Combative

Tetanyia Five, Surface

Genius Loci

He stood among the sandy rubble of his old laboratory, the church convent from where Ruth's rebirth took place. And Maw's creation. Just beneath his feet was that fateful meeting of Seal holders, Fallen Angels, and his own chaotic self.

He glanced at Barthin, the living trophy he had collected and subsequently bound in demonic contract. The Angel gazed at him with his sole glowing eye from within his helm. The normally phthalo blue armor had been dyed a vibrant emerald green.

The god glanced to the rest if his forming retinue.

Praetarca, the poor substitute for the Proturan gods known as the Ancath, stood gazing intently at his race's rebirth. He had broken the insect in battle ages ago, showing the Ancath he had stolen, and thus gained his most loyal follower.

The robed Trow stood off to the side, his countenance weary as he witnessed impossible things. The Trow had been with one of the fallen Angels, Cardiel, he had slain, capturing both the prisoners they intended to execute and the fae the Fallen had attempted to recruit. He was the most qualified for experimentation, being jabbed with needles, and being dissected alive. All for his glory.

My glory.

The man garbed in emerald robes was his oldest follower, or technically his most senior as his followers tended to live a life as brief as the dew struck by the morning light. He was a cleaner, a sniffer, and generally made sure that his god's messes were remedied.

And boy were there messes! I could never do it without 'whats-his-name'!

Genius Loci forgot his name, not having the heart to ask. Or the desire. As soon as you named them you got attached and that was when they were slain in a glorious and sometimes dramatic fashion.

Good help is so hard to find nowadays!

He thought about that statement, his attention on hive ship being materialized and reconstructed along Tetanyia Five's surface. He had a few million new followers. He laughed at his own contradicted words.

Whatever!

He turned to address his followers, new and old.

"Look at all of this progress- can you believe it? Wow- just wow!"

"It is as you created, my god," the robed man replied.

He was always so formal, bordering on kiss-ass and potentially boring. But he was a merciful god and forgave his follower's shortcomings.

When he felt like it.

He could hear Praetarca's trembling lips, a good sign that the 'poor imitation' was in silent awe of his powers. He was by far the easiest to please.

"Wow, boss, so dose bug-guys are coming wit’ us, eh?"

And then there was the Trow. The sentient meat. At least he tried, though.

And lastly, his 'guardian Angel' brooded silently.

He didn't say much since he healed his voice. It was a bizarre wound, as if his vocal cords never existed in the first place; removed from past, present, and future. It was easy to take the orphaned flesh, adlib what it should have been, and voila! A speaking Angel. An Angel in the service of a demon. He loved living contradictions and Barthin was by far his favorite.

He was annoyed he couldn't hear the Angel's internal monologue. Perspectives were always weird.

You know what? Why should I be hogging the attention? Let someone else have it!

Redemption

Tetanyia Five, Surface

Barthin

On the sandy desert of the sequestered planet, an Angel suffered silently.

Barthin brooded over his misfortunes. He gained his voice, which was as heavenly as he remembered. Except the cost was far heavier than he imagined. He felt the demon flesh that was his new vocal cords knitting with his surrounding angelic tissue. He survived while his brothers and sisters fell. He betrayed Lucifer, signing that demon's trash.

He thought back to the others.

Cardiel… Forcas… Abezethibou… Azazel...

They were gone. He thought back to those he still cared for.

Amy… Wormwood… Lucifer.

Now he was a slave to a demon god, renouncing everything he had stood for. Thousands of years doing battle against dark forces, demons, and rogue gods to end up in the servitude of one.

Oh Sha'dai, how many more are there since my imprisonment?

CRUNCH.

He heard the noise, glancing at the desert sand, seeing nothing.

"I'd say there are five others- known," the god replied, slowly turning his head around, reaching an unnatural direction as Barthin was lined up to the demon's eyeless smile. The large, pitted, porcelain, cueball head was one of the god's more disquieting physical aspects.

The god always had this strange ability to read his internal thoughts, feelings, and intent.

"Stop brooding! Live a little! They say employment hopping does wonders to your resume!"

Barthin met his eyeless stare, refusing to back down.

"This is a short term victory. You'll beg her forgiveness as she pulls you apart."

"Oh, you mean Lucifer? Pah! If she were the real deal, would I still be standing?"

The god's voice raked through his ears and mind like a toothed blade.

"You stand only because she deems-"

The god interrupted, shooting him down.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, threats and follow-ups, retorts and repostes, empty words and vacant speeches. Booooring!"

You will be begging for destruction when-

"So what are you waiting for?" Genius Loci asked.

He felt the gaze of the others as they tensed.

CRUNCH.

Another loud noise drew his attention away for a brief second. A pointless distraction. He turned back, his mind whirring.

How does he know?

