The human raised his axe over his head, ready for the killing blow, and Belial watched on, delighted. The human could see him, if he looked hard, since he was currently in Belial’s thrall, and the old demon was under strict orders to remain unnoticed, but he wasn’t worried about that. The human, one of two left in the entire battle, was caught up in his veneration, however accidental, of the demon of war.
The human on the ground was piteously wounded, trying to pull himself along the ground and to safety, his hand held up as though it would do anything to even blunt the inevitable death blow. “Radra, save me!” he cried.
The axe remained in the air.
“Radra?” asked the human with the axe. “Do you speak of Radra, the preserver of fish for the boats of men?” The other man’s eyes widened, and the axe-wielder brought his weapon to his side.
“We of the hills call her Radra, she who shows the path of the grain.” The axe-wielder’s face darkened at what sounded like heresy. “B-b-but is there any finer meal than fish and fresh bread?” He smiled, as broadly and sincerely as he could. The axe-wielder’s face softened.
“I cannot argue with that, friend, and Radra is great enough indeed for fish and bread.” He tucked the axe away in a loop in his belt and surveyed the field, where a dozen men lay bleeding in the dirt. “This is such a waste. What a miserable way for us to end up with fewer mouths to feed, when you could’ve showed us Radra’s ways with grain and we could’ve shown you how to hunt for fish.” He held out a hand to the man on the ground. “Let today be the day when we begin to teach each other.”
The man on the ground clasped the arm of the man who moments ago sought to kill him and smiled. He also tried to pull himself to his feet, but winced and fell back to the ground.
“Your leg is too injured, friend. Allow me to apply a splint and then we can see who of our people we can save.”
Belial screeched and howled the entire way back to Hell, slamming into the ground before the Morningstar’s throne with enough force to crack the stones.
“Well,” said the Morningstar, lounging on his throne. Like the demons, Hell had warped his appearance toward chaos and decay, but he was even more mutable and less a part of reality and currently looked like a man in the shape of an ember burning with a pale purple fire. “Well, well, well. What’s your explanation for your failure this time?” Belial tried to speak, but he simply couldn’t find the words.
“The first time,” the Morningstar continued, “You claimed that the war ended at a draw because their weapons all broke when the first murder was committed with bare hands. The second time, you claimed that Lust got in your way because one of the warlords thought the leader of the enemy looked like their former mate. Then there was the debacle with Lamech, so, tell me, what’s the excuse this time. I bet it’s extra pathetic.”
“It’s … it’s …” and it was then that Belial realized exactly what the problem was. “It’s the Fall.”
“What?” the Monringstar shouted, his voice like a cone of the sun’s flame, his words reverberating in the air like the drumming cadence at the beginning and the end of creation. “My plan, my ultimate plan, has made your job more difficult, has it?”
“It has made war something that ends, my lord, that’s all. They know that they’re mortal now. Recall, we demons were created before Man was even created, when were all guessing at what animal The Presence and his court would use as the model for the pinnacle of their creation. I was made the Demon of War because the other primates, they’ll fight to the last of them if given half a chance.”
“And those primates, you’re saying that they don’t know that they can die, and humans do?”
“No. Well, yes and no. Humans know that they can die, but they’ve also learned what it means to live, and that working together is their greatest strength. An ape might work for someone towards an end a few days or a few weeks hence, but humans think they can see far, far into the future.”
“They’re deluded,” the Morningstar said with a sneer.
“Yes, but they’re also planners, especially when it comes to survival. No matter how vicious the war, one of them’s eventually going to realize that they need to talk and come to terms of peace,” Belial finally dared to stand and almost immediately regretted it. His body wasn’t mortal, but it could be damage and the long fall to Hell had taken a toll. Nevertheless, he stood as straight as he could.
“You made me for war,” he said, “and I can bring you war, but I can’t bring you annihilation, my lord.”
“That’s unfortunate,” the Morninstar said, with a sly smile like the last setting of the last star. “I really do need annihilation.”
“Please, my lord, I’ll …” The Morningstar held up a hand and Belial stopped.
“I do not need your whining words in my ears to know what justice you will face,” the Morningstar said. He uncurled himself from his throne and stepped toward his minion, stopped just when the heat of his presence became uncomfortable, then leaned forward until his face was close enough to Belial’s that the demon could hear the sizzling of his own flesh. “You’re banished,” the Morningstar said. “Banished from my realm until you have succeeded in annihilating humanity, as was your purpose, or you’ve fallen to The Presence in the effort. And so,” the Morningstar flicked a finger and Belial flew back up to the surface of the Earth, “begone.”
Belial lay on the ground for a long time before the feeling returned to his limbs, and he began to wish that it hadn’t. They were shattered in a dozen places, and he could feel that what passed for organs in his body were just as damaged. He would heal quickly, but it would still be a week or two of agony. He ground his teeth, curls of sulphur past his teeth.
“I will be back, Morningstar,” he vowed. “I will be back and you will bow to me.”
