The Family Morningstar

By Alexander Collas

Lucifer left Heaven. He wasn’t thrown from the gates as The Father's sympathizers want you to believe. They tell us of how The Host turned its back on the rebel prince, but again that's not true. A full third of The Eternal city followed the First born when he left. In a final stroke of defiance, The Dark Lord gifted his Fallen with the one thing The Father had denied his children, the ability to procreate. After the war The Father vanished, leaving Creation to find its own way. Treaties between The Host and Hell were made as the flow of souls into eternity continued to grow.

The Fallen began to raise families. Their children, called Hellspawns, were born and became some of the most fearsome creatures to walk the nine creations. But no Hellspawn stood above Lucifer's most prized possession, his feared and hated great grandson Xia Morningstar. As great as Lucifer's love for Xia was, so in equal measure was his mother's hatred of her son. What most did not understand is that Xia really only wanted two things, to know who his father was and where they had taken the twin sister he'd never met. As the rift between his mother, the great Mesopotamian deity Lamashtu, and son grew, she devised a plan to do what had never been done before, expel the troublesome spawn from Hell. The Fallen could travel the Creations but no Hellspawn had ever left The Dark Lord's realm until now. Here begins the story of Xia Morningstar and his human minion Sam as they search for the secrets both Hell and The Host have spent an eternity trying to hide from them.

Alexander Collas' series, Journal of a Deadman and The Family Morningstar, have received both adulation and infamy for taking on the subjects of God, Lucifer and Eternity from a different point of view. His writings examines this age old superstitions through the lenses of their most acclaimed and hated characters. These books are graphic, controversial and examine topics often skirted by other authors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexander Collas
• Release date: Oct 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463778159

Alexander Collas

Alexander Collas is an American author. His two series, Journal of a Deadman and The Family Morningstar have received both adulation and infamy for addressing the myths of God, Lucifer, and Eternity from a different point of view. He examines and brings into question the accepted paradigms handed down over the last two thousand years. His books are graphic, and present the teachings of religion as they are presented and not from the edited dreamy eyed perspective their believers like to tell themselves. Ask yourself, how would an eternal being feel about a creature like the living, who dies before eternity even knows they exist. Why would such powerful beings really care what these temporary beings felt and what would they even need with such sad talking monkeys?

Book preview

Chapter 1

He stood alone looking out over the Fields of Despair. Often he had been told how the submerged rows of moss-laden trees stretching into the distance resembled the swamps in a place called Louisiana. It seemed peaceful until one looked closer, noticing what hung from those trees. What looked like moss was in actuality the remnants of the many souls consigned to suffer there for his pleasure. He found their cries relaxing and often came to this hill to settle his mind.

These were his playthings, the suffering souls of the damned. Those never destined to die or receive the relief of the furnaces. They were to hang forever in these languid swamps thick with the fog of swarming insects. His millions of tiny torturers feasted on the buffet of suffering which hung from the remains of the damned like festering cancers. Some of these old pains were absorbed, feeding the little beasts. The rest was carried like pollen to the other damned that hung in this forest of grief. As the prize was deposited on a new soul, the suffering was added to their own so they too could share in the dread and regret of those around them. It was these new-found sadness’s which caused the whole pitch of the swamps to rise and fall.

He stood watching the finely balanced dance of adding and subtracting. Each time a bit was removed and before another could be added, the souls were given the small hope that their limbs would fail, allowing them to drop into the oily marsh below.

The dark, turbulent waters were never still, always gurgling and bubbling up gasses that would, on occasion, throw forth a flame, singeing the surrounding wildlife. It was then, for a brief instant, that all the buzzing would stop, providing a brief respite to the souls upon which the tiny creatures fed.

The bodies that had finally fallen into the shallow water flailed about, having now realized they had only traded one torment for another. No longer did they need to worry about the incessant nibbling of the little flies for they were being sucked down into the muck. The flailing arms and bobbing heads always struggled to rise in hopes of catching a breath for their phantom lungs before sinking again into the shadowy depths of the toxic bog. The moans which escaped as the flames licked their faces added to the lower registers of this choir of pain.

