From Hell with Love (26 page)

“How do you know all of that?” Cadmus asked, and in response Astaroth towered over the reaper before radiant wings burst out of his back, stretching out to their full span.

“Because you talked your mouth off and now
everybody
knows, you fucking animals!” he shouted, the veins on his neck popping out and the feathers of his wings shaking.  The snake coiled around his arm even hissed to mimic his anger.  “I swear, for the first thousand years you humans are no better than fucking
parrots
,” the fallen angel said as he calmed down, turning his back on them and walking to a simple couch before sitting down.  He buried his face in his hands for a moment before bringing his head back up and motioning for them to sit down.

“On the ground?” Niccolo asked, drawing a glare from the golden-eyed demon.

“Do you see anywhere else?  Sit,” he commanded, but Niccolo just waved at the two benches occupied by Marchosias and Phenex.

“What about there?  We can sit wi-” Niccolo offered, but when he looked over at Marchosias, the werewolf growled.  When he looked toward Phenex, the smaller man just shrugged.

“It’s not an uncomfortable floor.”

“One of the
Fallen
wants you to sit,” Astaroth interrupted, his voice filled with annoyance.  “So fucking sit.”  That ended the argument.  Cadmus and Niccolo each sat on the floor, Astaroth sitting above them as he propped up his upper body by laying his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cadmus started, setting his scythe beside him on the floor, “but we’re just anxious to stop this.  Lucifer is in danger.”

“He’s in danger a lot, reaper.  He
is
the Devil,” Astaroth quipped, but Phenex grunted from his perch.

“He’s still young, Astaroth.  They haven’t even done that much damage,” he said, but Astaroth sighed at the plain demon.

“We don’t
know
how much damage they’ve done, that’s the problem.  The Shroud might already be reacting to their so-called investigation,” the white demon said, but Phenex just picked at his nails before looking at the Horsemen.

“Then we’ll deal with it.  It’s not going to hurt to have two Horsemen along for the ride,” Phenex offered, which brought a look of disdain from the fallen.

“Look, I know you have a high opinion of humans…” Astaroth started, but when the little man shook his head, he trailed off.

“Just look at them.  The energy inside them…they’re
not
normal.  We can use that,” Phenex continued as he seemed to stare through Niccolo’s soul.  The leper felt like someone was inside his own head, but what disturbed him most were the flames dancing in the white of the man’s eyes.  There was something different about this former human.

“I don’t…” Astaroth was about to argue, but when he looked at the Horsemen, he finally understood what the unassuming demon was talking about.

“Don’t you see?” Phenex said as he turned to look at Cadmus and smiled.  “As young as they are, they’re already almost as powerful as Marchosias and myself.  If the Shroud does not realize that, if they can’t realize these Horsemen are far more powerful than they should be…”

“So that was Andras’ plan,” Marchosias murmured, but he did not continue.  Astaroth just considered the Horsemen before bringing his left hand up to his chin and running his fingers along his smooth face.

“Do we have to explain it to you?” Astaroth asked, but Cadmus shook his head.  Niccolo was about to raise his voice to ask, but the reaper just set his hand on his ruined arm.

“We can go where you can’t.  The three of you can’t get close to the Shroud, but we’re just…petty humans.  Even if the Shroud already knows about us and is trying to get rid of us, we might be able to surprise him.  If we can use your network, we might actually have the upper hand,” he explained, but the fallen tilted his head and bit his lip.

“Close, really.  There’s not much of a network, though,” he admitted, which made the reaper furrow his brow.

“What do you mean?” Niccolo asked, and immediately the spell around Astaroth broke for him.  Where there had once been a pure and powerful angel, there was now just another denizen of Hell.

“Our little counter group isn’t that large.  We’ve been the target of a lot of feral attacks and that didn’t do anything to help our recruitment.  There’s a reason we’re in hiding, kid,” Astaroth admitted before lifting himself off the couch and walking over to the map of Dis behind him.  “Sitri will help you, that’s for sure, but once you’re out there, our group can’t really help.”

