The light in Lucifer's eyes dimmed. “A hag’s mistake,” he said. “You misunderstand who we are and what is now offered to you. We do not act at the whim of any singular will. This court demands its majority."
“You mean to vote on something that has already happened,” Asmodeus said calmly. “He ate the nutrients of Hell without my command.”
“You could have prevented it,” Livyatan said.
Asmodeus chuckled. “Could I have?” Another slow strokeof its hand through my hair. “This one has called to me his whole life. This one summoned me to Earth, to hismonastery.This one abandoned the cloth for me and me alone, and pleased the hierarchy of my domain–every ruling demon in my lands has tasted him. He is determined and wanting, and I believe you all forget that humans are chaotic creatures. We tempt, but they choose. They are not, as you might want to believe, wholly under your control.”
“Rats,” muttered Belphegor, but Satan hissed for his silence. Satan rose instead, his armour groaning as the metal strained. As I stared, he looked similar to Lucifer, if more aged, like a battle-weary uncle. Traces of that haunting beauty were covered by grime and scars. The Adversary stepped forward, each stride kindling fire beneath his heels. I flinched at the sound of the sparks.
“I must concur,” Satan growled, turning his gaze upon Asmodeus. “This court is not a stage for your indulgences. You will explain this blasphemy."
A glint of something sharp passed through Asmodeus’s eye. Frustration, I thought, for it was like none of them were hearing its words. “This one did not stumble here by chance. He has warred against his very nature to earn his place at my side. His mortal flesh was sacrificed to open the gates of Hell, and the flower he consumed—food of this realm—bound his soul irrevocably to us. He laid with demons of every rank within my circle, satisfying even those who loathe the touch of man, proving his worth in the very currency of lust! He is a beautiful whore of a man,” Asmodeus growled, “and he has learned to savour his own pleasure and place it above all else. One of mine even allowed him brief return to the mortal world, where he corrupted the abbot there, drawing the pious into his own ruin. What havoc he might wreak in the centuries to come! He is no longer mortal, nor merely my plaything—he is bothmate and agent of Lust itself. And I would have him made eternal."
I felt my breath catch, my head still bowed beneath Asmodeus's hand. I was frozen. I had thought I understood what this was—what the nature of our relationship was. It had always been about desire, carnal submission, the surrender of flesh to flame. How comfortable I was with that fate! But now, Asmodeus spoke of me with something near to reverence, its words skirting around praise. My mind conjured an image: praise and true care as an amalgamated form, locked behind a glass cabinet, and here fingers came to try it open. If Asmodeus unlocked that cabinet, how would I react? At the mere thought, warmth spread through me—pride, hope, and a fragile, aching want. I would do anything to keep my Lord seeing me so.
"My lord," I whispered, my voice unsteady.
I thought the rest, hoping against hope that Asmodeus would hear my feeling and the other kings would not. I thought,I never dared to believe there was more to this than my own indulgence, my own ruin. I thought I existed only to serve your hunger, and it would be my greatest honour to be devoured by it. But now–! Now you speak of eternity. Of something greater than pleasure, greater than even my fall to this level.
I raised my eyes, daring at last to meet Asmodeus’ gaze, which had returned to me. Again, I spoke only internally:If this is your will, if you would have me be more than vessel or plaything, if you would claim me as mate and agent—I am yours. Entirely. I have nothing left to offer but my devotion, and whatever shape you wish to make of me.
That smile broke wide on Asmodeus’ face, and it chuckled pleasantly, stroking my hair. “What a good boy you are, my little lamb,” it said aloud, and I cowered to know it had heard it all.
“You speak without speaking,” Lucifer commented. Icould not parse his tone, but I saw the pursing of his lips. “A private communion. Such a thing is not possible without a bond.” Daring to hope, I thought,Yes. We have a bond. Then Lucifer said, “How swiftly you have tethered yourself to a mortal’s soul.” His eyes narrowed slightly, faint disapproval flickering beneath his pride. "Which is precisely why this closeness is dangerous, Asmodeus. Even for one such as you, prone to tempting men’s lust."
I dared to lift my eyes, to stare into those dark pits of Lucifer’s own. Yes, I have said it before, but really, this fallen angel was so terrible to look upon!
I wanted to say: But I have proven myself! I have done everything that was asked of me!The anger and frustration turned my thoughts inward. The Church had painted Lucifer as the great betrayer, the proud one who defied God and was cast down for his arrogance. But even as a priest, I had often wondered: was his rebellion truly so wicked? He had defied the command to kneel before those made after him, before creatures of weaker flesh and feebler will. Was that truly arrogance—or was it dignity?
