufaii had heard throughout his time in the human realms. The purpose of these variations of the tale ranged from making them entertainingly gruesome, to benignly moral, to religiously symbolic, to perversely erotic. This version was harsher than some … but ultimately hopeful. When Ammon was finished and the infant was asleep, he tucked the stuffed wolf neatly next to the infant and set the book on the bedside table. Then he turned and said, “My apologies for taking so long to lead you here. I hope you were not waiting for too long.”  A surge of old anger hit Dufaii from the inside. Blood rushed through his veins and his chest felt like it was in a vice-grip. He had to take a deep breath to draw on the calm he'd striven for in self-exile. Breathing slowly and calmly seemed to alleviate the pressure. Still, he felt … disappointment in himself for being so impacted by nothing. “You knew I was going to be here?” Ammon watched the cradle, seeming not to notice Dufaii’s anger. He replied, “Mr. Green let it slip … and I made my way here immediately. I’m glad you entered in time to see her react to the story. And she seems quite taken with that little toy.” He indicated with a nod of his head to where the infant held the stuffed wolf tightly between two chubby pale arms as she slept.  “I needed to try to figure out why the loyalists are here but doing nothing,” Dufaii said as he stared at the infant—failing to see anything endearing about the scene. Nothing made sense, and the variable calmness or disinterest of everyone connected to the situation made him feel like they could see a clear picture that he could not, which only served to frustrate him more. Ammon gave a small chuckle and said, “You're already trying to piece all the absurdity together. It’s like old times … you want to set up and deal with the immediate threat while I want to just wait and get a feel for things. Don’t get me wrong, though, the fine details are going to matter. I mean, take all this for example.” He pointed at some hand-stitched blessings and prayers on the walls, as well as an illustrated edition of a holy text. Dufaii raised an eyebrow, unsure what the point of it was. Ammon continued. “A religious upbringing creates a plethora of opportunities for motivating and influencing humans.”  Dufaii looked around and noted a few small and pedantic images of ‘angels’ around them. Given the involvement between both angels and demons with the deities of this world, it probably should have come of little surprise that some would integrate them into their myths and legends. Though this particular religion seemed to have been doctored heavily by a very involved loyalist. Rumor had it that the deity originally responsible for this specific faith had carried on a prolonged love affair with an angel. Regardless, Dufaii did not see why any of this mattered. Ammon paused for a moment and then the colors of his body began to slowly blur like two differently colored pools of water being mixed together. It created a palate that was dull and beige at first, but then the color of his eyes lightened. His wings turned white and each feather became exaggeratedly heavy, round, and soft like they were made of clouds. His eyes continued to morph until they flickered with cyan … traces of madness appearing in the corners of his mouth in the form of a crooked smile. Dufaii scowled and felt his tone become stern as he said, “What you are speaking of is manipulation. This is not a god that you are trying to destroy, nor is it a stupid human peasant with a lifetime of desensitization to higher thought. A human raised around demons and loyalists has the potential for far more intelligence; it will learn, adapt, and eventually realize it is being used or manipulated. Your focus is scattered—just like your mind—ever under the influence of Tezcatlipoca.”  Ammon stared at him, suddenly sobered. Then he nodded as if grateful for the rebuke that had shaken him out of his minor loss of himself. He changed his form again, this time so that he was a bit smaller. This form had no wings. His armor turned into a priest's clerical shirt, pants, and collar. His eyes, however, remained black. “You're right. I don’t know what came over me. What … I had been about to say … was that all of this religious background can be contextual for her to begin to understand our world. After she truly begins to grasp what is going on, I will be able to earn her trust.”  Why was Ammon just spelling out his plan? And was he speaking of exchanging a piece of his soul with this human’s, as he had done many times before? It would make sense. Why fight when he could just ally himself with the human? “Will you even be able to make that decision?” Dufaii asked. Ammon opened his mouth as if to say something, but then looked down at his feet crestfallenly.  Dufaii waited a moment, took a deep breath, and then softly said, “I'm going to stop you from playing out this sick game. The Ammon I knew would have never gotten involved with the machinations of the Lightbringer and the Creator. None of this makes any sense … and we both know that the loyalists are up to something with all of this.” Ammon nodded and replied, “I thought you might try. Though … I also wonder what motivations higher powers might have for having involved you as much as me.” His tone was not accusing. If anything, he sounded almost as confused himself. Dufaii shook his head and looked away. -O- Hades, I thank you for your concern, but I will not be deterred by personal grief from doing my duty as your eyes in this Challenge.  It’s simply … difficult to watch this mortal endure a semblance of what we ourselves went through. I would have thought that its parents had undergone the same madness as the Creator. Punishments for mostly perceived slights are treated as entertainment, with the parents growing bored every few months and adapting a new form of physical torment. Yesterday, I watched as they struck the child with a willow branch for nearly an hour. Every time she flinched, they started their ‘count’ again. When she once cried out in pain, they began again. When they got to the end of a count, but she wasn’t silently weeping … well … I don’t have to repeat it. It was corporal punishment … physical torture … on a small child. And when they were finished, they had the gall to mock her when she could not sit properly.  I watched their eyes when they did this. There was some rage in the mother’s eyes, some bemusement in the father’s. Mostly, however, there was a sadistic gleam in both of them. They wanted the child to break … and purely on principal. What’s worse, there is nothing in the child for them to break … no rebellion … no anything. There’s only fear … and the growing realization of when she needs to express that she is afraid in order to satiate their bouts of sadism.  It's barbaric and it’s … well, it’s the Balance at work. While not maddened, the parents are certainly corrupted—the exact condition of damned souls when they enter our realm. I know that what demonkind did was only to speed up the corruption of humans. I know we did not create the terms of this cruel world or our even crueler world below. Uncorrupted beings like that child will suffer a century at most … while our people would suffer eternally without the blood of the damned. But if it were only me below, I would say it wasn’t worth it. No child should have to endure what we did.  Yet … once again … I am comfortable in the mortal realm, unaffected by the very damnation I brought upon us all.  Please forgive my self-pity. I have issued yet another complaint about the absence of a guardian angel to help tend to the child. It is getting older. And the abuse is making it more fragile, not stronger in the least. It needs to be taken for training by the Archangels as soon as possible. Forget letting it age … the wait is only making the Challenge all the more impossible.  The child is no saint. I don’t understand what reason other than cruelty she could have possibly been chosen by the Creator. -Dufaii -O- It was a day that should have felt like any other. A light bit of weather kept the sky overcast in the brisk Fall morning. At this time, Dufaii normally would have found himself studying the Human Champion or pondering Ammon’s actions. Today, however, just felt … different to him. So Dufaii found a grassy place outside the Champion’s very abrasively loud home. He closed his eyes and focused on the auras around him.  The parents were present—preparing to leave to their prospective places of employment. The Champion was preparing for elementary school, her … its … energy was evermore a shell of what it had been upon birth. She radiated fear, but this was nothing out of the ordinary. There was … a bit of resignation that had not been there a few days before. She had been injured in an accident which would inevitably leave scarring–from her jaw to her temple.  In a moment of personal weakness, Dufaii had intervened only a bit. He had snuck onto the ambulance that came to retrieve her and used one of his healing remedies on her face. It wouldn’t make the scarring go away, but it had helped the pain and minimized potential damage. Fortunately, Ammon had not been around to take note of this tactical failure. In the end, the Champion was sent back home with her face in bandages. These surely hurt … but why had her aura grown so quiet so suddenly? Ammon was in the home, as he often was—invisible, but likely still in the general shape of the priestly human he’d donned years ago. Today, however, there was something … unusually quiet about his presence.  Dufaii opened his eyes and stood. His form these days remained mostly invisible, so changing to avoid being seen was unnecessary. He put extra effort into quieting his aura, however, as he positioned himself to look through the back-kitchen window.  Ammon was there, of course, but something was off. Generally, he stood at-ease when around the humans—always seeming fascinated or, occasionally, morose. At this moment, however, he seemed not nearly so composed. Rather, he stood awkwardly—nearly lurching over the human family. This … this was familiar, though Dufaii had not seen it since taking this assignment. The spirits inside him—Tezcatlipoca and the humans that Ammon had split his soul with—had taken over.  Dufaii reached for his sword, but then paused. Was he really about to stop whatever was about to happen?  If Ammon were to hurt the child, he would forfeit the Challenge. This would all be over. Both the young human’s suffering, and that of his people, would be over. Demonkind would be free to at least escape this world. At least … those that did not choose to stay to fight by Ammon’s side when he inevitably refused to give up his obsession with killing the Creator. But at least half of demonkind would be free.  Dufaii closed his eyes and let his hand fall to his side. He watched with a sour pit in his stomach, ready for a gruesome end to this pathetic display of madness and cruelty. To his surprise, however, Ammon did not act. He merely remained as he was … watching the family with a vacant stare.  A chill went down Dufaii’s spine … though he could not deny feeling a selfish bit of relief at not having had to watch the child torn to pieces. He continued to watch as the family finished their breakfast and prepared to depart.  The child went through the doors of the home, wearing its backpack. It walked toward the curb, where a school bus was just pulling in.  All the while Ammon, or the things controlling him, just followed. They walked with jerky uncoordinated movements behind the child, and finally entered the bus along with it. Of course, the real Ammon had never done anything like that. Dufaii took flight and continued to follow the school bus. Through the back window of the vehicle, he could see the twitching form of Ammon standing over a couple dozen children. This … this was getting dangerous. It was all Dufaii could do not to enter in and eliminate this threat to so many innocent lives. He would not, however. He was in control of his empathetic impulses and would allow this creature to ruin Ammon’s plans as much as it could. The pain in his stomach from the prospect was a small sacrifice. Still, however, Ammon did nothing. The things inside him only watched the Champion as she inevitably reached the school. Dufaii kept his distance as Ammon followed the Champion into the school. He waited outside the window, perplexed as classes passed with nothing happening. Well … that was to say, on the part of Ammon and the beings inside him.  During the point in the day when the children were sent outside for the teaching staff to rest, the Champion was harassed by the other students. Eventually, this became a fight … in which something new did happen. As she and a friend were attacked, something changed in her eyes. They became dark, unfeeling. She had lunged for another child’s throat—being stopped by a teacher only moments before she might have done serious damage.  Only then did Ammon react, giving a bloodthirsty grin. Not any sort of sadism or enjoyment, but seemingly more out a sense of … accomplishment.  This development disturbed Dufaii—not for the sake of the child or even because he was under any illusion that Ammon had caused any of it. No, both Ammon and the spirits within had only watched. But … they’d known that something would happen, even when Dufaii himself had not. And it wasn’t Ammon who had figured it out, no … it was the things controlling him. Up until now, any speculation as to their sense of purpose or intelligence had been just that. Now it felt undeniable that they too were playing their own role in all this.  While Dufaii felt no better about the situation playing out before him, he felt vindicated for abstaining from interference. This was valuable information that Hades could use in the fight for Hell’s unity. He continued to follow the Champion and Ammon through the school. With the fight ended, the children were brought inside. The Champion was isolated from the rest, and Ammon remained with her throughout the unproductive discussions with adults. It was only when the Champion was left all alone in an office that Ammon finally did … something. Dufaii watched closely as the Champion picked up a small toy doll.  When she did, Ammon placed a hand on the doll as well. The object began to glow with yellow … an energy that passed from it into the hands of the small human who held it. Dufaii froze in place. Whatever this was, it was not any sort of ability inherent to demons. What was more, he had … no idea what was going on. Not until he looked out the window to the same shock as the humans standing around. There … the child she had attacked rose briefly into the air. Only too late did Dufaii look down to see the Creator pull the head from the doll—the thoughts reflected through her eyes betraying no awareness of what was happening just outside her window. The grotesque horror of the other child enduring the same violence as the doll. Finally, alerted to screams outside, the child glanced out the window. She froze entirely at the sight. For a little while, she didn’t even breathe. Whatever emotions and thoughts her eyes might have projected dimmed. Even her aura became reduced to absolutely nothing.  Dufaii stormed forward and gently pushed the child into a nearby chair so she would no longer see the terrible carnage outside. In a single movement, he then turned on Ammon and slammed his fist into his former partner’s jaw hard enough to drop him. He reached forward—fulling intending on beating Ammon until his brain was damaged enough to stop working. However, when Ammon looked up at Dufaii, all trace of the spirits within were gone. He looked around, visibly confused, and then back up. He shook his head and said, “It happened again, didn’t it?” “Do you have any idea of what you just did?” Dufaii seethed psychically, as to not be heard. He picked Ammon up by the collar of his priest’s robed and threw him at the window.  Ammon caught himself and looked at the body below. He looked back down at the Champion, confused. It seemed he was trying to read her thoughts. But there was nothing to be read.  “You used some sort of magic to link that toy with the child out there. You made the Champion kill him!” Dufaii shouted, having no patience for waiting for his former partner to figure out the situation. “I …” Ammon said, and then again shook his head like he was trying to dislodge something stuck inside it.  The Champion stood from her chair and began wandering listlessly toward the door. She left … though it was unlikely she had any idea where she was going. Dufaii nearly went to follow her, but paused when he finally received a reply that he was not expecting. With nobody around to hear, Ammon said, “It seems the beings inside me provided me with an opportunity.” Now it was he who followed the Champion out the door.  Dufaii felt his heart begin to race. Something was happening, and his former partner was taking some kind of advantage with this. But, for the life of him, Dufaii could not figure out the play in mind. He followed the two of them out, clenching his hands into fists as he tried to figure out how any of this could play to Ammon’s advantage. More importantly, how could he counter it? They followed the Champion as she left the school—slipping by the panicked adults in all the commotion. Thoughtlessly, she walked down the street until she reached a small public park. There, she found a bench and just … sat. Dufaii wasn’t sure what he should do. He had all the time in the world, but his mind was drawing blanks. Should he be arming himself? Should he be reading the child … or keeping a lookout for some hidden piece of the puzzle?  Ammon, however, simply approached the child and let his camouflage fall away. He sat down on the bench and simply began to speak with her. It looked like an interaction between and an adult and child should have. There was listening, compassionate nods, and softly spoken words. It was … everything the child was missing in her life. And Ammon was giving that small amount of decency to her.  Dufaii felt so stupid. In the few short years since first arriving in this place, he had lost sight of the fact that Ammon had always intended to win her over. It was … what he was good at—people. And it was the one thing which terrified Dufaii the most. Had he ever even stood a chance at making a difference in this. He could only watch as the scene unfolded. Ammon reached to his chest—a silvery glow just past his fingers. Just like many humans before, he was going to offer to share his power with her. It was … over. To Dufaii’s surprise, however, something seemed to stir the Champion from her haze. She stared at Ammon, fear momentarily flashing in her eyes, and she ran away—in the direction of her home.  It seemed that this wasn’t over yet. But even with the gift of a little more time, what could Dufaii hope to do against Ammon in an arena where he felt the least suited? There was nothing he could think of.  Ammon walked toward him and shook his head. “I was a bit premature, it seems.” Dufaii felt like he would throw up. Mostly from his nerves at nearly having lost everything, but also a new anger had begun to boil inside him. “The Ammon I knew once grieved that he would have to kill the adult, corrupted versions of the children he once called nieces and nephews. Now a child is dead, and you wish to recruit another in a war that doesn’t even involve her kind.” Ammon sighed. “Maybe I have changed … but don’t think I am blind to the casualties of this war. It’s an unforgivable sacrifice for a cause I know I must believe in. Do you even remember what that feels like, anymore?”  Dufaii grit his jaw and nearly retorted something venomous. But then he stopped. At the beginning of all this, he had determined to act as the ambassador of Hell. But did he really believe that opposing Ammon was what best served his people? No, and it was why he had not acted throughout any of this. He didn’t want to choose … he was afraid of finding out what he knew deep down to be right. -O- General Ammon, I inquired into the reasons for the Godkiller’s involvement with your challenge. I understand that you welcome him but … well … a number of us are concerned about the logistics of his presence. He still commands great respect from the people, and even more so for not involving himself in the politics of our world. General Hades, as well as stating publicly that any plans of revolt ought to be divorced from plans to kill the Creator, openly admits to having discussed this with the current incarnation of the Lightbringer. She wanted someone she could trust around, and she goes way back with the Godkiller. However, it was they who ultimately wanted him to be there. I say ‘they’ but it is this incarnation, Mr. Green in particular, who I distrust. If he’s so keen to support you should you win the challenge, why is he creating unnecessary hurdles against you? For that matter, why has he kept his support tentatively with General Hades? Speaking to the Creator … and even to one of the Archangels … I don’t trust him to ever be on our side. Or anyone’s side but his own, for that matter. You know something bad is coming, and we believe you. Why put up with the unnecessary obstacle of the Godkiller or this Challenge? If you were to command us into battle tonight, a great many of us would be at your side. We have enough people still on our side to stand a chance. And we don’t need the Lightbringer, either. Getting three-quarters of Hell, though … I’m not sure that even in winning the Challenge so many could be convinced. Why risk the forces we already have, especially now that another demon hero is positioning himself to oppose you? I trust your judgement, I’m just … concerned. Your comrade, S.T.

