61 Sympathy, Condolences & Apologies

Bel

Bel sat statue-still while the tattoo artist worked on his ear, the minor thrum of pain a familiar and welcome sensation.

It had been nearly a week since the funeral. They had spent a few hazy, restful days at home before inaction had itched at him. From then, the days had blurred into a whirlwind of reports, meetings, coordinating an inventory, and beginning to ease back into training.

Nausea had clenched his stomach the morning he’d decided to go to the training fields, enough that he’d balked and told Lily while they’d been having lunch that he’d be putting it off another day.

“Okay, big guy,” she’d said, adjusting her grip on her sandwich. “I’ll ask Krun, then.”

His curiosity had spiked. “Ask Krun what?”

“Oh, I was trying to remember how to smooth out that combination you showed me right before you left, so I was going to head down with you after lunch. But Krun gives me pointers sometimes, so it’s okay. I’ll ask him when I go back up.”

“Krun forgets the size difference, so what works for him might not work for you. Here—” He’d reached for one of the swords on the display rack by his desk, worried that Lily might start forming fighting habits that would be hard to break. “Let’s work it out real quick.”

“Now?” she’d asked, putting down her sandwich. “Okay.”

It had taken him entirely too long to realize what she’d been doing.

She usually picked up on techniques quickly and was always good about implementing instructions, but for some reason, she kept making little mistakes and asking him to demonstrate again, then asking him to act as her opponent for practice. He’d lost himself in the dance of combat, the sword in his hand no longer a separate thing, but an extension of his arm. The tension had seeped from his muscles as they warmed up, moving by memory instead of conscious thought.

When Lily had suddenly stopped making mistakes and pressed her advantage, he’d had to hop up onto the dais to avoid her strike, laughing as he realized that he was having fun .

He’d lowered his sword, understanding dawning. “I see what you’re doing.”

“My best?” came the cheeky reply.

He’d swatted at her ass with the flat of his sword, but she danced out of the way, sheathing her blade and propping her hands on her hips.

“I’m not going to tell you how you should heal, or when you should do things. But I know you. You’re so physical , Bel. You’re a warrior to your core, and sitting around staring at paperwork isn’t going to do you”—she’d tapped her temple— “any favors. Maybe you don’t spar today, maybe you go and just work out. As much fun as it would be to try, you can’t fuck your way to better mental health. You can fuck part of the way there, but at some point, you need to have another outlet.”

He’d smirked at the last bit, but then sobered. “I didn’t struggle with this. After the other conflicts.” I’ve never seen so much death at once. “I’ve never felt hesitant to go back. But you’re right. I know you’re right.”

So, he’d gone.

Several other warriors had been there, all of them looking just as hesitant and just as determined as him. They’d all been a little stilted at first, but soon they’d been sparring like they had before the war, laughing, teasing each other, calling out advice. Bel had sparred until his arms had gone shaky and he’d been half blinded by dripping sweat, elation pumping through his veins.

Instead of showering, he’d gone up to the Hellp Desk, where Lily had been listening to an especially shrieky soul, tugged her out of her chair, told her again that she was right, and kissed her with every ounce of passion he felt for her. It was only when she lay back on her desk, pulling him down after her, and the gate demons had burst into a chorus of whistles and catcalls that he’d remembered where they were. He’d pressed an innocent kiss to her cheek, thanked her, bowed to the hooting demons, and sauntered back to the elevator as if nothing had happened.

He’d spent time on the training fields every day since. More and more demons showed up each day, and all of them found peace in the controlled violence of training. They talked to each other about their struggles, about the guilt, about the nightmares that ripped them awake, about things that had helped them. Bel floated the idea of asking some of the therapists on Levels One and Two to come down and have either group sessions or to organize schedules for individual meetings, and it was well received.

“Ear is done,” his artist announced, the prickling pain of healing fading into nothing. “Which one do you want to do next? Your hand, or…?”

Bel had asked Lily about mortal tattoos, and while the overall process was the same, he’d been mildly horrified at the healing time. All demonic tattoo artists either had healing abilities, or they had a healer they worked in tandem with, resulting in a process that minimized inconvenience and maximized the quality of the art.

“Hand,” Bel answered.

The artist nodded, reaching for the stencil.

If his artist had been initially surprised at his request when he’d made the appointment, he hadn’t showed it in the slightest. He’d only nodded and begun sketching.

When Bel had mentioned to Greg what he was planning, his friend’s face had gone carefully neutral.

