The Soul on Fire

“Heaven has chosen its next prophet. He has gained the loyalty of many and he is close to becoming a leader to the mortals.”

Asmodeus regarded Lucifer with mild interest – only half listening to the news about this so-called ‘savior.’ It wasn’t the first time mankind had found itself a noble leader, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I want him for myself,” Lucifer continued – a dark smile curling his black lips. His red eyes shined brightly, conveying his excitement as he unfurled yet another plot to undo one of Heaven’s projects. “You will coerce him to do my bidding.”

Asmodeus lifted a brow and crossed his arms over his broad, muscled chest. It had been too long since he last ventured out into the mortal realm. Mankind was already well on its way to self-destruction and hadn’t needed him to push things along for a while. If Lucifer was asking him to surface, then he was more afraid of this prophet than he was letting on.

“What makes this human any different than the others? They all fall eventually – even when they can’t be corrupted.” Of course, Asmodeus knew that Lucifer knew this, but his curiosity got the better of him. The humans had had many prophets stand up and lead them toward the light, but none had ever succeeded. The weaker ones were easily swayed and pulled away from their mission of peace. The more resilient ones often ended up dead – their lives meeting a grisly end at the hands of some weaker fool that Asmodeus himself had commanded.

“He is strong,” Lucifer said, leaning forward in his throne and resting his elbows on his knees. His large, leathery wings stretched above him and he curled his hands into fists – his jagged claws digging into his palms. His horns curled from his forehead – growing longer and their points becoming deadlier as his anger rose. “I want you to give this one special attention, Asmodeus. I have no doubt you will succeed.”

“Very well,” the demon relented – though admittedly he was not eager to be among the weaklings that roamed the earth. He gave Lucifer a final glare – boring his yellow eyes into the other man’s face– letting him know just how unimpressed he was at being ordered around.

The Devil might be a prince of Hell but Asmodeus was a king. He commanded Hell’s demons and had earned his place on the throne. Lucifer often forgot they were equals in this realm. The original fallen angel was still quite arrogant and narcissistic. He seemed to let slip from his mind that he didn’t rule this realm alone. He commanded a legion of fallen angels that did his bidding, but Asmodeus reigned over every demon species that crawled through the desolate wasteland they called their home.

He had better things to do than to corrupt a mere mortal so that Satan could cross another name off the list of heavenly plans he had thwarted. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself and turned to exit the black throne room of the Devil’s castle – his hooves clicking against the obsidian granite as he went.

“Asmodeus.” The Prince’s voice rang with that authoritative tone, giving the demon pause. He glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge him. “It is not just the mortal we are up against.”

The King of Demons straightened to his full height and turned – his eyes glowing a bright yellow and smoke blowing from his nose. “Go on.”

Satan’s lips peeled back, revealing his short fangs as an eerie grin spread across his features. “He has an angel.”