“Forest to a forest, summons to a summons. Even in a life of eternity, I see the patterns of my own habit and behavior like a circle that continues to spiral into familiarity. A serpent eating its own tail.  I might have seen this in my jungle hut before Kueng came with the summons from Hades on behalf of the Lightbringer. But I had spent so many centuries there, forcing my mind to forget all patterns and all memories of my own past. Attempting to starve the flames of rage by which the old god Tezcatlipoca sought to control me. Forgetting all I raged against. Until I was nothing but a hermit buying and collecting my plants and meeting nobody but the occasional indigenous humans who traded for my wares.  But as in the time before, when I was a young angel keeping to myself, Kueng brought word from the Lightbringer—yet again. Only this time, many millennia later, it was not the madness of the Creator that was the direct threat to our people. This time, it was the madness of my former partner and friend, Ammon.  I flew up to enter Heaven by way of cutting through the water in the clouds with my soul. I meandered slowly up the beach while angels watched from overhead. And I placed my hand onto the cool stone of their wall to remember all the pain and the tragedy over again.  The storms, the war, the fall, the imprisonment, and the torture at the hands of the old god. All the while, I barely held onto the sanity I’d painstakingly regained. It took everything within me to know what had happened without reigniting my rage.  Once it was done, I was able to see the circle, the spiral, the self-consuming serpent for what it was as I again descended into Hell.”  –Dufaii “On Heaven’s Champion Volume I” page 3. -O- Dufaii took his hand from the cold stone. It no longer seemed to possess the same power as when he had first touched it to regain all the memories he’d buried. There was no electric tension, no emotion, and no struggle to maintain his composure. Then again … there never had been. It was just rock. All else had taken place inside of him as his mind had flooded with memories. Now, it was all settled. This place … the sunny sky, the pebbled beaches, the infinite ocean, the towering wall … they had no power over him. “Why have you come here?” spoke a familiar voice from behind him. It was the Archangel Michael. “To remember,” Dufaii replied breathlessly, fighting to keep his tears at bay as he turned to face the man he’d once loved. The Archangel Michael was there, only a foot away. He stood straight, with his hand on his weapon. It wasn’t an aggressive stance, just a prepared one. His hair, pale skin, and brown falcon-patterned wings were all just as they had been so many lifetimes ago. Of course, he still stood taller and broader than any other angel. As with Ammon, there were a few cracks in his steel armor, doubtlessly left because they were somehow significant to him. He also had a few more wrinkles around his gold eyes.  Dufaii understood this … he had wrinkles of his own and perhaps looked even older between his wrinkles and the gray streaks in his hair and goatee. He said, “It was necessary, and irrelevant to you or your own. I won’t disturb your paradise any longer.” “It’s Ammon,” Michael said with a harsh undertone. He folded his arms. “Don’t be surprised, we aren’t as blind to the problems of the Earth as you seem to think we are. Nor are we apathetic to their struggles. We are simply limited; the Creator has worked hard to resolve the situation so that it does not end in the starvation or slaughter of your people.” While Dufaii might have once countered with a scathing retort about the loyalists’ apathy and their blindness, he found that he no longer felt the need. The truth was that he had other concerns that paled anything he could have said back. And perhaps … perhaps there was a part of him that still didn’t want to hurt Michael in any way, no matter what. If anything, the only thing left to resist was placing his hand on Michael’s cheek to say goodbye, as he turned and began to walk to the edge of the water.  “You need to leave this matter to the Creator,” said Michael said as Dufaii walked away. “Gabriel and Raphael have a plan laid out to the smallest details to resolve all this with minimal pain to demonkind. And you … you are in no shape to take Ammon on.” Dufaii sighed and turned back around to face the Archangel. “What do you really want to say? You must know by now that I will do what I think best for my people. “I …” the Archangel Michael said, his tone becoming a note quieter when he did. “I know that you will interfere. Every time there’s a perfect plan in place, you throw yourself into the mix and make it far more than it needs to be. Not because you are malicious or stupid, but because you just can’t leave things the hell alone. Believe it or not, don’t hate you anymore. You now know the wound of madness and betrayal as well as I do.” “Maybe … but I kept mine from consuming me,” Dufaii said and shook his head pitifully. “You say that Gabriel and Raphael have a plan. I notice that you aren’t included in it. I suppose I don’t have room to say much, given my own history of excluding you from plans, but I always believed that you deserved better. One day, I hope you feel worthy enough to know the truth … and to be able to meddle inside of matters that very much concern you.” Michael shook his head and turned away. Anger and hurt poured off him like a fountain. It was almost reassuring to know that the Archangel had never found the reason to hide his aura from others.  Dufaii gave one last, longing glance before he too turned and continued along the pebble beach to the surf. From there, he waded into the water until it reached his knees. Then he drew his black sward from its sheath and cut a silvery line into the water. Before it consumed him again in a pocket of light and warmth, he whispered, “Even as I know I would do it all over again, I’m still so sorry I ever hurt you, my dearest Michael.” He was then consumed by the silvery light, the warmth engulfing him.  Quickly, the warmth of the portal was replaced by engulfment in a cold, inky blackness.  Dufaii opened his eyes in the water and saw mostly dark except for a few orange lights far in the distance. Had he not known which one to go to, there was not telling where he would end up. But, as he had traversed this space many times before, he knew immediately the light to aim for and swam to it with his arms, legs, and wings. It was a matter of minutes before he was close enough that the light finally looked large enough to pass through—at which point, he did. Dufaii emerged, launching straight up from the water. He grasped a rock lip and pulled himself out of a small pool, not much bigger than a large tub. When he did so, the water that soaked into his wings, his hair, and his clothing began to rise off him in the form of steam. This steam did not go upward like it would have in the mortal realm; rather, it returned to the pool from which he’d arrived.  It wasn’t long before Dufaii’s skin began to tingle and itch, and for his eyes to dry until it was better not to blink. The old whispers of guilt, shame, fear, and insecurity try to worm their way into his head, until he forced them out with a mental fortitude that had taken many centuries to perfect. Yes, this was the prison to which his kind remained sentenced … this was Hell.  Around him was a cavern that was not much bigger than the interior of a small house. The floor, walls, and ceiling were made of the same featureless gray stone. There were two exits, both deliberately carved to be large enough for a single demon to pass through at a time. It was from one of these that a light shone, illuminating the room so that Dufaii could see. But as he looked at the room that produced the light, he noticed the silhouettes of two winged figures.  The larger of the two saluted the smaller one before the smaller one walked into the cave where Dufaii stood. It was then that he recognized her—General Hades. Her jet-black hair wasn’t long like it had been. Rather it was short with a slight curl that made the ends stand up; her skin, however, was as paper white as it had always been. She stood in shining black armor that bore no imperfections. The main piece was a cuirass with a square design that made her look more solid and perhaps even imposing. Apart from it, individual pieces of thick metal were strapped around her body sparsely to allow for maximum movement. Though it seemed heavy, she gave no indication that it was. Dufaii gave a deep nod, acknowledging her with the utmost respect he still felt towards her.  Hades ignored this and rushed to embrace him tightly. After several moments, she released him and said, “You came back.” “You summoned me,” Dufaii replied. Then, feeling like this was insufficient, he said. “You have my loyalty and my support … always.” “I know, old friend,” Hades replied. She traced his jaw with her hand for just a moment. Then she stood straight, let the warmth vanish from her eyes, and adopted a more official demeanor. “Matters have been increasingly unstable in the years since you went into exile.” “Ammon,” Dufaii said. And though he had to make efforts not to scowl or react emotionally when he said that name, he was able to do so. This seemed a good sign, as it would have been impossible before.  Hades sighed and furrowed her brow. “Ammon is a force which is making the rising dangers an exponentially greater threat. But there’s more. The souls of demons are growing less able to withstand this place. They’re literally crumbling apart, and we don’t know why. It’s like the madness, but those affected just become more withdrawn. Meanwhile, their … progenies—creatures who spawn for the shattered fragments of their souls—are twisted and unintelligent pests that have scattered throughout Hell.” Dufaii’s eyes widened. He thought about this for a moment … it could have only been a matter of time before something like this happened. Demons were not meant for this place. And while drinking the blood of the damned had, no doubt, staved off some of the more dire consequences of imprisonment, they were inevitable. What was more, he didn’t even need to guess how his former partner had used this situation to his strategical advantage. He said, “Ammon … he’s rallying Hell with it, isn’t he? Convincing them that this is part of his apocalypse.”  Hades nodded. “Our people are getting desperate. I truly believe that Ammon would have all of Hell on his side by now, except for the fact that he does not have the support of the Lightbringer—who many demons still perceive as the only chance at winning a war against Heaven.” “So, you haven’t considered joining Ammon?” Dufaii asked with and effort to make his tone free from any sort of judgment.  Hades gave a slow shake of her head. “I would like to be free of this place. I have been hard at work toward the same goal for centuries, rotating every demon suited to fighting into training regiments. Our spies have provided us with the combat techniques and practices used by the guard, and we’re now better … if outnumbered. We even arranged it so that the so-called loyalist now tasked with guarding Hell’s gate on behalf of Heaven is actually one of the young angels who escaped during the rebellion. After so long and after working with the previous incarnation of the Lightbringer, everything is ready for escape. But killing the Creator is simply not possible. We don’t have the numbers; we don’t have the strength.” “My thoughts as well,” Dufaii said, calculating the situation in his head. “And letting half our ranks go on the attack the second we try to leave would be allowing them to be imprisoned here again, this time permanently.” “Which would mean the numbers we would need to defend ourselves after escaping, leaving us at the mercy of Heaven,” Hades said. “What’s more, Heaven is currently not united on its opposition to our freedom. However, a direct attack would rally more loyalists to fight us than just the guard. I have scouts patrolling the abandoned dwellings of the old gods for an ideal fortress to take—far from human eyes. But we need the demons united under the banner of escape and not the delusion of killing the Creator if any of it will have a chance to work.” “You’ve working hard on this,” Dufaii said.  “We only get one chance,” Hades replied and walked to the small pool of black water with orange specks within. She looked at it longingly as she said, “Everything must be perfect. And Ammon’s desperation and his insistence on attacking the Creator will destroy the one and only chance we’ve got. And neither Ammon nor I will compromise on this matter, and I cannot incapacitate him without bringing a civil war to Hell that would destroy us. What makes it even more difficult is that the current incarnation of the Lightbringer is trying to get involved, even from his self-imposed imprisonment.” Dufaii cocked his head slightly. “He hasn’t told you what he’s planning?” Hades shook her head. “No, but whatever the Lightbringer has done and said was enough to bring to Creator down here for an audience with him. It seems that they’ve come to an arrangement—one that Ammon has agreed to honor as well. And, of course, none of them have involved me in any of this. I was hoping to count on you to bring back word, as well as to act as my ambassador.” “As I said, you have my loyalty,” Dufaii said, furrowing his brow. “But … why would they allow for my input and not yours?” Hades shook her head. “I don’t know … and I don’t like it. A meeting between three maddened ones and you … someone they no doubt count on still being under the influence of Tezcatlipoca. According to my spies, not even the Archangels have been brought in on this.  Dufaii shook his head. “As you said … this doesn’t feel right.” “I fear the motions of madness,” Hades said. “Maddened ones bargaining with maddened ones. But I don’t have many options. I need information and all the time I can get to prepare for a war, if it comes. I know that I can count on your loyalty in dealing with this matter.” “Of course,” Dufaii said with another slow nod. He felt undeserving of the trust she had in him but felt its significance, none the less. Hades nodded back, knowing what he meant by the gesture. She then reached into a small satchel strapped to her leg and pulled out a bundled leather parchment, which she handed to him. Dufaii opened the parchment and immediately recognized the map inside. It was not a full map of Hell, but it was a detailed look at the chamber where he now stood, the endless series of tunnels and mazes that had recently been dug to imprison the Lightbringer. One exit led to the city of demons while the other led to the Lightbringer’s prison. And the tunnels truly were endless … it was only by making a sort of mental grid and counting the junction points that Dufaii would be able to navigate himself, even with the map.  Dufaii looked up and said, “It will take a few hours for me to commit all this to memory.” “Abhayananda will take it when you are finished,” Hades said and pointed at the tunnel with light from which she’d originally arrived.  Standing there was a very large male angel with rich brown skin, which black eyebrows, and no hair on his head. He wore heavy plated disc armor, the likes of which Dufaii had not seen since his days of war in the east. It was comprised of four circular plates, each on top of the other, as the center of a heavy cuirass. The metal all had a golden hue to it, as did his massive khanda sword with its very rectangular design. His legs were also covered in heavy armor, but his arms were completely bare. His wings were a muted gold as well. What was most odd was the second weapon on his other hip, a gold covered and very large revolver.  This angel named Abhayananda was the one of the escaped younger members of the rebellion, so technically a demon. So it was odd to see him as he was, without black eyes or the demeanor of one of their own. Abhayananda gave a wave and flashed a warm smile. The way he looked at Dufaii was with … undeniable awe, which the demon did not feel comfortable with.  “Kueng will be in contact as you carry out whatever duties lie ahead of you,” Hades said. She looked toward the darker exit from the small cavern they were in. “For now, act at your own discretion and do everything you can to keep Ammon from taking that final plunge into doom for our kind.” Dufaii gave a sharp nod. He tried to speak but his throat seemed to close whenever he opened his mouth. This wasn’t the powers of this cursed realm at work, but rather his own nervousness. His shame at all the unanswered and unsent letters between them. How was it that after so many millennia, he was seeing both his former lovers in just the span of a couple hours? The pain of this coincidence felt somehow deserved.  Hades shook her head, approached him again, and put her hand on his neck. “I shouldn’t say anything, but your letters to me were … found by anonymous sources. That you didn’t send them voluntarily, I understand. At first, of course, I felt perhaps you were disgusted by my drinking the blood of mortals … that you were ashamed of me.” “Never,” Dufaii forced through his throat. Were it not for the realm he was in, he knew his eyes would have been watering all over again. As it was, they only stung dryly. “I know,” Hades replied with a small smile. “It was this place … the memories of it … and the work we both had to put in for the future of our people. I hope there will be time ahead for us to talk about it all. To rebuild all that was taken away from us. But we must fight a little longer.” Dufaii nodded several times before letting his head go slack. He placed a hand on hers and closed his eyes. He felt so grateful and so underserving of her understanding. Part of him wanted to end his mission here—to just stay with one of the few people he’d ever shared a connection with. His heart burned for that … like his eyes burned for moisture. However, he knew that neither of them could do that until this was all over.  Finally, Hades pulled her hand away, gave one last parting look, and walked briskly into the nearby tunnel to the other parts of Hell. Dufaii waited for a few moments to compose himself, and then returned his attention to the map. He studied for a while, making mental markers and using a degree of memorization he hadn’t employed in many years. It wasn’t all that long ago, he noted, that he could have fully memorized the map in a matter of seconds. Though his mind was still active, it had been long devoted to focus on meticulous procedures which he followed in his chemical studies. In all that, quick memorization was not a priority. After several hours, however, he had devoted enough time to feel like he knew the map so that he could both navigate and course correct if he got lost.  Dufaii walked to the … demon … who was writing on a long parchment in the back room, which looked like a history. This did not surprise him … with millennia of time to spare, it was rare to find an angel or demon who had not written such volumes.  “Ah, all finished?” Abhayananda asked and extended his hand so that the map could be placed in it whenever ready. Dufaii nodded, hesitated a moment, and then handed him the parchment.  “It’s odd, I understand,” Abhayananda said with soft smile and understanding nod. “I’ve even thought about changing these eyes and everything else, at least when I am alone with my demon friends. I know most demons wouldn’t mind, as I was an ally in the rebellion. But I could not stomach the idea of taking a form like all of you. It would feel like I was … not respecting what really happened … like I was stealing your honor.” “There is … no shame in your escaping all this,” Dufaii said, trying his best to speak to him with the respect he would show any other demon. Though it he knew it must have come off as forced for how he struggled to look the angel in his gold eyes without feeling a sense of animosity. “For many, it was only the knowledge that some of the rebellion had escaped and survived the threat of the Storms that kept them going. Especially when it did not seem we would ever find a way out. You are one of us.”  “I thank you for your generous spirit of inclusion, especially in light of the effort you must make to offer it,” Abhayananda said with a small and gracious bow. “However, I have spent a great many years in coming to terms with being a creature that is neither loyalist nor demon, in appreciating my identity in that place of the in-between. I once sought the comfort of common identity with the brave demons I admired. Now I understand that I can simply be with them. That is sufficient.” Dufaii was unsure about how he felt about Abhayananda’s philosophy, but he could at least respect the being’s inner fortitude. He nodded and said, “I’m sure we will speak again.” Then he turned to leave. “I look forward to it, my friend,” Abhayananda said with a cheery tone. Dufaii went through the same doorway that Hades had left through. It was significantly darker than the chamber with the pool, enough that it would have taken most eyes an hour or so to adjust. But like most of his kind, Dufaii had learned to make his eyes adjust more quickly and to a greater degree. He concentrated on moving specific layers of his meta-physical shape, specifically in his retina. It felt a bit like flexing a muscle, if that muscle were made of something liquid without physical constraints. It took him a minute to shape a multi-layered tapetum lucidum, an amplified version of the organ which allowed nocturnal animals to see at night. The darkness became like perfect light, if robbed of color. With a mental grid of the maze in mind, Dufaii began to walk down the tunnels. So tight was his focus on his sense of direction that everything else dimmed by comparison. Time, feelings, and inner thoughts all became background noise as he walked, turned, walked, counted pathways, and planned his next turn. This went on until the light was gone completely, even to his specialized eyes.  At this point, Dufaii engaged his secondary senses. He began to take heavier steps and listened to the echoes as the sound of his steps bounced and carried around him. Along with that, he extended his psychic senses, the same ones he used to sense auras from other beings. Though these were not mystical abilities that could grant him all sight, he could tell a difference between pockets of open air immediately around himself and solid stone. With these two abilities together, he knew when he passed the tunnels he was looking for, without having to drag his hand along the wall of the cave.  Dufaii travelled like this for several miles, noting the endless dead-ends and turns that, if not taken in perfects sequence, would lead any wanderer to becoming inevitably and irredeemably lost. It was in the last hour of his walk that his modified eyes again picked up a trace of light. At that point, he no longer had to rely on his map, only to follow the light. Until he found himself in the great and familiar expanse that was the prison of the Lightbringer.  -O- “What is a demon who is afraid of Hell?  While Dufaii had spent several millennia in that cursed realm all his kind had been banished to, he feared it. Upon even thinking of cutting a portal to the realms below, his stomach became queasy and his muscles tightened. While he was there, he frequently found himself in bouts of dizziness. He did not fly more than a dozen feet in the air, and he dared not close his eyes while alone. Nobody else would have guessed this out of the Godkiller. As always, he kept his aura and his feelings occluded. He exuded an air of cold confidence, an illusion which he reinforced with his undeniable competence.  Inside, however, Dufaii felt the like he was the least capable demon he knew. His guilt and shame were matched only by his terror of the place that every other demon lived in and called home.  Ironically … and in a way I don’t think he could have ever understood … it was what most made him demon.” -General Hades, Private Journal 345 -O- Dufaii looked around at the sole dwelling of the Lightbringer and a handful of his loyal servants. Where once it had been a dark realm with demons blindly scattering to find some hope of escape, the torches far above not made visible the great mountain ranges and large valleys between the cliffs. The cliffs and the mountains stretched high into the air and eventually touched the ceiling—for it was still a cave. But this fact was easy to forget, especially for how distant it seemed … especially as the human torches glowed like orange stars.  Of course, the air here was as dry as everywhere else, and Dufaii’s skin was already beginning to crack. Spreading his wings in the air, Dufaii flapped them once and took flight. He did not go high, for a trauma-derived habit that was probably moot at this point. He also caught himself listening out for the impossible rumbles of thunder. Dufaii glided slowly over the expanse for about an hour, he estimated. When he saw the familiar mountain where the torch had beckoned him so many lifetimes ago, he came in for a gradual landing. Once on solid ground, he saw the great white doorway that had been constructed directly into the face of a cliff—Hell’s first dwelling. Dufaii ascended a short stone stairway and then walked through a grand bone-carved archway tall enough for the largest of gods to pass through comfortably.  Armed guards with wrinkled faces—visibly hardened by many lifetimes of enduring this place—met him at the steps. Each of them was covered in heavy black armor, with the trident insignia of the Lightbringer etched over the hearts of their breastplates. Each still carried their angelic form, if presumably more muscular to better serve their post.  Dufaii nodded at them. The soldiers nodded back and then proceeded to escort him inside without saying a word.  Dufaii followed into the great hall of the fortress prison, remembering the first time he entered with a shiver that he suppressed. The fortress no longer looked like a connected series of small caverns like it had all those years ago. It was more like the hallways of a palace. Everything around him—doorways, tables, chairs, banisters, wall trimmings, fountains, and more—had been carefully sculpted from both bone and stone. Living torches lined the walls, elevated several feet so that they were just high enough to be out of eye-level. Rooms lined both sides of the long chamber; each was closed off by a large white door.  