Page 24 of Uriel
I stiffen, my grip tightening on the flashlight. “Show yourself,” I command, my voice ringing with angelic authority.
A chuckle, low and menacing, echoes through the cellar. “As you wish, Your Holiness.”
The shadows in the far corner seem to coalesce, taking on a vaguely humanoid shape. As the figure steps into the beam of my flashlight, I have to suppress a shudder of revulsion.
The demon—for that is undoubtedly what it is—stands barely five feet tall. Its skin is a mottled grey, like decaying flesh, stretched tight over an emaciated frame. Two small horns protrude from its forehead, and its eyes glow an eerie yellow in the darkness.
“What do you want?” I demand, keeping my voice level despite the rapid beating of my heart. “You have no power here, creature.”
The demon’s mouth stretches into a grotesque parody of a smile, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Oh, I’m not here to cause trouble, Archangel. Just delivering a message.”
I raise an eyebrow, affecting a nonchalance I don’t feel. “And what message would that be?”
“The boss wants to see you,” it snarls, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.
For a moment, I’m thrown off balance. The boss? Surely it can’t mean...
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” I snap, regaining my composure. “Now leave these grounds. You are not welcome here.”
The demon’s eyes narrow, a hint of sulfurous smoke curling from its nostrils. “He’d like to see you—now.”
Before I can react, the creature lunges forward with inhuman speed. Its clawed hand wraps around my wrist, its touch burning like acid against my skin.
“What are you—!” I begin, but my words are cut off as reality seems to twist around us.
The cellar blurs and fades, replaced by a dizzying kaleidoscope of images. I catch glimpses of fire and brimstone, of tortured souls writhing in agony, of vast caverns filled with unspeakable horrors.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the nauseating journey ends. I stumble, nearly losing my balance as solid ground reappears beneath my feet.
As my vision clears, I find myself in a space that defies my expectations of Hell. Instead of brimstone and fire, I’m standing in what appears to be an upscale nightclub. The air thrums with an otherworldly bass, and the lighting pulsates in shades of deep red and purple that seem to move of their own accord.
A neon sign above the bar proclaims this place as “DeLux Café.” Despite the early hour in the mortal world, the club is far from empty. Shadowy figures occupy the booths and dance floor,their forms shifting and blurring in ways that hurt the eyes to look at directly.
“Ah, Uriel! So good of you todropin.”
I whirl around, coming face to face with the last being I expected—or wanted—to see.
Lucifer lounges in a private booth, looking for all the world like a CEO at the end of a long day. His suit is impeccably tailored, his dark hair artfully tousled. Only the faint red glow in his eyes betrays his true nature.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demand, struggling to keep the tremor from my voice. “You have no right to summon me to... to your den of iniquity.”
Lucifer’s laugh is rich and warm, at odds with our surroundings.“Den of iniquity?”he mocks. “Oh, brother, you really need to loosen up. This is just a little place where demons and paranormies can hook up on Wednesdays. No souls bartered, I promise. Well, not many.”
He gestures for me to sit. I remain standing, my posture rigid.
“Now, now,” Lucifer continues, waving a hand dismissively. “Let’s dispense with the righteous indignation, shall we? We both know you’re in no position to be making demands.”
I clench my fists, fighting against the urge to smite him where he sits. “What do you want, Morningstar?"
Lucifer’s smile widens, revealing teeth that are just a shade too sharp to be human. “What I want, dear Uriel, is to have a little chat. About prophecies, and earthquakes, and a certain social worker who’s got you tied up in knots.”
Ice floods my veins. “Leave Emilia out of this,” I growl, taking a step forward. “She has nothing to do with?—”
“Oh, but she haseverythingto do with it!” Lucifer exclaims, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye. “The virtuous Uriel, Archangel of Chastity, falling head over wings for a mortalwoman? It’s delicious, really. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
I falter, doubt creeping in like a poison. “What are you talking about?”
A waitress appears, her skin an impossible shade of blue, carrying a tray with two glasses of glowing liquid. Lucifer takes one, offering the other to me. I ignore it, my mind reeling.
