Lucifer's Odyssey

  ***

  Lucifer pulled his brown woolen hood farther down his face as the crowd pressed his brother and uncle closer together. The demon mob marched past Ebih Hill and made their way toward the gathering in the main park, organized by the deans of Chaos University. A college student with a megaphone kept the demons as boisterous as possible and encouraged new recruits.

   

  “Oh Eranos, you crazy git,

  The Council’s long since dead.

  Luke took your arm, you little crap,

  And now we want your head!”

   

  A young girl giggled as her mother encouraged her to shout the lines.

  Sariel chuckled. “I really love this guy.”

  “He’s certainly bold,” Batarel agreed.

  Lucifer stared at the tornados above Ebih Hill that he used to play in. The knoll was now covered in cheering spectators. He smiled as some of their signs were sucked into the funnels and jettisoned through the clouds far above.

  “Eranos is going to have to leave the Courts soon,” Lucifer said. “I can’t think of a better time than when the deans of the university are being brazen enough to gather in one place.”

  “Have you seen the pamphlets?” Sariel asked.

  He handed Lucifer a yellow flyer with red letters on it. The title was A Call to the Kadingirs, and the enclosed essay was a ten point listing of recent ills, including the destruction of the wizarding core at Bulger’s Pass.

  “Why not just bring in the First and Third Legions?” Sariel asked. “I’m sure the barracks here would join the coup.”

  “I would rather not shed demon blood,” Lucifer said. “Besides, we need to give the people something to believe in. They already understand military might, but they need to start thinking for themselves. Change is upon us, and we’ve let fear of social revolution hamper us for so long that fear is all we have. How did we come to this? A people surrounded by leaves and streets that change texture perpetually is scared to death of morphing into what their creator meant them to be.”

  He looked around at the tens of thousands of demons that lined the streets. A child’s toothy grin peeked through a wooden fence. The boy’s father hugged him and hoisted the child atop his shoulders. The son waved to the student with the megaphone.

  “We’ve taken away the fear of Jehovah’s jet,” Lucifer said. “And the people have responded. Next, we must take away their fear of the unknown. Magic is not something for the rich and powerful; it’s an integral part of our future. It should be giving them hope. Imagine every man, woman and child able to conjure a chaos bolt. Then, make it so. Our survival will require nothing less.”

  Batarel put his arm around Lucifer as the student lifted the megaphone to his lips once more.

   

  “Oh Eranos, our Eranos,

  You’re such a lonely guy.

  Your wizard friends are dead and gone.

  Who minds you when you cry?”

   

  After a few attempts, the crowd rallied around this war cry as well.

  Sariel laughed. “I will have a beer with this wonderful man!”

  The crowd cheered and jeered its way along the poorer districts, gaining thousands of demons. The political chants grew louder as they marched through the marketplace where Lucifer’s parents had died and continued into the massive public park.

  They came to a platform at the center of the commons, and speakers and microphones dropped into place. Thousands of remote viewing maelstroms popped into existence above the trees and stage.

  To the left of the platform stood dozens of old men in academic regalia. Their dangling cords struggled against the collective currents of the viewing maelstroms, and several of the old men sent magical pulses into the funnels to dissipate them and force the viewers to watch from elsewhere.

  The oldest of them, University Chancellor Vichondrius, ascended the steps first and the other professors and deans followed. As the Chancellor turned to face the crowd, the other academics organized themselves into rows behind him.

  Vichondrius cleared his throat into the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. By our count, we have reached over a hundred thousand demons here today, and I can’t tell you how truly inspiring it is to see you all standing in solidarity with us.”

  The crowd clapped and shouted. The student with the megaphone repeated one of his more popular chants, and Vichondrius motioned with his hand for silence.

  “Many of us have suffered at the hands of the current regime,” the Chancellor said. “We’ve lost friends and loved ones. We’ve watched helplessly as our sons, daughters, and all of our magic wielders were sent into a battle against Jehovah and slaughtered with no gains. And we were told, by our King, that the Order jet could not be stopped, that the Council was dead, and that we had no hope.”