Dufaii did not know what was in each of room and suspected that the Lightbringer didn't remember either. One of his incarnations could have used it for painting, followed by another who wanted one as a torture chamber, followed by another who collect mythical monsters, followed by another who wanted a swimming pool. There was no knowing unless one had such a personal disregard for their own health as to investigate. Dufaii was led by the two guards to where the hall ended at a stone staircase and massive double doors. The guards opened these double doors at the top of the stairs from both sides. He entered and found himself standing in front of an unmanned but cluttered reception desk. Past the desk, there was only one white door, chiseled with modern and quite intricate trim. Standing there did not give Dufaii the impression that he was about to have an audience with the second most powerful being in the universe. It felt like he was in a replicated model of a western human’s business, where contracts would be signed to exchange wealth. One of the guards cleared his throat and then said, “You should know that … he's been Mr. Green.” Dufaii nodded in understanding. It was a heads-up for how this incarnation wished to be addressed. This title did not give him high hopes.  Dufaii pulled open the door and stepped into the final room. It was dimly lit, but all was plainly visible. A massive white desk stood in the center of the room, with three chairs surrounding it. Several varied paintings were hung on the far wall, while the rest of the walls were lined with white shelves. Each shelf contained numerous books and artifacts. On the ground was a carpet—the finest that he had ever seen, with thin fibers dyed and patterned into a zigzagging pattern of yellow on gray. Human head-hair, of course. The Lightbringer stood behind the desk, on the far side of the room. His back was turned as he faced a painting of clouds as one might look out a window. His chosen shape and form were noticeably shorter than those that the Lightbringer had taken before, and human as opposed to demon, animal, deity, or angel. The human shape would have been considered somewhat small and short, especially for a modern mortal. He wore a black, pin-striped business suit, and had no wings. His hair was silvery, somewhat thin, and combed back. And when he looked over his shoulder, he revealed a warm and charismatic face. “Welcome, Dufaii.” “Lightbringer,” Dufaii replied. He realized that he was not using the pseudonym for this incarnation. He didn't really know why he didn’t want to use the other name … except that ‘Mr. Green’ didn’t carry the appropriate weight, no matter how little this incarnation deserved its true name.  Mr. Green chuckled and said, “Oh, I've not heard that title in so many years. I do believe that you're the only one who still uses it. Please, call me Mr. Green.” “Why have you summoned me?” Dufaii asked, ignoring the oddly uncomfortable pleasantries that made his skin itch more than it had already been.  Mr. Green smiled and shook his head. “Right to the point I see. Won't you even have a drink? I know your distaste for our local wines, but this one is quite aged. It doesn't even bear the original taste of … well … you know. Amazing what four thousand years of distillation will do.” He slid a glass across the desk and swallowed what remained in his own white cup.  Nausea hit Dufaii as soon as the drink passed under his nose. The blood looked like brandy but smelled sweeter. He slid it back across the desk and shook his head.   Mr. Green used it to chase his first glass, gave a satisfied sigh, and said, “To business, then. Tell me, how much do you know about Ammon's current activities?”  Dufaii forced himself to keep the muscles in his neck and jaw loose before he replied. He drew a slow breath and said, “Last I heard, he was doing everything in his power to convince you to join his war against the Creator. I believe some of these artifacts he collected to try to convince you that victory could be realistically achieved.”  Upon the shelves to his left, numerous artifacts rested. These included a firing weapon prototype stolen from Heaven, the magic scepter of a human that had used its power to split seas and call down fire, and the sandals of Hermes that had allowed the god to speed along his messages faster than any other god or demon. These were only the three artifacts of several dozen that Dufaii happened to recognize. Most of these artifacts were objects of power made by the gods, but some were made by humans of eras long passed. In those days, the occasional human sorcerer could rise in power to even rival demons. Of course, Dufaii himself had brought enough artifacts in earlier years to fill many more rooms than this, but he’d sent these to Hades. “Indeed, he was trying to convince me to kill the Creator,” Mr. Green replied with a droll tone. “Ammon has continued in this obsession of his, so much so that I can no longer ignore his threat to the Balance. War upon the earth, the extinction of humanity, and a new imprisonment of our people to a place that we'll never escape—these are all things that I cannot allow.” “Yes,” Dufaii said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his doubt in this incarnation’s sincerity. “However, we cannot destroy Ammon, especially now that his followers outnumber those of Hades. Civil war, even if we were victorious, would leave demons in a weakened state that the Archangels might not be able to ignore.”  Mr. Green nodded. “I would like to say that I have come up with a plan for dealing with Ammon. However, it is the Creator who has finally seen fit to directly intervene in our affairs.” “What do they want?” Dufaii asked as he clenched his jaw ever so much. Mr. Green lifted and hand a gave a soft nod. “I understand your distrust, believe me, but this actually plays into our favor. By working with the Creator, we minimize our chances of an attack by the Archangels if civil war should come.” “We do not give in to their tyrannous demands and we do not sell out our own kind; that’s the entire reason we fought” Dufaii said, having to strain him muscles and focus on breathing so that too much rage did not boil up from within him.  “Nobody is siding with the Creator,” Mr. Green said, lifting both hands in an attempt at a calming gesture. “But they have proposed an interesting idea … one that would keep us from any kind of war or betrayal.” Dufaii only glared in return. Mr. Green smiled and said, “Trust me, this is all good news. A battle of champions—Ammon versus a champion of the Creator’s choosing. If he loses, Ammon will join Hades and withdraw our kind from this realm and the Earth with the Creator’s blessing. And if he should win, he has been promised a fight against the Creator, which he must take up alone. All other demons will be free to go their own way.” “I wouldn’t underestimate him,” Dufaii said with a shake of his head. “There’s always more to it than that. And he can overcome almost any challenge. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a plan for how to fight the Creator, as well. You risk a lot in assuming that he will lose.” “I’ve … noticed,” Mr. Green said and wrinkled his brow. “He’s already discovered who the Champion is.” “Do you know who the champion is?” Dufaii asked. Naturally, his own first guess was Michael … the greatest fighter in heaven. Though … it was possible that the Creator had chosen someone whose fighting style might come as more of a surprise to Ammon. “It’s a human,” Mr. Green said and looked down at his desk with a ponderous expression.  A … human?” Dufaii asked. Had the Creator recently endured another bout of madness? With all the warriors at their disposal, to choose a human seemed ludicrous. “You heard correctly,” Mr. Green said, looking at his desk as he continued to think intently about the matter. “And this human is no hero or saint … it’s a child. One that Heaven plans to train and prepare just for this challenge. It had been a closely guarded secret that only a handful of angels could have known. Heaven must have a leak who is allied with Ammon … or using him. I personally suspect an angel who wanted the excuse to go to war if Ammon had been stupid enough to assassinate the baby in its crib. Regardless, the mystery of the Creator’s choice confounds me. What I do know is that Ammon claims to know the identity and location of this human.” Dufaii thought about this for a moment, genuinely not knowing what his apprentice would do in a situation like this. All their lives, they had fought against beings more powerful than themselves, some infinitely so. What would he do now that the tables were turned? One thing that was certain was that Ammon would not take his victory for granted. To destroy the Creator was the center of his obsession. He would chance nothing to get his opportunity at it.  Dufaii shook his head. “What could the Creator possibly be thinking?” “That, I still don't know,” Mr. Green replied. “But this distraction does mean that Ammon will have a target to distract his energies whiles Hades can do what she needs to unite our people and prepare them for escape.” Dufaii raised an eyebrow. Mr. Green poured himself another drink and continued, “Which brings me to you. Given your history, I thought it best for you to keep his attention completely focused on the Challenge. We don’t necessarily need the human champion to win. It will just make things easier if Ammon has to invest as much of his attention on this matter as possible. Nobody knows him like you do, and I think you could make this more challenging for him at every turn. A little sabotage here, a little misdirection there. And Bob’s your uncle, oops, I didn’t have time for any of my loyal supporters! I guess it’s just my own fault that Hades won them over.” He laughed at his own little role play, pouring himself yet another drink. Dufaii, however, was neither convinced nor amused. “You want me to work on behalf of the Creator? To help this … human … defeat my former partner?” Mr. Green seemed to completely miss Dufaii’s disgust. He replied, “Make no mistake; we don’t expect you to change the tide of battle or anything. My guess is that Heaven has a trick up their sleeve when it comes to this human champion. Either that, or the Creator wants a clean chance to eliminate the head of an assassination plot against them without causing a war. Either way, we just want to create a counterbalance to whatever fool in Heaven is pulling strings in Ammon’s favor. That … and constant eyes on the situation until we have a better idea of what Heaven is up to.” He took a sip of the drink this time, as he waited for an answer. Dufaii crossed his arm as he considered what was being proposed. The idea of siding with the Lightbringer as well as the Creator filled him with revulsion, no matter how logical it seemed. Had Hades not asked him to become her eyes and ears in this matter, he would have outright refused immediately for his distrust of them alone. The Lightbringer and the Creator, despite whatever they had once been, were now two sides of the same coin—poisoned by madness and their own desperate desire for self-preservation.  Seeming to sense something in the uncomfortable silence, Mr. Green said, “We can't give Ammon a chance to throw Hell into civil war. If loyalists are helping Ammon, they're likely just waiting for Hell to fall apart and become easy pickings. I know the disgust you must feel at siding against your own people. But the only way that demons will be free is if they are united. Also, no matter what the Creator promises, we both know that Heaven will not sit idly by if Ammon succeeds in the challenge and then in killing the Creator. Win or lose in this challenge, we need the time to form a united Hell. And preferably one where we have already resolved the issue of these … crumbing demon souls.” As little as Dufaii liked it, and as little as he trusted Mr. Green, he had promised to be the ambassador of Hades in this matter. And while he had no intention of just blindly sabotaging his former partner, agreeing now meant that he could send word of all this back to Hades and allow demon leadership to decide on what was best. Regardless of his distaste for working indirectly on behalf of the Creator, Dufaii would serve his people as he always had. This time, he would just listen and allow himself to be a pawn on their behalf. He’d … cause enough harm. Like Michael had said … he always interfered and made things harder … out of his sense of honor. Maybe it was time to just let go.  The Lightbringer finished off his drink, set the empty white cup back on the table, and with a self-aggrandized smile said, “I take it we are in agreement.” -O- “Dufaii … no … Dear Dufaii … no … Esteemed Godkiller … no … My Love … not anymore. I hate what seeing you does to me, but more than that I hate seeing what it has all done to you. You stand there, in my home after so many millennia, and it’s like you never left. Just like then, you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. I can tell it pains you … and yet it is why I fell in love with you. I don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to feel. After all this time, I still feel used. Like everything we had was part of your elaborate rebellion against the Creator. But … I also know you … and that you don’t have the ability to manipulate in such a way. You just kept a secret, an enormous secret that affected me. One that would have made me choose between you and the Creator … both of whom I loved.  Maybe it was my fault. If I could have helped you see the Creator as I see them, I’m sure you would have had faith. Or maybe I should have taken you away, until you felt safe to return to what was our home.  You were right when you told me that I am … not included … in managing the affairs of Heaven. I am the warrior, the single-minded blade of the Creator. You were the only one to think that there was more to me.  Maybe you were wrong about that too.” -Letter 3 from the Archangel Michael to the Godkiller. Recovered unsent, tucked into a private journal. 

“For millennia, Dufaii and I planned the assassination of each and every god left upon the Earth. We waited until, through madness or corruption, each was in a state where they would not be missed. And then we took their lives. It seems a grim matter … and it had its dark moments. However, my friendship with Dufaii kept me going throughout it all. As he’d said all those years ago, sometimes he had to encourage me through the hard times and sometimes I had to encourage him. But with the two of us, there was no target we could not overcome. And at some point so fleeting that we nearly missed it, that friendship became something more. So perhaps our fate … the curse put upon us by one of the last remaining gods … was cruelly poetic in its nature.”  –General Ammon in letter 30,567 to General Hades -O- Dufaii woke from a dreamless state of nothingness. The rarity of unconsciousness, which came about only through significant trauma to his metaphysical form, made this a matter of note and concern to him even before he opened his eyes. He could not yet remember what had brought him to this point … which indicated that he had sustained head trauma with aftereffects that would endure until his brain resumed regular function and form. One of these aftereffects was a dizzy sensation that made him feel like he was floating as he laid with his bare back on cool stone. It felt like there was a crack in the stone.  Dufaii’s arms and legs would not move and felt like they were bound. The air around him was muggy and humid, with countless insects buzzing around him, some even dropping onto him from time to time. There was a stink on the air … musk, smoke, and piss that he associated with large human kingdoms. But there was another smell, the pungent odor of old blood and decaying flesh. Dufaii opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the night sky, the stars slightly occluded by the lights from torches around him.  “Don’t bother with trying to break the binds,” said Ammon. Dufaii looked over to see that his partner was laying on his back as well, tied to what looked like a stone altar. His bloody arms and legs were bound with metal so that his chest was exposed; his wings were bound as well and splayed uncomfortably beneath him in a gross reminder of why most demons did not lie down in such a way. His armor had been torn away and left in a heap beside him. “They’re tight enough to hold a god.” Dufaii took more careful note of his own body and found that he had been bound in an identical fashion, his chest exposed to the muggy air. He recognized the altars by their stonework now … he’d seen them at the top of a pyramid as one human had been sacrificed by another. The pyramid rose high above the surrounding jungle and city, above the thrum of human life emanating from below.  This country was the home of a great number of the older gods … including Tezcatlipoca. The god they’d come here to hunt was renowned as a powerful and violent presence with a legion of undead human soldiers who followed his every command. This magic was something new, and part of thgeir goal had been to find out how the god commanded such an army with such a singular will. Then, of course, they would destroy him and secure a demon foothold in the new world. “I should have had us begin with a smaller job,” Ammon continued, his voice raw. He sounded angry at himself but subdued, like he was trying to formally accept responsibility.  “A surprise blow against the gods would have been significant, but we didn’t have enough information about what we were up against.” Dufaii shook his head, trying to plan out what he would say given that one of the gods was surely listening, all the while trying to think of a way out of the situation. He said, “We share in the risks, in the planning, and in the consequences. For now, we do the same thing we’ve always done.” Ammon nodded and cleared his throat. Then, with a calmer tone, he said, “We deal with the present. Though a speech from you certainly means you think we can survive this.” A curl of his lips indicated amusement, as much as he could afford given the situation. “A misplaced optimism,” said someone standing behind Dufaii’s head. He inclined his head at an uncomfortable angle to see a being who stood at least fifteen feet tall, several heads more than any demon. His chest was bare, and his lower body was covered in a dress of bones that were tied together in patterns. He wore a short cape made of the skin of jaguars. The bones adorning this being did not seem to be human; they were those of monsters. Among the hundreds of bones were the skeleton of a fanged vampire, several dragon claws, and finger bones from giants. The being’s face was like that of a person but painted with yellow and black stripes. The colors and the jaguar cape were the signature emblems of the god they’d come in search of, Tezcatlipoca. “You don’t babble like a god afflicted with madness nor overcompensate like one drunk on power,” Ammon said. His tone was light without being mocking … almost like he was a doctor speaking to a patient and trying to figure out their problem. Ammon had shown great proficiency in charisma early on, which they had used for the downfall of various gods. It seemed as good a skill as any to employ in their current predicament. He continued, “Still, you threaten, which doesn’t speak well for your state.” “The threat does not come from me,” Tezcatlipoca replied, removing a knife tucked into the bone dress behind him. It was a long needle-shaped weapon, long enough to be a short sword in the hands of a demon. It was that it was gold … a soul weapon. “I’ve sought as much information as I could as your demon empire has grown. Watching the extinction of my kind at your hand has been enlightening on several levels.” How had this deity found out about all that? Dufaii supposed that it was impossible to hide his involvement after so many millennia and so many gods. His tone calm, he tried to press for more information. “The attacks won’t end with us. With the scattered remains of your kind having fallen mostly into madness, the demon empire will quickly clean out the last of the gods. Perhaps Heaven will finish the job if they can overcome their renowned lethargy. So, if you want to plead that you are still of a sound mind to demons who will listen, now is the time.” “I am indeed of a sound mind,” Tezcatlipoca replied. Oddly, he sounded calm—neither paranoid nor delusional. It was as if he believed them … and just didn’t care. “But unlike most of my brethren, I do not hold survival in such a high regard. Apocalypse is coming, something far beyond the measly threat of a few insane gods. And to stop it, I must have puppets so that I can go where the gods cannot. I tell you so that you understand that I do not hold you in contempt. You demons have played the role in saving the life of this mortal world. I value that. However, it is the turn of the gods to must play our last card in the salvation of our planet.” This … this was far more terrifying than anything Dufaii might have expected. He writhed and flexed every muscle in his body. As he did so, he felt the chain binding his creak from the pressure, and the crack in the stone altar beneath him widened a little more than what it had been. He strained until he felt his shoulder pop, causing him to shout out in pain. Then he stopped and gasped for breath, feeling blood drip from where metal cuffs had cut into his skin. Tezcatlipoca lifted his knife swiftly.  Dufaii braced for the weapon to impale him but was more shocked when the old god plunged it into his own breast.  Tezcatlipoca cut down to his own sternum and then cracked the bones with horrific crunching sounds. Then, he reached into his red chest. But Tezcatlipoca did not remove the silver orb that was his soul—divine shard and husk wrapped as one. Instead, he began to cut a small tendril of light through the center. Was … this how he had turned humans into his infamous army of undead slaves? “No,” Dufaii said, though he felt breathless. He wouldn’t allow this god to control him … to turn him into a pawn for madness or against his own kind. He struggled more, tensing all his muscles and widening the gap in the crack beneath him with another audible crack. Doing this against his dislocated shoulder was agony, but he couldn’t stop. “Would you like to know how, after all these years and making so many servants, I have not succumbed to madness? How I have managed to take shards of the divine when no other god has been able to?” Tezcatlipoca asked, a small piece of his soul split off. He dropped his weapon to take a piece in his hand. Then he walked to stand over Ammon and, after a moment of pause, forced the piece of soul into Ammon’s mouth.  “No!” Dufaii screamed, pulling so violently against his minds that he could no longer distinguish what was him breaking and what was the altar. Water pooled in his eyes—burning hotly as his world felt to be crashing around him once again. “Leave him alone! Leave him!” Ammon gurgled as the light and bloody flesh were forced into his mouth, and even more so when the old god pressed his finger inside to make sure it all went down. Then his struggling slowed, and his head drop to the side so that he was facing Dufaii. A gold color fell like a drop into his oily black eyes and began to swirl around. Then he whispered, “I see now … the Creator must be destroyed.” Tezcatlipoca then carved into Ammon’s chest and took a piece the same size as the one he’d given. He it and crammed it into his mouth—a mix of red and black blood smearing around his mouth. Once he was finished consuming that piece of Ammon’s soul, he finally continued, “The way I stayed sane was that I never broke the balance within. I never lost how much of the Creator’s divine shard was within me … nor gained any more. I traded equally. It is simply an unfortunate reality for those that those I traded that the soul of a god is so much denser than the soul of a mortal … or a demon. Still, I feel their influence and pains like the chirps of birds within my mind, just as I will feel yours when you are mine to command.” Tezcatlipoca carved a second piece of silvery soul from his chest and lowered it toward Dufaii’s mouth. But, at the last second, Dufaii jerked his torso with the slack he’d gained by dislocating his shoulder and breaking the altar in several places. He fastened his teeth around the god’s smallest finger and bit down until he felt the bones crunch between them.  Tezcatlipoca roared in pain.  Dufaii kept a tight hold on the god’s flesh with his teeth, tensed the muscles in his neck, and braced as best he could for what would come. Tezcatlipoca pulled back with the tremendous strength only a god was capable of.  Dufaii screamed into the flesh he bit into as his body was pulled with violent and explosive force. He pressed his good arm and his legs up into the metal braces with all his strength, feeling the metal cut into them but not for long. The stone cracked around the shackles and they popped open. It was Dufaii’s dislocated arm and his wings that were shredded by the metal. Most the meat that comprised his hand was shaved off, along with several fingers. And his wings were sliced off just above the first joint, and left as nubs on his back. It was the most excruciating physical pain Dufaii had ever endured. But he was free. Tezcatlipoca jerked his arm away with a second sharper motion, throwing Dufaii across the stone floor. Then the old god picked up his dagger and approached. He lifted Dufaii by the throat, returning him to the broken altar, and slammed him upon it—shattering the stone further. By now, it was cracked into several chunks. Then Tezcatlipoca took his discarded golden soul dagger. He seemed to think better than to try to force the demon to eat the piece of soul in his other hand. So, instead of doing so, he plunged the dagger into Dufaii’s chest.  Now it was Dufaii’s turn to cry out in pain.  Tezcatlipoca cut and sliced until he was able to pull Dufaii’s still-beating heart free.  Dufaii struggled to draw breath. All he could do was wait and feel as his heart was bisected, and a piece of soul removed.  Tezcatlipoca dropped the knife and brought the sliver of Dufaii’s soul along soul to his mouth. With his teeth, the old god bit in, creating a spark as he chewed it. Then, he re-carved a piece of his own soul and pressed it into Dufaii’s heart. Only once they had fused did Tezcatlipoca return the beating heart to his chest.  Dufaii clenched his teeth tight, feeling the waves of pain, power, and fury wash over him. He did not merely feel them, he drank them in and filled himself with the power of his ancient rage mixed with the old god’s strength. He felt one of his molars crack against its opposite and then explode in his mouth. His muscles bulged and seized with the power as the old god’s influence began to spread in his mind, like being psychically linked to the thoughts and feelings of someone so powerful that their mind threatened to wash out his own.  But Dufaii drew more heavily on his rage and on the pain he had endured. The storms … the mock trial meant to bring shame upon his people … the millennia spent in a lifeless prison of pure darkness … helplessness as his kind turned to drinking the blood of humans … every vile act he’d seen the mad gods commit since.  