The Colour of Your Heart

Beelzebub stared at his hands. His body had failed him. He had failed.

‘Are you quitting, son?’ Satan asked beyond the Red fog.

Wild-eyed, Beelzebub searched, but it was too late, the Red was already encircling him. The will to regain control was as fleeting as a dream, as his head pulsed and his hands trembled. Heaves and groans took over. ‘Father! I can’t… Wh—what’s happening?’ Beelzebub fell to his kneed and held his head as if his hands could stop the incessant pounding.

The double doors of the hall flew open, and the boy rushed in: Lucious. Mammon, his wolf servant, followed, trying his best to keep the wailing child from the fallen demon, but it proved hard to exercise care when attempting to control another young demon. Still, approaching Beelzebub in that state would be the closest thing to suicide.

Beelzebub could not hear his younger brother’s pleas over his own. The pain was too loud and the Red too thick.

And then his skin cracked. Writhing on the floor as if on fire, Beelzebub’s inevitable corrosion began. Blood seeped from the cracks on his skin, and his clothes ripped apart from new muscles that tore old bones. His hands twisted in unnatural ways, with his fingers elongating into claws with thick, sharp nails, shredding apart the old ones. His mouth widened, and his teeth fell on the floor giving room to sharp fangs. Tormented screams turned into monstrous growls. Beelzebub’s eyes, once a striking blue, bulged and bled into a vicious red. Amidst the squelching sounds of his metamorphosis, the stench of blood and raw flesh overtook the chamber.

Mammon watched in horror as he clutched his young master close, trying and failing to protect the child’s eyes from the monstrous sight that was once Beelzebub, the celebrated prince of Hell. Lucious’ stare did not break, and through choked sobs, he called Beelzebub’s name, as if his brother’s name alone could end this torture.

No one could stop this.

Satan drew near Beelzebub, his heavy hooves loud enough to break through Beelzebub’s agonising moans. The devil gazed down at his eldest son, his expression unreadable as the Red power continued its corrosive work. At the sight of his father, Lucious stopped crying. Expectant and desperate, the boy flashed a nervous smile at Mammon. Satan was the ultimate ruler of Hell; creator and lord of the Colours. It fell upon him to halt this madness. Only him.

Mammon nodded with a short reassurance, but he didn’t let go of Lucious. Even Beelzebub, too far gone in his misery, looked up at his father. The hand that reached for his father showed the last remnants of a sound mind. It begged for forgiveness; it spoke of a lesson learnt. Beelzebub had demanded the Test too prematurely, and failed it. Now he knew. Now it was time to end his suffering.

With an unseen and fluid motion, Satan struck. A heavy thud reverberated through the chamber, and Lucious’ hopeful smile contorted into paralysing dismay. The boy recoiled as if his eyes deceived him.

A split second went by before Beelzebub’s horrific howls cut the air. The former prince coiled on the floor, clutching his bleeding thump and wriggled away from his father. The Lord of Hell stood tall, appreciating his own arm he had sharpened into a blade capable of slicing the flesh of another demon. He took pride in never resorting to weapons other than his own body.

Mammon fell back, words to calm his young prince failing him. The terror unfolding in front of him must have completely captivated him as it was in that moment that Lucious broke free from his grip and ran toward the bloody scene. For a boy to shake a wolf’s grip with such ease was otherwise unthinkable. By the time Mammon found his footing, Lucious was already in front of Beelzebub and facing Satan.

‘Move, boy,’ Satan commanded.

‘Please, stop this, father! I beg you!’

Satan rose an eyebrow. ‘You… beg?’

‘You're the only one who can stop this. He is my brother—your son!’ Lucious cried.

‘My firstborn with your mother. A disappointment. Can you not see, the Red has claimed him. Get away from there. You’re disgusting me with this pleading.’

‘No! No!’ Lucious shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘You can save him. Only you can bring him back!’

‘Bring him back? He failed the Test. He is unfit to rule. There is no bringing him back.’ Satan spat the words. ‘Why do I have to explain myself to you?’

Lucious didn’t move, except to wipe some of his overflowing tears. It was all hopeless.

‘Look at you,’ Satan said, pausing as he examined his youngest son. ‘Soft. Weak-willed. Capricious, chasing after theories with the elders and delusions in the human world. Your mother has protected you long enough. Now you show weakness in front of me?’

Sensing the spreading danger, Mammon dashed towards his young charge. But Satan’s red eyes rested on his unyielding youngest, who did not let his words deter him from his pleas.