“For fuck’s sake, what?” Bel asked.

Greg hadn’t even twitched. His stillness often made him difficult for other people to read, but Bel knew him too well. Greg felt things deeply, and the less he showed, the more tended to be going on under the surface.

“She’s it for you, isn’t she? No matter if she reincarnates or not,” Greg said.

As always, the mention of Lily’s reincarnation sent razors tearing through his insides, but he’d nodded.

Greg’s features had softened, a smile playing at his mouth. Relationships had never come particularly easy to either of them—meaningful relationships anyway—but even less so to Greg. Bel had seen the quiet longing in Greg’s eyes before, but the flashes of it had become less frequent over the years as Greg had settled into his work on, and then mastery of, Level Nine. He suspected that Greg had convinced himself that not only would he spend eternity alone, but that he and everyone else were better off if he was. Bel hoped that, someday, someone would convince him otherwise.

“If you were anyone else, I’d say you were a hopelessly romantic idiot,” Greg said, “but it’s you. So, hopefully, you’re just a romantic.”

Bel watched the artist place the stencil on the back of his hand and wrist, then gave his approval.

A moment later, the artist lowered the needle to his skin, the hum of the tattoo gun buzzing through his bones and making his fingers twitch. He forced them to still.

The image of Lily on the battlefield during the rite was seared into his soul. He’d spent his life looking for the beauty in the world, from the tiny and mundane to the grand and overwhelming, but in that moment, she had been the pinnacle of all of it. She’d been utterly regal in her sweeping gown and upswept hair, the large bouquet of lilies cradled in one arm as she gazed down at a fallen gegony and its young with quiet empathy. Her loveliness had been so at odds with the torn-up, barren surroundings and the bodies of creatures, yet she belonged . She’d bent to place a flower with a tenderness that had made his heart ache, resting her palm on the shoulder of the adult gegony for a moment. An acknowledgment, from one parent to another. Then she had risen and swept forward, her shimmering purple gown a beacon of color, of life in the desiccated realm.

As the lines of ink sank into the back of his hand, forming a small piece of beauty during the rite, he smiled.

Maybe he was a hopeless romantic.

Though, at the moment, he was a worried one too.

Lily had been quiet for the last several days, and acting off. He’d caught her staring out the kitchen window, lost in thought. He’d caught her watching him or Sharkie with a soft but slightly sad expression. The look had worried him. He’d asked about it, but she’d just said that she was “soaking it all in.” He didn’t know what to make of that, and admittedly fear had lanced through him when he wondered why she’d need to soak them in. They kept an open dialogue with each other, so he knew she would talk about it when she was good and ready, and there was really no point worrying about it until then.

Because Greg had been right. She was it for him. His life was and always would be better for having her in it, even if she was just there for a little while in the grand scheme of his eternity. Even if his heart clenched every time he thought of her leaving, as much as it clenched when he thought about what she’d have to give up in order to stay.

A hopeful romantic.

He was definitely that.

Lily

Her hands had been shaky all day, despite the sense of rightness that had settled into her soul that morning. She’d never been more certain of anything in her entire existence, but her damn hands seemed to have missed that memo.

Today, she made it official.

Permanent.

No more reincarnation, no more mortal world, no more heartbeat. All things she would miss, sure. But she would gain everything that was actually important.

She would go to the Reincarnation Office, tell them to put that note in her file, and finally tell everyone she loved that she wasn’t going anywhere, and never would.

Bel had noticed that something was up—because of course he had—catching her in moments of wonder and a little bit of grief. She hadn’t told him what it was, because she’d been allowing herself to feel . She’d known she wanted to stay, and if she was being honest, she’d known for a while that reincarnation was no longer an option for her.

But that decision? It needed its own grieving too. She’d spent days working through her feelings, not wanting to burden Bel with them because she knew how guilty he already felt for wanting her to stay. It seemed important for her to do it for herself.

As she processed, it struck her that before, where she would have gotten overwhelmed and frustrated with herself for having strong emotions, she was now able to acknowledge, accept, and work with her feelings. Her feelings weren’t too big or inconvenient or ugly. They just were , and she wasn’t afraid of them anymore.

Her decision that it was time had crystallized that morning. While Bel and Sharkie were making eggs Benedict, she had gone outside to sit on a chair in the front yard with Max on her lap, watching the sunrise gilding the wisps of mist that lingered in between the hills. The air had been crisp, but not cold, the songbirds filling the quiet with their myriad songs, distant trees rustling in a breeze.