Dufaii screamed and shot his good hand into Tezcatlipoca’s exposed chest. He felt a rib and twisted it until he broke it free. He then pulled it out and stabbed it into the old god’s neck.  Tezcatlipoca reeled, gasped, sputtered. He looked around for his dagger. Dufaii rolled off the cracked altar and crashed to the ground on top of the dagger. He grabbed it and pressed upward into the old god who stood over him. He cut into Tezcatlipoca’s chest and sliced wildly until he was sure he had severed the old god’s heart from the rest of his body.  Tezcatlipoca could no longer even gurgle by this point, he just seized in place for a moment before he collapsed beside Dufaii. Within minutes, his metaphysical form began to fade and his soul … mixed with that of so many humans and of two demons … ascended into the sky.  It was a few moments before Dufaii could drag himself to his apprentice, and perhaps it was only the wrath coursing through his body which allowed him to do so. He used the golden knife, already dissipating with the ascending soul above, to smash open the metal shackles around Ammon’s wrists, legs, and wings. Then he dropped the knife, pried Ammon’s shackles away, and whispered, “Are you alright?” Ammon did not respond at first. He looked around groggily, but then his eyes flared with cyan. In one swift movement, he sat up, took the knife, and slashed Dufaii across both black eyes. With the voice of Tezcatlipoca, Ammon said, “Open your eyes, stupid creature. The threat to us all is the same person it has always been. Apocalypse is coming and the Creator must be destroyed.” There was a sound of wings spreading and moving into the sky. Then Dufaii was blind, alone, and able to hold only to his rage to keep the influence of the god inside himself from taking control. His desire to take his partner by the back of the head and bash his face against stone until all of the cyan was gone from them. -O- “Thus demonkind lost one of the most efficient alliances it ever formed—and a friendship that had, in truth, brought hope to our people still imprisoned in Hell.  Ammon, for his part, became obsessed with the end of existence. All his previous intelligence was there but … tainted … forced onto a delusion that the accursed god had left within him. Dufaii became consumed by a rage against that delusion—and thus against his former partner and friend.  It’s almost ironic. All their lives, Ammon and Dufaii had been, as the humans might describe, Yin and Yang. Two opposite parts of a whole. Ammon was the heart which fueled Dufaii, who was their backbone.  Dufaii was the efficiency of killing while Ammon dreamed up elaborate plans that turned their undetectable assassination of gods into performances of art. In everything they did, their friendship and their alliance made them complete. Perhaps there was such a duality in Tezcatlipoca as well. I think so. My theory is that part of him must have worried that his delusions of the end of existence were just that. I think maybe he hated himself. And unfortunately, he gave that self-loathing into what had been the united force of Dufaii and Ammon.  Being a friend to them both, I think my vantage as to the effect of their falling out made it particularly difficult to watch. I had to watch Dufaii lose the one bit of connection he had been able to make through his trauma. I had to see Ammon lose his beautiful and brilliant mind … and the one friend grounded enough that he might have made Ammon see the light.  Yet … they had accomplished what they set out to do. Yes, a handful of gods remained in hiding, aware of the silent threat that had exterminated their kind. But the Earth was entirely free of their influence and power.” -General Hades in Private Journal 3666 -O- Centuries passed in the blink of an eye, as they do in the satisfaction of every waking moment spent committing violence against their enemy. That was exactly what Dufaii had done—killing every last god, alone. His partner was long gone … though Dufaii saw Ammon in the cyan eyes of every deity who heart he carved out.   Finally finished, Dufaii stood in the garden of the Lightbringer's palace. At some point, the cavern ceilings above had been adorned with torches that burned in artificial constellations, giving the illusion of a night sky. These along with torches nearby cast a soft orange glow on the area in which Dufaii found himself. He understood this to be the quiet side of Hell, long abandoned by the rest of demonkind in favor of a city run by General Hades. He’d returned a few times throughout the millennia, most often to gather soldiers for operations against gods that could not be killed cleanly.  Though Dufaii could have only described what he saw around him as a garden, it was truly more of a macabre work of art that was the closest thing to life this realm had to offer. The pathway upon which he stood looked like it was made of round polished stones like what could be found on a stone beach. Of course, there was only one kind of stone in Hell, the jagged gray variety. The false stones he stood upon were made of the bones of countless human souls–the anthropomorphic forms they took once the wisps inside of them were able to manifest as people again in a spiritual realm.  On both sides of the path and in every direction for an acre, there were millions of bushes, flowers, small plants, and even trees in shades of white, pink, brown, and red. These colors speckled the garden with the most vibrant colors that could be achieved by painting bone with blood.  A closer look at one of these plants revealed the intricacy of its design. Each leaf was delicately carved almost as thinly as paper to the similarly fashioned stems. A few of the flowers bore resemblance to ones that Dufaii knew, but most were original works from the imagination of the craftsman who had probably not seen real flowers in quite some time. Nevertheless, they were as beautiful as anything he had ever seen. These flowers, leaves, and stems were motionless in the dead realm, but the sound in the garden brought the illusion of life. Small streams of blood meandered between the plants and alongside the path, producing a peaceful trickling sound. A small and frail demon whose skin, robes, long hair, and wings were all white tended to the garden. He worked meticulously, using a small brush to clean dust from the delicate sculptures. He did not look at Dufaii. This demon had an energy to him … one that was more connected to these plants rather than to anyone around him. It was like he was alone except for his precious flowers.  Dufaii saw a second demon reach the far edge of the garden and then enter. Without having to look hard or even feel this demon’s energy, he knew by the walk and the general shape that it was Ammon. He walked with a proud and regal stance, taking confident strides forward. These days, his shape had taken a form to match his walk. His hair had become a full, kept mane—complete with a short but full beard. His body was muscular and tall. His armor was shining black with only chips and scratches that he'd purposely left from significant battles against the gods.  Though Dufaii did his best to remain calm, he could not help but envision himself cramming the barbed, false roses on a nearby sculpture down his former partner's throat. His own eyes still burned sometimes … and had been marred from the attack all those years ago. White ribbons trailed horizontally across Dufaii’s otherwise black eyes. And despite having tried to change his form like he had to make them black in the first place, the painful scars always returned. Reminding him that he was not entirely demon … not anymore. The Lightbringer entered the garden immediately after, no longer the blue being of beauty nor the terrifying bald creature without eyelids. He was a gold tiger with perhaps a heftier and more powerful build than a natural one. Like his forms of old, the shape was beautiful in a bestial way. He walked on four legs with a slow and graceful stride alongside Ammon until the two of them stopped in front of Dufaii.  The Lightbringer sat on a stone bench alongside the path so he could address his guests at eye-level. His countenance was calm and his emotions indiscernible given his feline features. His aura and his emotions were contained as well, completely blocked off so that they could not be sensed. He said, “You both know why I’ve brought you here. The conflict between the two of you has grown to a point of alarm.” He gave a slow and deliberate blink.  Dufaii noted the oddly calm and reasoning nature of this tiger incarnation of the Lightbringer; it was one of the few incarnations since the Second Storm who could be described as such. Dufaii had heard about this Lightbringer in passing. The tiger had contributed much to building up Hade’s kingdom and improving the conditions under which demons lived. He’d even arranged with the Archangels to allow a few demons at a time a period of reprieve in the mortal realm, cycling out so that each one could visit the surface and be free from their prison for the first time since their banishment without formal assignment. Unfortunately, this incarnation which had worked hard for many years to unify and make amends did not likely have much time left before he was reborn into something new.  The Lightbringer faced Ammon and said, “Your views that we cannot survive here are shared by many. You may have heard that the souls of some demons have begun to crumble. It’s why I worked endlessly to attain the rights of reprieve for them. Still, I fear that the degradation of demon souls will one day become an epidemic if something does not change.” “Then join me,” Ammon said, his tone sounding like he was trying hard to sound assured and even inspired. But there was an edge to it as well, a desperate undertone that was perhaps only detectable by someone who had worked alongside him for as long as Dufaii had. The Lightbringer shook his head. “The answer is not through war with Heaven—which will be the only possible result of any attempt on the Creator’s life. Perhaps … bargaining with the Archangels so that we can leave Earth and perhaps this universe altogether. We know that some of the gods already have.” “With all respect, Lightbringer,” Ammon said a little too quickly before forcing himself to take a deep breath. “The Archangels work with us now because of this brief period of unity you’ve provided. When things are back to normal and we must worry about you stabbing us in the back, we will have no position to bargain by. And even if we did … and we could escape … the rapidly approaching end is not something we can escape through space. Apocalypse will come for us all.” The Lightbringer sighed and then motioned with his head at the tunnels they’d arrived by, and which separated this quieter part of Hell from the city. Teams of demons had been digging in the stone when they’d arrived—creating a confusing series of tunnels they would have been lost in had it not been for the workers. Then the Lightbringer said, “I've instructed Hades to turn my palace into a prison … a maze to contain me. Our people will no longer have to fear my invading their sanctuary. Hell will remain united under her leadership. And if that does not suffice, I would ask on my honor that the two of you destroy me.” His striped tail darted back and forth. Ammon shook his head. “In doing so, we would lose the only weapon the Creator fears and our access to the mortal realm. If we destroy the Creator, not only would the end be avoided, but we would be free. We could undo the damage we've done to human society and allow them to grow. We could begin to wash our hands of the blood we’ve spilled to survive in this place.” “And why, Ammon, do you want to help the humans?” asked the Lightbringer.  Dufaii’s eyes narrowed and, in his anger, he replied before his partner could. “Perhaps it's that you've traded so many pieces of your soul with the humans that they have become a part of you. Maybe they have joined that dead god in becoming the madness that takes control in your moments of weakness and which clouds your mind with these delusions. Delusions that you cannot even explain to yourself.” Ammon opened his mouth widely to speak what seemed like it would be a passionate defense, but then stopped. He drew a slow breath and said, “I don’t know how it will happen or how I know it … but Apocalypse—the end of the world—is coming.” These words triggered something inside of Dufaii. He found himself again strapped to that altar with his hand and wings shredded, unthinkable pain going through him. He felt his own icy hot rage burn against the attempted control of the old god, the only think keeping him from becoming a puppet. His breath quickened, he struggled for air though he did not need oxygen. His heart raced hard enough to hurt. All he could do was shout out in anger and project his fury outside himself, “The Ammon I know is dead; and you are no different than any of the other maddened ones!” He grabbed Ammon by his armor and felt like he could enjoy nothing other than to cut out his former partner’s heart. “Dufaii…” The Lightbringer said.  The mention of his name gently stirred Dufaii from the cloud of darkness that had come over him. It took him a moment like this to realize that he was holding his hidden dagger to Ammon throat. His fists were trembling, and he had drawn a bead of back blood from his former partner’s neck. Dufaii slowly released his shaky grasp on the armor, folded his arms, and looked down so that he could not see Ammon’s face. “This cannot continue,” the Lightbringer said once the tension had passed. “Our people need their generals—the two of you and Hades to be united … whatever the future holds in store.” “There won’t be a future so long as the Creator is breathing. The memory is real!” Ammon shouted and his aura glowed with an indignation that did not feel like any sort of projected emotion he had ever created on his own before the events which scarred him. “If you had looked into that old god's eyes and seen what I'd seen, felt what I felt. If that feeling were inside either of you, you'd do EXACTLY what I am now!” The Lightbringer exhaled deeply. “I need a private word with each of you. If you would excuse us, Ammon, I will speak to you in a moment.” Ammon stared for a moment, his hands balled into fists. After a few seconds, he looked down at them, loosened them with an expression of surprise, and finally departed in silence. Once he was gone, the Lightbringer shook his head and said, “I need to know more about what happened to the two of you if I am to fix him.” Dufaii squinted his eyes and looked at the cliffs in the distance. He had not talked about what had happened all those hundreds of years ago.  “Both of you were different after that,” the Lightbringer said and began to pace slowly on all fours—quite literally like a caged wild-cat. “Your bouts of rage and the scars on your eyes. Ammon’s obsession with destroying the Creator. What happened?” Dufaii thought for a moment to decide how much he felt was safe to tell. Though he hated to admit it, his former partner had been right about something. This incarnation of the Lightbringer was a rarity and would not last forever. Dufaii had to be careful about how much information he shared; there was no telling if another more power-hungry incarnation would come along later and use that information for the detriment of demon-kind.  After thinking for a moment, Dufaii replied, “Of the gods in the new world, Tezcatlipoca was the most powerful—humans sacrificed to him by the millions. But he wasn’t maddened … and he was smart enough to anticipate our arrival. We were captured.” He paused to determine what he should say next. “Go on,” the Lightbringer said. Dufaii nodded. “What he did to those humans … what he wanted to do to us … he put a piece of his own soul inside them in exchange for theirs. This balance—never losing power like the gods who created other life, and only gradually attaining power by the empires who worshiped him willingly. This partial trade of souls was enough to take complete control of any human and to imbue them with some of his power.” “But not to control a demon,” the Lightbringer said with a slow nod. “No,” Dufaii said. “Just enough to influence our thoughts … and, inadvertently, to empower us to finish our work in destroying the rest of the gods while divided.” “So, when did Ammon begin to use Tezcatlipoca's power on humans?” the Lightbringer asked.  Dufaii sighed as he remembered the first. “The first was a human warrior … indigenous and native to the new world. The human wanted revenge on a minor spirit that preyed on his kind, that had killed his entire family. Yet Ammon didn’t control him. He created a bond with the human; their power, emotions, and spiritual stability influenced one another. That was how it went for a while; a handful of humans was all that he bonded to … each a warrior against the lesser remnants of the old gods.” The Lightbringer mused over his words for a moment. “I’ve heard that Ammon has made such links with many more humans recently … perhaps several dozen. They were not warriors, not even humans of sound mind.” Dufaii clenched his jaw … trying hard not to let this news affect him. The gods were all but dead, and there were hardly any traces of them left on the earth. Monsters and spirits and everything not born of the Earth herself was pretty much extinct. What reason could Ammon possibly have for risking the demon dominion of their kind by letting humans know he existed? Especially in this modern age where evidence could so easily be gathered. He was a fool! But then … if this wasn’t Ammon modus operandi, was he even the one choosing? Likely picking up on his thoughts, the Lightbringer continued. “You insinuated that Tezcatlipoca and the departed humans connected to Ammon are taking over his mind in moments of weakness. I wonder if it is the old god choosing the mentally unsound because he knows that they will affect Ammon’s mental well-being and create more windows of opportunity to act.” The Lightbringer's face grew more concerned as he mulled quietly. After several minutes, he shook his head with a look of pity. “I need your help to fix this problem, in whatever measure that may entail.” “As you said,” Dufaii said, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders as he did. “The old god is alive and acting in me as much as in Ammon. At first, an inner sense of rage protected me from his control. Now … I’m not so sure that Tezcatlipoca isn’t now fueling it to gain control of me just like Ammon. I've been thinking that … I may be as much a threat to our kind as he is. I can’t allow that to happen.” “What are saying?” the Lightbringer asked. “I've decided to exile myself.” Dufaii said, looking up and tightening the muscles in his jaw. “Let me find a dark corner of Hell where only Kueng can find me. He will not give me any news about what is happening here or with Ammon. I’ll continue advancing research for demonkind while I work to just forget … and hopefully forget my rage.” The Lightbringer sighed heavily as he gave a long and slow shake of his head. He looked up at the distant torches burning like constellations above. “You have my permission to leave … but not to fester and die in this cursed place. We both know that the whispers of divine condemnation will never let you heal here. And, as I said, our people need their generals. Go back to the mortal realm, report to Kueng as you have said, and rest. Wait for Hades to summon your return. I have formally transferred all power and authority of my station to her. I’ve decided that any demons who do not accept this transfer of power will be summoned here when the maze in finished … to be trapped inside here with me. If all goes according to plan, my next incarnation will be trapped in this prison and your brethren will never have to fear the Lightbringer again. The rest of Hell will be united, and you will be able to lead our people to freedom. Hopefully, I can figure out a way that Ammon can be there alongside you.” Dufaii nodded … still somewhat unable to believe that a good part of the Lightbringer had survived after all this time. “Please … work to forgive Ammon,” the Lightbringer said and looked out at where he stood outside the garden. “You feel hatred for him for the pain he caused you. But all of that … it’s only the old god fighting for control of him. He is not maddened, and he did not ask for this.” “I will try, Lightbringer,” Dufaii whispered though his blood burned at the idea of it. He nodded deeply and looked the protector spirit the eye for what he knew would be the last time. The Lightbringer looked back and, for a moment, revealed a fraction of the aura that he hid. It was thick and cold, like icy frost, with sharp clusters of what felt like crystals in several places. It was loneliness, it was fear, it was physical pain from the exertion of keeping everything together. This incarnation was falling apart and wouldn’t last much longer. Yet he spoke just like the Lightbringer of old. “Our plight seems desperate. Still, never forget what we talked about so long ago.”  “We always have a choice,” Dufaii said and swallowed the dry air with painful difficulty. Not from the dryness itself, but from the sorrow welling inside of him. “Even when it doesn’t seem so,” the Lightbringer replied as the fur on his face went gray. He looked to the corners of his new prison for a moment before veiling his aura again and turning away. -O- “Dear Dufaii, I’m glad you encouraged us to begin writing these little notes to one another. When we’re working and absolutely crushing these so-called deities, our comradery is nice. But it kind of overshadows deeper feelings … ones I wasn’t sure you shared for a very long time.  You’re strong and wise, and I don’t think anyone could miss that. But the vulnerability in your letters … that’s what made me fall in love with you. Now, as we carry on with our banter, covered up to our elbows in the blood of gods, I know there is so much more happening inside you than what you know how to say. And … for the first time … I’m happy. -Ammon  (Personal letter 5, from General Ammon to the Godkiller. Found between the pages of a research journal in Dufaii’s research hut.) b

Thus began the era of the Balance. During the era of the Balance between the Creator and the Lightbringer, there are countless chronicles of the interactions between the demons, angels, humans, and the gods. Mostly, these are accounts of war as the demon empire expanded upon the Earth—with most of its people still imprisoned below.  The souls of humans became a more available resource for their people. Human societies were molded according to the designs of the demons with dominion over any given providence. However, the end-goal for each dominion was the same. The demons were to mold the humans to allow for pockets of power within their society, no matter how primitive. The pockets of power acted as a catalyst for the human souls in those positions. For while not every soul was corrupted by power, those who could be corrupted were most drawn to these positions and able to reach them through treachery and deceit that the rest of their kind were not capable of. From there, the humans with power over the lives of others would inevitably abuse those they ruled over … in acts of ever-increasing horror and depravity until the souls of power were ripe for harvest. In Heaven, the Archangels took charge as the Creator became silent. They were tasked with maintaining the balance and fighting the corruptive influence of the demons over the humans. At first, the soldiers of Michael fought directly against the demons in independent skirmishes that skirted the lines of the truce between Heaven and Hell. The demons did not pursue retaliation, however, because these battles were entirely fruitless. So the Archangel Gabriel sent out his guardians, angels tasked to find humans with great potential for healing the spirits of their societies and of the individuals around them. These  humans were called the saints. The Archangel Michael was tasked with analyzing the threat of the gods. For while the gods had been no true threat during the time of the Creator’s storms, that was no longer the case. As the gods broke down their souls to pursue their unending passion in creating new life, more and more fell into sleep just like the Creator had. And like the Creator, they woke in states of madness and cruelty. First fell the least successful gods who had few human worshippers to nourish their spirits, followed by the greater ones. The Archangel Michael was tasked with their destruction, but his scouts returned to him with reports of mysterious entities leading a trail of destruction throughout every stronghold of the gods.  It was, of course, the demons Dufaii and Ammon who had destroyed the gods, one at a time, over the next few millennia, sometimes with through war bust mostly through assassination. Though most angels and demons did not realize it, it was the journey of these two spirits which brought the era of the Balance to a close. As one of the most powerful of the gods, one who was an oddity for having somehow fallen to corruption before sleep came upon him, captured the two demons. Desdemona DeBlake (demon archivist for the Library of Hades) -O- The searing pain of adjustment to the comforts of the physical realm went on for what felt like the longest minute of Dufaii’s life. He was unable to move or sense much of anything around him for a long time. At first, the only thing he knew beyond his suffering was that he was floating. At some point after that, he felt a shoulder in his sternum that led him to think that he was being carried. Then, he felt a cool hard surface beneath him, some sort of polished rock. This cool rock began to soothe his pain, along with something slick which was applied by unseen hands.  Gradually, Dufaii’s eyes adjusted, and he began to see color and shapes. There was a person tending to him, with bronze skin and white clothes. She was female … with large curves and flowing black hair. Her eyes were solid cyan, with a soft glow. And her aura was tremendous, thick as the auras from a hundred angels clustered together and concentrated enough that it could almost be felt. She … she was a god.  Dufaii nearly fell over himself, pulling away from her. He reached for his walking stick, cursing himself for not having transformed it back into a sword. He stumbled over his weakened legs and then crawled away until, in his partial blinded state, his head struck a stone wall. Hot blood oozed on his head, though it had long since become too dry to flow down his face. A lion’s roar came from not far away.  Dufaii looked for it, and saw a large yellow shape on the opposite side of the white stone space he was in.  “Hush, creature!” said the god, her tone firm but soft. At first, Dufaii thought she was talking to him, but her subsequent movement and turning to face him indicated that she had been speaking to the lion. Then she said, “It’s alright, Dufaii, do not fear. Your friend, Ammon, brought you here so that we could take care of you.” Dufaii stared at her for a moment, more confused than he’d felt in quite a long time. He didn’t know if he could believe her, being a god. But she did not seem insane or malicious. And even if she was set on his destruction, his only chance was to bide his time until he could at least see clearly and walk. So, Dufaii nodded and stood onto his trembling legs, weak from both his struggle and perhaps his fear of the creature who tended to him. He stepped closer to where he could see her blurred outline and felt the raw power coming from her aura.  “You look worse than Ammon did,” the god said and slowly stepped closer to him. He saw her large bronze arm reach toward his face, and then felt something damp touch his eyes it burned … like sand being ground into his eye. Yet somehow, he sensed that he needed it more than anything. She continued to speak, “Of course, Ammon had been wandering around the mortal realm for many months before we met him. To imagine he survived in much the same state you are in … it makes me sick to think about.” It occurred to Dufaii that he had no idea what he looked like. Of course, he’d seen a few other demons, particularly when they’d approached the dwelling of the Lightbringer for the first time. He’d seen their shriveled and thin skin, their sunken black eyes like raisins. Their skeletal shapes. It hadn’t occurred to him that he did not look like he had when he’d been cast from Heaven.  His body had taken thousands of years to acclimate to the complete lack of moisture in Hell. Then, all of the sudden, his body was now being hit with a little moist air and absorbed it, expanding like a sponge and causing his numb skin to suddenly feel all the wear of those thousand years.  The god continued to alternate the cloth between his two eyes, which much have been cracked and oozing for how quickly they had been rehydrated after so long. Yes, he could see streaks of blackness in the cloth before she replaced it with a new one. It was his blood.  The god said, “I know you distrust our kind. But believe me that you have no enemies in this house. Nobody here has gone into the deep sleep. We’ve seen what happens to the gods who do go mad and have dealt with our own share of struggles because of them.” “Nonetheless,” Dufaii tried to say, but it came out a garbled mess. He began to cough and choke violently on his own words. It felt as if a knife had been jammed down his throat, and he coughed thick black blood clotted with clumps of dust and grit into his sleeve. He felt something hot touch his lips, and he instinctively opened his mouth to take in a tea that tasted of citrus. This made the pain worse at first. But, after a few minutes of taking slow painful sips between agonizing coughs, it began to soothe his throat. Then, in a pained whisper, he said, “I apologize for my overreaction.”  “There’s no need for that,” The god said and gently continued her work.  After another few moments, he ventured to try to whisper again. He said, “I am Dufaii.” “I am Rhea,” the god replied, sounding pleased that he was able to now communicate a little more. “My husband is Kronos. We are the children of one of the original gods.” “I … know little of what has become of the original gods or the kingdoms of their descendants,” Dufaii whispered between coughs.  Rhea gave a sigh that was neither happy nor as pained as might have been expected, “All of the original gods are gone, lost to the sleep that brought them to madness after they expended too much of their souls to create this world. A few, like mother Gaia herself, arranged ways not to wake from the sleep that they knew would fall upon them. My father … was not so wise. We had to imprison him … for his own safety and ours. After that, my husband and I kept a quiet existence, not involving ourselves in mass creation or the pursuit of human souls.” Dufaii felt … shocked … that this was all there was to it. He had assumed that the original gods, the most powerful of beings, would have attacked the Creator by this point. They had been so paranoid about it … so sure. He asked, “None went for the original source of divine power?” Rhea regarded him with a soft frown that he could only barely make out. He sensed that it wasn’t for herself. Rather, she was sad for him. “The Creator was right to create your kind as a way to resolve the crisis of the gods. But I’m afraid that the Creator themself has never been in any danger. The original gods were in no mental state to successfully pose any threat to them. All that Ammon has described of the events that happened in Heaven before your exile … it was the same madness and paranoia that infected the original gods and now the lesser gods that continue to exert their power. I’m sorry.” Dufaii felt somewhat winded by this but had nothing to say in reply. Something inside him had long known that the Storms and the Wall could have only been the product of complete madness. It was not a comforting feeling, knowing that these particular suspicions had been valid, but it did not dull the emotional impact from finally knowing for certain that all his suffering had been for nothing.  Dufaii sat there in silence for another few minutes while Rhea continued to tend to his eyes … shaken … but with an old rage that began to burn low in his belly. By now, he could see with a bit more clarity the entity tending to his eyes. He could see the room around him as well, carved entirely of polished white stone. It was open as well, with windows large enough to easily fly from. These let it the warm sunlight and a gentles breeze, coming from rolling green hills and a cloudy blue sky above. Yet, with all the beauty he’d missed for so long, none of it could distract him from the weight he now felt at all he’d learned. Throughout the day, Dufaii’s host continued to tend to him. While Ammon was in and out, visiting the other deities of the realm, Dufaii was not even permitted to stand for fear he would fall and injure himself further. Meanwhile, his scabs and desiccated external body were treated with aromatic herbs and gentle washing with wet cloths.  Eventually, a new god who introduced himself as Rhea’s husband—Kronos—lifted him and placed him in another white-stone room with an above-ground bath. The water was visibly warm—with steam rising visibly off the surface. Of course, being immersed in it was pure pain, at first, very gradually followed by absolute bliss.  In that bath, Rhea brought Dufaii his first sips of drink in a cool mug.  Dufaii was fearful at first, worried about how much pain drinking would bring to his insides. It turned out that he was right to worry. The pain was terrible … followed by an unexpected dizziness. Even as Dufaii’s emotions began to swirl and his thoughts began to swim, he had figured out that he was experiencing intoxication. Apologies, Dufaii,” Rhea said, smiling empathetically. “It is just water. Your body just needs some time to grow accustomed to it.” Kronos gave a friendly chuckle and said, “Let the man enjoy it! In fact, we’ll imbibe with you.” He left the room for a moment and then returned with wine for himself and Rhea.  Seeing it, Dufaii felt his face twitch. He remembered … Hades’ desperate drinking of mortal blood. By now, all of his people were doing the same. While he understood why it was necessary, the degradation of it hurt far more than the water had.  “You’re not there anymore, dear friend,” Rhea said, brushing one of Dufaii’s locks from his face. It was uncanny how she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. It was little wonder … Ammon had likely told them much about their experiences in the realm of torment. Kronos put a hand on Dufaii’s shoulder. “We’ll give you some space for a while. Please do not hesitate to call if you need any help.” Before they went, something came over Dufaii. Under the influence of how his body had been affected by the water, as well as emotions he was only now able to process, he frantically grabbed each of their hands. “Please … I saw what happened to the Creator. Do not fracture your souls to create more of your kind.” Rhea seemed shocked at first, but then her expressions softened. “Rest assured, we will not create fantastic creatures and the numbers of offspring that my parents and other gods did. Only a few young … and they should cause no great amount of harm.” For just an instant, Kronos paid a worried glance at Rhea’s midsection. One of his nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly. But then he shook his head, smiled, and said, “The moment we feel any amount of strain on our power, we’ll stop. We just wish to live a full life, as living beings are meant to.” Dufaii tried to say more, that even such a small expenditure of power was too much of a danger to be worthwhile. But he could only stare as the couple left the room. Something inside them knew by their dismissive, if gracious, tones that they had made up their minds. Even after seeing the madness firsthand, they thought they would be immune. Dufaii almost didn’t notice them acknowledging someone right outside the door as they left.  It was Ammon who entered the bathing room after they left, a gracious smile on his face and a cup of wine in his hand. “They are very kind. It will be … painful … to cut them down. Though, as even the Creator found a way to make it so easy to betray them, I’m sure those two will find a way as well.” He took a seat on the stone edge of the bath and shook his head remorsefully. “Cut them down,” Dufaii repeated and shook his head several times. “How …” “Well … Kronos has the budding beginnings of paranoia—fear of what losing his power will do to him. His trauma at imprisoning his own father—an elder god—has no doubt left a foreboding knowledge of what awaits him. My thought would be to wait for a while … let him expend some of his power and maybe turn his children against him. It shouldn’t be difficult,” Ammon said, but then looked at Dufaii and let his jaw go slack in an expression of sudden awareness. “I apologize. You were asking how we could kill such kind people. How I can be thinking of betraying the people who only a few years ago nursed me back to health. Plotting while communing with them in their very homes.” “They just want to live their lives,” Dufaii whispered, his head still swimming from the water that was so foreign to his insides. “Just like the Creator, before they slept,” Ammon said, nodding somberly. “We can’t stop them from being what and who they are. They were made to create a higher diversity of life. Inevitably, they will all do just that. And when they do …” “…they become like the Creator,” Dufaii finished. He looked down at the bath water and, in a moment of compulsion, dipped under to swallow another painful few swallows. Immediately, his head began to swim. He sat back up and tried to violently exhale all his inner turmoil away. Ammon sighed as well, poured a few drips of wine to the floor, and then raised his glass. “Pura Vida.” He said cynically before downing the entire cup in one swallow. Pure Life … this is what the exact opposite of what Dufaii’s had become. Because he had refused a fate of abuse and torment, he was damned to an existence of corrupting mortals and killing deities whose greatest sin was only doing what they were meant to. “I’ve been making plans for the downfall of most of the deities in the region,” Ammon said, setting his empty glass aside. “Of course, that still leaves the question of how to permanently end an immortal. I suppose I could cut them into pieces and scatter them across the Earth … but that would leave some loose ends that I would rather avoid.” Dufaii tried to raise himself out of the bath, but his arms gave out from under him. He gave another sigh—this one far more ... defeated. He replied, “I can handle that part.” -O- “Ammon continued his preparations for the next few centuries. Not only in what the mortals would call Greece, but spanning across the continents. His instinct when it came to the paranoia of Kronos was found to be accurate, and he was able to turn everyone around the growingly unhinged deity against him.  His own son, Zeus, narrowly escaped murder by his father. He was the one who led the assault. For their purposes, Zeus and his allies used the realm of Tartarus—a place created by Kronos himself to imprison his own father.  What the gods didn’t know was that their greatest advisors and spies, Ammon and Dufaii, had found a way to access their secret prison realm. Nor that this sort of alliance was the way the downfalls of all deities were planned, so that demons could never be pinpointed as the culprits and targeted for war by the gods. I think, they also wished to avoid any credit for the growing health of the Creator—who was reinvigorated by the reacquisition of the souls of murdered gods. Receiving their power and that of each deity’s followers.” -General Hades in her work “A Prison or a Country?” Volume II, pg. 55 -O- Dufaii stepped over the corpse of yet another Titan—its blood pooling on the stone ground like a sickening red pond. Three massive walls surrounded this stone world, and a quiet black cyclone circled overhead. The scene reminded him of a place … somewhere that, after centuries in the mortal realm, he dared not remember. He shook his head forcefully and continued on to where he sensed the final thrum of life in this prison-realm. He knew this last presence—it was the chaotic aura of the most powerful deity here. The god who, alongside his wife, had once nursed the demon back to health.  Of course, after eating countless of his own young to reabsorb not just his own power but that invested into their children by Rhea, Kronos was hardly the same man that Dufaii had once known. Just like the Creator, madness had befallen him … as it would eventually befall his children. They, by comparison, would eventually be so much easier to kill. Dufaii heard a flap of wings next to him, and only detected this being’s familiar aura at the last moment. He turned to his recently-arrived partner and asked, “Did you take care of … whatever vague mission you set out on?” Despite his horror at the sight around him … or perhaps because of it … he gave a wry smile. It was an attempt at levity, something he only seemed to manage in the grimmest of situations. Ammon nodded, dusting at a few minor lacerations on his arms. “They were going to leave that poor beast to guard the maddened ones for eternity. Chained up as it was … without even a pool to drink from!” He sighed irritably.  “At least their blatant cruelty and disregard for other lives will be a weakness you will no doubt be able to use against them,” Dufaii said.  Over the years, he’d gained an appreciation and even a feel for how Ammon strategized. They’d both been forced to grow numb to the cruelty of it all, to the feelings of betrayal toward beings whose greatest sin was their illness. After watching one after another turn into cruel and pathetic shells of their former selves, their eventual ends felt like mercy. “Probably,” Ammon said, nodding his head. “Still … I released the hydra from where they had it chained at the gates. It … may have been foolish.” Dufaii tapped his bearded chin for a moment, feeling a slight amount of humor in the situation. He knew that he should be taking this all much more seriously, perhaps even grimly. But the truth was that part of him had grown to love the hunt … the small bit of justice he felt at making at least these minor tyrants actually pay for the suffering they’d inflicted on those who didn’t deserve it. He also admitted to a sense of comfort in the friendship he’d found in Ammon.  Dufaii shrugged. “I don’t see any potential harm in leaving it to further distort any possibly evidence that we were here. If we’re lucky, those lazy drunkards will just decide that it was the hydra which broke free on its own and destroyed the weakened Titans.”  Ammon frowned for a moment. Dufaii lifted an eyebrow. “I sense … some sadness at the prospect of eventually hunting them.” Ammon gave a heavy sigh. “It was just easier with the Titans and Elder Gods. It was like playing out the rebellion again. But their children—I feel like they are my own nieces and nephews. It just feels … different … striking down rather than striking up.” Dufaii thought about this for a moment. The truth was that he had never allowed himself to grow that close to the children of Kronos and Rhea. While they had called him uncle, he had always kept his distance. Perhaps it was easier for him, having been an older angel and watching those he’d considered younger siblings grow up into maniacal members of the guard. He hadn’t considered how difficult that might be for Ammon who, even as a general, had been so young at the time.  This was Ammon’s first time as an elder … with younger beings looking up to him. Also, as much as Ammon tried to hide it, Dufaii had noticed an affinity for connection in him—even during the rebellion. While Dufaii had kept to himself until necessity had forced him to connect with others, Ammon had sought out others and formed a community.  “I’m being foolish and sentimental,” Ammon said with a dismissive chuckle before shaking his head. “Just like with that damn hydra.” Dufaii shook his head. He realized that he did not see it that way. While he could not bring himself to connect with most beings ever again, he valued his partner’s ability to connect. He put his hand on Ammon’s shoulder and said, “You are no fool. You’re demon … more demon than I could ever be. What we’re doing, it’s a painful endeavor. Sometimes I falter, and you are there to remind me why we are doing this. Which means when you falter, it’s time for me to remind you. But we are doing what we must … and we are in it together.”  “You’re right,” Ammon said, and gave a resolute nod. “Thank you.” Dufaii nodded a bit more softly, and then began to walk toward where he sensed that final Titan. He muttered, “When we’re done here, we’re going for drinks.” “I second that,” Ammon replied, following along. The two of them walked until they reached one of the three corners of the triangular, rocky prison. It was warmer here, and a bit of orange light lit the area from the fiery river just beyond the wall.  Kronos was there—naked, crouched, his form changed to be monstrously rippled with muscles. It was much like the Creator during the battle of the rebellion, and so many gods since. The more vulnerable the maddened ones felt on the inside, the more invulnerable they always made their forms on the outside. He finally turned to face his assassins—revealing a boulder held between both his hands. He was gnawing on it—having already cracked the rock between his teeth so that more bits could be bitten off and swallowed.  Kronos muttered, “Stupid, stupid, stupid! Tastes nothing like a baby. No blood, no flesh. I should have chewed, always chew on the flesh! That way no lying bitch can feed you a rock that doesn’t even taste like a baby. Traitorous bitch, ungrateful bitch! Just like the two of you!” Dufaii flared a nostril in unenergetic disgust. This was always the end point of the maddened ones—blaming everyone they could think of. For the masculine entities, this was almost always accompanied by misogynistic tirades and infantile hysterics. Ammon glanced over and said, “There’s no point, is there?” Dufaii shook his head and replied, “The Kronos we knew would have bit off his tongue before treating his beloved like this. He is dead … and has been for a long time.” “You know … I never really got why you addressed the guard and the Archangels in your final speech to Heaven,” Ammon said, unsheathing his double-edged short sword calmly. “You spoke to all of them, but not once did you really even acknowledge the Creator. You said something about it … but I think I was just so angry that I still saw the Creator for who they had been. Now … I think I get it.” Dufaii nodded, reaching for his second soul-weapon, one he’d been preparing for just this occasion. It was a razor-sharp dagger. Thin, useless against armor or other weapons—that was what his blade-breaker was for. His dagger had only a singular purpose. He said, “It’s understandable. I think the maddened ones purposefully make it harder to see them for what they are as well. Pretending to still be a person is still a useful defense. You see it in the corrupted humans, as well. They convince everyone around that, no matter who or how they horrifically torment, there’s a person who can be reached, hidden beneath it all. It keeps them from being slaughtered or abandoned long after they ought to be for the safety of everyone around. Worse, it keeps their victims working … trying to placate their abuser to try to free the good person underneath. It’s why the loyalists betrayed us for the sake of that monster on their throne.” Ammon nodded, stepping closer to the Titan that, by immensity of the shard of divinity inside him, should have been so much more powerful that both the demons there to kill him. He said, “But they’re already dead. At this point, he’s just … a series of fear-based defenses without a person there at all. It’d be fascinating if it weren’t so pitiable.” “Do not speak of me as if I’m not here!” the creature who had once been Kronos roared. “But you’re not … and I see that now,” Ammon said, mostly to himself. He shook his head grimly. “Suddenly, I feel great shame that I empowered humans who are broken as this to become the heads of their cultures, their faiths, their families …” Dufaii shook his head. “You just fast-tracked their development—made it systemized and efficient. After all, it was you who wrote in your teaching materials that scum always floats to the top. Had there not been a top, these maddened wretches would have been sure to make one. Where else could they feel safe, with the living of their kind protecting and serving them? Creating emotional balm for the ghost-pain of where their personhood once was.” Ammon managed a small smile, “You read my teaching materials?” Dufaii smirked and shook his head. “Had to make sure I hadn’t been partnered up with a complete moron, now, didn’t I?” Kronos roared in fury and hurled the boulder he’d been eating. Dufaii and Ammon twirled synchronistically, as they had practiced. As they did, each lifted up their opposing outer wings to give their bodies enough lift to rise and launch toward their enemy.  Kronos—whose form was at about ten feet tall—tried to backhand his approaching enemies with one of his massive arms. Dufaii swung upward—connecting his blunt heavy-sword with the Titan’s elbow. There was a satisfying snap that came from it, and Dufaii then slid under the enormous, broken limb.  Simultaneously, Ammon, pulled his wings and limbs close to his body at the last moment—summersaulting over the arm with his sword overhead. This was enough to carve the Titan’s massive hand clean away from his wrist. Kronos let out a pained and furious howl. He raised his remaining fist to slam Ammon, who had just landed from his acrobatic maneuver. However, the demon stepped in close, raised his sword, and impaled his attacker directly under the elbow. At the same moment, Dufaii swung his sword with both hands to shatter the Titan’s opposing kneecap.  Again, Kronos roared as he could do nothing else but fall onto his only good knee. He snarled like an animal—spittle running down his jaw. His cyan eyes were wild, darting between his attackers with loathing. “He’s still raging … even as his aura projects that almost all his anger has been replaced by terror,” Ammon said as he causally hacked the limb he had stabbed until it fell uselessly to the ground. “Just … like the Creator.” “It’s the last defense,” Dufaii said, reading the Titan’s erratic thoughts that were more like a disjointed storm than the canvas of color it had once been. It made sense why the Creator had used such weather to communicate their wrath. It was the only imagery the maddened ones could really relate to. “He has other defenses that he’s thought of using. Berating us and making us feel shame and guilt for our actions. Tears to make us feel pity for him and leave him alone. Empty promises to change, blame on the Creator for making him this way, so on and so forth. But he knows that we see past all that … so the only defense and mask he has left is the most primal. Rage. He’ll die with this last mask on; the maddened ones will sooner do so than reveal the terrified nothingness that is the only truth left inside them.” “Then … what is left?” Ammon asked, plunging his sword through the Titan’s clavicle to keep its thrashing under control. Dufaii sheathed his sword and then took out his dagger. With a single slash he cut a deep gash across the Titan’s chest—eliciting a terrible scream that deafened him. He then sliced again so that the wound was in a ‘V’ shape. Dufaii pulled a handful of bloodied flesh away—revealing the ribcage beneath. The first Titan he’d done this to had made him a bit queasy. Already, however, this carnage hand become mechanical. He felt nothing as he reached in, broke the sternum off with his bloodied hand, and tossed it to the side. This revealed the Titan’s heart, still beating away inside.  “This … is what you saw when you were in the mortal realm with Michael,” Ammon said.  Dufaii nodded and replied, “You must cut through the blood that fills their body, using a piece of your soul. It’s just like making any portal through any other water.” With his soul-dagger, he carved a diagonal line across the Titan’s heart.  What was revealed was a shimmering silver orb resting within.  Dufaii reached in and took the orb in his hand. As soon as he had taken it, the Titan’s body fell limp. Dufaii then showed Ammon—letting the orb rest on his open palm. It felt almost like … nothing. A wisp that was barely materialized, and only for the violence with which it had been carved out by another soul. Ammon watched in awe for a moment and then reached out and placed his hand on it. He kept it there until the orb began to levitate and rise into the air. Within a matter of seconds, it disappeared into the ether.  Dufaii and Ammon gave mutually mirrored looks of surprise when they found their blood-soaked hands still resting together.  -O- “Godkiller” by Desdemona DeBlake Have you ever killed a god? Watched one fall to the musty earth beneath you and leave a crater. Do you know what happens when you kill God? The grass and trees crawl upon Its breast and face. Did you taste the blood on your fingers? As you watched the rest pour out of Its side? A flavor like water, but metallic. Then you know that you do not die In the water that drowns you when you kill God. No, you live and you watch the water pour. Down the mountain in rushing streams that satiate thirst and germinate seed. Like icy balm on their souls are Its blood and your tears. What could be left for a mountain maker, God killer, human savior, weeping sinner? You descend into a box with your clerical collar to confess.

