Princess of Hell

I reached Faith's still form and pressed my hand against her neck, searching for a pulse. Her skin felt cold, too cold, and for a terrifying moment I thought—

Her eyes snapped open. Red eyes, glowing faintly in the emergency lighting.

"What happened?" Faith's voice came out hoarse, confused. She blinked several times, trying to focus on my face hovering above her.

Relief flooded through me so intensely I wanted to collapse. Instead, I helped her sit up, my hands shaking as I supported her shoulders.

"You dummy," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "You interfered with the ritual. You threw yourself into that circle like an idiot."

Faith winced as she moved, one hand going to her forehead where the two horns now protruded. "I couldn't just watch you being torn apart, Lily. That power was killing you."

"I'm immortal, you absolute dummy!" I snapped, though my anger was mostly fear wearing a different mask. "I would have just reformed in Hell eventually. But you—" I gestured helplessly at her transformed appearance.

We both struggled to our feet, Faith moving with uncertain steps as if her body felt unfamiliar. She caught sight of her reflection in a broken piece of crystalline equipment and froze.

"My skin…" She touched her face, tracing the greyish pallor that had replaced her natural brown tone. Her fingers found the horns, then moved to her mouth where she felt the sharp canines. "My hair is white. Like yours."

"The transformation accelerated when you took my place," I explained, though I didn't fully understand it myself. "The magic changed you somehow."

Faith stared at her reflection, processing the changes. "Do I look like a demon now?"

"You look like you," I said firmly. "Just… different."

Before Faith could respond, a groan echoed from across the chamber. Aria was picking herself up from the floor, her purple hair dishevelled and her outfit torn in several places.

"Where is that skeletal bastard?" Aria muttered, scanning the chamber with murderous intent. She dusted off her clothes with sharp, angry movements. "I'm going to turn his bones into jewellery."

Isabella rose more gracefully, ice crystals still clinging to her midnight blue dress. She surveyed the damaged chamber with her usual composed expression, though I caught the subtle tension in her shoulders.

I looked around for Kyriakos, but he was nowhere to be seen. Only scorch marks remained where he'd been standing when the magical feedback hit him, dark stains burned into the stone floor.

"Given that he's a lich, he won't stay dead for very long," Isabella observed, her voice carrying its typical cool pragmatism. "We should expect him to reappear soon."

That's when we all noticed the pod where Kyriakos's daughter had been floating.

The glowing fluid had drained away, leaving behind a figure that was no longer the succubus we'd seen before. She looked human—completely, utterly human. No horns, no tail, no supernatural beauty. Just a young woman with brown hair and ordinary features, breathing peacefully as if she were simply sleeping.

Isabella approached the pod cautiously, her ice-blue eyes widening as she examined the transformation.

"Impossible," she whispered.

I stared at the unconscious woman in the pod, my mind racing through possibilities and consequences. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant hum of damaged magical equipment.

"What should we do?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer would divide us.

Aria didn't hesitate. "Kill her." She said it with the same casual tone she might use to suggest lunch. "End this whole mess before it gets worse."

"What?" Faith spun toward Aria, her new red eyes flashing with anger. "She's innocent! This wasn't her choice. She didn't ask to be part of his experiments."

Isabella stepped closer to the pod, her expression calculating. "Faith, you don't understand the implications. This woman is living proof that demons can be turned back into mortals. If word of this spreads…"

"So what?" Faith demanded.

"It could start another war between the circles," Isabella explained with her usual measured tone. "Perhaps even between Heaven and Hell. Every demon would wonder if their transformation could be reversed. Every circle would try to weaponize this knowledge." She paused, ice crystals forming around her fingertips. "The political ramifications alone could destabilize everything."

Isabella raised her hand, ice magic gathering around her palm as she prepared to strike at the pod. The temperature in the chamber dropped noticeably.

"Wait—" Faith started.

"NOO!"

The desperate scream came from somewhere behind a cluster of overturned apparatus in the corner of the room. We all turned toward the sound, Isabella's magic still crackling in the air.

I moved toward the voice first, stepping carefully around twisted metal and broken glass. Behind a fallen crystalline device, I found what remained of Kyriakos.

A cracked skull lay on the stone floor, missing several bone fragments. The ethereal flames that usually burned in his eye sockets had dimmed to barely visible sparks.

