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Everyone, except for the local residents, had the wrong idea about the Wrath desert. It was too much of everything: hot, boring, empty, ugly, quiet. All those were excuses, though, to avoid the real reason why people didn’t like the desert - it was wild and unpredictable.
That’s partly why Striker liked it so much. There was too much to tame. No matter how many Hellborn settled in Wrath, the desert spread out stalwart and defiant against them. Its calloused terrain served as a reminder that only the strong could survive its brutality. And its vastness - it matched the breadth of solitude Striker had been carrying around for decades.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead as Bombproof trotted towards the mountains. Red and gold hues from the setting sun splashed across the sky. Desert sunsets were the only thing Striker didn’t like. They reminded him of the carnage caused by the hands of those royals. On evenings like this when he wasn’t running from authorities or working a job, those painful memories were swept to him on the stale breeze.
Striker’s grip on the reins tightened. He clicked his tongue and tapped Bombproof’s side. The sooner he got to the dark, the easier it would be to stop remembering everything.
Bombproof stopped at the mouth of the cave. “Go on,” Striker urged. He nudged the horse with his heels. Bombproof didn’t move. His ears flicked nervously and he snorted.
“The hell is wrong with you?” Bombproof shook his head and backed away from the entrance.
Striker rubbed his eyes. “I ain’t got the energy for this,” he grumbled. He jumped down, grabbed the reins, and started pulling. “I said get , you -”
The moment Bombproof whinnied and rose on his hind legs, Striker felt it. It was more than just freezing air slowly wafting out of the cave. His mustache hairs stood on end. A dark, sinister presence emanated from the dark.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Striker murmured to Bombproof. He patted the horse’s trembling flank. “Stay here.”
He turned and pulled his dagger out of its sheath. The angelic blade glimmered in the low light of the cave. Despite the holy glow giving away his position, he was willing to take the risk. Any intruder who saw it would think twice before coming near him. Whoever had the balls to break into his home - those would be the first things to go.
Striker slowly crept forward, hardly making a sound. After a few moments he realized he had been holding his breath. The cold rippled with an eerie energy. He tightened his hold on the dagger’s handle to stop his hand from trembling. The last time he’d been this afraid was during the raid on his hometown, when the owls came swooping and screaming -
A soft rustle caused Striker to turn around. He instinctively reached for his gun, but as soon as he touched it a voice echoed around the cave.
“I wouldn’t try that, if I were you. It actually takes more than angelic weapons to bring about my demise.”
Striker froze. His heartbeat quickened when he realized he couldn’t locate where in the cave the voice came from. Damn , he thought, gritting his teeth.
“So we’re playing hide and seek, huh? Why don’t you come out and face me like a real demon?” He looked to his left and right.
The voice laughed lightly. “If you insist.”
A snap reverberated around the cave and the neon lights sparked to life. Striker stood up straighter, his eyes wide with shock, as a figure emerged from the darkness. Lucifer stared calmly back at him, a small smile twisting his lips. When was the last time this clown had come to the Wrath Ring? Had he ever ? Striker narrowed his eyes and snorted. “Is the king of Hell so scared of us lowly imps he feels the need to hide in the shadows?”
“No.” Lucifer picked some lint off his sleeve. “I figured if I knocked on your door - if you had one - you wouldn’t let me in.”
“Damn right.” Striker bared his teeth. “Now get the hell out.”
“I hear you have quite a collection of heavenly objects,” Lucifer continued. He bent down and inspected the train tracks. “How did you come by them?”
“That don’t concern you,” Striker growled. He whipped his tail. “ Get . Out .”
“Oh, now, don’t be so hasty.” Lucifer kept looking at the blinking signs. “You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”
“I don’t want to know what you have to say!” Striker took a few steps forward and hissed. “I ain’t helping the likes of you! You ain’t done shit for us -”
Lucifer’s head snapped in his direction. “Need I remind you,” he said, a bite to his voice, “that I made you. When I was cast down to Hell, I created the Hellborn. I gave you everything you have.”
“You ain’t my god,” Striker spat. “How many of us you got in that palace of yours, huh?”
“None, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Then why do you let us get treated like garbage? If you cared so much about your creations , wouldn’t you -”
“Does God treat all of His children fairly?” Lucifer countered. “Do you really think He’s perfect? Do you honestly believe Heaven is full of saints? Remember, I lived there. I know what it’s like, what kind of people are granted passage through those gates.”
“Then you’re more like your father than you think,” Striker sneered.
Lucifer bristled. “You’ve tried my patience enough,” he said. “It’s clear you don’t want me here, so I’ll get to the point.”
“Finally.” Striker rolled his eyes. “Your yabberin’ got old before you even opened your filthy mouth.”
