“We chose our side long ago,” Rag said firmly. “We choose it again every single day.”
“We followed Lucifer because we believe in him, and we’re willing to die standing up for what we know is right,” Cami added.
Jehovah watched impassively during their speech, looking almost bored. It was only the slightest tick of his gaze up over Camiel’s shoulder thatmade her tense up and start to turn. The blade sunk deep into her back before she could complete the movement, sliding throughmuscle and sinew likeso much wet paper to emerge from the front of her chest.
Uriel flinched, reflexively reaching for his own sword at the same time Jophiel gripped the pommel of his. Jehovah stilled them with a gesture, waiting to see what would come next.
“So die,” Foster said quietly, the cold whisper clearly audible in the stunned silence of the clearing. Cami hissed, trying to twist away from Foster’s ironclad grip on her shoulder, but it quickly died into a guttural cough as the blade lodged in her sternum prevented her from healing.Thick black blood spilled freely down her torso.
“Cami!” Sachiel wailed, trying to pry Foster off of his wife, but it was like wrestling with a statue. “Foster please!”
“Camiel,” Luce choked, stumbling forward while gripping his own chest. “No!”
“Yes,” Foster smiled, a slick and lifeless facsimile of joy, and gave a heavy shove that sent Cami’s impaled form sprawling to the dead grass. Her aura surged one last time, brilliant emerald against the pale gray sky, before flickering out like a dead bulb.
Remiel let out a bellow of rage, rushing toward the boy, only to slam up short against an unseen barrier. Rag beat his fists against the walls of their invisible prison, while the other Fallen seemed too stunned by Cami’s demise to even react. Sachiel knelt brokenly at her side, hand hovering over his wife’s lifeless body as if he could somehow turn back time.
“What is this?!” Rag punctuated each word with a bang of his fist.
“A precaution.”Fosterwagged his finger at the two still fighting as if chastising naughty animals. “It is not yet your turn to perish.”
The King of Angels laughed. “Clearly it was a mistake to loan your power to those who cannot wield it.”
“Only you would twist the knife over such a loss,” Lucifer’s voice was hollowed out by anger and grief. Even as the power he had gifted to Camiel trickled back into him, replenishing his dwindling stores, he would have given anything to have her back instead.
“And only you are a blind enough dreamer, head full of heretical nonsense, that you would risk your own survival by loaning your power to anyone who asks for it.”
“The cost of my survival cannot be measured against the weight of the shame it would incur,” Lucifer said, with shocking calm, “if I were ever to cavort myself as you do. Neither of us is the center of this Universe, as you well know, and yet only one of us insists upon clinging desperately to a false crown.”
Jehovah nearly snarled but quickly smoothed his expression back into a patronizing mask. “You have always spoken like a man with his back to a wall, Lucifer. All grand overtures and empty threats. Anything to deflect from your own failures.”
“For the love of all unholiness, can either of you ever stop?” Foster stepped over Cami’s corpse and strode confidently between his father and uncle. “This is why you accomplishnothing and ruin everything. This eternal contest of wills, desperate to prove yourselves on some moral high ground, when you are both idiotic, over-inflated, laissez-faire monarchs.”
Jehovah cut a glance to Luce, as if to say, ‘I told you so’. Lucifer did not return his look, focused only on the cold mask covering his son’s face, rendering him a foreign and dangerous creature. The boy he knew had become a man he had no desire to recognize.
“Foster,” Luce finally forced himself to make one last effort. “We can still fix this. I can forgive you for this. I can…help you. With your mother.”
Foster turned to him, a dead quality in his eyes as they slid over Luce that had the older man shivering. “I wish you would not lie to me anymore.”
He turned back to Jehovah, dismissing his father. “You, pompous show horse that you are, have more power than my pitiful father at present. I will make you an offer, and you will consider it.”
Jehovah’s own mask slipped, a flare of indignation at Foster’s audacity peeking through before he slid the genteel, benevolent expression back into place. “Of course, child. Even the most lost shall have the opportunity to repent their sins and be purified in the Lord’s name.”
“I do not wish to repent.” Foster tucked his arms behind his back and glanced over Jehovah’s shoulder at the tensely watching cavalry. “I wish to negotiate.”
“Negotiate.”
“Indeed.” He met Jehovah’s gaze steadily. “I desire my mother returned to the world of the living. I have my own means by which to achieve this goal, but I cannot deny that your assistance would expedite the process. In return, I offer you something you desire.”
“What could I possibly desire, child, which is in your power to attain and not my own?”
That slimy grin slipped onto Foster’s lips, an ugly thing that gave Luce chills to see. “Mary Magdalene.”
Remi tried to launch herself towards him, reaching into her boot for her concealed blade, only to slam uselessly into the barrier. “You can’t!”
“I can,” Foster said, simply. “Or would you prefer I continue killing you all, to keep you from getting in my way?”
He stalked to where Sachiel still knelt, a trembling hand brushing the hair from Cami’s slack face. His palms were coated with her blood, his eyes wide and haunted. Foster grabbed him roughly by the hair, pulling Sachiel to his feet with surprisingly weak resistance.
