Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I

“Forest to a forest, summons to a summons, and apprentice to apprentice. Even in a life of eternity, I see the patterns of my own habit and behavior like a circle that continues to spiral into familiarity. A serpent eating its own tail.

I might have seen this in my jungle hut before Kueng came with the summons from Hades on behalf of the Lightbringer. But I had spent so many centuries there, forcing my mind to forget all patterns and all memories of my own past. Attempting to starve the flames of rage by which the old god Tezcatlipoca sought to control me. Forgetting all I raged against. Until I was nothing but a hermit buying and collecting my plants and meeting nobody but the occasional indigenous humans who traded for my wares.

But as in the time before, when I was a young angel keeping to myself, Kueng brought word from the Lightbringer—yet again. Only this time, many millennia later, it was not the madness of the Creator that was the direct threat to our people. This time, it was the madness of my former partner and friend, Ammon.

I flew up to enter Heaven by way of cutting through the water in the clouds with my soul. I meandered slowly up the beach while angels watched from overhead. And I placed my hand onto the cool stone of their wall to remember all the pain and the tragedy over again.

The storms, the war, the fall, the imprisonment, and the torture at the hands of the old god. All the while, I barely held onto the sanity I’d painstakingly regained. It took everything within me to know what had happened without reigniting my rage.

Once it was done, I was able to see the circle, the spiral, the self-consuming serpent for what it was as I again descended into Hell.”

–Dufaii “On Heaven’s Champion Volume I” page 3.

-O-

Dufaii took his hand from the cold stone. It no longer seemed to possess the same power as when he had first touched it to regain all the memories he’d buried. There was no electric tension, no emotion, and no struggle to maintain his composure. Then again … there never had been. It was just rock. All else had taken place inside of him as his mind had flooded with memories. Now, it was all settled. This place … the sunny sky, the pebbled beaches, the infinite ocean, the towering wall … they had no power over him.

“Why have you come here?” spoke a familiar voice from behind him. It was the Archangel Michael.

“To remember,” Dufaii replied breathlessly, fighting to keep his tears at bay as he turned to face the man he’d once loved.

The Archangel Michael was there, only a foot away. He stood straight, with his hand on his weapon. It wasn’t an aggressive stance, just a prepared one. His hair, pale skin, and brown falcon-patterned wings were all just as they had been so many lifetimes ago. Of course, he still stood taller and broader than any other angel. As with Ammon, there were a few cracks in his steel armor, doubtlessly left because they were somehow significant to him. He also had a few more wrinkles around his gold eyes.

Dufaii understood this … he had wrinkles of his own and perhaps looked even older between his wrinkles and the gray streaks in his hair and goatee. He said, “It was necessary, and irrelevant to you or your own. I won’t disturb your paradise any longer.”

“It’s Ammon,” Michael said with a harsh undertone. He folded his arms. “Don’t be surprised, we aren’t as blind to the problems of the Earth as you seem to think we are. Nor are we apathetic to their struggles. We are simply limited; the Creator has worked hard to resolve the situation so that it does not end in the starvation or slaughter of your people.”

While Dufaii might have once countered with a scathing retort about the loyalists’ apathy and their blindness, he found that he no longer felt the need. The truth was that he had other concerns that paled anything he could have said back. And perhaps … perhaps there was a part of him that still didn’t want to hurt Michael in any way, no matter what. If anything, the only thing left to resist was placing his hand on Michael’s cheek to say goodbye, as he turned and began to walk to the edge of the water.

“You need to leave this matter to the Creator,” said Michael said as Dufaii walked away. “Gabriel and Raphael have a plan laid out to the smallest details to resolve all this with minimal pain to demonkind. And you … you are in no shape to take Ammon on.”

Dufaii sighed and turned back around to face the Archangel. “What do you really want to say? You must know by now that I will do what I think best for my people.

“I …” the Archangel Michael said, his tone becoming a note quieter when he did. “I know that you will interfere. Every time there’s a perfect plan in place, you throw yourself into the mix and make it far more than it needs to be. Not because you are malicious or stupid, but because you just can’t leave things the hell alone. Believe it or not, don’t hate you anymore. You now know the wound of madness and betrayal as well as I do.”

