Demon Angel

tales of temples and ruins, of societies great—without corruption—could not have imagined such beauty.
    The stories of the holy wars, of knights who had brought glory to His throne, had fueled his dreams as a boy; here, in Caelum, surely only the angels were closer to His purpose. This must be what he'd been born for—and what was worth dying for. He would serve for eternity and could think of no better fate.
    His blood still sang from the transformation. Beside him, Georges… no, Michael—waited silently. He must be accustomed to this awesome display; Hugh was certain he never could be.
    Guardians milled about—men and women, some with wings, some in human garb, some nude—and he searched the faces for the one who had come to him, saved him.
    And did not see her.
    "Where is she?" He blushed as Michael raised his brows. Would the Doyen think his intentions toward the woman were impure? But still, he asked, "My angel."
    Michael did not reply.
    Hugh swallowed, looked at the ground. Pure, clean—no dirt nor rot. " 'Twas Lilith?"
    "Aye."
    How could it be? Except that there must be good in her, must be something within her that resisted the demon. "Can she be saved?" Did he not owe it to her to try?
    Michael studied him with obsidian eyes. "I cannot save her."
    Hugh nodded. If a place such as Caelum could exist, then it was surely possible to save a demon. "Then I will."
    The pit
    The floor was wet, but Lilith did not let herself think of what she might be lying upon. So long as she could remain still, she was content.
    But as with all things Below, contentment was denied. Tremors rocked her surroundings at regular intervals, and she was tossed against items solid and soft, alive and… not alive.
    It was some time before she heard the whimpering, before she recognized what the warm, squirmy thing that huddled next to her must be. Her fingers explored the coarse fur, scratched the pointed ears; she laughed as its tongues licked her hand eagerly in response.
    She could not see it. Though a demon's eyes made darkness visible, they had been taken; she would need time to regenerate them. And as she tried to pet it with her other hand and could not, when the tremors jarred her and phantom pains tingled in her limbs, she was glad she couldn't see what had been done to her.
    They had left her tongue—not out of kindness, but because they knew she would still taste the metallic liquid slide of blood, though none remained in her mouth. Clever of them, to return her sense of taste for the Punishment. Would a symbol be missing from her skin, or a new one added?
    But it mattered little when she could not see them. "And what could you have done, pup, that would bring you here?"
    Chuffing softly, it nudged her hand, neck and shoulder with its cold noses.
    "I see," she said. "You are far too friendly for a hellhound. They will try to take that out of you."
    It broke into a chorus of frightened barks as the room shook; something crashed against the wall and shattered, raining debris.
    She pulled it against her, protecting the small body with hers. "Might take them a while to return to our Punishments. 'Tis war out there, and they have no time to concern themselves with torturing the likes of us. I did not think Belial had it in him to challenge Lucifer, but it seems he did. Which outcome shall we hope for?"
    One of its heads whined and another growled; she nodded her agreement. "No good for us, either way." She sucked in a lungful of the foul, sulphuric air. No need for her to breathe except to provide a medium for speech, but she liked the rhythm of it, the push and pull—and stinking air was better than drowning in blood. She measured time in those breaths.
    No surprise she'd lost track of it years—decades—ago.
    "Perhaps you'll be full grown before they return for us," she mused. "If so, you'll not have much to fear from them. Your bite is death for a demon, and they'd likely not risk it just to teach you a lesson." She felt it startle and back away from her and laughed. "You are not a threat to me: I'm but a halfling. Only those of the original orders—demons, angels, nosferatu—have aught to fear from you; and if you did not have power over them, they would not need to subdue you. If they come—"
    Another tremor; she buried her face in his fur and waited for it to pass. Pain streaked through her as the room shifted. Its whimpers matched hers.
    It was nearly two hours before she roused herself, remembered what she