"Please," he wheezed, his voice now a pathetic whisper. "Don't kill my daughter. I beg you."

I picked up the skull, feeling its surprising weight in my hands. The bone was warm to the touch, still pulsing with residual magical energy.

"Why should we listen to you?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.

"I'll do anything you want," Kyriakos pleaded. "All my knowledge, all my research, everything I've learned over twelve millennia. It's yours. Just spare her life."

Anger flared through me—cold, controlled anger. The audacity of this creature, begging for mercy after what he'd done to Faith, after trying to tear my power from me.

My nails extended slightly, becoming more claw-like without conscious thought. I pressed them against the skull's surface, somehow knowing instinctively how to inflict pain even on undead bone. Kyriakos's anguished gasp confirmed my intuition was correct.

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"You are in no position to beg," I said, my voice carrying an authority that felt both foreign and familiar. "After what you've done, you dare to ask for mercy?"

I began to apply pressure, feeling the skull start to give way beneath my claws. One squeeze and this would all be over.

"Wait!" Kyriakos screamed. "I know how to restore Faith! I'll do it—I'll fix everything—just let my daughter live!"

I paused, my claws still pressed against the cracked bone, considering his words with the same cold calculation I'd been applying to everything else.

* * *

I held Kyriakos's skull in my hands, feeling the cracks spread slightly under the pressure of my claws. A devious idea began forming in my mind—one that would give us everything we needed while ensuring this ancient lich paid properly for his crimes.

"I'll consider letting Lyralei live," I said slowly, my voice carrying a deceptive note of negotiation. "But first, you need to surrender completely. Tell me where your phylactery is."

The skull went completely silent. Even the faint ethereal flames in his eye sockets dimmed to almost nothing. I could practically feel his internal struggle—the desperate need to save his daughter warring against millennia of self-preservation instincts.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Kyriakos spoke in a defeated whisper.

"It's… it's inside the frame of the painting of my daughter. Located in this laboratory."

I raised an eyebrow. "A painting?"

"Yes," he continued, his voice growing even weaker. "The portrait I commissioned when she was twelve, before… before everything happened. The phylactery is hidden within the wooden frame itself. You'll need to break the back panel to access it."

Aria stepped forward with characteristic enthusiasm. "I'll go get it." She was already moving toward the chamber entrance before I could respond.

"Be careful," I called after her, though I doubted there were any more traps waiting.

Isabella and Faith remained silent, watching this exchange with different expressions—Isabella with cool interest, Faith with growing unease.

Several minutes passed before Aria returned, carrying an entire portrait that was nearly as tall as she was. The painting showed a young girl with brown hair and bright eyes, captured in oils with remarkable skill.

"Cute kid," Aria commented, slightly out of breath from carrying the large frame. "Shame what happened to her."

Isabella looked at Aria with mild exasperation. "Did you really have to bring the entire portrait?"

"What? It's not that heavy," Aria protested, setting it down against a nearby wall.

I approached the painting, still holding Kyriakos's skull. The frame was indeed elaborate enough to conceal something, with intricate carved details that could easily hide a secret compartment.

"Now then," I said, turning back to face the skull in my hands. "Here's the thing, Kyriakos. I don't trust you anymore. The deal's off."

"What?" His voice cracked with panic. "But you said—"

"I said I'd consider it," I interrupted coldly. "I've considered it. The answer is no. Besides, we can always torture the information about how to restore Faith out of you later. You're not exactly in a position to resist."

The skull began to vibrate with rage in my hands. "You can't do this! You promised! My daughter—"

I didn't let him finish. With deliberate force, I brought my foot down on his skull, feeling the ancient bone crack and splinter beneath my heel. The ethereal flames extinguished instantly as fragments scattered across the stone floor.

"You brought this on yourself," I said to the broken pieces.

Faith stared at me with a mixture of shock and something that might have been admiration. "Lily… are you really going to kill Lyralei?"

I looked back at the unconscious woman in the pod, then at Faith's concerned expression. The cold calculation that had been driving my actions softened slightly.

"No," I admitted quietly. "But he doesn't have to know that. Let him live with the thought that thanks to his actions, his daughter is dead."

Faith studied my face for a long moment. "That's still awfully cold, Lily."

