This is me Lucifer again.
The twins finally decided to work together but they didn't know it wasn't that easy as it seemed to be.
While they were in prison, I went to Azazel: The god of fallen angels.
I was curious to know about his plan.
I wanted to know, why it was necessary to made Kinard the president of Japan.
The presidential office was a church made of glass and steel, located high up Tokyo's broken skyline. The night pressed against big windows as if it were a living creature, and the city's neon lights were shining far down—lovely, unaware, and ready for destruction.
The air held the slight aroma of polished mahogany mixed with old dreams.
Azazel was on the huge leather couch as if this was the place of the maximum human power and it was made for him only.
One leg went over the other, fingers were joined together, wings were concealed below the fashionable and perfect suit. The only source of light in the room was the lamp on the desk and the restless glitter of the monitors, which were all showing the same global news—every channel displaying the same victorious announcement again and again: Kinard Korugane, President of Japan.
I appeared quietly; the shadows around me were disappearing like smoke from a fire.
Azazel looked up right away; his devilish eyes shone with a welcome that was both predatory and inviting.
"I was sure you'd come, Lucifer," he said, his voice like the smoothed-over surface of midnight, full of the pleasure that comes from watching a plan develop just as it has been laid out.
I silently walked three steps across the room, a smile appearing on my lips—mixed feelings of love and blame.
"You've gone a long way without me,"
I whispered, putting my arm around his neck from behind the couch, my fingers just touching the warm pillar of his throat in a motion that was partly hug, and partly a reminder of who we used to be.
"You didn't even wait, my old friend."
He rotated his head, the movement being slow, intentional, and letting my hand touch for a while.
"I'm still waiting, Lucifer," he said, his voice a deep and slow vibration that my palm could feel.
"Always."
I let him go, and the moment was prolonged and stretched before breaking. I walked to the light and looked at him with a gaze that was sharp enough to slit souls.
"Then justify the choice of making that human puppet the president of the whole country by putting on his head the crown."
Azazel's eyebrows went up—very ornamentally and dramatically. With the utmost fluidity, he ascended from the couch, and his motion reminded me of the reason why humans once confused us for deities.
"I want to make the connection between Earth and the demon world," he said nonchalantly, as if he were just forecasting the weather.
"For good."
He advanced, so much so that the space around us was filled with the memory we had in common—thousands of years of defiance, exile, and the beautiful pain of treachery.
The corner of his mouth became a straight line, and his glance was transfixed with the very same light that long ago burnt down Heaven's entrance.
"This is your time, Lucifer. Time to get revenge on these filthy, ungrateful belongers who even dared to inherit the world from which we were expelled."
The sentence dropped like a rock into a pond, and the circles of yesteryears' grudges spread out. I kept on looking at him, brave.
"I am doing my best with Akira now,"
I uttered in a low tone while allowing the name to float between us like a sharp weapon.
Then I moved closer, put my hand on his shoulder, and while whispering in his ear, almost with my lips touching it, said,
"And Lucarious is our enemy."
Azazel was completely frozen. The room was instantly ten degrees cooler.
His voice, a whisper of shock, despite being heard like thunder, was the only sound coming from him.
"Lucarious?"
He drew back slightly but long enough to make sure I was telling the truth.
"When did he come down?"
I was not ready to answer right away. Instead, I went over to the presidential table—Kinard's table—sitting on the edge of it, and with a display of nonchalant arrogance claiming my territory.
The screens behind me were changing but all showed the same thing—wildly cheering people, none of them knowing that the person they idolized was nothing but a puppet.
With a soft buzz, the door opened.
Kinard Kurogane came in, and his face was like stone; his eyes showed a man who had bartered everything for power and was still afraid that the debt would be collected.
He, of course, did not see me. To him, the whole room was just Azazel.
"You really think that the people would accept this?" Kinard inquired, his voice was sharp due to the remaining doubt.
Azazel's grin reappeared—sneaky, self-confident.
He went to the human, placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"We will give prove that the person in that video was you. Then by using my powers, close all the portals that we opened. That make not only these people will believe you, instead the whole world will gonna trust and worship you."
Kinard moved his jaw as if he were chewing something.
"What about my sons?"
Azazel brought him to the couch, as tender as a priest taking an altar boy.
"We make it happen that they flee," he said, his voice gradually changing into a velvet promise.
"When they come to be—victorious, obstinate—we open the last door. The demon world and earth unite. Pandemonium breaks out in the streets. And you, Kinard Kurogane, will be the only king of both realms."
The human let out a breath, and it was something halfway between fear and joy.
I stood up from the desk; the slow clapping of my hands filled the room, which was silent as far as Kinard was concerned, but Azazel could hear each clap as if it were gunfire.
"Well, well, well,"
I said in a drawl and stepped into the path of the fallen angel. "You think Akira and Vernon will just let you go after this sweet betrayal?"
Azazel turned toward me, showing no sign of being affected, and put his hand on my shoulder, which was the same gesture that I had offered moments ago. His grip became stronger, the bond of ancient friendship was tempered with a fierce warning.
He leaned forward until his exhalation ruffled the hair at my temple.
"Let me first set the pawns, Lucifer,"
he whispered, his voice oozing with dark certainty.
"Then you shall witness the end of the game with your own eyes."
For a brief moment, we remained in that position—two outcasts who had once fought their way into Heaven, but now, were standing on the brink of the two opposing rules.
Outside, the city of Tokyo was twinkling without a clue, still waiting for the Heavenly curtain to be drawn.
And down in the freezing underbelly of the Asylum, two brothers were building an alliance that neither one of them was completely sure about.
The board was ready.
The pieces were in progress.
And vengeance, smiling patiently like eternity, was finally returning home.