“I’m in need of your services.”
Striker blinked. “’Scuse me?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m in need of your services,” Lucifer repeated. “Did you really think your fame and legend hadn’t reached me already? I have your theme song on my Voxpod. I think this week it’s trending at number one, actually.”
“Those fuckers actually recorded -” Striker stopped and shook his head. “Don’t distract me. What d’you want?”
“It’s come to my attention that an Erelim is on the loose. You do know about them, correct?”
“I ain’t stupid.” Striker sheathed the dagger. “They’re some kinda angels.”
“Very good. It appears one ended up in Hell by accident instead of going to Heaven.”
“And why should I care?”
“Because this affects everything .” Lucifer’s face turned hard. “Michael and a group of angels will be coming down here to look for the Erelim and take her back to Heaven. You know what that means, right?”
“We gon’ have holy creeps wanderin’ around. So what?” Striker shrugged. “They come and kill your sinners once a year.”
“This is different. It’s not about population control.” A snarl curled Lucifer’s upper lip. “This is about the Second Coming.”
Striker raised an eyebrow. “Second Coming of what?”
“I thought you said you weren’t stupid.” Lucifer grinned.
“Look, just answer the fuckin’ question, or I won’t hear you out!” Striker’s ears burned. These higher ups, always thinking imps were stupider -
“The Second Coming of Christ,” Lucifer explained. He placed his hands behind his back and started slowly walking around. “During that Second Coming, He will reign for a thousand years. And during that time, I will be bound. Hell will be bound. Do you know what that means?” Without waiting for Striker to reply, Lucifer continued, “Life down here will become much, much worse. All the rings will be sealed and no one - absolutely no one - can move between them. I won’t be able to move between them. We will be stuck - no progress, no changing, no moving of any sort.”
“What does this have to do with the missing Erelim?” Striker asked impatiently.
“Because that Erelim was the last one who needed to die in order to make the Seven complete!” Lucifer yelled, turning around. “The mortal death of that Erelim is the signal to Heaven to begin preparing not only for the Second Coming, but for their destruction after the thousand years! The Seven Erelim are responsible for the Earth’s judgment and end. It’s not just Earth that will suffer! No, Hell will, too! Everything that we’ve worked to build will be gone like that .” He snapped his fingers. “And the Erelim will be the ones to take it all.”
Silence fell over the cave. Lucifer breathed heavily for a few moments. “The problem is,” he continued, “she died decades earlier than Heaven was prepared for. Despite everything up there being a madhouse now, they’re willing to move their plans up.”
“So what do you want from me?” Striker asked.
“I want you to find her,” Lucifer said, his eyes flashing dangerously, “and bring her to me.”
Striker studied Lucifer. “So you want me to find this all-powerful angel before Michael and his cronies. Got any idea what this freak looks like?”
“Unfortunately no. She will present as a demon, since she’s in Hell, and will blend in with everyone else. But I know for a fact she will have wings.”
“Well that narrows everything down,” Striker drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I think that takes out half of Hell. She got a name?”
“Michael won’t tell me.” Striker snorted in disgust.
“Look for oddities with the weather in any of the rings. She can travel between them, unlike sinner demons,” Lucifer added. “Her particular power is natural disasters. However, she doesn’t know about them yet -”
“What kinda shit job is this?” Striker yelled. “I’m supposed to find an angel who looks like a demon with wings and can control the weather, but doesn’t know she can?” He spat at Lucifer’s feet. “You got some nerve comin’ in my space and beggin’ me to help with a mess I’m not a part of!” He reached for the dagger again.
“I’ll give you the Goetia.”
Striker stopped.
“I know you have a … dislike for a particular line of the Goetia,” said Lucifer. “Your feelings go beyond hatred. You want something more than vengeance, Striker.” He lowered his voice. “You want retribution .”
Striker felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His head reeled with a smear of memories: the screaming, the blood, the feathers -
“If you bring me that Erelim,” Lucifer continued in a whisper, “I will give you that entire line of the Goetia, to do whatever you wish with them.”
Four simple tombstones - the ones he’d gone to earlier that day - came back to Striker’s mind. Once a year, on the anniversary of the attack, he visited them. All these years later he could barely stand seeing those names etched in stone, but he forced himself to look at each one.
One name stood out the most, and that was the hardest to remember. The tips of his fingers itched as he thought back to that horrific night. All those owls - so many owls he could have never fought them all off. But, if they were handed over to him … oh the sweet satisfaction it would bring to slit the throat of one of those bluebloods, just like they had done to his twin sister.
Striker chuckled. He walked over to Lucifer and stuck out a hand.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”