Then Sharkie and Bel had laughed together about something, and she’d known. Known that she had to go to that office today and close off that path, because she’d truly chosen another.

She hadn’t told them yet. She didn’t want to tell anyone until she’d been to the Reincarnation Office and told them to put a note in her file. She was staying for them, but she was staying for herself too. She loved the Afterlife, the people in it, and oddly enough, her work at the Hellp Desk, chaotic though it might be.

But damn, she couldn’t wait to share the news with them.

She’d decided to go to the Reincarnation Office during a lull that she was still waiting on.

Lily drummed her fingers on the desk, waiting for the male soul to stop slamming his palms against the invisible protective barrier that had manifested itself across the front of her desk. She liked the upgrade. Before, the barrier had only applied to the souls’ irate spitting, which she’d very much appreciated, but it’d meant that they could still come over the desk to invade her personal space. Which had been annoying.

The new barrier was more expansive, and seemed to only apply to the souls, as she’d had no problem throwing her stapler at a particularly entitled soul earlier. They’d tried to throw it back at her, but it had ricocheted off the barrier and smacked them in the chest.

Lily considered her options with scientific detachment as the man slammed his hands against the barrier so hard she heard joints pop. His purple-faced litany of insults and threats were woefully uninspired— Ugly bitch? Fuck you up?

Really? Where was the creativity?

Her bored lack of response seemed to infuriate him. Perfect. His file indicated that he’d given himself a heart attack having a tantrum after his sports team had lost, and since he’d driven everyone in his life away due to his abusive behavior, no one had been there to help him. As hilarious as it was to watch him froth himself into a truly spectacular hissy fit and not worry about the consequences, she had more important things to do.

She stood, reaching for the spear the gate demons had cut down for Sharkie. It was slightly too short for Lily, but it was long enough to whack the idiot with.

“I have the report for you, but first, please make that stop.” Lev’s voice pulled her attention away from where the man was throwing his shoulder at the barrier, trying to break it down like a door. Horrified disgust was all over Lev’s face as he stood a few feet behind her chair.

Lily blinked, then swung the spear with all her might as the man connected with the barrier again. The strike jarred up the shaft of the spear, followed by a splintering crack that, at first, she thought was just the man’s bones. He toppled backwards to the floor, unconscious, while the first third of the spear clattered against the stone beside him.

“Oops,” Lily muttered, staring at the broken wood in her hand. Thankfully, there were plenty of extra spears around. All she had to do was get another one cut down. But still, she felt bad.

She used the stick to wave and get Krun’s attention. “Could you take care of him, please?”

“Of course,” Krun rumbled, grabbing one of the man’s legs and shooting her a grin. “At least he’s quiet now.”

“Small mercies,” Lily agreed, watching Krun drag him away like a doll before turning to Lev. “Sorry about that. A report?”

“Yes,” Lev said, hurrying to set his briefcase on the desk and clicking it open. “The report that I mentioned at the funeral. Also a card.”

“A card,” Lily repeated, not following.

“Yes, my sister advised that an expression of sympathy and condolences would be appropriate, given the emotional toll that the war and the funeral have taken on you and Beleth, as well as an apology for perhaps not choosing the best moment to mention the report, so I’ll lead with that.” He handed her an envelope, then clasped his hands together a bit impatiently.

She took pity on him and ripped it open, ignoring his little gasp, and pulling out a deep purple card with a gold filigree pattern across the front. She flipped it open. Inside, it was plain white and completely empty, except for five words in Lev’s neat little script.

Sympathy, condolences, and apologies.

Leviathan

Lily managed to smother her laugh to a sharp exhale through her nose, but she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. Sweet Lev, so quintessentially himself.

“Thank you,” she said. Before she’d finished speaking, Lev nodded, lunging for his briefcase.

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome. Here.” He held up an immaculately bound report that was as thick as a small book. “This is the comprehensive report on options to maximize the efficacy of the Hellp Desk, as well as ensure its continued success in the long term. I took the liberty of having my assistants arrange the options available to us in order of the most to least helpful, in my opinion. I was deeply concerned with the idea that your reincarnation would leave us bereft of this valuable addition to the functionality of the gate, so, since apparently a comprehensive training manual and codified set of procedures is not possible—”

“Lev, honey,” Lily said, rubbing at her forehead, “I promise I’ll read the report, okay?”