  The demons booed and shouted angry calls for Eranos’s head, and a commotion rose from the back of the gathering. Lucifer turned to see what was causing the uproar, but all he could see was the crowd parting. Someone or something was coming fast and heading straight for the platform. Vichondrius continued his rehearsed speech.

  “And then, far away at the deflector, we got word of an event. Our loved ones and friends in the Third Legion came home to us, and they spun us an unbelievable tale. We sent our own researchers to the deflector, and they verified that the beam is no longer aimed at Alurabum, and what’s more, they’ve traced it back to the barrier between Order and Chaos, and it has simply disappeared. The assault is no more—gone! How did this happen?”

  A magical burst boomed across the meadow and women and children flew over Lucifer and his uncle. Vichondrius’ eyes darted from the crowd to the approaching members of the royal guard. Their purple capes and armor surrounded a central figure, whose cackling flooded the park.

  “Do not flee,” Vichondrius said. “Stay strong.”

  The crowd made way for the King but did not leave the grounds. Lucifer adjusted his hood to make sure his face was covered and dove behind the guards. His uncle tried to follow, but Lucifer stopped him with an extended hand. He smiled at Batarel to put him at ease and watched until his uncle rejoined Sariel.

  Lucifer jogged to catch back up with the royal guard. His hood and bulky clothing hid his famous face and swagger, and the jingling of the royal guard’s armor masked that of his own. An executioner shouldered Lucifer aside. In his right hand a heavy axe scraped against the ground, and along his sides rested two curved, black-bladed daggers.

  “How did this happen?” Eranos asked from the center of the guards. “Maybe Jehovah gave up.”

  “He did not!” one of the deans yelled at him.

  A hand rose in front of Lucifer, just behind the line of guards, and the dean levitated. He squirmed high above the stage and called out to Vichondrius. The other deans encircled the Chancellor as Eranos released a huge chaos bolt, consuming the isolated demon above them and drenching the huddled men with molten body parts and ash.

  Shields popped up in front of the deans as they positioned themselves between the King and the Chancellor.

  “Prince Lucifer conjured a shield and pushed the beam back into Order,” Vichondrius said.

  He rummaged through a sack at his hip and threw a viewing orb into the air, which projected a fiery comet fighting against the Jehovan jet.

  “A fake,” Eranos yelled as he sent another bolt into the air, frying the orb. Its ashes fell into the old man’s white hair. “A forgery.”

  “But Your Highness,” another dean said. “How would you explain the beam’s retreat? Even under our best estimates, the deflector couldn’t have lasted more than a thousand years. By your very words, we were doomed.”

  “You are doomed!” the King screamed.

  He sent a bolt at the edge of the demon’s shield, and the dean did not appear to expect the blow. His shield shimmered away, exposing him. He was lifted high above, just as the other dean was, and obliterated. More
ashes fell onto the stage.

  “It was your estimates that convinced us of our doom,” Eranos said as he climbed the stairs with his guards. “It was your lack of due diligence that resulted in the theory that Jehovah could continue the beam forever.”

  “But the calculations were accurate,” the mathematics dean insisted. “I performed them myself. The beam could have lasted for many billions of years, even without siphoning from our pattern, which we believe that it was doing just that.”

  Eranos emerged from the guards, and the executioner joined him. The King’s lip quivered and his eyes bulged with madness. The deans backed to the corner of the stage and stepped carefully toward the other set of stairs. Two royal guards blocked their escape.

  “Maybe Jehovah’s ultimate goal in retracting the beam,” Eranos said, “was to incite a rebellion in my capital. Did you consider that? Perhaps weakening us where we are strongest was his aim.”

  “But we have no strength left here,” the mathematics dean said. “The Council is …”

  Eranos readied another bolt. “Alurabum still has strength!”

  “More than you could possibly imagine,” Lucifer said from behind the guards.

  He raised a transparent shield between his armor and the derelict outfit. The robe and hood billowed out like a balloon being inflated.

  Eranos turned around and ordered the guards to part before him. He sent his prepared bolt into Lucifer, and the robe melted away. Lucifer extended the shield, and the crowd gasped as his blue, white, and silver armor came into view. For effect, he summoned his two zinanbar blades and held them at his hips. His wings flailed behind him as the channeled bolt careened into the heavens.