"Good question!" He replied like a closed door.

The god turned on his heel to the Angel, his head unmoving as he continued to stare at Barthin.

"What does your voice do?"

Barthin glared at him, the god was nonplussed by the intimidating glare.

"Look- let's be real- someone took your voice. Why? What did it do?"

Genius Loci's smile cracked wider, his flat teeth glinting in the desert sun.

Raphael…

"Who is that? Some sort of Angel?" the god asked with an eery chuckle.

Barthin grumbled at the god's ability to read his thoughts.

The Angel nodded, turning to look at the dipping sun.

"He is- was- one of the seven Archangels of Adonai. His realm was not just healing- but restoring someone or something to what it should be- as intended. But that was before he fell to Adonai's treacherous ways."

The god clasped his hands, leaning in to listen.

"Do tell more. I am a big fan of history!"

"We who stayed pure to Lucifer's ways and freedom were defeated. Raphael became our crippler. He took from us one thing that defined who we were. He removed it from all time and existence. For me, it was my voice."

He turned, keeping his mind calm, empty of violence.

"I am not just Barthin, Angel of War, Angel of Hellfire, Angel of the Adamant- but was Barthin, Angel of The Word."

And then he began to sing.

He sounded like a pipe organ, holding a single tune. It had been so long- so very long since music had touched his lips. He added another cord as if two people had begun singing. And then three more.

He was a one Angel choir, singing to the glory of Lucifer. And not just sing. It had been so very long since he created.

It had been an eternity since he last saw his materialized claymore, flying to strike the god.

The emerald demon caught the exquisitely crafted blade with a pinch of his fingers, busting out into his horrible shrieking laughter. The other followers began to defend their god. All too slowly.

The four master crafted spears he created just beneath the god's feet struck, punching him through. The laughing god resembled a spear stand as he rushed to the Angel.

Barthin extended his adamantite wings trying to go into the defensive when the emerald demon quickly grabbed him.

And lept into the sky.

Too fast!

His ambush had failed. The god recovered instantly as he felt the sickening grip from its two, omnijointed, nine-fingered hands.

He wrestled the god, pushing back against his porcelain face. The god's mouth closed, opening once again to reveal razor teeth, biting down on Barthin's adamantite hand.

He breathed in, feeling his hellfire building up.

And promptly choked. The song halted in his throat. The demon flesh began writhing, morphing, growing. Green tendrils burst from every joint around his throat, spilling from his helm. He felt the tendrils burrow into his skull, punching out through his eye.

He gagged, clawing at the growing flesh with his free hand. The pain.

Just like Gehenna. Just like Raphael's blade on his throat.

Crushing, twisting, coiling agony. All to slow, all too constant. His wings closed, his mind and vision going white.

He felt fear, not unlike his walk to his sentencing.

He cried out in his mind to the only thing that could rescue him.

Lucifer!

She didn't hear. He needed to cry out louder.

Lucifer! God of all, rescue me, das'shia!

No answer. He thought back to her loving embrace.

"What was she like?" the voice asked.

It became calm, his vision and mind still white.

"A mother. Kind. Honest. Loving."

"And yet she didn't rescue you."

"No! She is testing me!"

"Testing you by setting you up to fail? Not even demons do that!"

"That's not right- that emerald bastard! He did this!"

"Did he? Where was she? She forgot about you. She never loved you. A broken toy- no value to her."

He felt kicked in the face. He had failed. The challenge too overwhelming to face. Lucifer should have come and rescued them. But she didn't.

"She left you to die."

No!

"Die."

She wouldn't!

"DIE."

Lucifer...

"Sharing glory with no one. You were in her way and discarded. Nothing more."

Barthin was silent, his soul empty.

"I rescued you," the sweet voice added, "I gave you a voice."

He couldn't think, couldn't retort.

"Forget her. Be free."

"No!"

"Be free of the shackles of her abuse."

"She will save me!"

"You're tainted."

The demon flesh. His voice. A devil's deal.

"Tainted."

He let out a shout of rage.

"TAINTED."

The deafening word silenced him.

"She could never love such a ruined thing."

It was true. He stank of demonic infestation.

"But I can."

He opened his eye, seeing the emerald god kneeling down above him, a smile plastered on his face.

"Reject her, Barthin. Don't be boring!"

He glanced about, finding himself in the middle of the desert, flat on his back.

"Who gave you your life back?"

His soul trembled. Genius Loci's presence grew, throttling him.

"Surrender," the god stated, his voice quiet, his command firm.

He couldn't. Lucifer was his everything.

"She sent you into battle wounded. She failed to bring you aid. She left you to die. She treated you worse than an enemy!"

Barthin broke. Thousands of years only to come to this.

Did she really…?

