The red sky of the Nether Realm burned behind Caelus as he soared through the celestial winds, his divine wings cutting through the ethereal currents with ease.
In his right hand, Mahee—the Firmament Splitter—hummed with residual power, its crystalline blade still warm from the battle that had just concluded.
In his left, he carried his prize: the severed head of Belphegor, Prince of Sloth, one of the most cunning generals in the unholy legion.
The head's eyes had long since dulled to black stone, but its grotesque features still bore the expression of shock from the moment Mahee had separated it from its shoulders.
Dark ichor dripped from the severed neck, each drop dissolving into starlight before it could fall into the void below.
"Finally," Caelus muttered, adjusting his grip on the trophy. "Father will have to acknowledge this victory."
The war against the unholy ones had raged for three celestial cycles, and while his father's armies had won countless battles, none had managed to claim the head of one of their princes.
Caelus had done what entire battalions could not—he had infiltrated their stronghold, challenged Belphegor to single combat, and emerged victorious.
The feat should have been impossible for anyone below the rank of Archangel, yet here he was, proof of his triumph weighing heavy in his grasp.
As the golden spires of the Celestial Palace came into view, Caelus felt his heart swell with anticipation.
Perhaps now his father would see him as more than just another son—perhaps now he would see him as worthy.
The palace guards snapped to attention as he descended onto the marble courtyard. Captain Raziel, commander of the palace guard, approached with measured steps.
"Prince Caelus," Raziel said, his voice carefully neutral. "His Divine Majesty awaits you in the Throne Chamber."
Something in the captain's tone made Caelus pause. Where was the congratulation? The acknowledgment of his victory? Raziel's eyes avoided his, focusing instead on some distant point beyond Caelus's shoulder.
"Captain," Caelus said slowly, "did news of the battle not reach the palace?"
"I am not privy to such information, my lord. I am merely instructed to escort you to your father."
Caelus frowned but said nothing more. Perhaps his father wanted to hear the account directly from his lips—it would make the victory all the sweeter.
The throne chamber's massive doors swung open as they approached, revealing the vast hall within.
Pillars of living light stretched toward a ceiling that seemed to touch the very heavens themselves.
At the far end, upon the Throne of Divine Judgment, sat Caelus's father—Aethon, the High God, ruler of all celestial realms.
But something was wrong. The usual warmth in his father's golden eyes had been replaced by something cold and terrible.
Standing to his right, hands clasped behind his back, was Caelus's twin brother, Malachar.
"Approach," Aethon commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber like distant thunder.
Caelus strode forward, his confidence wavering only slightly. He held up Belphegor's head as he reached the base of the throne's steps.
"Father, I bring you proof of victory. The Nether Realm's Prince of Sloth has fallen to Mahee. Their eastern stronghold—"
"Silence."
The word hit Caelus like a physical blow. He had never heard that tone from his father before—not directed at him.
Around the throne chamber, he became aware of other figures emerging from the shadows.
Palace guards, their hands resting on their weapon hilts. Court mages, their staffs glowing with binding magic. And at their head, High Inquisitor Thane, whose presence here could mean only one thing.
"Father?" Caelus's voice cracked slightly. "What's happening?"
Aethon rose from his throne, his massive frame seeming to fill the entire chamber. When he spoke, each word was measured and final.
"Caelus, son of my blood, you stand accused of the highest treason. You are charged with attempting to defile the sanctity of my household and violate the honor of your stepmother, Queen Celeste."
The words hit Caelus like Mahee to his chest. The head of Belphegor tumbled from his suddenly nerveless fingers, rolling across the marble floor with a wet sound.
"What?" he breathed. "Father, no—I would never—Queen Celeste is like a mother to me. I've never even—"
"Do you deny that you entered her private chambers three nights past?" Aethon's voice boomed through the hall.
"I—" Caelus's mind raced. Three nights past, he had been preparing for the assault on the Nether Realm. "I was in the armory with my lieutenants, planning the attack. Ask them—ask Captain Uriel, ask—"
"Enough!" Aethon raised his hand, and immediately one of the court mages stepped forward. "Magister Vex, show us what your scrying revealed."