The residents who had been there the longest lay silently, staring up from just below the surface, looking forever into a sky with no stars. They had long ago abandoned the struggle, resigned to wait as they sank further into the muck, hoping to find that eternal resting place. At times, their eyes would move across the surface of the water to the hill where he stood looking out over his creation.

This place had become his comfort in the times when his own mental torment rivaled that of those interned here. He wasn’t sure why he still found solace in a place that, at its root, was nothing more than a class project long ago. He had been so young then and just beginning to understand the basics of pain, a gift which had come naturally to him. He lingered here a lot. His Great-Grandfather had been proud of this creation, which is why it had become a permanent part of the wider landscape of that which was The Great Plains.

A fog of heat floated up from the masses struggling below. Water had always held a special place in his heart; his sister was a water creature. He thought of her often, though he had long ago given up any hopes of finding her. She had been taken away when they were born. Now her memory was little more in his life than that of a gnawing insect, always picking at the little bits of his brain.

He should have been mother’s pride while she, her father’s. His parents were an unlikely pairing. She was a demon of the old guard. Her meeting and mating with a member of The Light ought to have, at the very least, doomed her to the Hatchery. At their birth, both he and his sister should have been destroyed. He knew he had only survived those first moments of life due to the intervention of his Great-Grandfather. How his twin had escaped alive was still a mystery to him.

As he stood looking down upon the suffering, his thoughts were disturbed by footsteps headed in his direction. They were still some distance away, just now starting to move up the hill. The group moving slowly, cautiously, but still with a hint of defiance. By now protocol dictated that they should have stopped and announced themselves. Few would even consider approaching him.

He smiled to himself. He had intentionally come here to wait for them. The smile continued to grow as he realized the size of the force she had sent to get him. She apparently wasn’t taking any chances. The last time she had sent her guards for him, none had made it back. The few who could be pieced back together were now hanging below in his beloved swamps.

He didn’t need to be close to know who they represented; his mother had sent them. Over the past few months the level of their clashes -- or maybe a better word would be hatred -- had continued to escalate. Now he feared he might have finally had pushed her too far. There was nothing about their upcoming meeting, or any that might follow, that would prove to be good. His Great-Grandfather had taught him long ago that all things have a path. This too like everything else could only be taken one step at a time.

Lord Xia, your mother wants to see you.

He heard the speaker from behind him; it was her general. She was serious. How is my dear mother? He smirked, not turning.

Well enough to cause us to leave with one-third less than she had summoned, the rest falling to her anger. But overall, I guess as well as can be expected.

Xia took a deep breath and forced the smile from his face. The corners of his mouth again almost curled upward when he saw some of the hardest soldiers in Hell fall back a step as he turned toward them. He loved his reputation; it had been hard earned, and he spent it well.

Xia was a classic demon, fifty feet tall in his current form, with heavy hooves covered with long, loose hair. He had a fantastic double set of horns which swirled like crowns from the front and sides of his head. His skin was as black as night with a slight green hue. His eyes, the color of gold, had fire dancing inside the orbs, literally.

Flames licked at his upper torso, starting just above his waist. He could summon them at will where they would dance across his bare chest like opalescent creatures with their own mind. At certain times, when his flames burned their brightest, the two rings that pierced his nipples would begin to glow white hot. As his anger grew so would the heat’s intensity, often causing the rings to melt, the raw metal flowing down his chest like sweat.

Though he was a near perfect example of a Hellspawn, what marked him as unique was the pentagram that rotated slowly on his forehead, centered just above his eyebrows. Only one other member of his family’s long line had ever carried this mark, his Great-Grandfather. It was a great source of pride for them both. To look at him left no doubt; he was a Morningstar.

Chapter 2

Sirus stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up at Xia, trying to decide how best to approach his Mistress’s son. He could already hear the grumbling from his guards at having been sent on a suicide mission to summon the young Hellspawn to his mother’s chambers. The last time she had sent her guard's none had returned. These were all fresh recruits, and even Sirus knew they probably wouldn’t live out the day. Several, upon being told of their assignment, had executed themselves on the spot, choosing to take their chances in the Hatchery over facing Xia Morningstar when he was angry. Most of these soldiers had never met or even seen Xia in person; their reactions were based solely on his legend which Sirus knew was wildly understated.

