(no subject)
Falling chest-down on the pavement was not the most graceful entrance Lucifer had ever given. His hand was sticky with Baldur’s blood, his face cold and speckled with gore.
His vessel really wasn’t in great condition. Lucifer had learned to take note of the various aches and complaints because, well, it was rotting. He needed to know what part of the body was going to fail him before it ever got close to failing. But right now, even if one ignored the ordinary pains, he hurt. He didn’t eat, and only drank demon blood-gallons of it-but his vessel’s stomach was churning uncomfortably. Travel, even through time or dimensions, shouldn’t have had this much of an impact.
He pushed himself up slowly; his breathing was still ragged from the effort of watching Gabriel die.
Except that Lucifer could still sense him, vibrant and alive out there. Ordinarily finding Gabriel would have taken precedence, because he knew he’d had a real blade and he knew he’d hit his brother’s heart. There was no doubt it had been his real brother, not one of Gabriel’s illusions. He’d felt the blade sink through flesh, then bone, then muscle, and then into grace. The memory twisted inside him, grief and hate mingling.
Lucifer wasn’t prone to fantasy. If he felt his brother, then Gabriel was here. That being the case, then whatever this place was, it had to be either a pocket universe made up of illusions, or it was his reality but at some other point in time. Lucifer looked around, fingers twitching slightly, not unlike a particularly cautious gunslinger.
And then the sirens blared.
He turned his head toward the sound of something lurching on the asphalt. It paused where it was and Lucifer stared at it until it skulked back the way it came. He mused to himself how refreshing it was to see that at least the creatures knew their place here.
Lucifer didn’t waste energy or time chasing any of the monsters down. They gave him a wide berth, and so he stalked along through the dark, looking for a hint as to where he really was.
The most important task now was finding who was behind it. He had plans for them.
His vessel really wasn’t in great condition. Lucifer had learned to take note of the various aches and complaints because, well, it was rotting. He needed to know what part of the body was going to fail him before it ever got close to failing. But right now, even if one ignored the ordinary pains, he hurt. He didn’t eat, and only drank demon blood-gallons of it-but his vessel’s stomach was churning uncomfortably. Travel, even through time or dimensions, shouldn’t have had this much of an impact.
He pushed himself up slowly; his breathing was still ragged from the effort of watching Gabriel die.
Except that Lucifer could still sense him, vibrant and alive out there. Ordinarily finding Gabriel would have taken precedence, because he knew he’d had a real blade and he knew he’d hit his brother’s heart. There was no doubt it had been his real brother, not one of Gabriel’s illusions. He’d felt the blade sink through flesh, then bone, then muscle, and then into grace. The memory twisted inside him, grief and hate mingling.
Lucifer wasn’t prone to fantasy. If he felt his brother, then Gabriel was here. That being the case, then whatever this place was, it had to be either a pocket universe made up of illusions, or it was his reality but at some other point in time. Lucifer looked around, fingers twitching slightly, not unlike a particularly cautious gunslinger.
And then the sirens blared.
He turned his head toward the sound of something lurching on the asphalt. It paused where it was and Lucifer stared at it until it skulked back the way it came. He mused to himself how refreshing it was to see that at least the creatures knew their place here.
Lucifer didn’t waste energy or time chasing any of the monsters down. They gave him a wide berth, and so he stalked along through the dark, looking for a hint as to where he really was.
The most important task now was finding who was behind it. He had plans for them.