The elderly mage raised his gnarled staff, and the air above the throne shimmered. Reality bent and twisted until a perfect three-dimensional image formed—a magical recording of events past. Caelus watched in horror as the hologram showed a figure that looked exactly like him approaching the queen's chambers. The figure moved with his walk, bore his face, even wore his ceremonial armor.
In the recording, the Caelus-figure paused at the door, looked around to ensure he wasn't observed, then slipped inside.
"This is impossible," Caelus whispered. "I was never there. This is some trick—some illusion—"
"Perhaps you would care to explain this, then?"
Aethon's hand opened, revealing a ring that made Caelus's blood turn to ice. It was his signet ring—the mark of his station as a prince of the realm.
The one he had lost over a week ago but had been too ashamed to report.
"This was found beneath Queen Celeste's bed," Aethon continued. "She discovered it this morning and brought it to me in tears, confessing that you had attempted to force yourself upon her three nights past."
"No." Caelus shook his head frantically. "No, Father, you have to believe me. I lost that ring—I've been searching for it—"
"So you admit this is your ring?"
"Yes, but—"
"And you admit you lost it?"
"Father, please listen—"
"How convenient that you 'lost' it in the very place you're accused of committing your crime."
Caelus looked desperately around the chamber. His eyes found Malachar, still standing silently beside the throne. "Malachar!" he called out. "Tell him! You know I lost my ring—I told you about it! I asked you to help me look for it!"
For a moment, something flickered across his twin's face. Then Malachar stepped forward, his voice solemn and regretful.
"It's true, Father. Caelus did tell me he had misplaced his ring. But..." he paused, as if the words pained him. "But I assumed he had found it again. I saw him wearing it just two days ago."
The lie hit Caelus like a thunderbolt. "What? Malachar, no—you know that's not true! You know I've been—"
"I'm sorry, brother," Malachar said, his voice heavy with false sorrow. "I wanted to believe you, but the evidence..."
Aethon's expression hardened further. "Even your own twin brother cannot deny what his eyes have seen."
"He's lying!" Caelus lunged forward, only to find himself restrained by invisible bonds—the court mages had activated their binding spells. "Father, you have to see—this is all planned! Someone wants me gone! Someone is—"
"ENOUGH!" Aethon's roar shook the very foundations of the palace. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and final. "I have heard enough lies from your lips. The evidence is clear. The testimony is given. Your guilt is established beyond question."
He raised his hand, and immediately the palace guards stepped forward, their weapons drawn. But before they could reach him, another voice rang out.
"My lord! Wait!"
Captain Uriel burst into the throne chamber, followed by a dozen of Caelus's most loyal soldiers. Their armor bore the scars of recent battle—they had clearly just returned from the Nether Realm campaign.
"Your Divine Majesty," Uriel said, dropping to one knee but keeping his eyes on Aethon. "Prince Caelus speaks truth. Three nights past, he was with us in the armory until the small hours. We planned the assault together. I swear this on my sword and my soul."
Murmurs arose from the other soldiers. "Aye, he was there!" called out Lieutenant Samael. "We discussed strategy until dawn!"
"He never left our sight," added Sergeant Gabriel.
Hope flared in Caelus's chest, but Aethon's expression remained unmoved.
"The loyalty of soldiers to their beloved commander is commendable," the High God said coldly. "But loyalty can blind men to truth. They would lie to protect their prince, just as he lies to protect himself."
"We do not lie!" Uriel rose to his feet, his hand moving to his sword hilt. "Prince Caelus is innocent!"
The tension in the chamber ratcheted higher as more guards appeared, surrounding Uriel and his men.
Caelus realized with growing horror that this moment balanced on a knife's edge—one wrong word, one sudden movement, and the throne chamber would become a battlefield.
"Stand down," he commanded, his voice carrying the authority he had learned on a hundred battlefields. "All of you, stand down."
"My lord?" Uriel looked at him in confusion.
"You heard me, Captain. Lower your weapons. All of you."
"But my lord—"
"That's an order!" Caelus's voice cracked like a whip. "I will not see good soldiers die for my sake. Stand down and withdraw."
Slowly, reluctantly, Uriel and his men lowered their weapons. But they did not withdraw.