As Sirus started up, Xia turned and smiled. He shook his head as three more guards fainted dead way just from the sight. He heard the rest form up and fall in behind him. He motioned for them to say at the bottom of the hill. He hoped it would go easier if he went up alone.

When he reached the top, he too smiled as he inclined his head, hoping it was enough of a bow not to anger the young lord. They stood in silence for a long time, looking out upon the swamps. Though he had known Xia since he was a child, Sirus knew he was still royalty and, therefore, made sure to stand a step behind as was his place.

Finding what he had been looking for, Sirus asked, Are those… my old guards?

Yes, they make a nice addition, don’t you think? Stand beside me. Glancing over his shoulder, Xia added, You brought me more. These look as useless as your last ones. I should be insulted that she is sending such inexperienced recruits with you. Did you lose a bet?

You know the first rule of warfare; never send in anything you are not prepared to lose. As you well know, her forces are spread thin right now, and with your history, she was not willing to risk her main guards on an errand. That last part caused Xia to growl as he turned to look at Sirus, raising an eyebrow. Forgive me, my Lord. Sirus paused. Should he risk finishing his thought? Finally deciding, he added, I have known you for too long. You expected your actions to escalate this war with your mother.

Yes, I did, Xia replied, overlooking the familiarity of the question. Sirus was one of the few demons in his mother’s service who Xia knew could understand this war between them. Xia also knew it would in no way interfere with him doing his duty. Sirus had been his mother’s loyal General for millennia. Where is she?

In her quarters. Go see her, please. Or does this need to get ugly?

Xia’s smile never wavered as he slowly raised his hand. Sirus immediately moved into a defensive posture as several of his guards at the bottom of the hill took off running in the other direction. That stopped them both as they turned to watch the recruits run away.

Xia noted, amused, You just cannot find real muscle in Hell anymore.

Turning his attention back toward the swamps in the distance, Sirus saw his former guards as the vines curled back, releasing them into Xia’s invisible grasp. He had not realized of the almost hundred soldiers that had been sent the last time, only twelve had been left alive when the dust settled. They rose slowly into the air and, in unison, began to wail in pain as their skin started to peel away from their bodies in long thin strips. All the time Xia smile never wavered.

Do you think this was necessary? asked Sirus.

Actually, this has very little to do with your visit. I do not like putting demons into my swamp. I had already decided to send them to the Hatchery so they could start again.

And you choosing to do it now for the benefit of the recruits is just a coincidence? asked Sirus as he watched the continued flaying of his former soldiers.

Finally, Xia grew bored of his old toys and, with a wave, they blew apart raining gore and sinew down into the murky waters below. Turning to Sirus, Xia added, "Well, as you pointed out, in war you learn when and how to use your resources. Clearly one of mine is fear. I have no intention of being dragged in front my queen bitch of a mother until I am ready, and with you and your guard, this could have gotten out of hand again. So now I have dealt with the old guards, and in doing so, it seems your new guards have in mass remembered appointments someplace else. All we have left is you and me. See how that works? And you thought I had not listened when you taught me tactics as a youth."

So this is going to be done the ugly way? asked Sirus as his hand dropped down to the useless sword at his side. There was little he could do against a Morningstar.

No, I plan on visiting my dear mother, and you do not need to worry. I respect you enough to let you exist to see another day. Should I assume I will see you back at the house?

You might want to dress a bit more formally, suggested Sirus.

In all the time Sirus had known Xia, he had never seen him wear much. Most often he was nude or in a loincloth, like today. There had been occasions, though few, when during some serious altercations Sirus had seen him fully dressed in battle armor.

The loincloth he wore today was little more than a thick belt with studs and a large buckle in the front. His ass was exposed, allowing his long, barbed tail to hang free. As was often the case with Xia, you could tell his mood by his tail which was now flicking behind him like a predator stalking its prey. From the front of the belt hung a broad piece of chainmail which only slightly hid his impressive genitalia; still, it wasn’t long enough to cover them completely.

