Infernal God

32

19

Lucifer

I

looked out over one of the crowded bar areas on the first floor of the Celestial. Tourists came here to drown their sorrows after losing too much money on the slots. Funny how humans continued their lives oblivious to all else going on around them, truly blinded to anything outside their own sphere of understanding. Clinking glasses, chatter and laughter formed the soundtrack to the evening and a sports event flickered on a television just barely in view, tucked around a corner. But none of that interested me.

I peered deeper into the shadows, and there he was. Belial. Alone on a stool and in the furthest reaches of the bar, almost as if he’d set a warded circle around himself to keep people away.

I started to stride over to him, but stopped a short distance away, unsure of my welcome. He looked up, amusement flashing briefly through his eyes as he witnessed my hesitation. I grinned and nodded brief acknowledgment. Yes, any sort of hesitation was uncharacteristic of me, but in this instance, it wasn’t weakness. It was the closest I’d come to asking him for consent to join him, and he was too like me to not know that.

He glanced at the barstool next to him. Just a flicker. If I’d have blinked, I’d have missed the invitation, but I’d known not to blink. Belial wouldn’t ask twice.

“Drink?” I asked. When had I last bought my son a drink? For that matter, had I ever bought one for him? Of course, I wouldn’t actually buy one now either. I’d just wave, and a bartender would keep them coming.

My oldest son lifted his glass, the ice c******g softly inside. “Got one.”

I waved anyway. This wasn’t a conversation to have without the accompanying burn of good quality whiskey. “How are you doing?”

He answered my uninspired question with a dry, humorless chuckle. "Small talk, really?"

"We've got to start somewhere, don't we?" This was our first real conversation in centuries. I had no idea how to begin it, but I couldn't let things go on this way any longer.

"All right then." He raised an eyebrow, and for a second he looked so much like his mother when she'd been Eve. "I'm just dandy. How are you?"

His voice was dripping with sarcasm. This was never going to be an easy conversation, and I hadn’t expected Belial to make it any easier. Still, he could help me out a little here. My whiskey arrived at that moment, and I took a long sip of liquid courage.

"I want to thank you for helping your mother in Faerie. She says she couldn't have done it without you."

Belial simply nodded and sipped his drink. I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words to connect with my son. This was much harder than I'd expected.

“I’m sorry.” I blurted out the words in my head. They weren’t the words I’d intended to say, and Belial stiffened, tension in all of his muscles. His head moved toward me almost as if he might look at me, but it was little more than a twitch he didn’t complete in the end.

I laughed, the sound self-deprecating. “I realize those aren’t words you’re used to hearing from me.”

He acknowledged me with a quick contraction of his lips, but he still didn’t look in my direction as I studied his profile.

“I know I wasn’t the best father to you. I was…” I paused, my mouth dry. I'd been about to say I'd been busy, but that wasn't right. "I was stupid."

Belial cut a glance toward me, and it was all the invitation I needed to keep speaking.

“When you were born, I'd just left Heaven to become king of Hell. You were only a baby when I begged Nyx to turn the Fallen into demons. Then a small child when we defeated the Elder Gods and locked away the Horsemen. Then a teenager when Adam killed your mother the first time as part of the curse. I spent your entire childhood struggling to prove myself as the Demon King and to keep the denizens of Hell in line. But I should have spent it with you." I sucked in a deep breath as I continued. I had to get this out, or I might never have the courage or the opportunity to speak like this again. "Especially after Eve was killed. I didn't know how to handle being a father or being a king without her—and I wasn't sure how the curse worked, or if she really would return. But I should have seen how all of those things were affecting you too. I should have been a better father. I tried to do better with your brothers, but I failed you, and I'm sorry.”

He met my gaze properly, and I released a breath at the sudden connection. "f**k. I've waited thousands of years to hear you say those words."

"I wish I hadn't waited so long to say them." I gave him a wry grin. "Maybe you wouldn't have tried to overthrow me. Twice."

One corner of his mouth curved, the half-smile bitter. “Not some of my finest moments, I'll admit."

"Do you really hate me so much you want me dead?" I asked in a low voice, almost afraid to hear the answer.

He looked down at his hands, wrapping around his drink. "No. I didn't want you dead. I have a lot of regrets. Like siding with Adam and releasing Pestilence. I tried to fix it by becoming War, but we all saw how that turned out.”

I didn’t speak. This all felt too fragile to disrupt.

“To answer your question, no, I don't hate you," he continued. "Maybe I did at various times in the past, but not anymore. But I don't regret trying to overthrow you either time. Each time I did it, you'd become out of touch with the people you ruled over, and I knew it was time for a change. No one should rule unchecked for thousands of years. That's the way to despotism. You might not have seen it, but both times the revolution was brewing behind your back even without me. I simply ignited the spark."