"I have chronicled much since the rebellion. So it only makes sense that I do so for this, my last moment. My scouting party consisted of only the two of us–myself and my beloved, Assandra. After the Storms … we both had trouble trusting anyone else. We both wanted nothing more than to be free of the fear and the pain … so we left together in a desperate bid with the rest of the demons.  Somehow, even in becoming one of them, it felt like we were on our own. Not that we were the only ones who felt this way, it was just hard to feel connected after all we had endured. The only connection I felt was to her.  However, as the time went on in our eternal prison, I felt a growing resentment from Assandra. She would tell me that our imprisonment had been my fault … my idea. I … didn’t remember making this decision alone, but I was also beginning to doubt my memory. Everything we suffered was … because of me. We met up with another scouting group around that time. She became … overly close with one of them. The others in their party pointed out that … things weren't quite right. That every time she berated me in front of them … or struck me loud enough for everyone to hear. One night, when she was gone with … him … the others asked me if this kind of treatment wasn’t the reason we had left Heaven.  I didn't realize the extent of how right they were until it was too late, after our groups parted ways. It was then that Assandra's behavior escalated. She banished me from resting near her. She began to accuse me of smiling in the dark at the pain our prison inflicted on her. She then screamed until she heard me weep, and then cackled into the darkness. A few hours ago, I slipped away into the darkness. Ever since, I have been haunted by the whispers … I can still hear her beratement … but also that of the Creator during the First Storm. These whispers are … so much worse than just the screaming.  I tried to call out for Assandra, but she is nowhere to be found. I miss her telling me that all this is my own fault. Though she meant to harm me, I think all this time she was actually protecting me … protecting me from the whispers that other demons have rightly spoken of with so much dread. Unlike her, they see into me … they know the exact things which are the truth of my fragile existence. This is my final record of events. I plan to leap headfirst into the next chasm I find … and to stop existing for a while. Post Script: I see … something dim in the distance. Though it will be torment, my curiosity drives me to at least see what it is before finding my release from consciousness and thought." -note found etched anonymously in stone. Collected and archived in the Library of Hades, in the Hall of Lost Demons. -O- Dufaii followed Ammon along a desolate path marked only by torches—more of the humans writhing as they remained engulfed in endless flames that fed slowly on their regenerating bodies. Though he loathed to attempt for any normalcy in the horror of the situation, he found himself averting his eyes from the fire and the outlines of faces within.  Like the blood, it was just too much for him to deal with. Carnage in battle was one thing, a temporary instance in which conflict sparked and then was done. But the slow and methodical forethought that went into the wine, the torches, the white bone door … it all reminded him of something that he couldn’t quite place. The two of them were still out in the open, a little ways outside of the Lightbringer’s palace. The strengthening auras of the demons inside could still be sensed from where they walked. The mountain in which the demons had gathered was still clearly visible by the torches that were mounted around it. Judging by the trail of torches ahead of them, which led into a narrow canyon between two cliffs, they might soon be walking into a cave.  Dufaii thought to ask whether they would, but he felt drained of his ability to speak.  Suddenly, there was a flurry of sounds as several winged shadows glided overhead, briefly revealed in the light. About twenty demons with particularly intense auras were passing overhead. Some of these wore what appeared to be gold and jewels, though these could have only been shapes made in the same way as soul weapons.  Other demons wore various garbs that Dufaii did not recognize, but each outfit seems to feature a different symbol, more intricately crafted pendants and charms that were like the totems that the human shamans of old had used to represent the gods. Still other demons wore very little, and had very human shapes with exaggerated genitals, breasts, hips, and other body parts. There were others as well … in forms and in clothing for which Dufaii could not begin to imagine the purpose.  “Ranchers … of the damned,” Ammon said, his psychic tone hushed and reserved. The way he said it was certain, not as any sort of guess. Of course, that made sense … he was the one who had discovered that human souls could be brought to this place. There was a haunted element in his eyes, his face, his aura. How he carried his tall frail body like there was not much weight or substance to it. Of course, his intelligence and even his sense of determination were still there, under it all, in the way he quietly observed and understood with a reserved confidence.  “They are the ones who will cultivate corrupt human souls?” Dufaii asked with his own psychic abilities, working not to carry detectable judgment nor patronization in his mind.  “They will try,” Ammon replied tiredly. “I think it is all very heavy handed; a more subtle approach would accomplish more. For now, however, I think they are expressing the darkness that this place has branded them with. They want to go out as djinn, pretending to grant wishes while punishing the wisher; succubi and incubi, corrupting mortals with temptations of sex, and malevolent spirits, who pretend to be wielded by those humans using magic to cower others into submission. In time, they will get these fantastical urges out of their systems and learn better methodologies for mass corruption.” Dufaii nodded.  “So, what do you truly intend for us to do when we are gone from here?” Ammon asked, still having not stopped grimacing from what they’d spoken of before.  Dufaii raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t truly mean to-” Ammon began and then stopped when he looked back. “You do … you want to go after the gods. Does that mean that the voices have gotten to you, or is it a meditated desire to end your immortal life?” Dufaii shook his head and said, “I mean to destroy the gods, as many as I can.” His announcement was met with a moment of silence. “So pure insanity,” Ammon said with a nod, and then raised his hand defensively. “Please, take no offense. To the contrary, I asked because I’ve given careful thought to my own destruction. And of all the way I’ve considered, this way seems the most plausible.” “I don’t plan to die,” Dufaii said and looked at Ammon for a moment to communicate his sincerity.  “Fair,” Ammon said with a smile that was more haggard than joyous. “Well then, I’d love nothing more than to join your pursuit to destroy a god or two before our inevitable demise. Further, I’ll give it my best go of it, on my honor.”  Dufaii nodded, satisfied with this. Though he now wondered if, subconsciously, his efforts weren’t also self-destructive in nature. Perhaps, deep down, he also sought an honorable way out. On the other hand, every part of him knew that there was no true future for his kind in this prison—with blood and carcasses of the damned, or without. Their only hope was to find a place on the Earth, something that would never happen if the gods still roamed it. And, if nothing else, he knew that Hades had sanctioned his mission. He knew that Hades would never have allowed him to go forward to certain and pointless destruction that would not benefit her people. Dufaii told himself that this was the most important thing to remember; it would serve as his guiding star, his assurance and his reminder of purpose in the dire times ahead. Together, Dufaii and Ammon continued to walk until into the valley between the two cliffs. It wasn’t long after that that they reached a dead end, with only a small cave entrance up on a ledge that would have never been found by any demon dragging their hand along the rock from the ground. Dufaii and Ammon briefly took flight and landed on the ledge to enter the cavern. Orange light flickered far on the other end of a long straight tunnel, which the two of them followed for another half-hour before they reached their destination. It was a small open area, not even as big as one of Michael’s barracks, with a pool of what looked like water in the center.  An angel stood with his sword drawn. He had pale skin, a sharp nose, and a look of disgust planted on his narrow face. The angel spread his red wings and said with his mouth, “The Lightbringer has petitioned your release and the Creator has granted it, though you do not deserve this mercy.” Dufaii clenched his hand into a fist. “Let’s get moving,” Ammon said and put a hand on Dufaii’s shoulder. Then, loudly enough for the angel to hear, he verbally added, “You won’t have to worry about him. I have a feeling that somebody will quickly grow weary of his attitude.” The angel lifted his sword and opened his mouth to say something. However, Ammon lifted a hand to cut him off. “Don’t forget the truce, loyalist.” He then drew his own sword in a clearly non-threatening way and dragged it across the pool of water in the center of the room. He stepped into this silver light, which swallowed him in a slash of dull light. Dufaii stepped up to the tiny body of water, illuminated by the orange flame of a nearby living torch. The mortal soul who was on fire writhed silently, impaled on a carved stone pike. With their vocal cords and muscles eternally burning, there would be nothing this soul could do to communicate or try to escape. The smell was pungent a charred, like a sweet meat cooked to death and beyond any possibility of consumption.  Dufaii had not spent much time among mortals, unlike a few angels, so he did not feel any sort of profound empathy for this mortal’s pain. However, he did feel a kind of sympathy, like watching a defenseless animal suffer. No, that wasn’t even it, really. These souls were corrupted, the worst of the worst, no better than the guard in Heaven. What he didn’t like was how sadistic it felt to benefit so directly from this torment. He … wanted to believe that demonkind was better than this.  More angels stood at the far side of the room, glaring silently at him as he pondered. They were Heaven’s method of keeping a tally of all demons who roamed the Earth, whether they were approved for leave, and what they were supposed to accomplish. “Sometimes … I feel like I deserve the same,” Ammon said, looking at the mortal burning on the wall. He seemed practiced in not perceiving the loyalists guarding their prison.  “There is no deserve,” Dufaii replied instinctively, chastising himself a bit after he did. Who was he to be giving anyone any advice? He … who didn’t even want to let his closest allies in close enough to see the pitiful state he was in. Part of Dufaii wanted to jump into the water now, run, and put this nightmare behind him.  Of course, Dufaii could never do that. He would do his duty and create an earth that was safe for his kind. Yet something was stopping him … probably the same thing that Ammon had just expressed. He didn’t feel like he deserved to escape his brethren’s suffering. However, the only way he knew to help was outside of this prison. If they were ever to make their escape, the demons would need to know how to kill the gods. Preferably, most of the gods would be wiped out as soon as plans for escape were made. That left Dufaii in a position to either punish himself alongside them to satiate his emotional need to punish himself or to leave. He’d already made his decision. And he continued to repeat to himself what he had told Ammon. There was no ‘deserve’, there was only the situation at hand. Still, Dufaii felt compelled to wait in this prison a little longer, to punish himself for leaving them. He needed to hurt for it, whether there was such a thing as ‘deserve’ or not.  “I could have stopped that human’s evil,” Ammon said, his voice strained, though his physical condition did not cause it. It was his emotions that were threatening to cut off his words. “He sold other people and did terrible things to them to advance in his primitive society. But I could have stopped him, could have revealed the nature of the universe, I could have killed him before his soul had been fully corrupted, or I could have taught him a better way.” Dufaii turned, shielding his emotions and showing nothing but a front of cold efficiency. “Do not shed a tear for those who are lower than parasites, who harm unnecessarily for their own gain. And do not compare yourself to them for doing what you must to keep our people alive. This wretch was a slaver, a traitor to his species. Any being of worth would have died immediately rather than to do what he did.  You … you have merely played the role of hunter, rancher, and butcher for a starving people.” Ammon paused for a moment and then nodded and lowered his gaze.  Dufaii thought perhaps he should say more. So he added, “Your ability to have empathy is what lets you know that you are different than them. We will have to do a great many terrible things soon. But our cruelty will only come when necessary and never for just our gain.” Ammon nodded again, and the frantic energy coming from his aura like a shower of sparks settled a bit. “Are you … ready to go?” Dufaii nodded, thought he wasn’t sure that he was.   “Okay,” Ammon said and prepared to dive. “This is different than the way we used to travel by water. The barrier is vast and difficult to cross unless you know the way. You can follow me.” “Alright.” Ammon swan dived into the water and Dufaii followed. The water, after so many years, caused Dufaii to feel something akin to shock. His senses overwhelmed him with fiery pain, and he saw flashes of light that he knew had to be coming solely from his own perception. He couldn’t move, at first. Then, he saw and felt Ammon grasp his wrist and begin to pull him deeper into the darkness.  After a moment, Dufaii regained his senses and began to move of his own accord, the sensory overload quickly fading. They were moving toward one of many hundred lights that looked like stars in the darkness. One light, the one they were headed toward, grew steadily larger until it suddenly enveloped them.  Then, Dufaii felt his body being thrown by a force like buoyancy up to the surface of real water. They were in the mortal realm.  Water permeated the air and splashed in the muddy water around them. The air felt like fire against his skin, as the moisture hit his skin and was absorbed as if he were a living sponge. Dufaii screamed a breathless and mostly soundless scream of unbearable pain. This, however, turned out to be a mistake as he choked on the humid air. He collapsed and fell onto his back so that he was looking at the star-speckled, beautiful sky above. They were free … and their work would soon begin. -O- Hades, I … don’t think I can send this letter but … I feel compelled to write it anyways. At first, I couldn’t make myself pick up a quill to reply to your letters at all. I … couldn’t handle engaging with anyone involved in the memory of it all. Even thinking about writing to you felt like opening my guard and allowing myself to feel like the torment, the guilt, and the fear. To relive it all like it was new.  Now that I can finally write a letter … I still can’t make myself deliver it to you. I’ve nearly handed one of my letters to Kueng every time he’s come to deliver official correspondence. Then, I feel dizzy and everything inside me screams that you would never want to speak to me. I become scared, and I put the letter aside at the last moment. While I left the prison, it didn’t leave me. I still hear the voices of condemnation that filled that place … that drove so many of us to become lost in the darkness. It’s like my mind only works through the context of my trauma. I … don’t know how you managed to stay so strong. Pushing me to leave while you took care of our brothers and sisters. You were the strength of our people, and you always will be.  I miss you, and I’m so sorry, Dufaii Personal Letter from Dufaii to Hades 811 – Intercepted from the trash, as became Kueng’s routine once he discovered the existence of these letters, and delivered to General Hades. 