Sirus noticed Xia’s upper body tense and stepped back, not sure what he was doing until he saw the skin on Xia’s back turn to what looked like liquid. From just below his shoulder blades, dozens of small bones started to sprout which began to build the armature of his massive wings digit by digit. As the last of the bones fell into place, the liquefied skin flowed out onto the frame, covering it with a thin film forming a membrane between the cartilages.

When the wings had formed there was a brief shudder as they solidified. With one massive flap, they lifted Xia’s form up off the ground, sending a swirl of dust circling below him. He floated several feet off the ground as the flames again flared up on his torso. Sirus has been in Hell and served this family for more years than he knew, but he was still awed when he saw a Morningstar in their full glory, and Xia was truly a remarkable creature.

Sirus turned just in time to discover that three of his soldiers had returned, but upon seeing Xia rise into the air their fear was so great they simply flashed out of existence.

Xia laughed, looking down at Sirus. I will meet you at mom’s, he said, then shot up and headed toward the city.

Just for fun, as Xia caught up to the other guards still fleeing, he let loose several long barbs from the ends of his wings. Each hits its mark, destroying them all. Sirus stood on the hill, watching Xia vanish into the distance. He was now alone, all his guards dead. As he started down the hill, he thought to himself, Overall, that went better than planned. I wonder if he will ever learn.

Chapter 3

Xia flew west from the Plains of Despair toward the capitol city of Hell, Pandemonium. The walls of the massive metropolis sprawled out in every direction. Hell had no night or day but hung forever in a lingering state of dusk, causing the shadows to become a permanent part of the architecture. The lights of the city were always on and rose above the Capitol like a grimy halo. Pandemonium sat at the edge of the barren plains, east of the Lakes of Torment, on the lowest level of Hell. Though the city tried to impress, even it paled when compared to the massive structures that hung from the mountains at its back, the homes of the original fallen. Their keeps had been built into the rock itself and were perched over the Capitol like a great beast waiting to pounce. The largest by far was that of The Dark Lord, Lucifer.

Pandemonium’s foundation was an intricate series of arched tunnels upon which rested the cities buildings, walkways, and streets. Just below in the sewers raged the every flowing torrent of the rivers of suffering. The Capitol was broken into three sections, the middle or administration section and city center. Off to the left were the entertainment and warehouses districts and to the right, by far the most run down, acted as the residential areas.

The central section with its massive buildings, cathedrals, and halls was the business center of Hell. The formally lush parks and meeting places were now seas of lean-tos and shacks, many of the abandoned souls lived here. Little cooking fires dotting the landscape. From high above where Xia flew, it looked a lot like an army when on the march.

The Capitol had been built in the early days to remind The Host of the sheer power The Fallen still possessed, intentionally designed to rival anything The Father and their Eternal City could offer. In many ways, Lucifer had copied its layout. Even now in its run-down state, it was still a spectacle that inspired awe and wonder. The high gothic spires of the architecture rose in flowing waves of marble, splashing against the mountain that protected its back.

Moving out from the city center the buildings became shorter, more utilitarian and run down. Fires raged in parts, no one caring any longer to put them out. There was no denying that Pandemonium had pretty much gone to hell (pardon the pun). Some sections were no more than great heaps of rubble from the collapsed buildings, inaccessible and infested with some of the lowest elements Hell had to offer. Many complained The Dark Lord no longer cared, but that was far from the truth. Xia knew He was intentionally letting the city run amok, by doing so he was clearing out the old for the new and grander plans he already had in the works.

Xia tried to spend less and less time in the city, only going in when necessary. Unfortunately, over the years, he had built many businesses and other interests that required his attention. His workshops and factories used and refined the suffering extracted from the souls on the planes above. Just like the Lake of Fire, Xia had a gift for pain and torture, many of which were presented nightly for everyone’s entertainment in his clubs. The suffering not only powered his businesses, but many of his extractions could be mixed with the drinks, giving his guests a unique experience few others could match.

The plains outside the city were like most of the wild places in Hell, infested with every form of abomination imaginable and many no sane minds could understand. Their sad lives were a never-ending obsession of suffering and hatred for all things within Creation. They didn’t care who you were or what side you were on. Their only driving force was the destruction of anything they could sink their teeth into. They ran like packs at times, raging against the walls of the city or finding lone travelers which they ripped apart, feeding on their essence in hopes that it would ease their pain for just a little while.

