over the ruins. Does he think that could make up for it? He dragged me into Heaven, claiming it could "heal" my demon side, saying I needed to visit my family, the home of my mother. The godlight had burned her then, and the song of harps drew blood from her ears. She had fled, hurt and frightened, until she fell from the clouds to crash into the sea, shivering. Laila clenched her fists. "Your words mean nothing to me now, Michael."
"And yet... and yet you asked to speak with me. So there must be some words of mine you want to hear."
Laila lowered her head, staring at the dust blowing around her boots. These old boots had taken her on long journeys throughout her exile, but it seemed her road still wound for many miles. She closed her eyes. For years I sought a home, a place where I can belong, a place that is mine. I am Lucifer's daughter, his only child. Rightful heir to Hell. Who'd have thought the underworld is the place I'm meant to be? A bloody tear ran down her cheek. She hated the thought of entering Hell, hated the thought of being Satan's spawn, and yet... and yet sooner or later, she knew, this world was dead to her. Whether Michael or Beelzebub won did not matter; either hellfire or godlight would fill the world, both which could kill her. If Hell is my domain, if I can sit upon its throne, I can extinguish its fires. I will go there, to a place that will be mine, where I can finally find some peace, even if that peace lies beyond hellfire and pain.
She stared at Michael, feeling the halo of flame ignite around her brow, the halo that burned whenever anger or fear filled her. "I don't care for your words, Michael, only for your spears. I need a hundred thousand of those spears. Give me them, and the angels who bear them, and I'll give you this world."
Michael walked in silence for a moment, his godlight glinting on his gilded armor, on his blond curls. Even in these ruins of death and desolation, he managed to look divine. For a moment he looked so much like a classic archangel, all cherubic and beautiful, that Laila wanted to retch. God, I hate Heaven. I think I hate it even more than Hell.
"So Bat El told you," Michael said softly. "You know about your father."
Half a wheelchair rose from the ruins to poke at her cloak, and she kicked it aside. "That my father was Lucifer? That Beelzebub killed him? That I am rightful heir of Hell? I don't need Bat El to bring me such news. I always knew."
"And you've always been a poor liar," Michael said, shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. "You ran and hid all your life, Laila, living with humans, with wolves, in the forests and deserts. You never wanted a part of our war, and suddenly you speak to Bat El, then come to me asking for spears." He looked at her shoulder, where Zarel's claw marks ripped through her cloak and flesh.
Laila shook her head, exasperated. Of course Michael sent Bat El to her. Of course he knew she'd confront Beelzebub, seeking the truth. Of course he knew Zarel would attack her, that she'd come to him, that she'd ask to fight. Laila's fiery halo crackled, and Volkfair growled, sensing her anger. "You're a sneaky one, Michael. Always have been. You're a lot like your brother, do you know?"
His smile widened. He said nothing. For a moment they walked among the ruins in silence, and Laila watched several bats who flew through the night, or maybe they were owls. Fire rose from a dented garbage can beside her, illuminating dusty items that peeked from the rubble: a burned doll's head, a baby's shoe, a tin can, a few bones. She tried to remember the name of this town, only a few miles from Michael's fort, but could not. She had been born into this war; she never knew a time when human cities had names, teemed with life.
"Look," she finally said, "sooner or later, one of you guys is going to win this war, whether I choose sides or not. And when that happens, I'm screwed. If Hell wins Earth, hellfire will fill this planet, burning away my
"And yet... and yet you asked to speak with me. So there must be some words of mine you want to hear."
Laila lowered her head, staring at the dust blowing around her boots. These old boots had taken her on long journeys throughout her exile, but it seemed her road still wound for many miles. She closed her eyes. For years I sought a home, a place where I can belong, a place that is mine. I am Lucifer's daughter, his only child. Rightful heir to Hell. Who'd have thought the underworld is the place I'm meant to be? A bloody tear ran down her cheek. She hated the thought of entering Hell, hated the thought of being Satan's spawn, and yet... and yet sooner or later, she knew, this world was dead to her. Whether Michael or Beelzebub won did not matter; either hellfire or godlight would fill the world, both which could kill her. If Hell is my domain, if I can sit upon its throne, I can extinguish its fires. I will go there, to a place that will be mine, where I can finally find some peace, even if that peace lies beyond hellfire and pain.
She stared at Michael, feeling the halo of flame ignite around her brow, the halo that burned whenever anger or fear filled her. "I don't care for your words, Michael, only for your spears. I need a hundred thousand of those spears. Give me them, and the angels who bear them, and I'll give you this world."
Michael walked in silence for a moment, his godlight glinting on his gilded armor, on his blond curls. Even in these ruins of death and desolation, he managed to look divine. For a moment he looked so much like a classic archangel, all cherubic and beautiful, that Laila wanted to retch. God, I hate Heaven. I think I hate it even more than Hell.
"So Bat El told you," Michael said softly. "You know about your father."
Half a wheelchair rose from the ruins to poke at her cloak, and she kicked it aside. "That my father was Lucifer? That Beelzebub killed him? That I am rightful heir of Hell? I don't need Bat El to bring me such news. I always knew."
"And you've always been a poor liar," Michael said, shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. "You ran and hid all your life, Laila, living with humans, with wolves, in the forests and deserts. You never wanted a part of our war, and suddenly you speak to Bat El, then come to me asking for spears." He looked at her shoulder, where Zarel's claw marks ripped through her cloak and flesh.
Laila shook her head, exasperated. Of course Michael sent Bat El to her. Of course he knew she'd confront Beelzebub, seeking the truth. Of course he knew Zarel would attack her, that she'd come to him, that she'd ask to fight. Laila's fiery halo crackled, and Volkfair growled, sensing her anger. "You're a sneaky one, Michael. Always have been. You're a lot like your brother, do you know?"
His smile widened. He said nothing. For a moment they walked among the ruins in silence, and Laila watched several bats who flew through the night, or maybe they were owls. Fire rose from a dented garbage can beside her, illuminating dusty items that peeked from the rubble: a burned doll's head, a baby's shoe, a tin can, a few bones. She tried to remember the name of this town, only a few miles from Michael's fort, but could not. She had been born into this war; she never knew a time when human cities had names, teemed with life.
"Look," she finally said, "sooner or later, one of you guys is going to win this war, whether I choose sides or not. And when that happens, I'm screwed. If Hell wins Earth, hellfire will fill this planet, burning away my
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