“Maybe … but I kept mine from consuming me,” Dufaii said and shook his head pitifully. “You say that Gabriel and Raphael have a plan. I notice that you aren’t included in it. I suppose I don’t have room to say much, given my own history of excluding you from plans, but I always believed that you deserved better. One day, I hope you feel worthy enough to know the truth … and to be able to meddle inside of matters that very much concern you.”

Michael shook his head and turned away. Anger and hurt poured off him like a fountain. It was almost reassuring to know that the Archangel had never found the reason to hide his aura from others.

Dufaii gave one last, longing glance before he too turned and continued along the pebble beach to the surf. From there, he waded into the water until it reached his knees. Then he drew his black sward from its sheath and cut a silvery line into the water. Before it consumed him again in a pocket of light and warmth, he whispered, “Even as I know I would do it all over again, I’m still so sorry I ever hurt you, my dearest Michael.” He was then consumed by the silvery light, the warmth engulfing him.

Quickly, the warmth of the portal was replaced by engulfment in a cold, inky blackness.

Dufaii opened his eyes in the water and saw mostly dark except for a few orange lights far in the distance. Had he not known which one to go to, there was not telling where he would end up. But, as he had traversed this space many times before, he knew immediately the light to aim for and swam to it with his arms, legs, and wings. It was a matter of minutes before he was close enough that the light finally looked large enough to pass through—at which point, he did.

Dufaii emerged, launching straight up from the water. He grasped a rock lip and pulled himself out of a small pool, not much bigger than a large tub. When he did so, the water that soaked into his wings, his hair, and his clothing began to rise off him in the form of steam. This steam did not go upward like it would have in the mortal realm; rather, it returned to the pool from which he’d arrived.

It wasn’t long before Dufaii’s skin began to tingle and itch, and for his eyes to dry until it was better not to blink. The old whispers of guilt, shame, fear, and insecurity try to worm their way into his head, until he forced them out with a mental fortitude that had taken many centuries to perfect. Yes, this was the prison to which his kind remained sentenced … this was Hell.

Around him was a cavern that was not much bigger than the interior of a small house. The floor, walls, and ceiling were made of the same featureless gray stone. There were two exits, both deliberately carved to be large enough for a single demon to pass through at a time. It was from one of these that a light shone, illuminating the room so that Dufaii could see. But as he looked at the room that produced the light, he noticed the silhouettes of two winged figures.

The larger of the two saluted the smaller one before the smaller one walked into the cave where Dufaii stood. It was then that he recognized her—General Hades. Her jet-black hair wasn’t long like it had been. Rather it was short with a slight curl that made the ends stand up; her skin, however, was as paper white as it had always been. She stood in shining black armor that bore no imperfections. The main piece was a cuirass with a square design that made her look more solid and perhaps even imposing. Apart from it, individual pieces of thick metal were strapped around her body sparsely to allow for maximum movement. Though it seemed heavy, she gave no indication that it was.

Dufaii gave a deep nod, acknowledging her with the utmost respect he still felt towards her.

Hades ignored this and rushed to embrace him tightly. After several moments, she released him and said, “You came back.”

“You summoned me,” Dufaii replied. Then, feeling like this was insufficient, he said. “You have my loyalty and my support … always.”

“I know, old friend,” Hades replied. She traced his jaw with her hand for just a moment. Then she stood straight, let the warmth vanish from her eyes, and adopted a more official demeanor. “Matters have been increasingly unstable in the years since you went into exile.”

“Ammon,” Dufaii said. And though he had to make efforts not to scowl or react emotionally when he said that name, he was able to do so. This seemed a good sign, as it would have been impossible before.

Hades sighed and furrowed her brow. “Ammon is a force which is making the rising dangers an exponentially greater threat. But there’s more. The souls of demons are growing less able to withstand this place. They’re literally crumbling apart, and we don’t know why. It’s like the madness, but those affected just become more withdrawn. Meanwhile, their … progenies—creatures who spawn for the shattered fragments of their souls—are twisted and unintelligent pests that have scattered throughout Hell.”

