Please Leave
Light from the single window deepened the shadows until they seemed to pool. The cult leader looked upon a terror without precedent—an unknown no human measure could frame. The instant he faced it, he was bound.
He drew a thin, shaking breath. Forcing down a heart that beat far too hard, he did not take his eyes from the shadow.
"Please leave."
The order of expulsion was delivered with exquisite courtesy. Smoke from the shadow billowed and wavered.
"You have come a long way, and I am grateful for the trouble. Regrettably, circumstances on our side will not permit us to receive you. If you leave a means of contact, I will telephone you separately."
Sweat slid down his temple, beaded at the point of his chin, and fell. Drip. Drop.
Another One was silent. Leaning against the wall, he spared only a glance for the cult leader and for the clown lying on the bed.
That was worse. There was not the slightest ripple in him.
Step. Step. The cult leader dragged his heavy feet across the floor and flung the door wide.
"Please leave."
The order again. His insides seemed to twist. Even swallowing felt as though it would choke him, and his flesh cried out under the pain of the strain.
Another One did not so much as turn his head. He remained frozen in the same posture, a statue.
The cult leader could not find the courage to touch him. Before that being, he understood, the title of head of a cult that had driven the whole world into terror was worth nothing at all.
I have to wait. Until that being withdraws of his own accord!
He ground his teeth. This was the Eclipse God's domain, and he hated himself for failing to carry out, as he ought, the charge the Eclipse God had left in his hands.
But before he was a believer, he was the head of a house, and in this domain there were thousands of his own people who depended on him. He was not so devoid of judgment as to offer them up to a being he could not resist, merely for the sake of his faith.
Sunlight at the window slanted. The shadows grew deeper, and the air went cold. The terror he bore swelled, as if it had been left to soak in water.
Knock, knock.
He flinched.
"Your Holiness. Are you within?"
A young man's voice came from the front door. The cult leader creaked his unwilling neck around, and his eyes went to the clock on the wall.
The hour hand had passed six. It was evening.
He steadied his voice as far as he was able.
"Yes. I am here."
"Ah! So this is where you were. Forgive the rudeness."
"It is quite all right. Have you come about dinner?"
"Yes. I've come to escort the Saintess and Your Holiness."
"I am sorry, but could you leave two meals outside the door?"
"Is the Saintess still unable to move about?"
"Yes. She is."
Inwardly he apologized, deeply, to the young man and to the Saintess. The lie had been born of his own incompetence. When the time came, he would punish himself.
"Understood. I'll bring the food at once, then. Please wait a moment."
"Take your ti—!"
He had meant to send the young man off, and instead he clamped his mouth shut.
Another One, standing until then like a statue, was looking down at him from directly before his face. Light at his back, vast frame thrust forward, he was still wrapped in darkness and could not be seen.
"Your Holiness? Is something the matter?"
"No, no! Nothing is the mat—ghk!!!"
Another One's hand settled on his shoulder. At a pain as if the bone were crushing, the cult leader bit down on his tongue and swallowed the groan.
"What are you doing? Send him off."
The whisper was at his ear.
"You ought to get that young man away safely, before he notices."
"Hhk—! Hhk—!"
"Your Holiness? Your Holiness? Is truly nothing wrong?"
Thud. Thud. Thud. The knocking at the front door grew louder. The cult leader wanted to deny it at once, but he could not so much as part his lips, certain a scream would come out in place of words.
"Forgive me—I'm coming in! Please pardon the rudeness!"
The door burst open.
No. No!
Beyond it, through the light of the setting sun, the young man stood revealed.
The cult leader forgot even the pain. Awe struck him dumb. His knees folded of themselves, and his eyes burst, spilling a joy without end.
"You came in too quickly. Could you not have ignored a believer's suffering?"
"I am not harsh, as my Father is. And a god gives trials that can be borne—not trials that cannot."
Another One drew back. Clutching his shattered shoulder, the cult leader crawled onto his knees.
"For one who hates his father, you are rather eager to follow him."
"That is the way of religion. One gathers it from here and from there. And I, who served Father from nearest of all—how could I be otherwise?"
