chapter 30: Lana

"T his armor is the shit!"

I'm looking at myself in a large mirror in Ashtaroth's quarters, having just put on the armor he brought me. He's lounging in the seating area, looking like a bored monarch, the familiar mildly indulgent smirk in place.

I can't help the child-like joy I feel. The armor which, of course, fits like a glove, is the most badass thing I've ever seen. Well, apart from his own. Mine is clearly its feminine counterpart though – tight at the waist with reinforced cups to protect the breasts. While the décolletage isn't armored, it is protected by intricate metal ribbing, interlocked with joints that ease shoulder movement. The ribs meet at the center of my sternum in a spine made of interlocked circles. A diamond hangs from the last ring, just above and between my breasts, shaped like a jagged fang. A silken black shirt protects from any chafing the slim, layered shoulder guards may cause. Reinforced bracers are snug at the wrists but flare out at the elbow, and my hands are protected by supple black leather gloves. A large red ruby decorates the steel-ribbed corset at the spot just above my navel. Fire seems to churn inside it. The wide belt draped over my hips has attached hilts on each side. Everything, from the shoulder guards to the boots on my feet, is decorated with gorgeous gothic designs.

I notice Ash walking up behind me in the mirror, not disguising his admiration for my backside in the tight leather pants that showcase it. "You'll need these," he says and extends two black short swords. The metal seems to absorb light, just like the crown that's occasionally on his head. The guards are decorated as ornately as my armor and the hilts end with more of those blazing red rubies. They're beautiful, but…

"I had swords of angelic steel with me?" I question, my palms hovering over the hilts he offers.

He grunts and shakes his head, unbound hair gently caressing his face. "I had these made for you. Try them."

I eagerly take the swords from his hands. The hilts feel like they were molded to my palms. I flip the blades from a standard grip to a reverse one and then back again, moaning. "Perfection," I say reverently, and he smirks, pleased with himself. I would roll my eyes if I wasn't pleased with him as well. While everything in Purgatory was in my size and well balanced, these items clearly took into account the way I move and even just my posture. I beat down the urge to hug him.

"This can't have all been made while I slept?" It's just too detailed.

"Some of it," he hedges.

Huh . No point in poking, I guess. "How are we getting there?" I ask instead and his mouth moves slightly in a hint of a wince.

"It's too far to walk and even flying would take a couple of hours. You will have to endure traveling by ether again."

I focus on the important part of his answer. "Wait, you have wings?" He just raises his brows in that kingly way that says ‘ obviously'. I'm afraid asking to see them would show too much of the insatiable curiosity I feel when it comes to him. Instead, I inquire about something that's been bugging me for a while, but I couldn't bring myself to ask the Fallen at Purgatory. "Why do some of you have wings and others don't? I mean, you all had them at the start, right?"

"We did not have physical wings upon creation," he corrects. "They, as is all of us in our true forms, are made of ether. When assuming a humanoid form was required, great feathered wings were the physical manifestations that human minds of that era chose to accept." I nod to show that I'm following along so far. "During the Fall, either the first one when we archangels rebelled against our Creator, or any subsequent ones, the power to summon wings was taken away as but one of the punishments bestowed upon the outcasts. Humans witnessing the ostracism said they saw the wings of the exiled burn. It is an apt metaphor. Those siding with Hell see that power returned."

So since Daniel is not on the side of Hell in the Heavenly Conflict and because he hasn't been taken back into the angel's fold, he can't use his wings. That's just wrong. "How come some of the Fallen have snake eyes and some don't?"

"Some characteristics of demonkind can manifest quickly once the Fallen venture into Hell."

"So, Maalik was on the path to becoming demonic?"

"He served Belial briefly if I'm not mistaken," Ash supplies.

"Belial? The chatty one? I can't imagine Maalik serving anyone, he's too… Maalik." Too dominant, too strong-willed. I scrunch my nose.

Ashtaroth just smiles at me. It's that ‘you're a cute little lamb' smile. Ugh . "Are you done asking questions so that we may leave?" he asks.

"Actually, one more question. Are Fallen all male? Or mostly male?" Since he's being open, I may as well take advantage and ask this stuff. In fact, I don't think I've heard him string together so many words at one time before.

"As ether we're genderless and, furthermore, we did not have the many names you know us by today. We communicated in the Celestial language – or Malachim as it is sometimes referred to in human tongues. It has no translation. When taking a physical form, various factors were considered, such as the superiority of male physical strength and the various prevalent beliefs at the time. Once we became known to mankind in our humanoid forms, we adopted the names bestowed upon us."

"You're being awfully forthcoming," I remark with suspicion.

He gives me a neutral look. "You asked nothing that would need to be concealed from you for your own wellbeing."

That doesn't sound ominous at all. "There are things that would harm me if I knew them?" I ask, mouth ajar.

"Certainly. Now, may we proceed?" He holds a hand out and I offer him my own, cutting off the graphic image of my brain leaking out of my ears via knowledge. But I'm not mentally prepared to be squished like a bug again either.

"This will be brief," he clips, grumpy again.