Dufaii’s eyes widened. He thought about this for a moment … it could have only been a matter of time before something like this happened. Demons were not meant for this place. And while drinking the blood of the damned had, no doubt, staved off some of the more dire consequences of imprisonment, they were inevitable. What was more, he didn’t even need to guess how his former partner had used this situation to his strategical advantage. He said, “Ammon … he’s rallying Hell with it, isn’t he? Convincing them that this is part of his apocalypse.”

Hades nodded. “Our people are getting desperate. I truly believe that Ammon would have all of Hell on his side by now, except for the fact that he does not have the support of the Lightbringer—who many demons still perceive as the only chance at winning a war against Heaven.”

“So, you haven’t considered joining Ammon?” Dufaii asked with and effort to make his tone free from any sort of judgment.

Hades gave a slow shake of her head. “I would like to be free of this place. I have been hard at work toward the same goal for centuries, rotating every demon suited to fighting into training regiments. Our spies have provided us with the combat techniques and practices used by the guard, and we’re now better … if outnumbered. We even arranged it so that the so-called loyalist now tasked with guarding Hell’s gate on behalf of Heaven is actually one of the young angels who escaped during the rebellion. After so long and after working with the previous incarnation of the Lightbringer, everything is ready for escape. But killing the Creator is simply not possible. We don’t have the numbers; we don’t have the strength.”

“My thoughts as well,” Dufaii said, calculating the situation in his head. “And letting half our ranks go on the attack the second we try to leave would be allowing them to be imprisoned here again, this time permanently.”

“Which would mean the numbers we would need to defend ourselves after escaping, leaving us at the mercy of Heaven,” Hades said. “What’s more, Heaven is currently not united on its opposition to our freedom. However, a direct attack would rally more loyalists to fight us than just the guard. I have scouts patrolling the abandoned dwellings of the old gods for an ideal fortress to take—far from human eyes. But we need the demons united under the banner of escape and not the delusion of killing the Creator if any of it will have a chance to work.”

“You’ve working hard on this,” Dufaii said.

“We only get one chance,” Hades replied and walked to the small pool of black water with orange specks within. She looked at it longingly as she said, “Everything must be perfect. And Ammon’s desperation and his insistence on attacking the Creator will destroy the one and only chance we’ve got. And neither Ammon nor I will compromise on this matter, and I cannot incapacitate him without bringing a civil war to Hell that would destroy us. What makes it even more difficult is that the current incarnation of the Lightbringer is trying to get involved, even from his self-imposed imprisonment.”

Dufaii cocked his head slightly. “He hasn’t told you what he’s planning?”

Hades shook her head. “No, but whatever the Lightbringer has done and said was enough to bring to Creator down here for an audience with him. It seems that they’ve come to an arrangement—one that Ammon has agreed to honor as well. And, of course, none of them have involved me in any of this. I was hoping to count on you to bring back word, as well as to act as my ambassador.”

“As I said, you have my loyalty,” Dufaii said, furrowing his brow. “But … why would they allow for my input and not yours?”

Hades shook her head. “I don’t know … and I don’t like it. A meeting between three maddened ones and you … someone they no doubt count on still being under the influence of Tezcatlipoca. According to my spies, not even the Archangels have been brought in on this.

Dufaii shook his head. “As you said … this doesn’t feel right.”

“I fear the motions of madness,” Hades said. “Maddened ones bargaining with maddened ones. But I don’t have many options. I need information and all the time I can get to prepare for a war, if it comes. I know that I can count on your loyalty in dealing with this matter.”

“Of course,” Dufaii said with another slow nod. He felt undeserving of the trust she had in him but felt its significance, none the less.

Hades nodded back, knowing what he meant by the gesture. She then reached into a small satchel strapped to her leg and pulled out a bundled leather parchment, which she handed to him.

Dufaii opened the parchment and immediately recognized the map inside. It was not a full map of Hell, but it was a detailed look at the chamber where he now stood, the endless series of tunnels and mazes that had recently been dug to imprison the Lightbringer. One exit led to the city of demons while the other led to the Lightbringer’s prison. And the tunnels truly were endless … it was only by making a sort of mental grid and counting the junction points that Dufaii would be able to navigate himself, even with the map.

Dufaii looked up and said, “It will take a few hours for me to commit all this to memory.”

“Abhayananda will take it when you are finished,” Hades said and pointed at the tunnel with light from which she’d originally arrived.