“Why not?” Niccolo asked, forcing Phenex to hang his head and admit their weakness.

“The Shroud is going to know us immediately, even if no one else does.”

“He could shift to something else if he wasn’t so damn proud about his wings,” Marchosias added, which brought the ire of the fallen angel.

“I’m not going to change myself. 
I’m
not ashamed of who I am,” he uttered with disdain, the werewolf's narrowing his eyes to slits.

“Astaroth!” Phenex shouted from his seat, which made the radiant demon look at him.  “
Too far
.”  Astaroth stared at the plain-looking man for a moment, but eventually the anger faded from his expression.  He turned back to the werewolf and his face was filled with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Marchosias,” he said before turning back to the Horsemen, who had gotten to their feet after the conversation had intensified.  “I…can’t risk shifting.  You humans…you can turn into something else and grow, but the Fallen…if we change, it’s a gamble.  Some of us have become stronger, but others have become much weaker.  I can’t risk that, it’s the same reason that Lucifer and Buné and so many others have tried to retain their original forms.  If Lucifer falls…I have to be strong enough to fight whoever brought him down.”

“So that’s what you are to us,” Cadmus said softly, realizing what the fallen was really saying.  Niccolo turned to him and did not even have to ask for an explanation.  The reaper just breathed in deeply and looked at the ground.

“This network of theirs is our back-up plan.  If Lucifer dies, Astaroth wants to be there to pick up the pieces,” the reaper said, but Niccolo started to shake with anger as he turned to face the embarrassed demon.

“So, what you’re saying is you’re going to take over Hell once Scratch is gone.  You’re just as bad as the Shroud,” he said with a grudge, which shocked the fallen angel.  Then the anger came back to his golden eyes.

“Fuck
that
.  I want
nothing
to do with ruling.  Furthermore, how
dare
you imply that I want to kill my brother!  I have always been one of his biggest supporters, even when all of Hell was against him!” he shouted as he walked up to the leper and extended his wings in fury.  This time, however, Niccolo just stared back at him with his good eye.

“Then help
more
, coward,” Niccolo muttered, which caused a wild anger to course through the fallen angel.

“I will
wipe
you from existence!” he shouted before bringing back his arm to strike Niccolo, who had already started forming the handle of his own sword.  Before either person could attack, a wall of flame appeared between them, causing them to fall away from each other.  Niccolo turned slowly to the right to see Phenex covered in red and orange flames licking the walls behind him.  Niccolo could even see wings made of flame bursting out of the man’s back and white-hot anger flowing from his eye sockets, his pupils having completely disappeared.

“Do
not
make me continue,” the man commanded as he looked at the two petulant warriors.  “We are far too few in number to be fighting among ourselves.  Astaroth,” he said before turning to look at the angel that seemed to be far less radiant now, “you know better.  An infant soul should not provoke you like that, especially since the man is clearly just concerned with saving your brother.”

“And you,” he said before snapping his blazing, white-hot eyes toward Niccolo, who was scrambling backward on the floor.  “Do you have a
death wish
?  You have potential, Niccolo, probably more than us, but right now you can’t, on a
good
day, kill Astaroth.  He
could
wipe you from existence.  Do not leap to conclusions, because you’re bad at it.”

At the end of the statement, Phenex waved away the wall of fire burning in the middle of the room and then seemed to draw within himself.  Within moments, the flames around him had disappeared and a simple man stood there, the edges of his robes slightly singed from his antics.  He sighed and looked across the room at the werewolf, who had not moved during the entire display.  Phenex laughed before looking at the fallen angel and the Horsemen.

“We’re all here to help, but unfortunately you can’t depend on us unless everything has already fallen apart.  We don’t want Lucifer to die, Horsemen.  We’re just trying to be prepared if he does.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Niccolo said as he sat on the floor, feeling ashamed after his childish display.  He had not even thought about what Astaroth might be able to do to him.  Niccolo was about to sink further into despair, but soon afterward he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up into Phenex’s kind face.