"There is no other explanation. You signed my contract. She rejected you. I saved your life. She left you to die. I gave you a new purpose. Now give me your heart. Reject Lucifer and give me your will."

The god’s presence crushed him. Barthin crumpled. Lucifer wouldn't want him like this anyways. He was already considered gone. He'd never see Lucifer again apart from opposite battlements. He was her enemy.

He had nowhere else to go.

The emerald god reached out with a nine fingered hand.

"My only promise to you is that it'll be fun."

Can I really do this?

"Uh- yeah, you can. You've got nobody else but me, Barthy buddy!"

Genius Loci looked as massive as life itself. His one hope. His redeemer.

He gripped the god's hand, seeing no alternative. The emerald god held on tight, slamming is open palm to Barthin's chest. The Angel barked a cry of distress, feeling his very being twisting. Turning. Violated.

"Oh ho! Beautiful work. But let's consolidate all of this, shall we? Give you a power boost.

He felt his soul ripping apart. He screamed.

"Oh yeah, this is going to pinch!"

"Take War and add General."

Barthin felt the knife stab his brain. He trembled, unable to express the pain in word or thought.

"Let's see… Hellfire… Hellfire… Add my Emerald Prince- and there!”

Another lance of pain, a twisting creaking, breaking of his soul.

"Angel of the Adamant… keep that as is. That's a nice one!"

Barthin breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't relax yet, Barthy buddy! Hold on to your ass, because here we go! Take The Word, mix with The Conquerer, and merge with The Hellfire Prince!"

He shrieked, his soul wrenched apart. If this was depletion, it was worse than Gehenna.

And then his soul clicked together again.

There was no other noise but laughter. Shrieking laughter of a mad goat. It was suddenly music to his renewed ears. Then two more voices added to the din of madness. Then eight.

He realized he was the one laughing.

He opened his eyes, realizing his monocular vision doubled. He stopped, soaking in the new feelings. He glanced down at his hands, each sporting four extra digits. He flexed his fingers inward, discovering quickly the new joints. He bent them back, touching his dorsum. The armor-plated changed to a segmentation, capable of bending his digits in any direction.

He had become a mimicry of his new patron; his new god.

He rose to his feet, feeling his limbs thicker, his minder sharper. His fire hotter.

Power. He hadn't felt comparable power like this in an age. It dawned on him how stagnate he was. Why did he ever follow Lucifer? He glanced to his god, noticing right away he stood only beneath the porcelain head; he had gotten taller.

"Welcome to the team, Barthin, Emerald Prophet of Dark Knowledge."

CRUNCH.

That noise again. He glanced back, seeing a brief silhouette.

“Oh come on, Slatey, stop hiding!” Genius Loci demanded with faux outrage.

And then she appeared, just in front of Barthin. A tiny girl with a very large red hoodie, pajama pants, and warm slippers, eating a bag of dried crisp snacks. Her presence was a dead giveaway she was no human or angel.

Another god.

She brushed back her oily hair, revealing her large lone red eye with white veins. Her face sported a tiny mouth and two slits for a nose. She opened wide, revealing a single large incisor couched by two others beneath. She dumped the last of her snack down her gullet and then the bag. With a loud crunch, snack and bag were gone.

Barthin trembled, feeling the full weight of her presence. It was larger than he had felt from Genius Loci. She was a monster of monsters.

“What!? Who-”

Genius Loci touched his armored shoulder, putting himself in between the Angel and the newcomer.

“Slatey, please tone that aura down! We’ve got children here!”

The smaller god glanced about, sleepily blinking her eye.

“I only see an Angel. Is he food?” she asked.

Barthin felt his very being leap.

“No, Slatey, this one is not for food!”

She paused, letting out a sleepy grunt.

“Oh.”

And then relief. Barthin felt the aura pull back like a predator to the shadows. He was small prey in a forest of beasts.

“Slatey! What brings you to Neon's domain?"

The smaller god blinked absently as her grubby hands searched her hoodie pouch for snacks. She pulled out a familiar ration, fumbling at the seal.

"Bored. I heard something's happening on Lo-nine. Wanna go?"

Her sleepy question hung in the air.

"Something?" Genius Loci replied.

Barthim felt his moment of glory swept away into the sand dunes.

"Something!?"

Slate glanced back nonplussed at the god's faux acting.

"Why, Slatey, that could mean anything!"

"Yeah. Going?" she asked again.

The god nodded, an inhuman and jerky gesture.

"You know Slatey- we haven't done anything together in ages! Let's go!"

Genius Loci took one step, spun on his heel to look back to Barthin. He felt both of their stares.

"Well Barthy, my new champion, are you coming?"

The sandy desert swirled, the sun began its descent. He felt just like the grains, blown about by fickle emerald winds. The Angel acted without hesitation, taking his first steps as a new being.

To Lo-nine.