The Writers' Circle

Chapter One

Slit yellow eyes followed the liquid movements of the figure across the room while black ears trained on the deep melodious tune of the cello. The low notes carried effortlessly around the bedchamber, lulling to sleep the mass of fur lying on the musician's bed. The flames in the fireplace across from the player's chair had dimmed, as did the brightness of all the flames in hell. His music controlled everything, like it once had in the Golden City. Dark gray eyes were half lidded as he lost himself within the tune and his memories of past glory. Slender fingers held the immaculate bow, guiding it across the strings of silver as the other porcelain-like hand commanded the higher piece of the cello. Due to the memories of the past, the sweet melody had slowly changed into a somber piece, momentarily raising the creature from its descent into slumber. The musician's eyes slid closed and continued to play on.

Pale ears listened appreciatively to the sad, sweet music, eyes of the iciest blue focusing on the dancing flames outside which left a soft orange glow about hair of the purest white. With arms folded and leaning against the stone wall he turned to look at the mirror that stood facing him. But instead of the lean muscled, black clad image which was to be there, he was greeted with the happenings of the human plane. Supposed 'children' of the almighty one which were to live to serve the great Kami ran amok the earth, swiftly destroying the grand beauty given to them for a home and just wasting their lives as if it were nothing to them.

He sighed with a tut. "Humans. Such ungrateful creatures. Ruining their land, cursing he who made them and turning to idols and animals for guidance. What a pity."

"As is the price of being given the right of choice," answered a smooth baritone across the room as the music slowed. The white haired man glanced at the musician, then returned his gaze to the mirror.

"You do remember this was your doing, milord."

Said man let his lowered head rise, unconsciously tossing it back to remove shoulder length raven locks away from view. The clouds of memory were away from his eyes along with the sound of his music as he regarded the male figure near the window.

"I am quite sure you recall it was that foolish woman Eve who chose to listen to me, Vaika."

Said white haired man smirked. It was an argument they frequented over the millennia that Vaika nearly always found some means to initiate. 

"A shame it all has to go to waste so soon." Vaika sighed, turning away from the mirror to meet his master's gray eyes, his snow white braid draping over his shoulder, a stunning contrast to his all black attire. His appearance had not changed since his banishment from the heavens as a lowly steward. He had only lost his halo and white feathers in exchange for his fangs and fell wings, which had accentuated his now 'devilish' looks. His wings, however, remain hidden because of their lack of necessity, leaving the white haired demon with the appearance of a rather handsome young man.

"Ah, yes," the smooth voice of the musician breathed. "The ever near Tribulation and Judgment." He stood, the cello and bow floating off into their case which lay open near the three headed beast that slept atop the sheets. "Is it really so soon?"

He walked over to the mirror beside the silver haired demon and banished the images of the uncouth creatures, leaving behind his and Vaika's reflections. The black clad demon watched the raven over his shoulder. The gray eyed demon raised his bangs to reveal a pink scar on the right of his forehead, the only blemish on his otherwise perfect skin. He scowled at it, remembering why it was and how it got there. His pupils narrowed to slits at the memory for a moment, the prophecy eating away at him.

"'And I saw one of his heads wounded to death.'" Vaika began, trailing off when he saw his master's frown deepening. They were the words of the human saint, written and recorded unto today's generation as foresight into the last days.

"I refuse to be bound by the written words of some mortal soul," was the gray eyes demon's vehement whisper. Vaika walked over to the bed and seated himself, the beast's tail automatically curling in his lap.

"That can be arranged, brother dear," a female voice resounded from the massive doorway. She was the image of the perfect woman, with flowing dark brown hair and pale skin and eyes of the most peculiar brown in hell. Said demon's eyes returned to normal but kept its gaze fixed onto the pink scar.

"Sepia," he acknowledged. The lady figure sashayed up behind her brother and placed slender fingers on his shoulders.

"The way I see it, Lucifer," she said, running a finger over the scar. "This war is going to be quite different."

"Oh?" Vaika cut in, truly curious. "And how is that?"

Sepia waved a hand over the mirror, banishing the image of both siblings to reveal visions of the gates of hell. Mouths contorted in muted cries of agony and charred flesh greeted two pairs of inquiring eyes and one of mischievous glee.

"We will not be the ones to fall the second time around, brother," she said, now standing beside Lucifer with one hand still on one of his shoulders. "Just look at them. Just sitting there and burning. They will finally be of some use."

Lucifer studied the corrupted entities with a wonder in his eyes which had not been there since he first set foot in hell. Inspiration and understanding struck, a slow smile taking over the demon lord's lips.

"Vaika."

The white haired demon stood in acknowledgement. "Milord."

"Gather the others," said Lucifer, placing a hand over his sister's. "Meet with us in the Hall in an hour."

With a bow, a thick black cloud enveloped Vaika and he vanished. Sepia put her lips near Lucifer's ear.

"Glad you see things my way, brother."

Lucifer's smile broadened, determination burning in his gray eyes as they lingered on the mirror. He turned abruptly, tossing Sepia's hands and stalked out of his bedchamber. He wanted them ready.