The young man bent. A holy touch passed over the cult leader's shoulder and head, and pitch-black flame gathered him in, warm as an embrace.
"I dislike Father. But there are things in him worth emulating. This is one of them."
"I wondered how you meant to descend. A shortcut, then."
It was a brief manifestation, borrowed from the old tale of a god saving a believer. When the believer was about to break beneath the trial, the god offered a path by which it might be escaped. Only the trial had been so far beyond all measure that the path led to the god himself.
"You have suffered much. Rest now, with the child."
"G-God. I—I..."
"I know your deeds. Do not be anxious. Leave them to me. I shall be within you."
"Ah..."
At the warmth of the god's words the cult leader wept in a flood. The young man held him close, unconcerned that his own clothes grew wet.
"It shall be done as God wills..."
Eyes bright as stars, the cult leader bowed low before his god. The young man pushed him into the room and shut the door.
The living room was full of balloons. Another One and the young man faced one another.
"You have stopped playing at godhood. You have become a god."
"It looks that way even to you? Praise like that leaves me nowhere to put myself."
His divinity had been attested by the one who had killed more gods than anyone living. For a young man who dreamed of godhood, what praise could be more precious?
"And why has so shabby a guest come to this precious place?"
"I came because I have business. Did you think I came to play?"
The young man—Lucifer—hardened his face.
"Then do me the favor of getting lost. As you can see, this place does not welcome outsiders."
Pitch-black wings opened at Lucifer's waist. Flame kindled in the feathers, and the fire that tortured the devils of hell turned its fangs on Another One.
"So this is how it is? I let it pass when the cult leader drove me out, and I even helped your manifestation."
"If you had laid so much as a hair on those children, this day would have been the day you died."
"A devil who knows nothing but himself has grown."
It feels like yesterday, the way he barked at me. Time does fly.
Ringed in hellfire, Another One did not so much as stir.
Lucifer's gaze sank.
"Leave. I have nothing to say to you."
"You won't even hear it? I brought a proposal you might find tempting."
"I would sooner take my Father's hand than partner with you. And this is my territory. My Sacred Realm."
"Do you imagine I cannot cast out even one of you?"
Another One laughed under his breath. Clothed in divine power, the fire of hell was, admittedly, hot.
"You called up every numberless fiend of hell and could not leave a single wound on me. And you mean to corner me alone?"
"We will know if we try."
Flight never entered his mind.
Lucifer knew, to the bone, the distance between that being and himself. Even the Heavenly Father had not overcome it. He, who only chased its heels, would not win though the cosmos were remade three times over.
I must.
In there, a child prayed without ceasing, bearing along a frail old body. The self within that child was an absolute god who did not lose. As a god, he could not betray that faith.
There was a command he had laid upon himself.
Make your heart strong, and be bold.
Fear not, and be not dismayed.
Wherever I go,
I, the courageous, shall be with you.
"Hoh."
Another One's shadow glinted.
"Your eyes are clean. Far better than your father's. I'm glad I came."
Lucifer's wings multiplied, one after another, until all twelve stretched themselves awake.
"I had meant to leave without a fight, but..."
Another One stamped.
Shadow crawled across the floor and swallowed wall and ceiling. Everything the clown had strewn about sank into the dark.
"I suppose I may as well have a look at a partner's skill."
Lucifer opened his palm.
The heat of the feathers gathered to a single place. He drew a star that kept faith with the sky even through the filth of a city—the star that held the second place among the eight that circle the sun—and he spoke its name.
Lucifer
As the god of the volcano had done, he made himself his greatest weapon.
"Then I ought to answer with a weapon worthy of that."
The shadow writhed, and spat a weapon into Another One's hand.
Lucifer's pupils shook.
"Y-you—how do you have that...?!"
"It's a dark world to live in. Well. It happened to turn out this way."
From the sword in Another One's grip there blazed a flame the very opposite of Lucifer's—a sword like gold, and like heaven. It was the sword once borne by one who resembled God, when he punished an angel for the sin of pride. Now it declared the name of the angel that had become its own.
Michael
"So the brothers meet at last."
The manner of it was a little wrong.
"They've met. Isn't that enough?"
Lucifer roared, and drove his sword forward.