Unlike the rest of Hell, which was relatively ordered and predictable, the plains outside the city were a no man’s land. Lucifer allowed this because there were only two types of creatures on the lowest level, those who ruled and those that didn’t matter. If a Demon fell prey to the creatures that roamed the wilds outside the walls, then it was due to their own carelessness. He saw this as a lesson learned and something they wouldn’t repeat when or if they ever made it out of the Hatchery.

Most of Pandemonium's populations were actual Demons, also known as Hellspawn. These were the Hell-born, creatures that had never experienced the living existence. They came in many forms, ranging from the lowly, mindless types all the way up to The Fallen’s children; those were the first generation of Hell-born. The lives of the run-of-the-mill Hellspawn were in many ways like that of the living. They had jobs, bought and sold things, had friends, hang-outs and lived their daily lives like anyone else in the other parts of Creation. At times, they even had dreams. They lived in one of the many cities scattered across the planes of Hell. Most had jobs that in some way surrounded the production, distribution, and use of the suffering collected from souls of those that had once been living, also known as the damned.

Pandemonium's secondary populations were the manifestations, the wraiths, ghosts, and creatures so often cataloged in the living’s nightmares. These were the abominations spawned from the residual energy and run off of the refinement of raw souls. Their ability to move between Hell and the living world often made them hated by the Hellspawn who couldn’t. It was believed this gift came from their previous association with the Creations, regardless of how distant.

The final population group was the Royalty of Hell. These were the first, the Fallen Angels and their descendants, the ones cast from The Host during the Great War. Many of The Fallen still tried to maintain the life they were accustomed to before The Fall while others, the more successful ones, had not only accepted their new fate but in many cases had thrived. Those were the ones that now served The Dark Lord as his advisors and generals.

Many of the Demon Lords that currently ruled the city were also from royalty; they were the children of those that had fallen. They had no attachment to The Host but still had the stigma and responsibilities heaped upon them by their lineage.

After Lucifer turned his attention away from the city, allowing it to take its natural course, many of the Demon Lords took over the city and divided it up into regions of control. The battles for territory had been the cause of most of the destruction, each young Lord fighting for as much territory as possible. This conflict, many believed, had developed the current class system, but those who knew better understood there had always been one. The upper tier residents lived closest toward the back of Pandemonium, near the mountain, just below the keeps. They were able to maintain a decent life with well-tended palaces surrounded by great walls. Those in the lower parts of the city lived in squalor, its residents only staying behind the walls of the Capitol since the alternative would have been to travel the plains where all manners of creatures hunted.

Everyone feared the day when The Dark Lord would feel the need to step in and get involved in the Lord’s territorial disputes and the ruin left in their wake. He was a big fan of the scorched earth policy so it was pretty much assumed that when that day came most of those living in Pandemonium would awaken in The Hatchery with only vague memories of their previous lives. Most of The Fallen had the same view of dealing with anyone below them, to simply kill them all and let God sort it out. It was a carryover from their days in The Host.

Sure enough, the time finally came when Lucifer noticed that the city was declining faster than it could be repaired and stepped in. Everyone was relieved when he only chose to assign one of his generals to get things under control. Nothing improved; all that had changed was the destruction and outright warfare. Now everyone was forced to move their operations underground and develop a more nuanced way of consolidating their power in the parts of the city they ran.

During the time when everyone else was trying to focus on the new status quo, Xia’s businesses started to take off. His way of doing things quickly brought him into direct conflict with the new general in charge of Pandemonium. For him, it was all the more problematic since the Hellspawn tasked with bringing order was none other than his own mother. What little feelings they might have had toward each other vanished overnight, and since then they had been at all-out war.

In Xia's eyes, he had no respect for his mother. He knew she had no interest in improving the city; all she was struggling to do was eliminate the taint from her earlier sins. Having bred with an Angel of The Light had left a stain she would carry for rest of eternity. One of the sad ways she hoped to improve her tarnished reputation was to win publicly the now famous battle of wills with her infamous son. This was a gift Xia had no intentions of giving his dear mother. His hatred of her caused him to do the opposite even when he agreed with her if for no other reason than it had been clearly established for centuries that no one forced Xia to do anything.