“Good.  Go home, both of you,” he said before looking at Cadmus to include him in the conversation, “nothing more can be done tonight.  At dawn, just go to the palace, pretend like everything is alright.  If Andras did his part, Sitri will be there to help you with your further education.”

“How do you expect us to sleep?” Niccolo asked, but Astaroth merely laughed.

“You’ll have to try, Niccolo.  The Council of Kings is tomorrow and every soul in Hell depends on you.”

Chapter 8: Past - The Prince of Beggars

Niccolo opened his eye halfway and found that the light of dawn had not yet illuminated his corner of the back alley.  His vision was blurry and he found it difficult to perceive the shape moving around in front of him, but eventually his eye focused to reveal a rat moving among the shadows, squeaking as it sniffed at clumps of mud and dirt.  Niccolo shifted to look upward and gingerly tried to open his left eye.  The skin cracked and peeled at the effort, maimed by the disease that had continually crept up along his arm and past his shoulder, but eventually his left eye focused in the light that reflected off the high walls of his alleyway. 

It was worse than the night before; he could only open it halfway.  Through the weeks of his exile, Niccolo had watched the rot spread to his chest, up to his neck and now to his face.  The tissue around his eye was becoming hard and heavy, and Niccolo knew that eventually the eye would become useless.  The thought depressed him, and he wondered what he would do once that happened.  Although he had kept his hair short as a way of keeping with fashion, now Niccolo felt like he should grow it out to hide the scars and oozing pus, to hide what other people would consider clear evidence of his sins.

The beggar slid upward and then put his back to the wall before watching the rat scurrying around.  He could empathize with the animal, but there was no place for empathy in his new world.  As silent as he could, Niccolo grabbed the blade he had stolen from Camilla’s father and held it ready.  He was about to strike when the rat turned to him and squeaked, not realizing the danger Niccolo presented.  When it came forward, investigating his boot and sniffing, Niccolo breathed out heavily.  It continued to walk toward him and when it reached his scarred wrist, it looked up at him with black eyes.

This creature looking at him should have been Niccolo’s breakfast, but suddenly the beggar could not bring himself to end the animal’s life.  He had been prepared to ignore the thoughts of compassion in his mind, but Niccolo found that his willpower had been taken from him.  Just as Niccolo had scrounged around the underbelly of Firenze, this rat was likewise only looking for food.  Niccolo was not so high and mighty to refuse a meal presented to him, he had already ate a number of the rat’s brethren, but this particular rodent looking up at him inspired empathy he could not afford.

His moral choice was soon made for him, because after a moment the rat looked down and bit his wrist, smelling the dried blood and pus which leaked from his maimed skin.  The pain caused Niccolo to flail his wounded arm around, the rat still attached with its teeth caught on the fabric of his bandages.  Only after he flung his arm toward the other end of the alley did the rodent lose its hold and go flying.  Niccolo was about to curse the thing before it scrambled away, taking all his sympathy with it.  He would have to remember that the animal was just another meal; that to the rat,
he
was just another source of food.

Niccolo set about wrapping the bandages around his head.  Until his hair grew out or until his illness miraculously disappeared, Niccolo would just have to cover himself so that his fellow Fiorentini would not see the lesions on his left side.  The act itself was slightly painful, as the leprosy had spread to his hand, the skin cracking as he was forced to bend the joints of his fingers.  Though it seemed slightly irrational to wrap his head in bandages every day, Niccolo wanted to appreciate his eyesight for as long as he would have it.  In the back of his mind, he knew that it would not be long before his eyelid would not move again.

Niccolo tied off the end of his makeshift covering and then lifted up the hood of his cloak, a grimy, dusty brown thing, effectively covering any feature that would allow people from his former life to recognize him.  His left arm, dressed in bandages he had ceased to wash regularly, was hidden behind the long sleeve of a robe he had stolen from a monastery.  He had come to them for guidance and they had driven him away because of the plague on his soul.  However, Niccolo had come to a realization very early on in his exile.  If there was a plague on his soul, it was only because God had decided to plague his body and mark him as a villain.

And if that was the case, he would just have to play the part.