Lightbringer

Chapter 17: Inheritance

The gods take their seats, as if this was all just a normal Tuesday for them. Elohim speaks into the ringing silence. "Now. Children of Elohim, step forward."

My body and my mind both cannot process what had just happened. The reality of it refuses to set in. Jesus drags me forward and numbly I comply.

"Jesus, son of Elohim." He steps forward, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin like he's preparing to fight Elyon. I start to wonder if this is our dire sentencing. We may not have actually killed god, but we did both fight him. How would the divine council punish us? I hadn't thought to think that far ahead. I'd been so focused just on how they'd handle our father I hadn't had time to worry about us.

I definitely should have worried about us.

"You have proven yourself to be a worthy heir to your father. This council hereby grants you the rule of Elohim's former realm to do with as you please; restore it or create something new, as you see fit. With this realm also comes a seat on this council, and with it a duty to appear here whensoever you may be summoned. You are now one of the higher divines, with all its associated power and privileges. Welcome! Be a better god than your father."

Jesus is too stunned to speak. He gives a little bow, then finally manages a small "thank you," before retreating back to me. We exchange looks – him, shock, me, grinning. I give him a subtle thumbs up.

"Lucifer, son of Elohim." I step forward, and, with effort, keep my wings from flaring instinctively. Sure, Jesus hadn't been punished, but then again, he wasn't the one who'd instigated the fight. There must be consequences coming my way.

Elyon smiles gently at me. For an excruciatingly painful moment, he reminds me of the way my father used to look at me, back when he was building his universe. It's unbearable. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly and force myself to breathe; when I open them, he's just Elyon. "You have suffered so much, and so unjustly, Lightbringer. There is nothing within the power of this council to compensate you for what you endured at the hands of your father. You were cursed in form; stripped of your home and left to wander the void for eternity; you were forced to witness the torment and destruction of creation you inspired and helped create; and after all that, you were brutally killed by your own father."

Well, put like that... I'd never really taken the time to tally my offenses like that, and listed like that it makes everything I've been feeling for the last few millennia and brought to a head today a lot more understandable.

"However, what is within our power and what you have earned shall be bestowed upon you: You also shall be granted a seat on the council and a realm, which since you have already carved one out for yourself, we shall grant you Hell as this boon. You will no longer need to sustain it with your divine force." His smile becomes knowing. I didn't know it was possible for a realm to exist independent of a divine creator; I always assumed my father was just that much more powerful than me. A new wave of relief sweeps over me, knowing that the human inhabitants of Hell will never again be in danger of the realm collapsing around them and dooming them.

"Welcome to the ranks of the higher divines, Lucifer. You are a better god than your father."

I really think I might cry.

* * *

It's good to be back in Hell. Elyon had opened a portal for both Jesus and me – each to our own respective realms – and I had ended up back in the familiar comfort of my hall. These red clay walls around me and the cool, subtly patterned titles under my feet are soothing after the blinding white brilliance of the council rooms. I am home.

I draw in a long, slow breath. I'm still brimming with power. I've never stood here without the strain of supporting the realm. For the first time, I can relax and breathe, and just enjoy this realm and its inhabitants.

I pad over to the back end of the hall, where my small section of personal paraphernalia is. I step in front of the mirror, as Jesus had recommended, and have to do a double take.

It's not that I don't look like myself. In a way, it's almost like I look more like myself than I did before. My skin is a slightly darker tone of ash; my cheekbones are higher and sharper; my hair has paled to a snowy white. My wings are still blackened, but the places where they were tattered have filled in – but the new feathers are crimson as human blood. My breath catches. Out of curiosity, I summon my power to see what happens.

Glowing red light snakes up my arms, pouring from the grooves left in my skin after I'd reformed. They stretch up under my sleeveless tunic and reappear at my neck. My eyes glow solid with the same light, and a current of pure red energy courses up the polished obsidian of my horns and connects in the middle in a bar of light. It's almost like I have a halo again.

I release the power, letting it subside back beneath my skin. My heart is pounding. I knew I didn't want to go back to the form I'd had before the fall, because that wasn't me anymore. That angel had died the day my father cast me out. But I'm also infinitely glad that this form is not the one he'd cursed me with. This form is mine, entirely mine. I'd gone through death and the end of the world and come out the other side. I'd come back from the brink, and that hadn't been him. This was how I'd felt on the inside, a manifestation of how I saw myself.

Just like that I'm laughing. Real, body shaking, face aching gusts of laughter that echoes and bounces back to me, genuine and happy as song.

I am not my father's son. I am simply me. I am finally, truly, free of my father, in all ways.