  “Kill them!” Eranos screamed and pointed toward the academics clustered in the corner.

  “You will do no such thing,” Lucifer said. “The pattern commands that you cease this needless slaughter of its blood. You will stop killing the men, women, and children of this nation, and you will lead us in the fight against Jehovah, or you will perish.”

  “The pattern?” Eranos asked before laughing. “The pattern talks to you? Give me a break. That hideous freak Batarel talks to you. That stupid, lazy brother of yours talks to you. The ghost of your dead elven fiancée …”

  “Speak another word about Anne in front of me,” Lucifer said, “and it will be the last thing that you ever do.”

  Eranos’s teeth bit so hard into his lips that blood began to dribble down his chin.

  “You say I will lead us in the fight against Jehovah,” Eranos said. “But how can I lead these people when they mutiny against me in the open like this? These men must die. They have committed treason!”

  “Duty to one’s king is one of our oldest traditions,” Lucifer said, “and one that we must always heed.”

  He turned to the crowd. “I embrace their guilt as my own. Do not harm them, and I will accept your punishment.”

  The crowd grumbled in protest, and Eranos looked out at them. His mad eyes darted around the crowd, looking for supporters. There were none.

  “I …” Eranos said. “If … you are truly a prophet of the pattern, then it will not be my hand that kills you.”

  “Then drop the charges and focus on our real enemies,” Lucifer said.

  “I am the King here! I will give the orders!”

  Eranos summoned the executioner forward and directed him to stand beside Lucifer. “Do you accept the treason charges against you, Prince Lucifer? Do you admit to organizing this mob in direct defiance of my rule.”

  “I do, and I accept the King’s punishment,” Lucifer said.

  “Do you?” Eranos said, cackling madly. “You claim to converse with the pattern, so you will need your ears. And you claim to be its mouthpiece, so I wouldn’t deprive our people of its guidance. But you took my arm after I became king, and it is only fair that you lose something just as dear to you. Does that not sound fair?”

  “You are a fair and just king,” Lucifer said. “No one would claim any differently.”

  “My King,” Vichondrius pleaded. “Let him go so he can lead us against the angels. He has fought with them once. His guidance should be invaluable.”

  “Shut up!” Eranos said, glaring back at him. “Lucifer will do what he was born to do. He will listen to the pattern and repeat its guidance to me, your ruler. To be a mouthpiece, you only need a set of ears, a mouth and a brain. I will deprive him of the rest of his faculties as I see fit, but first, out with his eyes!”

  Eranos fired a bolt above the crowd, and the executioner jammed his zinanbar blades into the channeled beam of energy. Lucifer could hear the metal screaming as it super-heated in the torrent, but he didn’t look at the daggers or the executioner. He kept his eyes forward and knelt down on the stage.

  “Do not fear, my people,” Lucifer said. “The future belongs to you. Your strength will be what wins us this war.”

  The crowd gasped. He could feel the heat of the daggers, even though they were over a foot away. He tried not to look at the implements of his torture.

  Stay focused, the pattern told him. Think of Anne and your son. Do not scream out.

  Lucifer tuned out the world around him and thought of the elven princess who should have been his queen. He imagined a red-haired, green-eyed naked boy in his arms. The boy’s tiny hands tugged at his own small but elongated ears.

  Two guards grabbed Lucifer by the arms, and he didn’t fight them. As the world came back into view, the glowing daggers pointed at his face. He looked up at the executioner’s black hood and into his eyes as the blades came closer and the searing, unbearable pain started.

  The terrible smells of burning flesh wafted into his nose, and he tried not to think about the liquid dripping down his cheeks. He gritted his teeth and struggled to stay awake.

  Stand up, the pattern said. Stand up, my son.

  Lucifer rose to his feet and stumbled between the guards as they guided him down the stairs.

  “You’re doing well, Prince Lucifer,” one of them said. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

  “Thanks.”

  He could feel hands all over his armor as members of the royal guard pushed their way through the crowd, but he was shrouded in complete, desolate darkness.

  “Long live Prince Lucifer,” someone in the crowd said. “Love live the Prophet!”