Lilith Between Flesh And Spirit

Chapter Seventeen: Lilith, Mother Of All Demons

All she remembers from this place is the taste of its cold grey floor on the day Yaldaboath took the identity of Adam to make her submit.

She was fighting off a migraine, her vision blurring away, then clearing into the sight of eight shadows sitting before her, but today, when Lilith flaps her wings, standing right at the edge of the spacecraft hovering over Eden, its shutter blasts open.

There is only one remaining shadow there, and he is sitting still as if he were awaiting her arrival.

Yaldaboath created them all in his image—the image of a stern male creature shrouded from head to toe under a Stygian, ragged cloak. His face is a void, the black that isn't a primary, secondary, or even tertiary colour—the one that absorbed all the light to create nothingness.

Lilith's hands shiver in his presence; he is still the embodiment of all her fears. From priests to judges, tuxedos, credit cards, and everything else in his material world, black is power, authority and intelligence. His sophistication extends everywhere within his chamber. From the opaque, squared, tiled wall to the mirror that enlarges the size of his room to other horizons while shrinking Lilith's reflection at the entrance.

Yaldaboath stands out from the gloom like he stands up with a crimson aura around his sturdy frame. He matches the dim blood light, edging every piece of furniture and the glowing pipes like haemoglobin-filled veins.

The red of hell, the colour of the one who had created the bodies to imprison the spirit.

As Lilith steps inside and folds her wings, a ringing sound bounces all over the wall at the same time that a vermillion sharp blade materialises in his hand.

"You!" She jabs her finger at him, using it as her own sword, and yet her voice can only weaken in his presence. "You did this to us all, creating us soulless to fulfil your greed for war."

In this moment, Lilith sniffs, unable to contain her pain.

"You will pay for it!"

That was her last word to him. Lilith summons her weapon, her afterthought, the power Sophia once bestowed on her, but nothing appears between her closed palms. Sweats suddenly bead her forehead, remembering that she last threw her sword at Astaphanos.

Lilith only let out a chuckle at her own carelessness because defeat or even death no longer has a hold on her.

She will come back, no matter what.

On this promise to herself, Lilith approaches him, and they circle each other. Their breaths decrease as they move slowly, almost observing each other to capture their weaknesses like their strengths.

The shutter suddenly collapses on its own, locking them both into the doomed room. Her face flickers between the red light and the shadow; his remains concealed. Yaldaboath suddenly stands in a fighting position; his sword raises up to the ceiling, while Lilith only holds out her small, armoured fists.

The tense atmosphere of the room crumbles with each punch and with each sword slash into the air, yet every time Lilith delivers a blow, Yaldaboath just gets back up unscathed. Soon, all she can do is dodge his many strikes for her own survival.

A pipe bursts injecting smokes into the darkness; another missed assault; he only missed Lilith by a hair. The same long strand of red hair from under his hood now falls over her face. Yaldaboath towers over her as she is lying below him on the cold floor with one of his boots presses on her chest. His head tilts to the side as he now points the tips of his blade under her chin.