Naturally, there's only one possible response: "That's what she said."

???

My nose doesn't bleed this time, which is good. What isn't good is me retching out my breakfast into the red dust under me. Lovely start. I straighten up and Ash offers me a canteen and a linen cloth. Wonder if his all-powerful magic can conjure up a breath mint.

"Thanks," I murmur after rinsing my mouth, and take a look around. We're standing in the desert under a twilight sky. There's no sign of life anywhere. "This is cozy," I remark, and he smirks at my dry words.

"This way." He turns towards the red cliffs behind us. There's a large cave opening in the direction he's heading. I ask him about the areas in Hell that were clearly shaped by erosion, a process that should have taken far longer than the realm's existence, but he's not as forthcoming as before – he's focused on the cave opening. There's a red glow coming out, I imagine from underground lava flows or vents.

We enter the cave and the sand under our feet turns to stone. The arid desert heat turns to cold dampness instantaneously, but pockets of lava still illuminate the cave. "How is this possible?"

"You're in Hell, lamb." He unsheathes the greatsword strapped to his back in one elegant move. Like everything else with him, it's a thing of dark beauty, and I can't help the primal tingle I feel at the way he looks with it. He can probably destroy any threat found here with a thought, yet he plans to use that sword. There's something so masculine about that. Judging by the look he throws me, he knows the sword in his hands is not the only one I'm thinking about.

"Do you think you can manage to keep your eyes ahead?" he asks in that self-assured mocking way he has, and I unstrap my swords, looking anywhere but at his grinning face. He moves closer and murmurs in my ear, "I'll take care of your aching little pussy when we get home." I moan and, predictably, he chuckles, but I couldn't hold it in. It's the first time I've heard him use the word pussy and it just does something to me. I'm on a serious mission and my panties are soaked.

At that moment a screech comes from my other side and a leathery form, a blur of claws and fangs, launches itself towards me. Before I can lift my weapons, the creature stops with a wet sound of steel slicing through flesh, and the only thing in front of me is Ash's now bloody sword. The creature lies in two spreading puddles of blood at my feet, cleaved in half.

He flicks the blood off. "Let's go," he orders calmly, while my heart is still trying to beat its way out of my chest cavity.

We walk in silence, with me now carefully observing the dark corners of the cave. Stalactites and stalagmites cut the orange glow from the lava vents making the shadows flicker around us. Our steps and the drip, drip, drip of moisture are the only sounds I hear. There's a giant cobweb in the corner, dew glistening on the strings. I shudder to think of what a spider in Hell might look like.

"Are you afraid?" Ash asks tauntingly, his voice lilting.

"How could I be afraid? The most dangerous thing here is walking right beside me," I tease lightly. But it's the truth.

"Hmm. Perhaps I need to instill fear in you again. You've been taking far too many liberties in the way you speak to me. Maybe it's time you start addressing me as Master at all times, and not just when you beg to be fucked."

I flush in embarrassment at being reminded of the instances I did so. "I will kill you in your sleep," I mutter.

He scoffs. "Not only do I rest infrequently, but I am also virtually indestructible."

"Indestructible?" I mean, I knew he couldn't be easy to kill, but I figured there must be a way; even Superman has his kryptonite.

"There is one being that could end me. But Father is not a murderous god. He merely sent us here for all our transgressions, after all."

That doesn't jibe with all I've been taught. "How about the Old Testament then, divine judgment? Noah's Ark and The Great Flood, Sodom and Gomorrah?"

"The Bible was written by humans, sweetness," he answers, slicing through a cobweb in our way, none of the strands sticking to his sword. "Not a lot of it is accurate. I was there, after all. Humans like to exaggerate, and history changes to fit the current narrative."

Right. "How about Evolution versus Creation then? The Earth can't be both six thousand and five billion years old at the same time. So which one is it?" I could be the first historian to answer the age-old question! Not that I could share it with anyone back home.

"Can both not be true?" he smirks over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" I jog up to catch up with him. "What do you mean?" I ask again, but he just smiles beatifically. "Wait, is the answer one of those things that would melt my brain?"

"You may take care of those." He points ahead with his chin instead of answering. Two soul amalgamations are floating ahead of us. Guess the subject is closed.

"Such a gentleman," I sigh, rotating my wrists to loosen them. I dart forward and lower myself to my knees as I land between them, a sword out to the side in each hand. They disintegrate, and I hear a snort behind me. He even makes snorts sound majestic. "What? I can show off, too."

"The difference is," he says, passing me and walking on, "that I do not need to try to show off. I am simply innately superior to all others."

This time I snort. "That's the kind of arrogance that got you kicked down to Hell, you know." I'm walking beside him again and see no change in expression from my statement. "Do you regret it?" I ask carefully.

"Regret is not an emotion I practice," he answers coolly.

Hmm. "How old are you?" I ask, innocently. Maybe I'll glean the answer to my previous question that way.

Seems I'll have to live with disappointment though, as all he says is: "Time does not have the same meaning to me as it does to you."

Guess chatty time is over.