Standing there was a very large male angel with rich brown skin, which black eyebrows, and no hair on his head. He wore heavy plated disc armor, the likes of which Dufaii had not seen since his days of war in the east. It was comprised of four circular plates, each on top of the other, as the center of a heavy cuirass. The metal all had a golden hue to it, as did his massive khanda sword with its very rectangular design. His legs were also covered in heavy armor, but his arms were completely bare. His wings were a muted gold as well. What was most odd was the second weapon on his other hip, a gold covered and very large revolver.

This angel named Abhayananda was the one of the escaped younger members of the rebellion, so technically a demon. So it was odd to see him as he was, without black eyes or the demeanor of one of their own. Abhayananda gave a wave and flashed a warm smile. The way he looked at Dufaii was with … undeniable awe, which the demon did not feel comfortable with.

“Kueng will be in contact as you carry out whatever duties lie ahead of you,” Hades said. She looked toward the darker exit from the small cavern they were in. “For now, act at your own discretion and do everything you can to keep Ammon from taking that final plunge into doom for our kind.”

Dufaii gave a sharp nod. He tried to speak but his throat seemed to close whenever he opened his mouth. This wasn’t the powers of this cursed realm at work, but rather his own nervousness. His shame at all the unanswered and unsent letters between them. How was it that after so many millennia, he was seeing both his former lovers in just the span of a couple hours? The pain of this coincidence felt somehow deserved.

Hades shook her head, approached him again, and put her hand on his neck. “I shouldn’t say anything, but your letters to me were … found by anonymous sources. That you didn’t send them voluntarily, I understand. At first, of course, I felt perhaps you were disgusted by my drinking the blood of mortals … that you were ashamed of me.”

“Never,” Dufaii forced through his throat. Were it not for the realm he was in, he knew his eyes would have been watering all over again. As it was, they only stung dryly.

“I know,” Hades replied with a small smile. “It was this place … the memories of it … and the work we both had to put in for the future of our people. I hope there will be time ahead for us to talk about it all. To rebuild all that was taken away from us. But we must fight a little longer.”

Dufaii nodded several times before letting his head go slack. He placed a hand on hers and closed his eyes. He felt so grateful and so underserving of her understanding. Part of him wanted to end his mission here—to just stay with one of the few people he’d ever shared a connection with. His heart burned for that … like his eyes burned for moisture. However, he knew that neither of them could do that until this was all over.

Finally, Hades pulled her hand away, gave one last parting look, and walked briskly into the nearby tunnel to the other parts of Hell.

Dufaii waited for a few moments to compose himself, and then returned his attention to the map. He studied for a while, making mental markers and using a degree of memorization he hadn’t employed in many years. It wasn’t all that long ago, he noted, that he could have fully memorized the map in a matter of seconds. Though his mind was still active, it had been long devoted to focus on meticulous procedures which he followed in his chemical studies. In all that, quick memorization was not a priority. After several hours, however, he had devoted enough time to feel like he knew the map so that he could both navigate and course correct if he got lost.

Dufaii walked to the … demon … who was writing on a long parchment in the back room, which looked like a history. This did not surprise him … with millennia of time to spare, it was rare to find an angel or demon who had not written such volumes.

“Ah, all finished?” Abhayananda asked and extended his hand so that the map could be placed in it whenever ready.

Dufaii nodded, hesitated a moment, and then handed him the parchment.

“It’s odd, I understand,” Abhayananda said with soft smile and understanding nod. “I’ve even thought about changing these eyes and everything else, at least when I am alone with my demon friends. I know most demons wouldn’t mind, as I was an ally in the rebellion. But I could not stomach the idea of taking a form like all of you. It would feel like I was … not respecting what really happened … like I was stealing your honor.”

“There is … no shame in your escaping all this,” Dufaii said, trying his best to speak to him with the respect he would show any other demon. Though it he knew it must have come off as forced for how he struggled to look the angel in his gold eyes without feeling a sense of animosity. “For many, it was only the knowledge that some of the rebellion had escaped and survived the threat of the Storms that kept them going. Especially when it did not seem we would ever find a way out. You are one of us.”

