I was so absorbed in my thoughts I didn’t realize we had reached Sathariel’s study room.

Sathariel went straight to the fireplace. He pulled down the wing of one of the bronze angel sculptures and the wall behind the grille slid aside with the noise of stone grinding against metal. He motioned me to follow before ducking into the opening.

It was the devil’s lair. And I was going in without a fight.

The passageway was dark and narrow. I could feel both walls just stretching my arms.

The shuffling of Sathariel’s feet and the rustle of cloth was the only indication that he was walking in front of me.

“Halt,” whispered he, glancing back at me.

Sathariel’s eyes burned red, with vertical slits for pupils. Right as he blinked, fire sputtered from the torches bolstered along the walls.

Fire, I thought. The Devil controls fire.

Urgently, we took the winding stairs down. The underground air invited claustrophobia and many other creepy creatures that slithered in between the stones that made up the walls.

By the time we reached the room at the end of the stairs, I was choking on spider webs and dust. But what had me winded more was the life-size portrait of Roselle Sinclair. Alone in the middle of the wall, it looked like the main attraction of the grandiosely ancient room. More like a mural, really.

Sitting on a bed of roses right below the painting was a small glass lamp. It had a lid on to keep the few fireflies inside.

“Is that…” I got on my knee to look closer at the lamp. “No way.”

“Roselle’s remains,” Sathariel answered quietly. “What I had salvaged of it.”

I faced the devil with a question I could not put into words.

“What do you know about your master’s mother, child?” Sathariel tested.

“Only that she died because of Pilgrim Reaper.”

He went behind the large table in the middle of the room. With a knife, he made a small cut in his palm and let the blood drip on the goblet sitting at the leftmost corner. The goblet glowed for a second, followed by the sounds of bolts unlocking. One of the drawers slid out on its own. Inside was the Helcium, its brilliance not failing to make me breathless.

There was a wistful look about Sathariel’s eyes when he picked up the necklace. “I’m afraid what you’ve learned is… inaccurate.”

“I thought she was killed because of a law,” I mumbled, my thought process picking up pace. “The one that’s passed after Pilgrim’s women tried to get rid of him. That’s why Vincent hates him.”

Painfully, he shook his head. “Vincent despises Azrael because of his blood.”

“What do you mean?”

Enclosing the Helcium in his hands, he looked up at Roselle’s portrait. “Vincent—unlike his brothers—is born with special… gifts. At an early age, he learned to control and suppress this overwhelming power inside him. But he began to lose control after the death of his dearest friend.”

“Adrianna.”

I remembered the memories Alessandra showed me. The red scales all over Vincent’s body. The crimson reptilian eyes. The destructive power he unleashed that night. Were those his gifts?

“Roselle persuaded Vincent to accept immortality, threw herself to Azrael’s feet only to ask for her son’s place among the Reapers.” He touched the portrait longingly. “Roselle so believed that the Reapers’ Binds shall help Vincent restrain the tremendous power in him. How wrong was she.

“Once Vincent became a Reaper and was forced to fight, his condition worsened.  His mind and resolve became fragile because of grief. So did the Binds. It took only a moment of weakness to completely lose control. And at that very moment, Vincent had unknowingly taken the life of his own mother.”

“That couldn’t be.” My voice shook. My whole body shook. “Y-you’re lying!”

“I wish I am,” Sathariel murmured in a raspy voice. “Vincent blamed himself. And he blamed Azrael for passing down his cursed blood unto him. Vincent thinks Azrael is the monster when the truth is that Azrael has nothing to do with his unwanted power, with his… curse. Azrael claimed him as his own merely for Roselle’s sake.”

Sathariel finally faced me. His eyes had all the desperation Dad had when Mom died.

“I’m requesting this of you, Aramis, as a favor.” His voice was barely a whisper. It was the first time he called me by my name too. “I… beg of you. Do not let Vincent become the monster he thinks he is.”

Gently, Sathariel took my hand and placed the Helcium on my palm. It glowed faintly once it touched my skin.

“It chose you.” His molten eyes smiled; a sight all too familiar to me. “It wants to protect you, just as it did to Roselle when she first sought refuge in Halja. I can only hope you succeed in what she failed to accomplish.”

“You’re expecting too much from me. I d-don’t know if I can.”

The sharp deep breaths I took grazed my throat. Frantically, my eyes searched the room for something that might distract me from the panic.

Red roses in every vase. A bicycle. Every toy from the old world you could imagine. All with blue ribbons. Like they were supposed to be a present. But for some reason, Sathariel wasn’t able to send them to whoever they were for. There were sketches of a baby boy. Of that same boy as a toddler. Him blowing five on a birthday cake. Him climbing a tree. Him in his preteen.

The Devil swallowed hard, blinking the mist that formed in the sides of his eyes. “P-please… save Vincent.”

Not every day the Devil would plead to you. When I looked at Sathariel, his morose expression told me a thousand things. I didn’t need a family tree to figure it all out.

Mindlessly, I jumped to my toes and embraced him.

He seemed surprised, if not furious. But that didn’t seem to matter at the moment.

“I’m glad. I’m so glad,” I laughed out before letting go.

At least, this one wasn’t trying to kill Vincent.

***

“Be prepared,” Sathariel ordered from across the main lodestone.

“Yes, Abum,” Luci answered, offering her hand to me.

I took it without protest. As long as I get to follow Vincent, I was willing to cooperate for a temporary ceasefire.

Belial took one last swig from her flask, tucked it into her satchel before reaching for my hand. “A’right. Now I’m ready.”

“Let us start the ritual,” Sathariel instructed. “Belial, Luci, do not use more than a fourth of your power. You shall need it when you arrive in Halo. I shall take care of opening the Gate.”

Belial smirked, rolling her eyes. “About time ta get those brittle bones to work again, ol’ geezer.”

“Look who’s talking, Gramma!” I butted in, giving Belial a sneer.

Shaking his platinum blond head, Sathariel closed his eyes and started chanting under his breath.

Glyphs appeared on the base of the lodestone, glowing fiery red as they danced in a line outwards in seven different directions. The air shimmered with the heat that seemed to be coming from the glyphs.

Belial and Luci both placed a hand on the lodestone. Luci’s eyes glowed like sickly pale emeralds, and Belial’s, dull ambers.

A sudden gust of wind whipped at us angrily. Then, the ground began to shake. The war of the elements got crazier when Sathariel got on his knee and pressed both his palms on the ground.

“Ain’t this fantastic?” Belial yelled grinning. “Us girls comin’ to rescue the brainless boys for a change?”

“Yes,” I laughed. “Yes it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi! Happy New Year! The Holidays are over and so is my long vacation! It's been a wonderful year, made more awesome by you guys! I can't put into words how grateful I am for every read that took your precious time, every comment that melted my heart, every message that made me smile. And although I'm not always around to chat and send my love, do remember that I am always here (you know how socially incompetent I've always been), and thanking God that you are made to become part of my life through my works. 

Love lots,

Shim