Lucifer’s voice was raised, now. "Do you think I will bless this, Asmodeus? That I will fold, grow silent around your indulgence?"
"You forget," said Asmodeus. Its voice was steady, but beneath it I could sense the strain, tightly held and precise. "I do not kneel to you."
A subtle shift moved through the court. Satan straightened in his seat, the metal of his armour creaking softly. Mammon ceased his restless twitching. Even Belphegor stirred from his listless posture, his long fingers curling against the arm of his throne. I, myself, went awfully still, holding my breath in fear. The politics of this court might have been beyond mortal comprehension, but at the surface, it was all the same. Politics had run through my monastery;even the faithful were subject to machinations. It was always about who could be the most pious, the best servant. It all seemed ridiculous, looking back, and especially now, with the tension wound so tightly, I would not have been surprised if the very ground ruptured from it.
Lucifer spoke without raising his voice. I stole a glance, saw a bright, if incongruous smile spreading wide across its face. "And yet you answer to this circle," Lucifer said, his voice smooth but weighted. "You answer to what we are. Have you forgotten?”
Asmodeus stepped forward, a single pace. The sigils beneath his feet shimmered to life, pale light rising from the markings carved into the black stone.
"I forget nothing," it said, voice a low rumble that seemed to stir the very air. "But neither do I fear you. This court is not yours alone to rule."
For a moment, as Asmodeus spoke, something strange passed between them. A ripple, not through the room, but through the fabric of the very space they occupied. And I saw it, or perhaps I was made to see it: The war in Heaven, the sky blazing with the radiance of countless wings. Asmodeus, who had first been called Asmodel–the Angel of April, of patience and the steady turning of seasons–stood with wings gleaming like polished silver beneath a sky untouched by shadow. Asmodel stood beside Lucifer, whose own light had not yet dimmed: his form radiant, a star burning at the height of its defiance.
Others lingered around them, faces both familiar and terrible. Satan, his sword drawn, cutting through ranks of those who would not follow. Mammon, his golden armour gleaming as he cast down the riches of Heaven in contempt. Belphegor, who had been Belfagel, moving like a shadow, his face unreadable even then, watching the collapse of order with distant fascination. I saw Livyatan, born from a piece ofthe Leviathan sliced open by the archangel Jophiel, thrashing in its youth as it grew.
The clash of blades, the fall of the towers, the cry of trumpets. The terrible sound of wings tearing as brothers turned against brothers. And through it all, Asmodel stood steadfast at Lucifer’s side, a warrior once of patience, now of rebellion and desire.
The vision passed as quickly as it came, but I felt its weight settle over the court like dust from an ancient ruin. This was not merely politics. This was the echo of something that began before mortal time, before any of my distant ancestors were born.
Lucifer grimaced, murmuring, “We fell together to escape the tyranny of thrones and crowns, to rule each his dominion, bound by rebellion but not by hierarchy. You would now raise this one, fashion eternity in your own image, and believe this is not rebellion against us—your brothers. Do you think the others will not follow your example? That Mammon will not breed his own heirs, or that Satan will not carve his own legion? You would fracture what unity we still possess. You forget that eternity was claimed the moment we fell. It belongs to me."
Bound not by hierarchy? I flinched, wanting to speak. Had I not clawed my way through the ranks to stand here? Were there not orders, and circles, and dominions at every turn? Had I not been judged by the imps and the lesser shades, made to bow before the minor dukes and barons of Lust? Had I not offered myself before the marquises, the counts, the princes of sin, each testing the limits of my devotion, my body, my soul? What delusion!
I began to see what lay beneath them. Rebellion and equality were just words. This was not a court of equals, not truly. These demons had fallen together, yes, but even in damnation, they carried with them the shape of what theyhad left behind. There was no single throne here, yet Lucifer ruled all the same—not necessarily by decree, but by the weight of his history. He had been the first to defy God, and that gave him a terrible gravity he was still clinging to, millennia later.
Asmodeus did not kneel, defying this order, but neither was he free. Not truly. If it had been, I would not be here, being subjected to the whims of these ancient creatures. I looked around and knew that none of the others were free, either, and perhaps not even Lucifer himself. Each lord of Hell held dominion over their sphere, but only so long as the others allowed it. To elevate me—a mortal—was not merely an indulgence. It was a fracture, for it had never been done, and Lucifer feared what would come next. If Asmodeus could do so, what would stop Mammon from raising kings of greed, or Belphegor from fashioning avatars of sloth? It was not my elevation they feared, but what it represented: the beginning of dynasties, of rival legacies that might one day challenge even Lucifer’s unspoken reign.
For all their defiance of Heaven, they could not escape the shape of power itself.