“I thank you for your generous spirit of inclusion, especially in light of the effort you must make to offer it,” Abhayananda said with a small and gracious bow. “However, I have spent a great many years in coming to terms with being a creature that is neither loyalist nor demon, in appreciating my identity in that place of the in-between. I once sought the comfort of common identity with the brave demons I admired. Now I understand that I can simply be with them. That is sufficient.”

Dufaii was unsure about how he felt about Abhayananda’s philosophy, but he could at least respect the being’s inner fortitude. He nodded and said, “I’m sure we will speak again.” Then he turned to leave.

“I look forward to it, my friend,” Abhayananda said with a cheery tone.

Dufaii went through the same doorway that Hades had left through. It was significantly darker than the chamber with the pool, enough that it would have taken most eyes an hour or so to adjust. But like most of his kind, Dufaii had learned to make his eyes adjust more quickly and to a greater degree. He concentrated on moving specific layers of his meta-physical shape, specifically in his retina. It felt a bit like flexing a muscle, if that muscle were made of something liquid without physical constraints. It took him a minute to shape a multi-layered tapetum lucidum, an amplified version of the organ which allowed nocturnal animals to see at night. The darkness became like perfect light, if robbed of color.

With a mental grid of the maze in mind, Dufaii began to walk down the tunnels. So tight was his focus on his sense of direction that everything else dimmed by comparison. Time, feelings, and inner thoughts all became background noise as he walked, turned, walked, counted pathways, and planned his next turn. This went on until the light was gone completely, even to his specialized eyes.

At this point, Dufaii engaged his secondary senses. He began to take heavier steps and listened to the echoes as the sound of his steps bounced and carried around him. Along with that, he extended his psychic senses, the same ones he used to sense auras from other beings. Though these were not mystical abilities that could grant him all sight, he could tell a difference between pockets of open air immediately around himself and solid stone. With these two abilities together, he knew when he passed the tunnels he was looking for, without having to drag his hand along the wall of the cave.

Dufaii travelled like this for several miles, noting the endless dead-ends and turns that, if not taken in perfects sequence, would lead any wanderer to becoming inevitably and irredeemably lost. It was in the last hour of his walk that his modified eyes again picked up a trace of light. At that point, he no longer had to rely on his map, only to follow the light. Until he found himself in the great and familiar expanse that was the prison of the Lightbringer.

-O-

“What is a demon who is afraid of Hell?

While Dufaii had spent several millennia in that cursed realm all his kind had been banished to, he feared it. Upon even thinking of cutting a portal to the realms below, his stomach became queasy and his muscles tightened. While he was there, he frequently found himself in bouts of dizziness. He did not fly more than a dozen feet in the air, and he dared not close his eyes while alone.

Nobody else would have guessed this out of the Godkiller. As always, he kept his aura and his feelings occluded. He exuded an air of cold confidence, an illusion which he reinforced with his undeniable competence.

Inside, however, Dufaii felt the like he was the least capable demon he knew. His guilt and shame were matched only by his terror of the place that every other demon lived in and called home.

Ironically … and in a way I don’t think he could have ever understood … it was what most made him demon.”

-General Hades, Private Journal 345

-O-

Dufaii looked around at the sole dwelling of the Lightbringer and a handful of his loyal servants. Where once it had been a dark realm with demons blindly scattering to find some hope of escape, the torches far above not made visible the great mountain ranges and large valleys between the cliffs. The cliffs and the mountains stretched high into the air and eventually touched the ceiling—for it was still a cave. But this fact was easy to forget, especially for how distant it seemed … especially as the human torches glowed like orange stars.

Of course, the air here was as dry as everywhere else, and Dufaii’s skin was already beginning to crack. Spreading his wings in the air, Dufaii flapped them once and took flight. He did not go high, for a trauma-derived habit that was probably moot at this point. He also caught himself listening out for the impossible rumbles of thunder.

Dufaii glided slowly over the expanse for about an hour, he estimated. When he saw the familiar mountain where the torch had beckoned him so many lifetimes ago, he came in for a gradual landing. Once on solid ground, he saw the great white doorway that had been constructed directly into the face of a cliff—Hell’s first dwelling. Dufaii ascended a short stone stairway and then walked through a grand bone-carved archway tall enough for the largest of gods to pass through comfortably.

