1
Long, long ago...
“The... what?” Lucifer subtly gripped the armrests of his throne to stay seated while Azazel grinned. It wasn’t by any means a pleasant sight on the face of the Fallen Prince of Greed as he motioned dismissively toward standing by him willowy figure. A female, clearly frightened, as her uncanny emerald eyes darted nervously between her master and the King of Demons.
“A djinn, Lamp,” Azazel repeated, sneering when the woman dressed in naught but torn rags lowered her gaze. Lucifer watched her for a moment, swallowing around the bile rising in the back of his throat, before he again looked toward his once brilliant brother. No more, as Azazel’s dead, dark eyes lacked all that once made their Archangel siblings awed by his brilliance. Nothing but cold and ruthless darkness stared back at Lucifer from the foot of his throne. “It took me a while and some... drastic tweaks, mind you, but surely even you can see the benefits of such a creature, yes? When bound, one wouldn’t find a more eager...”
“...bound?” Lucifer’s voice carried none of the dismay that filled his chest. None, while this pitiful creature raised her eyes toward her master with an expression of heartbreak on her pretty face. Shaded by the luscious locks as green as her horizontally slit eyes, there was no missing the resignation on her face. Not for him. Lucifer’s fingers clenched spasmodically as the edges of his true shape shifted under his skin with mounting rage.
“Like I said,” Azazel scowled, which did no favor to the twisted features of the once beautiful Archangel. “They’re driven to imprint on more valuable individuals and serve them. Not unlike our lesser once did in Heaven,” he sneered toward the female again, and she looked under her dirty feet. Her slender shoulders sagged, and she curled in as if trying to seem smaller. Her delicate frame shook despite the balmy heat of the audience hall of Pandemonium. And the longer he looked toward her, the sharper edges of spikes scraped under Lucifer’s humanoid shape.
Keeping his expression wholly devoid of emotion, Lord of the Damned leaned forward in his seat, narrowing his chocolate eyes toward the demon he no longer could recognize as one of his brothers.
“Can they choose whom they imprint on, then, Azazel?” His voice was smooth but lacking any of his usual smug confidence.
“Of course not!” The Fallen scoffed, then motioned toward the female again with a wave of his hand. She didn’t look up this time, only flinched at the harsh tone. “That would defeat the whole point! Did the Servants choose their task, brother?”
Lucifer carefully put his hands together in his lap, lacing their fingers as he hummed in the back of his throat.
My hubris wrought this, ran through his head as he studied Azazel’s expectant expression. This is my price for the Fall. Watching my once beautiful brothers and sisters turn into... this.
Lucifer thought that his chalice of regrets was full by now, and once more, he couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Why are you showing her to me?” he finally said even softer, hoping it would cover the way his voice resounded with a second undertone. “What made you believe I would approve this... project, Azazel, when I led the fucking Rebellion to break the leash of Heaven,” It wasn’t true, never was, but that white lie was enough to break through the smug satisfaction on the Prince’s face. “And to celebrate our freedom, you created slaves?” As his voice rose, there was no missing its dual resonance.
The blast of power was swift and merciless, sending Azazel sprawling across the black marble of the hall. Lucifer didn’t move; only his massive black wings were half-materialized and spread behind his back. But when the woman whimpered pitifully and ran to her ‘master’s’ side, Lucifer tasted the true damnation at the back of his tongue.
“Get out of my sight,” he hissed, standing up from his throne. He fisted his hands beside his sides to hide their trembling. If the woman didn’t plant herself between them as Azazel scrambled to his feet with a groan, the King would love nothing more than to erase his once beloved brother out of Hell’s plane, even if Prince of Greed couldn’t understand the insult of his creation.
“Lucifer,” Azazel tried, carelessly shoving the female aside until she fell by his feet with a tiny noise. “You have to see reas...”
“I had seen enough,” he snarled and dropped his glamour. Now, Prince of Greed whimpered, shielding his eyes as he backed toward the massive door of the audience hall. The dark edges, multiplying and shifting furiously, settled, and Lucifer restored his secondary shape only once he was alone.
A breath he didn’t know he was holding left him in a rush. He fell back on the seat of his throne and covered his face with his hands. His thoughts ran to the gorgeous, willowy creature, and the noise that left his chest sounded suspiciously like a strangled sob.
“Does your punishment have no end, Father?” Lucifer dropped his arms, sagged against the seat, and helplessly raised his eyes up, though he saw nothing of his surroundings—nothing but the glimmer of emerald eyes that would surely create new nightmares to haunt him.
A few hundred years later…
“And don’t get up!” He was sneered at when a foot landed square between Asmodai’s shoulder blades, nailing him down to the mud puddle. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give his half-brother the satisfaction as the limb pushed harder, shoving the air out of his chest. “Pathetic djinn mutt.”
Asmodai dug his fingers in the wet dirt around his shoulders, bracing as much as he could under the pressure. Until another limb found the back of his head and pushed, forcing him to swallow an involuntary gulp of muddy liquid.
“Drink up, Mod,” his other half-brother laughed, fisted his hand in Asmodai’s green hair, and pushed harder. He choked, but his pride didn’t allow him to make a noise. “Pah, as boring as always,” he heard scoffed above him as the pressure let up. A kick against his side forced his body to roll over, and he blinked to get the mud out of his eyes. Two older, much bigger than him boys leaned over him and laughed. “Not so pretty now, hm?”
Hilarious, ran through his head when they walked off, joining the others across the courtyard. Pride? What’s there to be proud of, exactly?
He heaved, sat up, and pulled his knees against his chest, glaring daggers at his oppressors. The burn in his chest made his hand shake as he wiped his face with a disgusted grunt. Asmodai watched them laugh through his wet lashes, pointing back at him. Watched them as his insides clenched with helpless fury.
He was small and delicate. Slender and lithe compared to their natural bulk and strength. He was prey to their predator, and every fucking day was a lesson meant to show him his place.
The very bottom of his own private Hell.
He seethed, watching them as his hands rolled in fists. For all, he was nothing but a weak, pathetic half-djinn mutt, and nothing ever could change that. Nothing could fill that bottomless pit inside him, aching to make them all pay.
Nothing... unless he got better. All of them were dumber than rocks filling the yard of their Sire’s palace. He couldn’t compete against them with strength, but he knew he was faster. More dexterous and clever. If the next time he played the prey they expected, and lured them to the lake of lava behind the palace?
Asmodai grinned as he slowly stood up and headed toward the building across the palace’s entrance, pretending to limp as his thoughts ran a mile ahead.
He was already scheming.