What angered Hell’s elite most was that the city should have been at its peak, basking in its influence and power. Since the living continued to slide away from The Host, the flow of souls into Hell had grown, ensuring everyone a plentiful supply of the energy which kept the engines that ran Creation moving. The suffering refined from the souls of the living was literally the fuel for those engines. It was the lifeblood for both above and below, and no one wanted that to change. Now with The Father gone, souls were nothing more than a commodity to be bought, sold, and traded. The value of a soul was determined by their level of blasphemy to the predefined, antiquated rules set forth by The Host. Rules that they knew were poorly written, badly conceived and often set against each other, but it didn’t matter; it generated damned souls, and they were needed to fill the power vacuum lost when The Father vanished.

Pandemonium was a melting pot of all that Hell had to offer, becoming inhabited by more and more of the damned as well. They were taken from the old traditional forms of torment and brought here to serve the Demon classes. The damned made great workers for anything from rebuilding decimated areas of the city to being tortured in the clubs as entertainment. The cruelty also had the added bonus of increasing their level of suffering thus producing the power needed for the many establishments or the variety of machines used during the reconstruction.

There were also many more souls that simply lived in the city, working as store clerks and servants. They were residents, like everyone else, and treated with a moniker of respect by some while others still simply saw them as nothing more than raw stock. All of Creation was represented in Pandemonium, and that meant hundreds of thousands of creatures for millions of different worlds.

The idea that all of Hell was lakes of fire, writhing souls and all the other glamorized images artists liked to paint was more for the travel brochures. In actuality, it was a well-planned out series of levels designed to milk every last drop of suffering from every kind of creature consigned to the place. Lucifer had decided early on that he wasn’t going to speak to the living about the actual nature of Hell. He left that to the Dantes and Keiths of Creations (both of whom had been on the payroll, so to speak), and the propaganda turned out by The Host. Their books had been intended to instruct the living on what they needed to do to enter the Kingdom of The Father.

Much to Hell’s benefit, many civilizations didn’t read these works as instructions on how to treat each other well. They used them instead as resources to find something to hate about each other, helping justify their petty prejudices and longings to kill. They wanted to believe they were the favorite but deep down the living knew they were inferior, and no amount of words could change that. The Father might have created life out of love, but it had been proven long ago that love was a concept outside the living’s grasp. This was fine with Lucifer; he had known from the beginning that The Father’s fool hardy plans were doomed to failure.

Once you got past the normalness of the creatures’ lives, it was then that you started to notice the excesses. Hell was everything it was expected to be and more. Shops, clubs, and diversions ranged from the mundane such as food and the things needed to live, to the extremes where every sin, torture and abuse conceivable was on display for all to enjoy. There was a saying about the city of New York that had long ago filtered down to Pandemonium, It will give you all you ask for and then kill you for taking it.

In the backstreets of Pandemonium were venues that catered to the most deviant of tastes. There you could find sights that would even cause a full grown Hellspawn to curl up into a ball and cry. Suffering was, after all, the product of Hell, and most of the residents knew very well how to produce it. It was widely believed that it was better to be consigned to the lakes or the traditional torments in the higher levels than to be brought to the city as part of the entertainment.

Xia was one of the undisputed masters of all things having to do with torture. His clubs not only offered some of the most horrendous shows in Pandemonium but were designed to cater to its visitors’ every need. He delighted in pain, and his joy in causing it had become legendary.

A steady flow of new souls was always pouring into Pandemonium. If a soul reached the Capitol without being imported directly, you could rest assured they were the worst of the worst. As Dante had explained, there were many levels of Hell, starting with the petty sins, and then each subsequent level focused specifically on one of the major categories of vices the living basked in like pigs in a trough. Over time, as the levels had morphed and changed, Hell struggled to keep up as the living found new and creative ways to exploit their depravities.