Armed guards with wrinkled faces—visibly hardened by many lifetimes of enduring this place—met him at the steps. Each of them was covered in heavy black armor, with the trident insignia of the Lightbringer etched over the hearts of their breastplates. Each still carried their angelic form, if presumably more muscular to better serve their post.

Dufaii nodded at them.

The soldiers nodded back and then proceeded to escort him inside without saying a word.

Dufaii followed into the great hall of the fortress prison, remembering the first time he entered with a shiver that he suppressed. The fortress no longer looked like a connected series of small caverns like it had all those years ago. It was more like the hallways of a palace. Everything around him—doorways, tables, chairs, banisters, wall trimmings, fountains, and more—had been carefully sculpted from both bone and stone. Living torches lined the walls, elevated several feet so that they were just high enough to be out of eye-level. Rooms lined both sides of the long chamber; each was closed off by a large white door.

Dufaii did not know what was in each of room and suspected that the Lightbringer didn’t remember either. One of his incarnations could have used it for painting, followed by another who wanted one as a torture chamber, followed by another who collect mythical monsters, followed by another who wanted a swimming pool. There was no knowing unless one had such a personal disregard for their own health as to investigate.

Dufaii was led by the two guards to where the hall ended at a stone staircase and massive double doors. The guards opened these double doors at the top of the stairs from both sides. He entered and found himself standing in front of an unmanned but cluttered reception desk. Past the desk, there was only one white door, chiseled with modern and quite intricate trim. Standing there did not give Dufaii the impression that he was about to have an audience with the second most powerful being in the universe. It felt like he was in a replicated model of a western human’s business, where contracts would be signed to exchange wealth.

One of the guards cleared his throat and then said, “You should know that … he’s been Mr. Green.”

Dufaii nodded in understanding. It was a heads-up for how this incarnation wished to be addressed. This title did not give him high hopes.

Dufaii pulled open the door and stepped into the final room. It was dimly lit, but all was plainly visible. A massive white desk stood in the center of the room, with three chairs surrounding it. Several varied paintings were hung on the far wall, while the rest of the walls were lined with white shelves. Each shelf contained numerous books and artifacts. On the ground was a carpet—the finest that he had ever seen, with thin fibers dyed and patterned into a zigzagging pattern of yellow on gray. Human head-hair, of course.

The Lightbringer stood behind the desk, on the far side of the room. His back was turned as he faced a painting of clouds as one might look out a window. His chosen shape and form were noticeably shorter than those that the Lightbringer had taken before, and human as opposed to demon, animal, deity, or angel. The human shape would have been considered somewhat small and short, especially for a modern mortal. He wore a black, pin-striped business suit, and had no wings. His hair was silvery, somewhat thin, and combed back. And when he looked over his shoulder, he revealed a warm and charismatic face. “Welcome, Dufaii.”

“Lightbringer,” Dufaii replied. He realized that he was not using the pseudonym for this incarnation. He didn’t really know why he didn’t want to use the other name … except that ‘Mr. Green’ didn’t carry the appropriate weight, no matter how little this incarnation deserved its true name.

Mr. Green chuckled and said, “Oh, I’ve not heard that title in so many years. I do believe that you’re the only one who still uses it. Please, call me Mr. Green.”

“Why have you summoned me?” Dufaii asked, ignoring the oddly uncomfortable pleasantries that made his skin itch more than it had already been.

Mr. Green smiled and shook his head. “Right to the point I see. Won’t you even have a drink? I know your distaste for our local wines, but this one is quite aged. It doesn’t even bear the original taste of … well … you know. Amazing what four thousand years of distillation will do.” He slid a glass across the desk and swallowed what remained in his own white cup.

Nausea hit Dufaii as soon as the drink passed under his nose. The blood looked like brandy but smelled sweeter. He slid it back across the desk and shook his head.

Mr. Green used it to chase his first glass, gave a satisfied sigh, and said, “To business, then. Tell me, how much do you know about Ammon’s current activities?”

Dufaii forced himself to keep the muscles in his neck and jaw loose before he replied. He drew a slow breath and said, “Last I heard, he was doing everything in his power to convince you to join his war against the Creator. I believe some of these artifacts he collected to try to convince you that victory could be realistically achieved.”