The moment lasted enough for the beast to slash Lucious’ back and leap away. Satan gazed at the creature that was once his son, but did not give chase, while Mammon clutched his young prince before he fell on the floor. The silver wolf called for Lucious as the young demon lay senseless in his arms.

The beast halted by the doors that would lead him out of the chamber. It snarled with savage energy, and with its remaining arm it clamped its bleeding stump. It jerked its head, as if thoughts and focus eluded it until its gaze rested on the young demon prince in Mammon’s arms. ‘Lu… Luci...’ it said, a broken sound from a mouth that no longer could form their words. The creature howled instead, a long, harrowing roar that saw Mammon clutch his prince closer to his chest. And then Beelzebub, the monster, was gone.

Satan looked down at Mammon. ‘Wolf, this boy chose you as his mentor, did he not?’

‘He did, Your Highness. An honour to fulfil until my final breath,’ Mammon said, bowing his head over Lucious.

The devil’s red eyes became slits. ‘He is weak. I cannot afford another feeble son.’

Mammon kept his head lowered and ignored the tremble in his hands until he heard the devil’s hooves moving away.

‘Make sure he gets rid of it,’ Satan said. ‘It’s not just his mother, everyone coddles him. It must end now. With Beelzebub gone and Leviathan in the sorry state he’s in, this one will have to prove himself worthy. There can be no exceptions to the Test.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Mammon said, clutching the unconscious Lucious closer.

Once Satan left the room, Mammon smelled the blood before he saw it. He felt the wetness in his hands. His hands still trembled for reasons he couldn’t grasp, for his worst nightmare had not come to fruition. He could feel boys’ heartbeat and hear his breathing. Mammon turned the boy over and spotted the long wounds his brother had inflicted. They were already closing, though they still looked deep and raw.

Lucious stirred, and before he opened his eyes, tears ran down his pale cheeks. ‘Mammon…’

‘Try not to speak, Lucious. Focus, call your out your White while I take you to the elders for further healing.’

‘I have to bring him back,’ Lucious said, his voice breaking between sobs. Never had he felt this tightness in his chest; this pressure that burrowed so deep it saw no end.

‘Do you mean Beelzebub?’ Mammon asked.

A dazed expression settled in, as if Lucious had exhausted his tears, and the ache was dulling. In truth, the thought that would grip young Lucious’ life for the next ten years was only solidifying.

Mammon held him closer and said, ‘We will certainly try, master, but first—’.

Lucious’ hand clasped Mammon’s collar. ‘You don’t understand. I have to bring him back,’ he said, with a surge that took Mammon aback. In the same moment, Mammon thought he saw a flash of Red in Lucious’ eyes.

Impossible. The youth had just come into his horns.

‘Lucious, please calm down. Let us leave this chamber, the Red in here is too thick and it may affect you in ways we cannot control—’.

‘It’s my fault! I did this to Beel. I must make it right,’ Lucious said, his voice laden with grief Mammon wished he could erase.

‘Please don’t say that. How could this be your fault?’

‘We… we talked about him taking the Test, and I pushed him to it. I told him he was ready!’ The child sobbed.

Mammon clenched his teeth. It wouldn’t do any good to share his true thoughts on this Test nonsense, or the prophecies that were tied to it. Not now. ‘Do not say that. Do you not know your own brother? He follows his own thoughts. He took the Test by his own will. Your father will soon realise that Court cannot move forward without its most treasured prince. He will bring him back. Think carefully: What clearer example could your father send if not Beelzebub to caution others against taking the Test prematurely?’

Lucious searched Mammon’s face, searching for hope, but he couldn’t read it in his wolf.

‘Mammon, you must help me. Promise me you will help me get him back.’

And there it was again; the Red in the child’s eyes. This time, coarser. Definitive.

‘Promise me now!’ The boy demanded, his voice warped under the Red’s influence as he squeezed Mammon’s collar. A sharp, unexpected aggression had sprouted within the youngest prince, eclipsing his usual innocence. Mammon was no longer looking at a child.

Mammon lowered his head. ‘Of course, master. My life is yours to use as you wish.’

Lucious loosened his grip and finally succumbed. With little effort, Mammon lifted his master in his arms and left the chamber. Up the stairs that led to the palace, the distant howls of Beelzebub’s rampage sporadically broke the silence. They echoed through the halls as the creature made its mad escape, leaving a trail of blood and slaughter throughout Hell’s first kingdom.

In time, most would let the memory of Beelzebub fade into obscurity, as another of Satan’s offspring swallowed by the power of the Colours.