“Well, obviously.” Lev frowned, fumbling uncharacteristically to flip through the pages of the report. “But, please, I believe that I have found a solution in the Archival records that would eliminate the need for training materials for any possible replacement, while simultaneously compromising on all possible concerns. I would like to know that you are at least considering it. Even if it does, um, require a sacrifice on your part.” He held the open report out to her with wide, pleading eyes.

Lily looked between him and the open report, reaching for it slowly, only to have Lev shove it at her.

“If this sacrifice involves a virgin or some kind of vow of chastity, then we’re shit out of luck,” she warned him.

“Read.” He tapped the top of the page.

While never a common or well-known practice, the yielding of reincarnation has been known to offer mortal souls a chance to experience life without mortality. By Universal definition, mortal souls in the Afterlife are said to “exist,” not “live.” However, a true and permanent yielding of the ability to reincarnate could, upon approval by the Universe, result in a mortal soul being deified, and therefore becoming a denizen of the Afterlife, though not a full deity.

Application for deification is not a guarantee of acceptance. According to Archival records dating from approximately the beginning of time to present, 1.9 billion souls have applied for deification, with an approval rate of less than 10 percent. The majority of these approvals occurred early in the dawn of civilization. Most of these defied souls have since gone to the Void with their partners or families or have become reclusive in their Paradises. An application for deification has not been received in at least three millennia, and knowledge of this process seems to be fairly uncommon, even among deities and elder denizens.

It is imperative to note for consideration that deified souls may never return to the mortal world. Deified souls are, for all intents and purposes, no different from natural-born denizens of the Afterlife, though they retain their mortal physical characteristics. Deified souls may reproduce with born denizens of the Afterlife, as well as other deified souls, though it seems that some deified souls struggled with fertility...

Lily reread the last paragraph. Then read it again.

And again.

Her breath sawed in her throat, hands shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the report. It couldn’t mean that. She had to be reading it wrong. There was no way that was even an option . Sure, she’d caught the bit about rare applications and approvals and all that shit, but was there really a chance ?

Breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Did she need to breathe?

“Lev?” she rasped. “Does that say what I think it says?”

“Oh good, you got to that part. Yes, I know it requires you to forgo returning to the mortal world, but if your deification was approved, your experience would be very like the mortal world, according to my research, though I think arguably our world is—”

“ A baby ,” she interrupted, tapping the paragraph in question. “Does that say that if I get deified, I could have a baby?”

“Well, yes,” he said reassuringly. “But it doesn’t have to be with Beleth if you don’t want to. Though you do make each other very happy and seem to like, ahem, being with each other. Though I do appreciate that you don’t make a habit of partaking of carnality in his office—”

Lily dropped the report on her desk and gripped Lev’s upper arms to shut him up and steady herself. “Where do I apply?”

Lev blinked, then his eyes lit up hopefully. “The Reincarnation Office. So you’ll consider it?”

“Consider it?” Lily laughed. “Lev, I could kiss you—”

He blanched. “Please don’t.”

“I know. Thank you. Thank you , even for the chance.” Lily spun away from him, bolting for the stairs. She took them two at a time, hurtling through the Universal Hallway, grinning so hard her face hurt.

Bel

“It is not. You haven’t even seen it.” Bel rubbed his hand over the new tattoo in question, scowling at Asmodeus, who swayed in place, Osmodai napping in his arms.

“The location tells me everything, I don’t need to see it to call it what it is. And what it is , is a ridiculous tattoo.”

“This from the man who has a line that is his wife’s exact height along with the words must be this tall to ride tattooed on his back,” Greg drawled from the couch.

“At least I’m not afraid of needles,” Asmodeus shot at him.

Greg snorted but didn’t say anything. He’d gone with Bel to get his original ear tattoo when they were younger and had hurried out of the artist’s studio the moment the tattoo gun had touched Bel’s skin. Bel had pretended not to hear him dry heave on the way out the door. The irony of that was hilarious, but also not worth pissing Greg off to point out.

“Think what you want,” Bel growled, dropping onto the other couch. “I like it, no matter what you chucklefucks say.”

“Okay, but what if Lily thinks it’s a ridiculous tattoo?” Asmodeus said smugly.

“She won’t,” Greg said.

I hope she won’t. Oh, Universe, I hope she won’t.

“It’s on Bel,” Greg continued. “Ergo, she’s going to love it, because she loves him. Unless it’s something truly stupid, like a portrait of her face.”

Bel said nothing.