“Survivor’s guilt … that’s the term the humans would eventually use to describe the terrible agony we felt at seeing our brothers and sisters cast into the abyss. In her last moments, Hades had told us younger angels to run so that we would not be found out … and not to reveal ourselves, no matter what.   She had known that the battle was over, long before the rest of the other generals. I think the only reason she fought was so that her soldiers could go down knowing they had fought to the bitter end. Without that, I don’t know if the demon people could have made it, spiritually speaking. And I think that we younger rebels survived was also a part of that. But … that didn’t make living with what we’d seen and escaped any easier.  To make matters worse, the Creator’s wrath against the demons did not end with their fall into the abyss. He praised all the angels who remained after they were gone, calling us his faithful servants. He … told us in detail of the torment that awaited our brethren.  The prison to which they had been banished was the opposite of every condition that angels needed to really live. We were meant to exist on a plane of pure spiritual energy, which nourished our souls like the sun to a plant. We could even thrive on the physical realm, where the scattered shards of the Creator’s soul radiated enough life to sustain us fully.  But the stone prison was devoid of all life. Imagine granting a fish immortality shortly before sealing it in a barrel of salt and you will come close to understanding. It was torture for beings who could not die. And though we younger angels did not have to live it, we had to live with the knowledge that the demons who were our true family would suffer within that realm forever.” -excerpt from an untitled journal by Abhayananda, Guardian of Hell’s Gate and Double-agent of General Hades -O- Dufaii hobbled on trembling legs, cradling to his chest a severed arm that was not his own. His feet waded through the remains of blood and flesh pooled on the stone beneath him. There was no light, so he could not see at all. In his disorientation, he had blindly kicked the blade of a sword and cut down to the bone, which was why he now hobbled. In Heaven, such an injury would have mended fairly quickly, and the pain would have been diminished. On Earth, his pain would have compared with that of mortals and his injuries would have still mended faster than theirs for what he was. This place, however, had the opposite effect of that in Heaven. Dufaii felt his pain more intensely than he thought possible … nothing within him ever functioning to diminish his agony.  And he felt as if his body might never heal.  Dufaii squeezed the severed arm tightly to himself to feel the diminished aura vibration from it. Then, he closed his eyes and projected his senses beyond those demons also searching for missing limbs and weapons—pieces of their souls and those of comrades. He projected himself out until he thought he sensed a thrum of energy that matched that of the arm.  Hoping that he was right and not wasting energy on a mistake in his ability to read the auras, Dufaii made his way toward the person who he thought matched the arm.  Early on, another demon came across his own sword and returned it to him. That tremendous piece of his soul being returned to him had given him the energy to be at all useful for helping others find the missing pieces of themselves. Dufaii did find the demon to whom that arm belonged. However, the leg he found next took many more days to figure out because the owner remained unconscious for that long. Some would take months before their bodies could be put back together.  Of course … by then, the mass of bodies in the dark had begun to rot and turn to a sickening pulp. There, those demons who never managed to find lost limbs would soak like a painful bath–until they absorbed the rotten pieces of themselves in the mix of rotten filth. As for the demons who were left as nothing but piles of gore and shattered bones, they just had to be left to reconstruct themselves. This took so many years that their existence was forgotten for a time. -O- Centuries passed.  Dufaii dragged his nearly skeletal frame through the dusty darkness. He had long since turned his soul weapon into a soul stick, which he scraped from side to side in front of him. In the absolute dark, he had needed something to guide him and keep him from falling into the seemingly endless pits to which demons had already been lost.  In the years that had passed since he and his kind had been banished to the darkness, Dufaii had lost power … so much so that his skin and muscle had begun to shrink around his bones. To keep more energy than was needed devoted to a weapon was an absurdity in his eyes, especially when he did not have enough muscle or fat on the bottoms of his feet to cushion them from immediately bruising on the stone ground upon which he walked in the eternal darkness.  Today, however, something was different. Dufaii noticed this as he blinked his eyes several times. It wasn’t often that he opened them; with all the dust and the lack of moisture which left his eyes sunken, it was easier to just keep them closed all the time.  Today, however, he’d sensed a … grayness from behind his closed eyelids. So, he opened them and realized that there was something in the distance. It was a series of nearly imperceptible gray lines against the blackness of everything else.  Light! How long had it been since he’d seen light? A few hundred years? It could have been ten for all he knew. What he did know was that he had been without the sense for long that he did not often remember its loss.  He had remembered it at first … every time the voices of regret had reminded him that his actions had led to all his brothers and sisters being left blind. This wasn’t just his own regret, either.  For so many years he and many other demons had heard the voiceless whispers of some curse left upon their prison. It tormented them with every mistake, every guilt, and every insecurity they’d ever experienced.  Many demons had been lost to the voices; they’d exiled themselves to wander the darkness to face torment alone. Others bashed their skulls against the rock every time they were conscious. This did nothing to help the perpetual pain … as even entire obliteration was painful here. However, it did at least save them from focused thought on what the voices said.  Dufaii found himself hoping for the first time in … a long time. Maybe now that there was light somewhere out where the gray lines etched the blackness, those lost demons could be found.  Dufaii turned and walked with his stick in front of him back to his scouting party. There were a dozen of them, including Hades. He walked until he sensed their dull life forces near him. It was like … warm but faint static coming from twelve points in the darkness. He could tell that they were in a circle–likely holding hands as they had become accustomed to in the dark. They’d started this custom two of their party had wandered into the dark, never to be seen again.  On at least one occasion, Dufaii had given in to the voices and decided to wander into the dark. He would have been lost had it not been for Hades pulling him off his feet and keeping him with the group by force until his senses had returned. Though any notion of romance was a stretch under these conditions, Dufaii and Hades had found comfort in one another’s company. Sensuality was … too painful to be worthwhile to anyone. And love was difficult to feel over the eternal hunger, thirst, pain, anxiety, and sorrow. All the same, having a hand to hold a little more gently and a body to lie with as, opposed to the loneliness of cold stone and dry air, was something that they both needed. “Passable?” Hades asked, her voice as dry and coarse as the rest of them. She was asking if the way that Dufaii had scouted was passable by foot, as much of their venturing involved avoiding cliffs, chasms, and other impassible terrain. However, they had all come to speak using as few words as possible. Their hoarse and whispery tones were just reminders of their perpetual thirst, and painful ones at that.  “Light,” Dufaii said. It was all he needed to say; the rest of the demons immediately stood. He walked back to where he had seen the gray lines, suddenly hoping that what he had seen before had not been some sort of trick. But, as he returned to the place and tapping his stick as he went, he quickly eventually saw the gray lines again.  The demons behind him stopped when they saw it. For a moment, there was no response from any of them except an intense buzzing from their auras. Then, there was a small gust of air as one of them spread their wings. “No,” Hades said to whichever demon had thought to fly. “Possible danger. Procedure.” There was no response except for a slight decrease in the excitement that Dufaii could feel emanating from the group. The thirteen of them returned to where they had sat in a circle.  There, Dufaii felt around with his stick until he found a groove in the stone beneath them. This was how they had navigated in the uncountable years since they had begun their exploration. One of the demons, a burly and quite hairy individual named Brug, forcefully dragged his soul weapon shaped like a pickaxe. This left a trail … either for others or so they could backtrack one day and return all the way back to the rest of demonkind. Of course, they weren’t the only scouting party. Most demons had divided up to explore the far reaches of the realm–in the hopes of finding … well … anything. There was no telling how far away they or any of the groups were now, though. There was no way even to tell how many scouting groups had been lost. Were … they the only ones left? Dufaii tried to put the thoughts out of mind as he began to walk toward the light at the same pace he was accustomed to. Seeing the light so far away and yet so close for one with wings would have been torment. But here … it was the most endurable torment he had endured thus far. -O- Months passed. The closer Dufaii and his party approached the light source, the more they had to wince to keep even this small glow from blinding them. The gray lines on the horizon had become more detailed … until the details of a towering mountain had become visible.  The longer they’d traveled, the more scraping marks they had found heading in the same direction–left by other scouting parties. Now, they stood before the visible mountain and were unable to handle all the stimulus from the flickering torches high above them.  A large white door was fastened over a hole in the rock, cast in orange by the flames above. Behind the door were many presences–demons whose life energy was stronger than anyone in Dufaii’s party.  Hades stepped up to the door and knocked on it with surprising firmness, given her frail state. The door seemed to resonate audibly more than a stone door might have. Was it possible that the demons inside had found something other than stone in this place? It had to be, they had clearly made a source of light in this prison of eternal darkness. Now, it was a beacon … one that would hopefully draw in the rest of their kind. Including, maybe, those who had been lost.  The door opened and a large demon who was a head taller than Hades, appeared from behind it. He was pale, dressed in red robes like those of some sort of scholar from the Great Library. He lacked the wings of a demon, had no hair, and had features that seemed exaggeratedly large. His black eyes were the most prominent and startling things about him, as it appeared that he had cut out both his top and bottom eyelids.  Almost as unnerving was his pleasant smile that was neither cruel nor psychotic; it was calm and … happy. The demon used those eyes to regard each of the party warmly, until he narrowed his gaze specifically on Dufaii with what seemed like recognition.  “Welcome, children,” the demon said.  Dufaii realized that the hideous being was the Lightbringer. Despite his hideous appearance, it seemed that this form had some semblance of … intelligence … unlike the ones before him.  The Lightbringer smiled pleasantly and bowed. “I’m thrilled to see that more of my children have come home.” “How?” Hades asked, pointing a trembling finger at the door and then up at the torches above. Her gaunt expression was … haunted. “Only rocks, holes, dark.”  The Lightbringer nodded and pressed his index fingers together under his chin as he listened. His expression was calm but … there was no pain in his eyes for himself or what the demons had gone through. It was like he was trying to be polite and to go through the motions that would be expected of him. He said, “Well, let me show you the fire first.” He reached behind him to some back pocket of his red robes and then pulled out three items—two stones and what seemed to be cloth. With a graceful movement, he brought the two stones together at an angle and made a spark.  The light of the tiny spark irritated Dufaii's eyes. Then, the cloth ignited and produced a sulfuric smell that nearly made him sick. “How-” he said, wincing as he looked at the flame. The Lightbringer looked at him again and smiled broadly. “This is not all I have found! During your centuries in the darkness, I discovered a way to escape this realm. The Creator, it seems, left a door here on purpose. So he could hear our screams or maybe our cries of repentance. Either possibility is as sick as the next, but the door is there, nonetheless.” “If the Creator discovers-” Hades began.  “He has,” the Lightbringer replied, with a wider smile. “I sent the loyalist dogs who guarded it yelping home to their master with their tails between their legs. Then, I sent my apprentice to leave our prison.” A somewhat familiar figure walked to the Lightbringer's side–a young adult with blond hair cut short, bronze skin, and black eyes that gazed out at nothingness.  It took Dufaii a moment to recognize this haunted demon as Ammon. His demeanor was so out of character compared to the brave warrior he’d been during the rebellion. And his energy seemed stretched even more thin than those of the demons in Dufaii’s party. What could have happened to him? The Lightbringer continued, “I sent Ammon to Earth to find a enlist the help of the gods against the Creator before he could retaliate. Given that instruction, this wise child first went to study them and their obsession with attaining worship from humans.” “There’s … a way out?” Hades asked, almost breathless, showing no interest in anything that was being said beyond that one detail. “Yes … it was not long before the Creator sent an army to the cavern.” The Lightbringer said, again acting out the part of sounding remorseful but failing to emit any feelings of pain through his aura or his eyes. “But not before Ammon discovered an interest in the humans. After all, if the gods could use their power, why couldn’t we? Given a few years, he was able to get them to worship him, but those souls simply ascended back to the Creator. The barrier to this place is just too far severed from life for worship to bring them here. To get them here, the souls themselves would have to force their way in … to become twisted and corrupt.” Dufaii shifted his eyes to look around the room behind the Lightbringer. He'd known that something wasn't right. Now, realization dawned on him. His mind began to make the connections between what the Lightbringer was telling them, the door, and the torches. Dufaii hoped he was wrong, though he knew he wasn’t. “Did you know,” the Lightbringer continued, his eyes looking distant and glossed as if he were speaking to himself. “That the souls of humans are almost exact replicas of their physical bodies? The only difference is that so long as their shard is not consumed, their souls are immortal and never-ending. In fact, you can take them apart, and the contents seem to be no less alive! And if you leave the slaughtered pieces of flesh and blood alone, they slowly pull themselves back together, just like us.” Dufaii realized that the smell hadn't been sulfur, nor had the cloth been any sort of woven material. They were humans, live human souls who had been torn to pieces to be used as raw materials. They could feel everything that was happening to them … and would feel it forever. He placed his hands on his knees to brace himself and keep from falling. His stomach turned and then convulsed, but there was nothing for him to vomit but dry dust that came out as a puff of smoke.  “My dear Dufaii,” The Lightbringer said, speaking his name though they had not been introduced. The Lightbringer did recognize him, he somehow remembered some of what he had been before the Storms. Yet he was still … this. “I realize that it may come as a shock to you. But this is the natural order. Even the ecosystem of the physical realm reflects the predatory nature of what we've done. Ammon learned the ways of the Creator's Earth just by watching the cruel conditions in which the humans are forced to survive. They have to constantly struggle to kill other animals and use their bodies to live off, lest the animals do the same to them.” Dufaii was finally able to look up at the massive torch at the opposite end of the hall. Beneath the flames, there was a solid form writhing within the light that engulfed it. Likely the soul was screaming, but the fire would have already destroyed its vocal chords. And if the soul was immortal, its body was in a never-ending cycle of burning and healing that provided the perfect source of eternal fuel for the flame. He whispered, “What have you done?” “I have … brought a beacon of light to our people,” the Lightbringer replied, rubbing his hands together to make a nauseous sound from the friction between them. “And by gaining control of the portal, I earned a bargaining chip against the Creator. Thus, we were finally able to speak, face to face, and come to an accord … a Balance. So long as I do not allow our kind to flood upon the Earth, we are allowed to cull the herd of humanity for our needs.  “A … truce?” Dufaii said, unable to believe what he was hearing.  The Lightbringer smiled. “So long as we do not destroy the natural order of the physical realm, nor forcibly control the minds of these humans, we can take the corrupt ones as we need. All we have to do is make the foulest scum among them float to the surface by encouraging their lives of evil intent. Of course … what is so beautiful about this method … is how self-perpetuating it is.” Dufaii wanted to scream, to shout out that his people could have escaped … and hidden in the far reaches of outer space like the elder gods and the lost souls. Now they would be butchers? He wanted to shake his fist and defiantly proclaim that his people will never succumb to this. But all Dufaii could manage from his cracked throat was, “No.” His tone did not even sound defiant; if anything, it sounded like he was begging.  “Our people will learn the new ways of this universe,” The Lightbringer said as he walked out of the room. Moments later, he returned with a pitcher and cups of white, polished bone. One by one, he handed a full cup to each of the demons, caressing their hands as they took them. Hades looked doubtfully at the drink, but there was hunger in her eyes as well. Her jaw clenched, and she looked at the crimson liquid as it passed under her nose. If any demon could refuse all of this, it would be her. “Drink, my daughter,” said the Lightbringer, gently wrapping her fingers around the chalice with his own.  At first, Hades did not move. But when she coughed, and dust came from her throat, a dark and ravenous look came upon her trembling face. She looked at Dufaii as he tried his best just to use his facial muscles to beg her not to take a sip.  Hades looked at him for a moment and then whispered into his thoughts, “Whatever happens … your assignment remains what it has always been, find a way to get us out. I … I love you.” Then, she lifted the cup to her mouth. Her pale lips, which were covered in dry patches of dead hanging skin, were soaked by the blood as she drank it. Dufaii could do nothing but watch. Nothing he could think of was a good enough reason that any of the demons should reject the sustenance.  A voice from their cursed prison slipped through Dufaii’s mental shields. Immediately, he heard a whisper that a better leader could have stopped this. They would have mustered up some sentiment and convinced his followers to refuse the atrocity. But Dufaii was not a good leader, he was just a tired failure who had repeatedly failed to free his people.  Dufaii let his head drop. Without a hand to hold in that moment … he felt the desire again to wander into the darkness.  “You will never go thirsty again,” The Lightbringer said, smiling at them all as if nobody had refused his communion of blood. “For tomorrow, we shall begin our gradual reign upon the Earth. We will live within the laws of the Balance and reap only those humans who, in a right mind, come to this place of their own will. Of course … I have seen the future. They will throw themselves by the masses down our gullets!” All the demons cheered. Only Dufaii and Ammon did not join in the drinking of the red blood. It was in that moment that Dufaii remembered what he had tried to do before the rebellion. All he had wanted was to make a safe place for a few demons, to help in the only small way he knew how. In a rare moment of clarity, he looked at the Lightbringer and said, “The gods will attack if we steal the sources of their power.” The Lightbringer thought about this for a moment. Then, he stepped away from the drinking demons and said in a more hushed tone, “We have the upper-hand. If they strike the cave, the must enter through the door one at a time. It’s the same strategy which puts us at a stalemate with the Creator.”  “But we cannot farm the humans if the gods attack us in every land,” Dufaii replied, the many words burning and making his throat feel like is was covered in oozing blisters. He realized that it likely was … which was why he tasted his own blood. “You seem to be … getting at something,” the Lightbringer said, furrowing his brow.  Dufaii tilted his head in the direction of Ammon and whispered, “With planning and his ideas for soul weapons, I defeated the Archangel Michael. I could have stood for a while against the Creator as well. Together, I have no doubt that we could work from the shadows to destroy the gods one at a time. Hades commands the heart of the people. She could build an army … an entire nation here, until we are ready to make our escape again.”  The Lightbringer seemed to have to think about it for a moment. Then, he looked upon all the demons who gazed back with admiration. He said, “Alright, I will authorize your purposes apart from the approved number of demons taking their turns to corrupt the humans. Given the nature of your mission to destroy those he perceives as his greatest threats, I don’t believe there will be any problem getting the Creator to approve your indefinite leave. Go, and make the mortal realm a place where your brothers and sisters can survive. You have my blessing, Godkiller.” -O- “The key to the corruption of human souls is cycles.  You can spend your precious time outside of that realm of torment claiming one soul at a time. But at the end of it all, you've gained maybe a dozen souls to feed our siblings suffering below? Consider a human family. If you focus on a parent or even both–whispering their angers, their insecurities, their pains–you can eventually make the use of violence seem like the most cathartic and helpful aid in the world. They beat their children once, and then they'll keep on after that all on their own. It will be the only way they know to not feel powerless. As for the children, some may not abuse their own children, some may even become saints, but at least one will always continue the cycle. You've thus invested in a return of souls that will last generations–without any further help from you.  The same goes for villages. Inspire positions of power and privilege that become permanent fixtures of that society, and mortals predisposed to corrupt influence will step on one another to achieve it. Again, no added work for you.  And if mortals in those positions get to make rules … or pass their gains on to the next generation, well then you create an entire class based on corruption. That means a permanent percentage of humans that will almost inevitably reject life. The possibilities are endless.  So forgo the temptation of trying to conquer one virtuous soul. Avoid cabals of evil or dark lords. Aim for lazy, spiteful, incompetent, and pathetic. Remember that pond scum always rises to the top. Go for the low hanging fruit and do so strategically, using every tool available to you. And focus on creating cycles of tolerated, mundane evil that will self-perpetuate indefinitely." -educational note by Captain S.T, under General Ammon, circulated among demons of corruption in the early demon era

“Where was your neighbor when the rebellion attacked the Creator? Was someone missing from your labor line? Has your friend been more absent in the last few years?  Say something! Some traitors were spotted escaping the scene of their travesty against us all. Don’t risk being associated with a demon!” -public service flier distributed by the guard, to little success. The public response led mostly to false accusations and paranoia, and were very quickly disavowed by the Archangels. -O- Dufaii awoke in isolation and total darkness, his arms numb, his muscles all sore, and his head throbbing with immense pain. The ground beneath him was stone—rough and unpolished. And there was a damp earthy smell to the rocks that his face touched. It told him that he was in a cave … which meant in the mines. There wasn’t a heavy presence of dust in the air, so this was an older tunnel. In the distance were muffled echoes of whispers and crying.  Dufaii felt his own despair like he felt that of the other rebel angels; the difference was that he didn’t have the energy to cry or scream. The ropes binding him were unnecessary because he couldn’t have made himself move if he’d wanted to. He felt a lethargy he’d never felt even after the Storms. It was like a piece of his power was gone, and it took him several moments with his head in a foggy state, pressed against jagged stone, to think of why this might have been. His sword—part of his soul—had been taken from him. The longer he thought about this, the more he realized that he could sense the absence of his weapon as if it were a leg or a foot.  For a moment, Dufaii wondered what had been done to those angels who did not have soul weapons. Had their arms and legs been chopped off and taken? Only a moment of opening himself up to the overwhelming pressure of their combined pain was enough to confirm this. It was the only way they could have been subdued for imprisonment.  Dufaii shuddered and closed his eyes. He had led his brothers and sisters to this and fallen in battle before taking out the Creator, Raphael, and Gabriel. The thought of this replaced any feelings of self-pity in him with a brooding self-loathing.  It was several hours until he heard a sharp sound near him. The sound was familiar, the sound of a pickaxe striking stone. It sounded close and was getting closer so with every hit. After a couple hours of this repeated chipping at the rock, he heard young voices.  “I'm ready for a turn.” Another voice hushed the first and said, “Quiet, Abhayananda! If the guard catches us, they'll chop off our arms and throw us in the mountain like they did to Samas.” From that point on, the digging was slower, and they paused for minutes at a time. It was easy to imagine them stopping whenever they suspected someone might be nearby.  The digging went on for a while, the voices never returning. Then, after an unknowable amount of time had passed and hundreds of strikes had sounded against the stone, there was a break and a beam of sunlight entered in.   Dufaii looked around to see that he was in a caver tunnel, now filled with while cave crickets with long antennae. They must have sensed the vibrations. But now that the light pierced through into the dark, they began to scurry.  A pre-adolescent angel with reddish-brown skin, black hair, and gold wings began to try to climb into the small hole. But he wasn’t the only angel in the cave. Dufaii sensed an armored guard soldier step into the tunnel from an adjacent one, and then. Of course, this was a trap. He used every bit of power left in him and rolled into the guard’s path. The guard stepped on his arm, causing a crunch followed by a searing pain. But he lost his balance and stumbled onto the ground.  The young angel with brown skin and black hair looked with big eyes, stunned and unmoving. With his pain fueling his voice, Dufaii hissed, “Get out, now, and don’t come back!”  The young angel named Abhayananda listened, quickly crawling out of the hole to rejoin the other young would-be rescuers. There were sounds of flapping wings and then nothing. Hopefully they’d gotten away without being spotted.  Fortunately for the young angels, the guard’s body was too big to fit through the hole they’d made, especially with the metal plate armor.  