War
The waters of the obsidian pool barely rippled.
Morris reclined against its polished stone edge, his sculpted form partially hidden beneath the thick petals of blood-orchids and dusk-lilies, their aroma sweet enough to tempt gods. Two maidens knelt beside him in silence, blindfolded, careful as they worked across his arms and chest with enchanted cloths. Their hands trembled slightly, not from the cold—but from him.
From the aura of suppressed wrath and something stranger... something frighteningly unfamiliar.
In one hand, Morris swirled an ancient goblet of crimson wine, the rim stained, forgotten. His golden eyes—duller than usual—gazed across the black surface of the pool, but he saw nothing.
He was listening.
To a voice that wouldn't stop.
To a name that wouldn't silence.
"Morris…""Please… I'm scared…"
Elowen.
Three days. Three days without touching her thoughts, without responding to her whispered calls, her cries, her pain.
He'd sealed the connection between their minds—and still, she bled through like light under a locked door.
He had left her. He had made the choice.
And yet…
Her voice was threaded into every moment of silence. It haunted him like a heartbeat beneath the world.
"Foolish girl," he muttered, though it held no venom.
He closed his eyes, jaw flexing. Every time he remembered the way Prince Derek looked at her… the way she looked back—his body ignited.
He had nearly burned the palace down that day. For jealousy.
And jealousy was for men.
Not Lucifer.
"I don't have a heart," he hissed, shattering the wine goblet in his hand. Red droplets splashed against his chest like blood.
The maids gasped quietly and withdrew. He didn't stop them.
He let the silence settle, let the sting of wine-filled cuts remind him he was still a god beneath flesh.
But then—something stirred.
A flicker, small and soft, buried beneath the rage.
A longing.
A tremble.
"No…" he whispered. "It can't be."
Not love. Never that.
Not for a creature like him.Not for her.
The forest was a blur of shadows.
Elowen's breath came in ragged gasps, her heartbeat crashing against her ribs like waves on stone. Her bare feet tore over root and thorn, the rich velvet of her borrowed cloak now ripped and stained.
Behind her—boots. Voices. Steel.
The guards didn't shout commands. They didn't need to.
They were hunters.And she, their chosen prey.
"Morris!" she screamed into the trees. "Please—please help me!"
Branches clawed at her face. Her lungs burned.
He was the only one she could think of.
Not the king.Not Sadie.Not even the gods.
Only him.
"Morris—!" her voice cracked, full of terror. "Please don't leave me!"
A branch sliced her cheek. Blood. Panic. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and crashed to the dirt. She didn't stop to pick it up.
She couldn't afford to.
She didn't see the crooked root ahead.
Her foot caught.
And in the next breath, the ground vanished beneath her.
She hit the earth with a crack—white-hot pain shot up her leg. She screamed. Her right knee refused to move. Something was broken.
She tried to crawl—but the men were already there.
One seized her hair—hard—and dragged her backwards.
"No—stop! Let go!" she screamed, nails clawing at the earth, trying to latch onto anything. "Please!"
They didn't listen.
Another boot struck her spine. One gripped her ankle and yanked, tearing her closer.
A third placed a hand on her chest, pushing her into the dirt.
"She's not screaming now," one of them muttered with a sick grin.
Elowen sobbed. Her fingers bled. Her scalp burned. Her ribs ached. She could feel the taste of death rising in her throat.
She whispered the name one last time, not with hope—but with surrender.
"Morris…"
The wind died.
Then shifted.
Leaves rustled. Birds stilled. The moon itself seemed to blink.
The guards turned—first out of instinct.
Then came the scent. Smoke. Spice. Sulfur.
Then the sound—a low, rising hum that crawled across the bones like cold fire.
A tall figure emerged from the forest's edge, walking slowly through shadow and ash.
His coat was deep midnight, his boots untouched by the filth. His hair glowed like black silk under moonlight, and his eyes—
His eyes burned gold.
Morris stood still, gaze fixed on the bloodied girl lying in the dirt like a broken offering.
Time cracked.
And in the next moment, he moved.
His right hand rose—calm, graceful.
From his palm, liquefied fire uncoiled like a serpent, glistening, hissing. It hovered—then snapped forward like a whip of living flame.
Nine men screamed.
Fire raced up their limbs, devouring muscle and bone. One tried to run—his body collapsed into ash before he could even scream.
Only one remained.
The leader.
Frozen. Shaking. His trousers darkened at the groin.
Morris said nothing at first.
He only walked to Elowen, and knelt.
He touched her gently. His fingers brushed her bruised cheek, her torn sleeve, her split lip.
His jaw clenched, and for the first time—he looked heartbroken.
"They touched my wife."
Elowen looked up through a haze of tears.
"You… came back…"
Morris didn't speak. He lifted her carefully into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She sobbed once—then went still, comforted by the chill of his touch.
His gaze turned to the last man.
And darkness smiled.
"Go back to your princess," Morris said softly. "Tell her what you saw."
The guard trembled. "P–please... I didn't know—"
"Tell her," Morris interrupted, his voice now thunder beneath honey, "that you saw the Devil."
The man turned to run—his left leg erupted in fire.
He dropped, wailing in agony as bone cracked under flame.
Morris tilted his head.
"And tell her...""She just declared war on Hell."
Then he vanished—carrying Elowen into the night.
She awoke in a bed of black silk.
Her body warm. The pain—gone, she was able to move her knee, she felt no pain it was as if she never broke her knee, every single pain was gone.
A shadow moved beside her. She turned her head.
Morris was there, sitting at the edge of the bed, head bowed, one hand pressed over his mouth.
"You broke," he whispered. "And I wasn't there."
Her voice came softly. "Why?"
A pause.
"Because you make me feel things I shouldn't."
She reached for him, her fingers brushing his hand.
"Then feel them."