First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

30. Vendetta

        BELIAL BARED NO RESEMBLENCE to the once handsome, strapping soldier he portrayed within the now shattered mirror; the last fragments of his angelic heritage lay at his feet, never to be whole again. Over the span of existence he had allowed himself to become the hideous monster he sought to conceal, ashamed of how far he had truly fallen. The illusion had granted him what his blackened heart so desperately yearned, clinging to what was, but would never be again.

    His towering structure and lean, bony torso was scaly and reptilian, but his head was more grizzly, wild and unkempt with matted brown hair, darker in hue than the mocha sheen of his glistening scales. A main of greasy fur resembled a full mask atop a lizard-like body, an inhuman hybrid of both bull and buffalo. Thick horns were rooted above his brow and curved upward, matching the V-shaped hairline that began between his pecks, and lined each scaly shoulder like armour. Perfectly sculpted biceps glistened in the rippling firelight, identical tattoos no longer inked, but merely marked with darker scales; a physique which suggested he could bench press a street car with ease. A gangly reach hung past his knees, fingers not unlike Leviathan's but thicker and much more defined, thin, bone-like nails like freshly sharpened knives.

   His knees hit the floor with a heavy thud which shook the entire temple, his massive weight shifting every shard of shattered mirror that blanketed the spacious cathedral. Two cloven hoofs the size of Volkswagens shifted as he grazed his fingers through the mess, retrieving the largest fragment he could find, no larger than a dinner plate. He had hoped that the handsome angel would be staring back—something even remotely close would have sufficed to spark the smallest bit of hope that all was not lost, but there was only the beast in the reflection. The magic of the mirror was destroyed forever, along with what little sanity or civility remained.

    A smirk formed not thirty feet away, Urielle's vengeful spirit unmoved by his sorrow, relishing every moment. Samael was breathing but unconscious nearby, supported by Ariel, but this did not concern her, as revenge had taken her mind—her ambitions and every thought. Her eyes would not be moved, savouring every morsel of her enemy's torment like a fine wine, a taste bittersweet but oh-so pleasant.

    As Belial had taken everything from her, so had Urielle stripped him of this one joy that had remained a key component of the Demon Lord's sanity.

    Devastated eyes of radiating loss were all too familiar, an expression which told of a once hopeful soul worn to a nub and broken beyond repair. She had brandished this expression in her youth, and in this despair they were now bound as one. Ironically, she knew what it felt like to look to her own reflection—to wish with every fragment of her being to see an innocent soul staring back at her, only to realize that an empty shell remained of what was.

    His stolen vanity was but a flesh wound compared to blow he had inflicted to her family years prior—a loss which dwarfed her own. And so, her work was not yet complete, his torment but a taste of things to come, she was never more determined. His cries of anguish were a pleasant melody she could savour for hours if given the chance, and so she smiled her twisted grin.

    'An eye for an eye.' her brow lowered like a villain as Urielle watched the beast, smirking. 'Blood for blood, tooth for a tooth.' A glimmer of crimson flashed in her eyes as Michael turned from the hideous creature and back, his jaw hanging in awe, unsure of which sight was more disturbing to behold. He moved her backward, keeping a safe distance from Belial, knowing his wrath could be unleashed at any given moment.

    A viscous roar then shook the foundations of the pyramid, burning red eyes surging at the peak of unfiltered madness as he looked upon the entirety of the shattered mirror, the last of his delusional existence now lost to him forever. A mouth full of dripping teeth and a forked, serpent tongue rippled in his mania as they covered their ears, Michael half expecting the beast to explode, his raging cry so boisterous that it vibrated his very bones.