Upon the shelves to his left, numerous artifacts rested. These included a firing weapon prototype stolen from Heaven, the magic scepter of a human that had used its power to split seas and call down fire, and the sandals of Hermes that had allowed the god to speed along his messages faster than any other god or demon. These were only the three artifacts of several dozen that Dufaii happened to recognize. Most of these artifacts were objects of power made by the gods, but some were made by humans of eras long passed. In those days, the occasional human sorcerer could rise in power to even rival demons. Of course, Dufaii himself had brought enough artifacts in earlier years to fill many more rooms than this, but he’d sent these to Hades.

“Indeed, he was trying to convince me to kill the Creator,” Mr. Green replied with a droll tone. “Ammon has continued in this obsession of his, so much so that I can no longer ignore his threat to the Balance. War upon the earth, the extinction of humanity, and a new imprisonment of our people to a place that we’ll never escape—these are all things that I cannot allow.”

“Yes,” Dufaii said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his doubt in this incarnation’s sincerity. “However, we cannot destroy Ammon, especially now that his followers outnumber those of Hades. Civil war, even if we were victorious, would leave demons in a weakened state that the Archangels might not be able to ignore.”

Mr. Green nodded. “I would like to say that I have come up with a plan for dealing with Ammon. However, it is the Creator who has finally seen fit to directly intervene in our affairs.”

“What do they want?” Dufaii asked as he clenched his jaw ever so much.

Mr. Green lifted and hand a gave a soft nod. “I understand your distrust, believe me, but this actually plays into our favor. By working with the Creator, we minimize our chances of an attack by the Archangels if civil war should come.”

“We do not give in to their tyrannous demands and we do not sell out our own kind; that’s the entire reason we fought” Dufaii said, having to strain him muscles and focus on breathing so that too much rage did not boil up from within him.

“Nobody is siding with the Creator,” Mr. Green said, lifting both hands in an attempt at a calming gesture. “But they have proposed an interesting idea … one that would keep us from any kind of war or betrayal.”

Dufaii only glared in return.

Mr. Green smiled and said, “Trust me, this is all good news. A battle of champions—Ammon versus a champion of the Creator’s choosing. If he loses, Ammon will join Hades and withdraw our kind from this realm and the Earth with the Creator’s blessing. And if he should win, he has been promised a fight against the Creator, which he must take up alone. All other demons will be free to go their own way.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate him,” Dufaii said with a shake of his head. “There’s always more to it than that. And he can overcome almost any challenge. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a plan for how to fight the Creator, as well. You risk a lot in assuming that he will lose.”

“I’ve … noticed,” Mr. Green said and wrinkled his brow. “He’s already discovered who the Champion is.”

“Do you know who the champion is?” Dufaii asked. Naturally, his own first guess was Michael … the greatest fighter in heaven. Though … it was possible that the Creator had chosen someone whose fighting style might come as more of a surprise to Ammon.

“It’s a human,” Mr. Green said and looked down at his desk with a ponderous expression.

A … human?” Dufaii asked. Had the Creator recently endured another bout of madness? With all the warriors at their disposal, to choose a human seemed ludicrous.

“You heard correctly,” Mr. Green said, looking at his desk as he continued to think intently about the matter. “And this human is no hero or saint … it’s a child. One that Heaven plans to train and prepare just for this challenge. It had been a closely guarded secret that only a handful of angels could have known. Heaven must have a leak who is allied with Ammon … or using him. I personally suspect an angel who wanted the excuse to go to war if Ammon had been stupid enough to assassinate the baby in its crib. Regardless, the mystery of the Creator’s choice confounds me. What I do know is that Ammon claims to know the identity and location of this human.”

Dufaii thought about this for a moment, genuinely not knowing what his apprentice would do in a situation like this. All their lives, they had fought against beings more powerful than themselves, some infinitely so. What would he do now that the tables were turned? One thing that was certain was that Ammon would not take his victory for granted. To destroy the Creator was the center of his obsession. He would chance nothing to get his opportunity at it.

Dufaii shook his head. “What could the Creator possibly be thinking?”