What wasn’t common knowledge was that a soul didn’t go directly to their assigned level after Judgment. All souls started at the top and slowly sank through the many levels until eventually settling where they belonged. For lack of a better way of putting it, a soul had weight, and it continued to sink, pausing long enough to experience the pain of each level, until it reached its corresponding level of buoyancy. There it would stay as drop after drop of suffering was extracted. The only hope of escape was if a Demon got over zealous and damaged the soul beyond repair or that soul was eventually used up and could no longer produce any useable product. Then and only then they would be sent down to be disposed of in the great furnaces deep below the lowest plane of Hell.

Lucifer knew from the very beginning that the living carried in them some far-reaching fundamental defects. What he hadn’t expected was that these defects would cause the rotting away of entire civilizations over time resulting in more and more souls ending up at the gates to damnation. Even Hell had an occupancy limit, and it was growing harder and harder to keep up with the flow. Hell was filled to the brim, so new and creative ways of dealing with the overpopulation had been devised. Finally, when Lucifer could find no other way, he had convinced The Host that the most mundane souls would simply skip the planes of punishment and go straight to the furnaces to be destroyed. That was why souls were often considered nothing more than cord wood to many of Creation’s elite, both Demon and Angel. The universe, after all, was one great engine and even it had to abide by the laws set up in the beginning.

Chapter 4

Xia sailed over the Capitol, occasionally swooping down to check on different properties and interests he had in the area. He was in no hurry; he knew Sirus would get back and report their meeting. Making his mother wait would only upset her, and that played into his hands, so Xia took his time.

As he passed over a vast expense of decay, he noticed that several of his warehouses were still engulfed in flames, the most recent volley in the ongoing war with his mother. The only thing that seemed normal in the area was how the fires were all being ignored; everyone going about their daily lives as if nothing was wrong.

Looking down near one of his newest clubs, he saw a lifelong buddy and waved. His wings brought him to a stop where he hovered briefly before lowering himself gently to the ground. All those around hurried to get out of his way as he landed. Once his hooves were on the paving stones, he pulled his wings in close to him, keeping them materialized since he knew would need them again soon.

What is going on with your Mother? Alcraw had asked before Xia had even had a chance to greet him.

Alcraw was the son of Moloch, one of Lucifer’s more powerful generals. Moloch had followed Lucifer during the war but more out of a desire to hurt, maim and kill rather than any far-reaching loyalty to The Dark Lord. He was one of the Archangels that had been the angriest with The Father, and still, after all these years, was pushing for them to raid the gates of The Host and level the place. He didn’t want reconciliation; he wanted revenge, pure and simple. The Father had made him that way; he was what the living liked to call ‘The Wrath of GOD’. The Father had sinned by lying so now it was time for him to take his punishment, and Moloch wouldn’t rest until it was done.

Where Moloch and many of the other Fallen were from an older generation, those of Alcraw and Xia’s age were far more pragmatic about relations with The Host since they had been born in Hell. They had never seen the Creation their parents or The Fallen had experienced. By the time they were born, Hell had settled down, and the treaties with The Host had been in play for quite a while. The Living, for example, were now nothing more than a fuel source, cord wood as many liked to call them. Everything else was ancient history, stories of a time gone by. Xia did enjoy hearing the stories occasionally. The rare times when his Great Grandfather would talk to them about the things that were never mentioned in public. That was what it was to be a child of The Fallen and to a greater extent a Morningstar, to be on the inside, to know and never be able to share some of the most important secrets of the Universe. But even to the families, it was never a topic to be directly asked about. You learned to listen on those rare occasions when his Great Grandfather would speak of the past.

Where Xia had his mother, Alcraw battled against his father who wanted him to have a military life. They were both in a long line of the newer generation that were rebelling against the establishment. When Xia had started to build his businesses, Alcraw had always been at his side, helping where ever he could. He was as close to a brother as Xia had ever been allowed to have.

Finally, when Moloch pushed too hard, Alcraw had escaped his families keep, asking to stay in one of the upstairs rooms in Xia’s club. Now he managed the place and Xia, well,being Xia, got the added satisfaction of annoying another of The Fallen just for the fun of it. When Alcraw had vanished, Moloch had asked Lucifer to see if Xia knew the whereabouts