I shrugged, feeling oddly comfortable with this new ruthless side of myself. "Hey, I'm a demon after all." I glanced down at the scattered skull fragments. "Still, I might tell him the truth one day. Once I think he's suffered enough."

The chamber fell silent except for the distant hum of magical equipment, and I realized that this was who I was becoming—someone who could be merciful and cruel in equal measure, depending on what the situation demanded.

* * *

The sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber, deliberate and unhurried. We all turned toward the entrance, where a figure emerged from the shadows beyond the doorway. Tall, ethereal, with flowing robes that seemed to shimmer with their own inner light—unmistakably an angel.

"Good evening," he said pleasantly, as if he'd simply stumbled upon us having tea rather than standing over the remains of a shattered lich in a destroyed laboratory.

Instantly, my companions and I shifted into defensive positions. Aria's hands moved to her alchemical pouches, Isabella's fingers began tracing ice magic patterns, and Faith stepped protectively closer to me despite her own transformed state. I felt my claws extend automatically.

"Who the hell are you?" Aria demanded, her purple eyes flashing with suspicion. "Did that bastard Kyriakos make some kind of deal with another angel?"

The figure smiled—a warm, knowing expression that sent an uncomfortable chill down my spine. "Oh, you know me very well, Aria Nova. Though perhaps not in this form."

Before any of us could react, his appearance flickered like a mirage. For just a split second, I saw silver hair, emerald eyes, and weathered features that were achingly familiar. Elder Thorne. Then he was back to his angelic form, watching our shocked faces with obvious amusement.

"No way," Aria breathed, her defensive stance faltering in pure disbelief.

"Indeed," he confirmed with that same gentle smile. "I led you all the way here, step by step. In a way, you were able to rescue Faith thanks to my guidance. The amulet, the coordinates, even the abandoned village—all carefully orchestrated."

Isabella raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from defensive to coldly calculating. "How delightfully manipulative."

My mind raced, connecting dots I should have seen earlier. The convenient timing of everything, the way Elder Thorne had appeared just when we needed answers, how perfectly events had aligned to bring us to this moment.

"What do you want?" I asked bluntly, my tail lashing behind me. "You certainly didn't come all this way just to congratulate us on a successful rescue mission."

"Perceptive as always, Princess Lily," he said, inclining his head slightly. "I must apologize for the deception, and I'm afraid I must also apologize for what I'm about to do."

I saw the magical energy gathering around him—brilliant, divine light that made my instincts scream warnings. But it was already too late.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself properly," he said as power flowed from his hands. "I am Raziel, Archangel of Wisdom."

Golden chains of pure light erupted from his palms, wrapping around all four of us before we could react. The divine magic burned against my skin, holding us immobilized as effectively as any physical restraint.

"You son of a—" Aria started, struggling futilely against her bonds.

"Language," He walked over to the portrait Aria had retrieved and, with casual efficiency, broke open the back panel. A small, dark crystal fell into his palm—Kyriakos's phylactery.

"This will be quite useful," he murmured, tucking the phylactery into his robes.

Then he moved to the pod containing Lyralei. With one hand, he touched the glass surface, and the entire container dissolved into motes of light. The unconscious woman floated gently into his arms.

"She'll be useful as well," he added conversationally.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I snarled, fighting against the burning chains with everything I had. "Let her go!"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," Raziel replied, his tone genuinely apologetic. "But I promise you, both she and the lich will serve a greater purpose than they ever could have on their own."

Isabella's voice cut through the chamber like ice. "If you think this ends here, angel, you're sorely mistaken. Hell will—"

"Hell will do exactly what it has always done," Raziel interrupted calmly. "React predictably to predictable circumstances. Which is, of course, precisely what I'm counting on."

Another burst of celestial light filled the chamber, so bright it left spots dancing in my vision. When it faded, Raziel was gone, taking both Kyriakos's phylactery and his daughter with him.

The chains of light dissolved, dropping us unceremoniously to the floor. For several long moments, none of us moved.

I stared at the empty space where Raziel had stood, feeling a cold fury building in my chest. "We got played," I said through gritted teeth. "Completely and utterly played."

Aria kicked at a piece of broken equipment, sending it clattering across the stone floor. "Fucking angels."

The chamber fell silent again, leaving us to contemplate the full scope of what we'd just witnessed—and what it might mean for the future.

And I stood there, feeling utterly played, wondering what game we'd just become unwilling pieces in.