It seemed that some of the youngest angels had managed to escape the scene of the battle without being seen. The youngest would have followed behind the fighting units, meaning they hadn’t been on the battlefield when the fight had turned. It was a small mercy that they had been able to escape, but it wouldn’t matter if they threw it away to try to rescue the rest of the rebels.  Dufaii struck his forehead against the stone and whispered, “Don’t you dare come back.” His eyes stung a bit when he said this. And he knew nobody could hear him, but he hoped against everything that the adolescent angels would not try anything like that again.  “I hope that hurt, traitor,” the guard he’d tripped seethed. The angel then stepped on his arm a second time, with less pressure but enough to send another wave of pain from the broken bone in Dufaii’s forearm. Dufaii groaned in agony, writhing on the ground. He spent several minutes like this, breathing forcefully and trying to bear the pain in his arm.  A few hours later, several angels he couldn’t see grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to his feet. One grabbed his arm in the exact place the bone had been broken and began to force him to walk down the tunnel with the pain blinding him. Dufaii was led down a series of torchlit tunnels that eventually grew brighter with more sunlight. Then, faster than he was ready for, he was exposed to the noon sun, right outside an entrance to the mountain tunnels.  Ahead of him was the lake, the dwellings of the mortals, and the Holy of Holies on the far end of the island. With a hand still on his broken arm, he was forced on the long march toward the dwelling place of the Creator.  But he wasn’t alone. To his right was Hades with nearly a dozen guards around her. One of her black wings was torn nearly off. To her right was Ammon, being dragged forward roughly by manacles binding his wrists. Behind, Dufaii could hear thousands of agonized groans and cries.  Orders were barked at them from all sides, and there were sounds of violence. All these sounds were muffled, however, by the haunting rattles of chains dragging the rebel angels through Heaven.  Though Dufaii was conscious for the great march from the mountains to the Holy of Holies, his pain, the theft of his sword, and his grief worked in tandem to play tricks on his mind. He was in and out of the moment. At times, he could think of nothing but the agonizing pain in his arm as a guard twisted it and shoved him forward. At other times, it seemed like nothing around him was real, just a scene passing before his eyes like the passages of a book.  Gradually, the rattling of the chain around him diminished. He, Hades, and Ammon were being separated from the rest of the rebel angels who were being directed into the largest chamber of the Holy of Holies. Then, the three of them were separated from one another and forced into three separate rooms. Dufaii found himself in a small white room that was featureless except for a podium likely meant for a book. Like all the rooms in the Holy of Holies, the room in which he stood was lit by a vibrant light with no evident source, it illuminated all without creating shadows. Inside the room with him was the Archangel Gabriel. He was not as tall as Michael, though he was certainly taller than most other angels. He had dark black skin, was clean-shaven, and bald. He had circles under his eyes that made him look perpetually tired. His wings were jet black, his feathers pruned and pristine. He wore loose-fitting orange robes and was armed with only a shield. When he spoke, it was with a calm tone and deep voice. He said, “Hello, Dufaii.” Dufaii wasn't sure how to respond; he remained quiet.  “You needn’t fear me,” Gabriel said. His disposition was nothing short of friendly and genuine. Of the three Archangels, Gabriel was the one with which Dufaii had had the least amount of interaction. And though he was reputed as the most even-tempered of the Archangels, he was still one of them.  “I attacked the Creator,” Dufaii said, voicing his doubt. “And you crushed my skull.”  “Yes,” Gabriel said and then leaned heavily on the podium. After a moment of thought, he asked, “Did … you know that another Storm was inevitable?”  “I thought we all did,” Dufaii said. “Yes … anyone who has the strength to give the matter thought would, I think,” Gabriel said. He lowered his head into his hands and began to rub his temples. “I forget sometimes … there is a strong denial among the Archangels and the upper echelons of trusted guards, messengers, and scholars. It is highly taboo to speak about such things.” “And you … still didn’t help us,” Dufaii said and shook his head. He couldn’t understand what he was hearing. The Archangels hadn’t actually been in denial about what would happen, they’d fully known and just forbidden the other angels from speaking about it. It seemed like a cruel conspiracy, but then why admit it now? “I know you’re confused,” the Archangel Gabriel said. “You may not believe it, but I worked ceaselessly to find a way to fix the Creator. Everything you see here in the Holy of Holies, all the research Raphael headed in the Library, the wall and the guard the Michael has assembled to keep us safe. We all knew what was coming, and we were working on every end we knew to stop it. I even spoke to the gods … most of whom haven’t even yet been lost to madness. But we couldn’t let panic spread among the populace or the Creator would have known, and a third storm would have doubtlessly triggered earlier than necessary.”  “We almost escaped,” Dufaii said weakly, tears burning in his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to try to understand all this. He just wanted it all to end, to be free from the perpetual fear and rage that followed him every day of his life since the first storm. And he’s been so close. Now … everything was gone. “I tried to convince the Creator to let you go,” Gabriel said, barely above a whisper. “When that didn’t work, I tried to convince him that Michael could handle a few untrained miscreants. But when the Lightbringer was released … the Creator became more terrified than I have ever seen them.” Dufaii hung his head at this. “But …” the Archangel Gabriel said and finally stood straight. “Something happened it that battle. I don’t know if it was because the Creator saw that most of the angels were still loyal to them, or if it was something to do with the storms being used against them, or if it was because they survived the event they feared most. But they … he’s different now. He walked back to the Holy of Holies after the battle. He gave orders for what was to be done. The aura of tension, like two tectonic plates pressing against one another, is settled. The earthquake has happened, and it has passed.” “But what about my people!” Dufaii said, trying to shout but not managing through his exhaustion and the emotions welling inside him. “They were dragged here like the humans drag along war captives. The guard have no understanding, only hatred for us. And the Creator may not want to lash out with a third storm, but that doesn’t mean he is suddenly better. He will destroy us.” “I'm not going to let that happen,” Gabriel said, looking at him with a very grave expression. “It's going to be difficult, but I think I can convince the Creator to grant all of you pardon for your actions. What I need to accomplish that is for you to make a case for yourself when you speak on behalf of your people before the court.” “Court?” Dufaii asked. “You … you have the wrong person. You need to talk with Hades about this. She speaks for the people. I trained them and I fought, but I cannot speak on their behalf. None would want me to. And with everything … it’s clear that I cannot make the right decisions for them.” “There’s no time,” Gabriel said with a shake of his head. “Each of us was told to speak with one of you about what would happen today. We Archangels will plea for mercy to the Creator and to the guard on your behalf. Hades and Ammon will be told that the best thing they can do is to remain silent and accept the terms of mercy presented to them by the Creator.” “Terms?” Dufaii asked. Gabriel nodded. “Yes … my proposition is that all angels who participated in the rebellion will be marked for their sins against the Creator and be called the Redeemed, angels saved but for his mercy. They will be expected to serve in places where you can be supervised and slowly regain Heaven’s trust.” “No…” Dufaii muttered, shaking his head and muttering desperately to himself. “And even so, it is not enough,” Gabriel continued, twisting his face into a sickened expression. “The Lightbringer will need to be held responsible for your fall. The court needs a scapegoat, a target for their wrath … once again. This time, I will not allow us to be so cruel as to let them live. They will be destroyed for all of your crimes.” “We'd be slaves,” Dufaii said, his clenched fist now shaking. “Heaven would treat us like lesser creatures, demanding that we grovel for the rest of eternity. And the Lightbringer … they gave their sanity for ours. They saved us all, loyalists included! And Heaven wants them dead?”  “Remember, Heaven still doesn’t know what the Lightbringer did. This is, perhaps, the only reason they didn’t all follow in your rebellion, only to be destroyed by a Third Storm. The Creator is the one who knowingly wants this … and he’s feeding off their wrath,” Gabriel said with a heavy sigh. “Hades and Ammon will be told it is their only option. And maybe it is.” Dufaii looked up at him and turned his head. Gabriel walked over so he could again look him in the eye. “Remember, the Lightbringer as they were would have gladly become a scapegoat and been destroyed to save his people, especially given the knowledge of what they would become. And the Lightbringer’s current existence is worse than death.” “And … that’s it?” Dufaii said. He couldn’t believe that this would be their fate. To be slaves while the Lightbringer was butchered. To be forever marked, humiliated, and subjugated to barbaric treatment by the guard and likely all angelkind. “That’s why what I’m telling you is so important,” Gabriel said, a vein sticking out more pronouncedly now from his temple. He didn’t look angry, however. He looked desperate … desperate to be understood because … he was no longer in control of the situation. Nobody was, not even their mad tyrant, and maybe none of them ever had been. Yet the Archangel was trying … trying to control this one piece of how things would play out. Trying to live out his role as caretaker to his kind while the world was clearly burning around him.  Gabriel continued, “It’s not my place to make that decision for your people. If you want the angels who followed you to have any choice in what becomes of them, you must lead them in begging for the Creator’s mercy.”  The weight of it was enough to make Dufaii drop his head. There was an urgent knock at the door. Gabriel sighed heavily, stood, and walked toward the door. As he opened it to leave, he said, “I wish there had been another way to satiate the Creator's paranoia than to sacrifice a third of my brothers and sisters to his wrath. But, sometimes, there are no right answers. Please … brother … make the right choice for our people.” Then he left and closed the door behind him. -O- “How do you live with yourself when you find you must play the role of villain to take care of the ones you love?  In one of my rare sabbaticals, I once became the guardian angel of an aspiring saint. Like so many other saints, he had been parentified at an early age–forced by her parents to take the role of parent of the family. She cared for her siblings, she counseled her parents, and she took the place of mediator between them and the younger children.  The unfortunate truth in those situations is that children–even aspiring saints–are still human. To spare the younger siblings the wrath of their parents and far more horrific abuse, she would keep her younger siblings in line by abusing them in smaller ways. She would smack them, demean them, and strategically select their most dangerous behavior to expose to her parents for more severe punishments. Even so, she enjoyed none of it. She lived perpetually on the razor’s edge of anxiety and depression. It was more than once I had to intervene on her behalf so that she did not successfully end her own life. The stress of the abusive situation her parents pushed her into was too much for any child to bear. In addition to robbing her of her childhood and any semblance of mental health, it broke her spirit and every inner connection she had to her family. The first chance she got, she fled the home … only to find herself with the first abuser who would take her in her cripplingly low point of self-worth. As for the family, they all descended into a chaos of violence and tragedy without their oldest sister there to play the role of surrogate parent and minor dictator.  Eventually, as a saint, she became a very traumatized but very kind house-mother to other abandoned children. She made a difference there. But her trials at home did not make her stronger. They did not even serve her family in the long run, they did nothing of value. So was there a point in any of it, other than keeping her from killing herself in what chaos her home would have been had she not controlled it? Likewise … was there any use in what I did during the Fall? Or was I just a scared little miniature tyrant trying desperately to temporarily subdue an inevitable storm, all just so that I could breathe?” -another excerpt from “Reminiscences of the Fall” by the Archangel Gabriel -O- When Dufaii felt himself being moved again, he realized that his eyes had been more than closed. While angels did not sleep, his mind had shut down for a while. Now he was awakened as guards grabbed him by either shoulder and forced him to his feet. He was ushered out of the room with a podium and into the bright, white hall. Ahead of him he saw several guards pushing Hades. Behind him, he sensed Ammon along with many more of the guard.  As Dufaii walked toward the auditorium, he noticed something slowly changing. He became a little more alert … like the missing piece of his soul was not far off. Was it possible that his sword was nearby?  Dufaii, Ammon, and Hades were led into a stairwell when they got a brief look at their brethren being pulled by their chains into a doorway, there on the first floor. The three were led up a long series of stairs. It was strenuous, given Dufaii’s injuries, even more than the walk from the mountain. He felt his muscles begin to burn, and his body ached with every jarring step up. Even though his energy was returning, he was in no condition to fight or escape. It was only enough that he would be fully alert when his people were judged … and this seemed even more cruel to him than his previous condition.  Finally at the top of the stairs, Dufaii was led through a doorway into the auditorium. It was a massive dome, large enough to fit every angel in Heaven with still some space leftover. He found that he, Hades, and Ammon were standing on a massive platform, much higher than the ground. From his vantage point, he could see angels standing on large stone stairs below him. The rebel angels were crowded in the center of the room, unarmed and mostly wounded. Black blood stained much of the white stone upon which they stood. On the edges of the room stood the guard, weapons still drawn and at the ready.  In the remaining space, on the other side of the guard, many more angels stood with confused and concerned expressions. These were the builders, some scholars, and other angels that had neither been part of the rebellion nor the guard. A few of the rebel pre-adolescent angels filled the ranks of the confused watchers, meaning they hadn’t been discovered. A few angels in this section tried to talk with their loved ones who were wounded in shackled. Of course, the guard did not allow anyone through to do so.  Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael stood on a second platform that was parallel to the one which Dufaii, Ammon, and Hades stood on. Between them was the highest platform, upon which stood the Creator in the same smoke-covered battle form as before. He seemed attentive to a discussion among the Archangels, as their faces revealed the passion with which each spoke.  Dufaii thought about trying to read their eyes or lips to see what was being said, but their backs were turned to avoid this. So instead, he closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on what he would say when called upon. His thoughts in the auditorium were clearer than what they had been even in the stairway.  Slowly, Dufaii felt his emotions of rage and panic joined by coherent thought. This situation was not over, he realized, there was still some element of choice yet to be made. All his despair and self-loathing were still inside him and a part of him wanted to seek them out for comfort. But the thinking part of him struggled against the part that wanted to give in. He couldn’t give in to them, not yet.  The Archangels suddenly stopped their discussion and turned to face the angels below. Michael hobbled forward, looking like a shell of himself. Raphael shook her head almost imperceptibly.  Gabriel, however, kept calm as he faced the condemned and said, “The Creator, in his mercy, has decided to forgive any angel willing to fall on their knees, plead for forgiveness, and renounce the Lightbringer. He asks that the leaders of the rebellion prepare their responses first. Every angel will then be called upon one by one and marked as redeemed should they choose to accept this amazing grace.” While his words were filled with euphemisms and praises, his tone was dry. It didn’t quite sound insincere, but neither did he seem particularly taken with the decision that had been made. Dufaii shuddered at the words none the less. He held on to the only thing he could, his memories. In particular, he remembered what the Lightbringer had once told him. No matter the situation, he had a choice. He could give in to his self-pity and check out of the situation for good. He could give in and slowly try to make things better for his kind as time went on. Or he could try to fight … for what would probably be the last time. No matter what, those choices remained. Those choices always remained. And he could never allow himself to forget it.  “Hades, Ammon, and Dufaii, what say you to the Creator’s Mercy?” the Archangel Raphael asked.  Hades and Ammon looked at one another for a moment. Psychic thoughts passed between them as they were finally able to speak for the first time.  It was a rapid series of messages, more than Dufaii could intercept. So, instead of waiting for them, he cleared his throat to get their attention. Then he whispered into their thoughts, “I am not the leader of these people … but I do have something to say if you will allow it. I swear I will speak only for myself.” Ammon looked unsure but Hades gave him a particular look. She saw something as she always seemed to. She looked at Ammon and whispered something. Then, the two of them looked at Dufaii again and nodded. Dufaii nodded his appreciation to them and then stepped to the edge of the platform. He looked at all the angels below, feeling their mix of terror, rage, and confusion, rising. They were like pockets of air that were all different in scent, humidity, and temperature.  Dufaii opened his mouth to speak but his voice cracked from the fear. He cleared his throat, took several deep breaths, and then tried again. “What I have to say goes for me and me alone. My brothers and sisters who fought for the almost impossible hope of freedom and safety will likely accept the Creator's mercy. And after all they have endured, I can only respect them–whatever they choose. However … I cannot stay quiet while this court treats them like loathsome scum. This is not justice … and it’s not mercy.” Dufaii felt the air become silent around him and half-expected to be cut off. But it seemed that the angels were either too stunned to speak or else wanted to watch him dig his own grave. So, he took a deep breath and faced the Creator with a loathing glare. That being which had tormented him and everyone else he knew.  Oddly, Dufaii found that it was not like looking at the guard, but rather like looking at the savage animals he’d seen back when angels had traveled freely to Earth. His eyes emitted rage that masked … fear. It was like an animal, no more. This was not the Creator he’d met … the kindly maternal being that had gifted a piece of her love for plants and the mysteries they held.  Upon seeing this, Dufaii could not help but soften his loathing into pity mixed with disgust. “Do you … even remember her?” Dufaii asked with a weak voice as he faced the warrior deity. There was no visible response from the Creator. Just a flare of the anger that was already there, the rage that blocked Dufaii’s words and any impact they might have had. Of course, if his words could make the Creator vulnerable then they were a threat. And all the Creator was an animal clawing at everything that moved because it feared death. Because it did not understand that the thing killing it was inside itself.  Dufaii shook his head and looked down. He thought about the days of his childhood sifting through every plant he could find, tasting, cutting, grinding, collecting, and writing everything he knew about each one. He said, “One of the first things I wanted to ask you about were the seeds of plants. There were two primary types of seedlings that I noticed. Those that fly, and those that fall at the mother plant's feet.” The Creator said nothing. Dufaii peered at him, “Once, I think you wanted us to grow and thrive and fly. Maybe that's why you gave us the ability to fly … though there’s no logical reason we should be able to. All the same, you wanted us to fly.” The silence in the court was absolutely electric. Dufaii, while still feeling all the effects of his trauma, felt like he had stepped out of his own body and brain. As if, for just a second, he was the brave hero he imagined his people deserved.  “No longer do you want us to be seeds that fly. You want us to suffocate under your shadow. I didn’t really understand before … but it was a mistake to merely try to escape with my people. That was never what the real you wanted …. what Mother wanted. They made the Lightbringer with the ability to fight back against you and all your angels combined more powerful than you.”  The room was silent; all the mixed pockets of air were no longer varied and scattered. There was only one frigid and deeply humid aura that cut through the room. It was terror from every angel watching below. Not of Dufaii … but of what the Creator would do. Already, the spikes of rage had become more than just occasional flared in the Creator’s eyes. There was a pulse of them now … all directed at him.  Well that was fine by Dufaii. The Lightbringer had given his life to appease the wrath of this monster. The true Creator had sped up their sleep to destroy it. His would be a small sacrifice to do the same.   Dufaii wasn't going to let the Lightbringer be the scapegoat for this monster’s wrath. This was an animal that had remained unchecked and even fueled by the guard and so many other angels. Even the Archangels had let this go on for their devotion and fear of it. And while perhaps he understood their intentions, he could not help but despise them for their cowardice. Dufaii looked at the Archangels and then faced the guard. Then he said, “The rest of you demand that we debase ourselves to satiate this pathetic monster’s wrath as well as your own. All because we hoped for something more than slavery. You are cowards and opportunistic abusers. Whether in this moment you feel happy, fearful, vindicated, or apathetic … you elect to do nothing as your family is condemned. We’ll be killed, tormented, or imprisoned and you will say it is our fault. You demonize us because you find yourself in the position of having a little more power than us. And you try to assuage your own guilt, saying this monster can do whatever it wants and call it good. But neither power, nor law, nor our love for the true Creator who once was determines what is right. Even the true Creator would have no more right to abuse his creation than the humans who abuse their children–and is just as despicable for doing so. The gods are not the evil threat to you, nor are we who rebelled. This heinous beast is the only threat … and all of you are the evil that allows it.”  Finally, Dufaii spat in the direction of the guard, shook his head, and stepped back to show that he was finished. However, Hades took his arm and stepped both of them forward once again. She said, “Dufaii speaks for me as well. I would rather be destroyed for daring to be free than to apologize and suffer the indignity of this pathetic creature’s ‘redemption’ forever.” Ammon joined them, “We will proudly stand and die as demons; a term that we will define, not any of you.” With that, the black curtain of their sign of rebellion fell over his eyes. But it was not a brief flash as before. He allowed the black to remain, to overtake the gold completely as he faced the angels.  Hades joined him and made her eyes completely black. Dufaii then also turned his eyes black in the symbol of his people’s rebellion. The guard and the loyalists among the free angels began to jeer, shouting and threatening in such chaos that nothing specific could be heard.  The rebel angels, however … the demons … they stood in unison and turned their eyes black. Among the free angels, several made their eyes black and forced their way through the guard to stand with their new brethren. This included a dozen of Raphael's followers in blue robes. Even a guard dropped her weapon, transformed her eyes, and stepped among the rebels. “You reject my mercy!” The Creator shouted, his voice booming and reverberating so strongly that it shook the entire room. He turned around to his platform where he took hold of something that hadn’t been visible before from where the rest of the angels stood below. It was the unconscious form of the Lightbringer, still drenched in her own black blood. The Creator dangled the Lightbringer from her ankle and dropped her off the platform. Her body struck the rock below with a sickening splat and was further disfigured from the impact. The Creator shouted, “You will all suffer and repent until only dust comes from your mouths. And even then, no mercy will be found for you.”  There were more screams of terror from below as the angels and demons watched the Creator grab something else. It was a massive V-shaped wooden bin like what had been used to carry logs before they’d been stripped for construction. But when the Creator tossed it below, a shower of arms, legs, wings, and thousands of weapons cascaded upon the condemned. Countless demons were cut and impaled, even many of the guard. It was only the effort of other guard angels grabbing their fallen companions out of the way that they were not crushed along with the demons by the wooden bin itself or by the small explosion of splinters when it hit the ground.  Then, the room began to shake … just like the earthquakes in the mortal realm. Those demons still standing fell to their feet. A few tried to take flight but were cut down by the members of the guard who swooped upon them, landing kicks to their bodies and merciless strikes with their weapons.  With a great sound, the floor cracked and opened like the jaws of a monster. It began to swallow demons by the thousands.  Dufaii felt his footing disintegrate to rubble beneath him. He fell helplessly as the platform upon which he stood collapsed. He tried to reach for something to grab, but everything was crumbling and falling with him and upon him. The last he saw and felt was the impact of white marble crushing his body and slamming his head against another piece of rubble as he fell into the abyss.  -O- “It is not my place to question the Creator. So I can only confess to … the personal flaw of doubt in my limited perspective of things.  It is in that light that I confess that I do not understand the extent of the horror that the Creator allowed in that pocket of pure death that he sentenced our fallen brethren into. That pocket had only ever meant to collect the lifeless souls of those who rejected life itself. By this, I do not mean souls who took their own life or found the world to be distasteful. Those souls, like all others, found their way either to the gods of their choosing or to Heaven to be with the Creator who cherished them.  I mean the souls who saw life and sought to destroy it with a level of sadism that even mental illness could not account for. Souls who, with their eyes opened, snuffed out every bit of goodness they could find through abuse and murder. The only way to keep such souls from being lost to the universe–propelled away with the same exact force that kept all other lost souls tethered to the Creator–was to create a vacuum where nothing of the Creator’s life-force could be found. A place of death–perfect for the eternal rest of corrupted souls.  Such a place was never meant for our kind … and … it’s hard for me not to see a punishment like that as anything but sadistic torture. Of course, this just shows the limits of my own understanding. I trust that the Creator can forgive my flawed nature.” -an unredacted diary entry from the Archangel Raphael, recovered as she underwent a period of psychiatric care shortly after the Fall