Greg lifted his head, eyebrows furrowing together. “It’s not her face, is it?”

“Look at his hand! The man is in all the love. It might actually be her face—wait, is it her name ?” Asmodeus said.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bel exploded. “It’s not her face and it’s not her name. It’s something very personal to both of us, and if you had a romantic bone in your body, you’d respect that, you dick.”

Asmodeus covered Osmodai’s exposed ear. “Excuse you, there is a child present.”

“And Osmodai,” Greg and Bel said at the same time, then grinned at each other.

There was a brief knock before the door to his office swung open to reveal Lev, who studied his door with interest.

“Beleth, the sticky note mottos are beginning to go too far.”

“I didn’t notice the new one. What is it?” Asmodeus asked, making it all of one step before Osmodai woke up with a squawk and started fussing, drawing all of Asmodeus’s attention.

Lev glanced at the bundle in Asmodeus’s arms with concern and pointedly stayed by the door. “I have news that may interest you,” he said, fixing his orange eyes on Bel.

“Try to use words with three syllables or less,” Asmodeus said, then quickly returned to trying to soothe Osmodai, who sounded like he was working up to a tantrum. Bel had heard Anyaet make those noises enough times to start fearing for his eardrums.

“Ignore him,” Bel told Lev, who probably thought Asmodeus meant it. “What’s up?”

“I visited the Hellp Desk to deliver the report on how to maximize the efficiency and long-term success of said desk,” Lev said, as if that explained everything.

I bet Lily loved that, Bel mused, waiting for Lev to keep going. He didn’t.

“What did Lily think?” Bel prompted finally.

“She went to the Reincarnation Office.”

Time stopped. His heart stopped. Someone had dumped ice water over his head and somehow it had crashed over his insides too. His hearing hollowed out. The last time he’d felt this way, he’d been a young man watching his father walk into the Void, understanding why but screaming inside for him to turn around.

Beside him, Greg had gone eerily, perfectly still.

Lily.

Reincarnation Office.

The way she’d cooed at his fussy little sister. Her face when Osmodai had gripped her index finger while Bel held him. The wistfulness when they’d talked about kids…

Her cuddling with Sharkie on the couch. Sharkie asking her about siblings while they made breakfast. The picture of her and Sharkie silhouetted in the door looking at the rain. The way she and Sharkie looked at each other with love and pride. The way she looked at him . How she would press a kiss to the center of his chest. The way she left him funny and naughty sticky notes on his desk when they had lunch together.

All the tiny and incredible moments of their friendship and relationship told him one thing.

She wouldn’t.

Lily, his princess, fucking wouldn’t . She was no coward, and if she’d been thinking of leaving—the timing of which made no sense if it was true—she would have talked about it. Disappearing into the ether of the Universe wasn’t her style.

It wasn’t .

It couldn’t be .

Bel went to stand up, intending to corner Lev and interrogate him until he told him every-fucking-thing, but Osmodai chose that exact moment to let out a shrieking grunt and release a loud, large, and sticky-sounding load into his diaper that practically echoed in the silent room. He then launched into a screaming fit. The obscenely noxious smell dispersed itself with surprising swiftness, making even Bel wrinkle his nose.

Lev, standing closer to the source, gagged so violently that he bent double, staggering away, retching the entire time. A frazzled Asmodeus hurried after him in the direction of his own office and the diaper bag, calling Lev ten kinds of dramatic.

Bel’s surge of adrenaline dropped as swiftly as it had risen, leaving him shaky and weak. He dropped back onto the couch, all his thoughts happening at once, but only one remaining clear.

She wouldn’t.

Lily wouldn’t. Not like this.

“That can’t be all,” Greg snarled, launching to his feet. “He can’t fucking leave it there. I don’t care if he pukes up a lung, there has to be more to the story and he needs to get back here and tell it.” Greg ran—actually ran—out of the room in pursuit.

Bel sat numbly on the couch, then lurched to his feet and stumbled to his desk. Her file. If he could just hold her file, hold that little piece of her close until this all got sorted out, he would feel better. They would laugh about this later.

In several decades, when it finally became funny.

Or maybe never.

He kept her file in the same drawer that he’d kept her brothers’ socks in, and he’d added several of her favorite books to keep the file company. The paper was warm beneath his touch, radiating the same soothing energy that Lily gave him. He pressed it to his chest, choking on his own breaths. Still there. Still happy and strong and safe.

Just a misunder—

Her file disappeared, leaving him alone.

Again.