"You see?" Aethon said, something that might have been approval flickering across his features. "Even in his disgrace, he seeks to protect those who serve him. Perhaps there is still some honor left in you, my son."
For a moment, Caelus dared to hope. Then his father's expression hardened once more.
"But honor cannot wash away dishonor. Justice cannot be swayed by noble gestures."
Aethon stood to his full, terrible height. "Caelus, son of my blood, I strip you of your rank, your privileges, and your place in this household. You are cast out from the celestial realms, to walk among mortals for twenty years as punishment for your crimes."
The binding spells tightened around Caelus, forcing him to his knees. He watched helplessly as palace guards approached to collect Mahee from where it had fallen beside Belphegor's head.
"No," he whispered. "Father, please—"
"Take him to the Void Gate," Aethon commanded. "Let him be stripped of his immortality and cast down to walk among the mortals he seems to prefer over his own kind."
As the guards seized his arms and began to drag him away, Caelus caught sight of his brother's face.
For just an instant, Malachar's face of sorrow slipped, and something else shone through—something cold and calculating and triumphant.
The truth hit him like a revelation. "Malachar," he breathed.
His brother's smile widened just a fraction, visible only to Caelus. Then the mask was back in place, and he was calling out in apparent anguish, "Brother! I'm sorry it has come to this!"
The Void Gate stood at the edge of the palace grounds, a swirling portal of darkness that led to the spaces between worlds.
It was here that the celestial realm disposed of its waste, its failures, its unwanted refuse. And now, apparently, its disgraced princes.
As they approached the gate, Caelus was forced to his knees once more. The court mages began their chanting, weaving the spells that would strip away his immortal essence and prepare him for exile. He could feel his divine nature beginning to ebb, like water draining from a broken vessel.
Footsteps approached, and he looked up to see Malachar walking toward them, his face a covered in fake brotherly concern.
"I asked Father if I could say goodbye," Malachar said loud enough for the guards to hear. Then he knelt beside Caelus and leaned close, as if to whisper words of comfort.
Instead, his voice was barely audible, filled with poison-sweet triumph.
"I won, brother."
Caelus tried to speak, but the binding spells held his voice as well as his body.
"Did you really think," Malachar continued, his breath hot against Caelus's ear, "that I would spend eternity standing in your shadow? You, the great warrior. You, the beloved son. You, the heir apparent." He chuckled softly. "It was almost too easy. A few drops of shapeshifting potion, a stolen ring planted in the right place, and a few tears from dear stepmother Celeste—who, by the way, was more than happy to help once I promised her that her own son would inherit instead of you."
The revelation hit Caelus like a physical blow. Queen Celeste had a son from her first marriage—a son who stood to inherit nothing while Caelus lived. Of course she would conspire against him.
"Now I am the only male heir," Malachar whispered. "In time, I'll find a way to remove dear father as well. And then..." He pulled back slightly, his smile visible to Caelus alone. "Then everything will be mine."
Caelus strained against his bonds, fury giving him momentary strength, but Malachar simply placed a gentle hand on his shoulder—the gesture of a loving brother offering comfort in a time of trial.
"Don't struggle, brother. It's undignified." Malachar's voice returned to its normal volume as he stood. "I'll watch over your men while you're gone. I'll take good care of them."
The threat was clear, and Caelus felt his heart break. Even his loyal soldiers would suffer for their association with him.
The chanting reached its crescendo, and Caelus felt the last of his divine essence drain away. He was mortal now—fragile, limited, weak. The realization was terrifying and liberating all at once.
"Any last words?" asked High Inquisitor Thane.
Caelus looked up at the swirling void, then at his brother's false-sorrowful face, then at the guards and mages who had served as unwitting accomplices to his downfall.
"I will return," he said simply.
Malachar's smile widened. "Twenty years, brother. That's a very long time."
Then, with a gentle push that looked like a brother's final embrace, Malachar shoved Caelus into the Void Gate.
Darkness swallowed him. He fell through nothingness, through the spaces between stars, feeling his consciousness fragment and scatter.
The last thing he heard before oblivion claimed him was his brother's laughter, carried on stellar winds.
And then there was nothing at all.