Fallen Angels

By CJ Knight

Photo by Abhishek Tewari on Unsplash

Original story created for Mina Howell’s Inferno-Verse.

Previous stories involving these characters can be found her:

There are corners of Hell where even most of its denizens refuse to venture. Such avoidance was not a luxury for Michael and Beelzebub to achieve their goals. They now stood on the banks of the River Styx. Its black water did not flow. Instead, it churned and buckled over itself, as the souls beneath fought and failed to gain freedom. Faces pressed against the rise and fall of the water, mouths open in silent screams, only to be dragged below once more. Above the water, the toxic mist sat stagnant.

Michael stood on the shore, keeping his own counsel. He wondered if he should have come alone. Crossing the Styx on his own was a perilous proposition, and they needed Lucifer’s Chalice. Still, he’d waited so long for Bee, if he lost her now, death would become a comfort. There was no other way. They would need to make the crossing together.

Bee crouched by the water’s edge, studying it. “The stories do no justice to this place.” A hand broke the surface, rotten and burnt, grasping for her. Bee didn’t flinch as it sank back below the surface. “These aren’t simply damned souls of judgement. They’re worse?”

Michael nodded. “Murderers, tyrants, monsters of humanity. No single redeeming quality. No single vice, addiction, or human weakness. Pure evil. Those considered unfit for Hell, are thrown into the poisonous waters of the Styx for eternal torment.”

“For punishment?” Bee eyed Michael.

He shook his head. “To fuel. Hell doesn’t run on fire and brimstone. It runs on evil and suffering. This is the most efficient way of harnessing both.”

Bee stood up, eyes scanning the endless black water. “We have to cross this? There’s no other way?”

“We can’t fly here.” Michael spread his wings. “The air above the Styx strips angel wings of their flight. Anything pure loses its power here.”

“How convenient.” Bee picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. A scream exploded from where the stone landed, and silenced as the water settled.

“We use that.” Michael pointed to a raft resting further along the shore. It rose and fell in the black water as tortured souls pushed the water beneath it from below. A rusted chain tethered it to the shore. The wood of the raft itself, rotten and splintered, yet it remained afloat.

Bee stepped on first. She smiled at Michael. “I won’t let you fall in, my love.”

“I know you won’t.” Michael returned the smile as he stepped on. He cut the chain with his sword, and the raft left the shore. This rotten and splintered vessel was as old as the Styx itself. It knew where to go.

Bee raised an eyebrow. “You waited centuries for me, never loving another.” She gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Such an angel.”

Michael chuckled. “Where would I find anyone else who measures up to you?”

“Smooth.”

***

The drifting raft picked up pace, as if excited to be free of the shore. It moved with intent, undisturbed by the souls pushing the water up and down.

The surface of the Styx bulged and then erupted into a shower of black water and tortured screams. Michael and Bee held on as the raft lurched in the surging water. The enormous serpentine body rose from the water. Endless black scaled skin slick with the water of the Styx. Red eyes stared down as it coiled toward the raft. Displaced souls screamed in agony as the scales cut through the water’s surface. The fallen angel, Leviathan.

Bee shifted her stance as her spear materialised in her hands.

Michael’s wings flared out of instinct. “Don’t let him knock you off the raft!”

Leviathan struck, slamming against the side of the raft, teeth snapping above Michael’s head as he ducked. Bee twisted, driving the tip of her spear forward. Sparks flew as steel met scales and bounced off. A shadow descended from above. Claws dug into Michael’s shoulders and lifted him from the raft.

“No!” Bee reached for him and missed.

***

Michael fell as the claws released their grip. The island rose from the Styx, a mess of jagged rocks, slick with black water. He rolled, catching himself, sword ready.

She landed in front of him. The fallen angel Astaroth. He leathered black wings extended in a contradiction of grace and terror. Impure and untouched by the Styx powers of suppression. Her tiny frame hid unrivalled battle skill. A smile familiar to Michael spread across her lips. Her eyes alive with amusement. “Well,” her voice was as smooth as Michael remembered. “I knew you by another name, but you answer to Michael now, do you not?” Michael levelled the tip of his blade toward her. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Michael shifted his stance. “Astaroth.”

“I heard you have a long memory when it comes to us pretty girls.” She tilted her head, circling him. “I heard whispers.” Her gaze shifted to Michael’s wings. “Black makes you more handsome.” She stepped closer. “This is all for her, isn’t it?” Michael didn’t answer. “You always did have questionable taste.”

Michael tensed. “Careful.”

Astaroth chuckled. With imperceptible speed, she closed the gap between them, her hand pressing Michael’s sword away. The fingers on her other hand hovered near his chest. Her face inches from his. “You are magnificent. It is me you should be with.” Michael pulled his sword free and slashed. Astaroth shot back, avoiding the blade with ease. Her smile fell away. “You would still choose her over me?”

“Always.”

Her lips curled into a snarl. “Such a waste.” Astaroth raised her arms, and the Styx answered. Hands rose from the water. Dozens turned into hundreds. Black, rotten souls clawed their way onto the rocks, their bodies twisted and broken with suffering. Every set of eyes on Michael. “You always fought well outnumbered. I’ll be interested to see if that’s still the case.”

The souls surged like a wave. Michael’s blade sang, clean and precise, severing reaching limbs and contorting bodies. They exploded into dust as they fell. But there was no end to them. They continued climbing free of the water, swarming toward him, screaming with every step.

Astaroth stood with her arms folded. “Let’s see if you think Beelzebub is still worth it after this.”

***

Bee staggered as the raft spun in the water, Leviathan circling beneath. She gripped her spear tightly. “Of course I get the big one.” The serpent broke the surface of the Styx once more. Bee ducked as jaws snapped shut above her head. Rotten hands clawed at her ankles from the broken surface of the water. Bee kicked them back to the depths. Leviathan rose high above her, towering down, jaws wide open. Endless darkness beyond jagged teeth. “Alright,” she crouched low. “Come and get your meal.” Leviathan’s jaws surged down. Bee remained still. Darkness closed around her, and she thrust her spear upward. Momentum took care of the rest. The steel tip of Bee’s spear tore through the back of Leviathan’s skull in a spray of blood. The serpent convulsed and slammed against the water’s surface. Waves of writhing souls screamed as the lifeless, scaled body sank to the depths. As the Styx calmed, Bee remained on the raft. “One down.” Her eyes shifted to the rocky island.

***

Michael was still fighting. The endless tide of souls, too much for even him. They ripped and tore at him. His blade slowing down, heavier with each slash. Michael drove his blade through another, his recovery too slow. The souls surged, forcing him to his knees. Astaroth raised her hand. The souls stopped attacking and held Michael in place. She stepped forward. “Last chance to reconsider, handsome.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “I can fly you to that little magic cup. We can break free of our shackles together.” Astaroth brought her lips to Michael’s ear. “All you have to do is leave her behind. You might find my honey sweeter than anything your little Bee can give you.”

“Never.”

Astaroth sighed. “Have it your way.” A curved blade, black as night, materialised in her hand.

Michael struggled against the rotten hands holding him in place. He closed his eyes as the blade came down. “Goodbye, Bee.”

The impact of steel meeting steel rang across the island. Michael opened his eyes to see Astaroth’s blade inches from his throat. Bee’s wings flared, her spear held firm against the blade.

Astaroth’s eyes shifted from Michael to Bee. Her lips curled into a smile. “The girl worth dying for.”

Bee’s voice remained even. “You’re not touching him.”

Song that provided my inspiration for these characters.