“That, I still don’t know,” Mr. Green replied. “But this distraction does mean that Ammon will have a target to distract his energies whiles Hades can do what she needs to unite our people and prepare them for escape.”

Dufaii raised an eyebrow.

Mr. Green poured himself another drink and continued, “Which brings me to you. Given your history, I thought it best for you to keep his attention completely focused on the Challenge. We don’t necessarily need the human champion to win. It will just make things easier if Ammon has to invest as much of his attention on this matter as possible. Nobody knows him like you do, and I think you could make this more challenging for him at every turn. A little sabotage here, a little misdirection there. And Bob’s your uncle, oops, I didn’t have time for any of my loyal supporters! I guess it’s just my own fault that Hades won them over.” He laughed at his own little role play, pouring himself yet another drink.

Dufaii, however, was neither convinced nor amused. “You want me to work on behalf of the Creator? To help this … human … defeat my former partner?”

Mr. Green seemed to completely miss Dufaii’s disgust. He replied, “Make no mistake; we don’t expect you to change the tide of battle or anything. My guess is that Heaven has a trick up their sleeve when it comes to this human champion. Either that, or the Creator wants a clean chance to eliminate the head of an assassination plot against them without causing a war. Either way, we just want to create a counterbalance to whatever fool in Heaven is pulling strings in Ammon’s favor. That … and constant eyes on the situation until we have a better idea of what Heaven is up to.” He took a sip of the drink this time, as he waited for an answer.

Dufaii crossed his arm as he considered what was being proposed. The idea of siding with the Lightbringer as well as the Creator filled him with revulsion, no matter how logical it seemed. Had Hades not asked him to become her eyes and ears in this matter, he would have outright refused immediately for his distrust of them alone. The Lightbringer and the Creator, despite whatever they had once been, were now two sides of the same coin—poisoned by madness and their own desperate desire for self-preservation.

Seeming to sense something in the uncomfortable silence, Mr. Green said, “We can’t give Ammon a chance to throw Hell into civil war. If loyalists are helping Ammon, they’re likely just waiting for Hell to fall apart and become easy pickings. I know the disgust you must feel at siding against your own people. But the only way that demons will be free is if they are united. Also, no matter what the Creator promises, we both know that Heaven will not sit idly by if Ammon succeeds in the challenge and then in killing the Creator. Win or lose in this challenge, we need the time to form a united Hell. And preferably one where we have already resolved the issue of these … crumbing demon souls.”

As little as Dufaii liked it, and as little as he trusted Mr. Green, he had promised to be the ambassador of Hades in this matter. And while he had no intention of just blindly sabotaging his former partner, agreeing now meant that he could send word of all this back to Hades and allow demon leadership to decide on what was best. Regardless of his distaste for working indirectly on behalf of the Creator, Dufaii would serve his people as he always had. This time, he would just listen and allow himself to be a pawn on their behalf. He’d … cause enough harm. Like Michael had said … he always interfered and made things harder … out of his sense of honor. Maybe it was time to just let go.

The Lightbringer finished off his drink, set the empty white cup back on the table, and with a self-aggrandized smile said, “I take it we are in agreement.”

-O-

“Dufaii … no … Dear Dufaii … no … Esteemed Godkiller … no … My Love … not anymore.

I hate what seeing you does to me, but more than that I hate seeing what it has all done to you. You stand there, in my home after so many millennia, and it’s like you never left. Just like then, you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. I can tell it pains you … and yet it is why I fell in love with you.

I don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to feel. After all this time, I still feel used. Like everything we had was part of your elaborate rebellion against the Creator. But … I also know you … and that you don’t have the ability to manipulate in such a way. You just kept a secret, an enormous secret that affected me. One that would have made me choose between you and the Creator … both of whom I loved.

Maybe it was my fault. If I could have helped you see the Creator as I see them, I’m sure you would have had faith. Or maybe I should have taken you away, until you felt safe to return to what was our home.

You were right when you told me that I am … not included … in managing the affairs of Heaven. I am the warrior, the single-minded blade of the Creator. You were the only one to think that there was more to me.

Maybe you were wrong about that too.”

-Letter 3 from the Archangel Michael to the Godkiller. Recovered unsent, tucked into a private journal.