"There's my little Slayer," Lucifer greeted with a teasing grin. He rarely ever expressed such emotions what with being the Devil and all. Appearances to keep, reputations to uphold, beings to rule by fear, souls to steal and all those other things that bring warm fuzzies to the stomach.
I stepped into his private chambers, one of the few completely out of bounds areas of the palace, not looking that out of place with my black clothing.
His walls were black with deep red strips of paint that ran down from the ceiling to imitate blood. Lush dark grey carpet that was pressed under my mud caked black combat boots protected the unnaturally neat floor.
His bed too was covered with black sheets and matching red pillows with a dark wooden frame. The only other pieces of furniture in his room were the vanity and a small, round wooden table with two matching chairs that all went with his black and red color scheme.
I bowed low and greeted, "Hello, Master."
Even though I was looking at the floor, I knew Lucifer was either frowning slightly or rolling his eyes at me. I bet on the latter.
He sighed and returned to his usual cold, intimidating self that was much more well known and ordered, "Close the doors and debrief me on your mission."
I nodded obediently and turned to close the seemingly ordinary doors. They were large, wooden double doors that were black with silver handles that were in the shape of scythes with the blades pointing inwards.
I say seemingly because the doors were magically sealed so only certain people could open them or even touch the gleaming silver handles. The seal also worked as a sound barrier so no one could eavesdrop no matter how powerful the spell they were using or how strong their ears are.
Lucifer himself sealed the doors so very few are even tempted to see if they can break the seal. The only person I remember willingly trying ended up bursting into dull grey flames and was reduced to ashes in the blink of an eye. His blood curdling screams echoing for a few moments after his incineration.
Sometimes, if Lucifer is in a really bad mood or just plain lazy and has death row inmates to deal with, their punishment is to try and open the doors. Being one of the quickest yet most painful ways to be executed, people have a hard time deciding if it is merciful death or cruel torture.
Despite his straight to the point instructions, I knew the actual meaning behind his words. "Close the doors and put down the shade so I can talk to you properly and not call you that ridiculous name" was what I got from his orders since this was a normal, almost ritual-like routine for us.
As soon as I closed the doors and heard the definite click of the lock I gladly pulled down my shade.
A shade is a magical illusion sort of thing that, depending on the strength of the caster and size of the shade, basically creates a mirage over whatever the shade is put up on for as long as the castor can hold it. A magic disguise.
I have a relatively strong affinity with certain types of magic, and with Lucifer as my mentor I can create pretty strong shades for lengthy periods of time. Also, with my constant use of this particular shade, it is almost as easy as breathing to put it on and hold it for a couple of hours without feeling lightheaded and nauseous. I'm usually extremely hungry or exhausted after around 3 or 4 hours of holding the shade up though.
With my shade down, I removed the black cloth that covered the lower half of my face and smiled at the sense of freedom it came with. Even though I already had a shade up, I went through extra precautions to keep my identity a secret while I worked.
To normal humans and most supernaturals, I would appear as a teenaged boy with light brown hair dressed in black cargo pants, a black t-shirt and black fingerless gloves. I would have a black cloth covering the lower half of my face only leaving dull, pasty blue eyes visible.
In reality, I appear as a teenaged girl with straight black locks that fall to my shoulders and bright amber eyes that are more of a fiery orange-red.
Tossing the makeshift mask on the table I slumped into the chair and closed my eyes to rest for just a moment. I had the shade up for almost 10 hours and was exhausted. My stomach trying to eat itself wasn't helping me relax either.
I heard Lucifer get up from his bed and make his way over to the duplicate chair on the opposite side.
When the piece of furniture had stopped moving I slowly opened my eyes to see my Master, teacher, friend and guardian.
Like the stories say, Lucifer used to be an angel from heaven until he pissed off his higher ups and was thrown down to Hell where he is now the king. He changes his looks every few centuries depending on his mood or the current trend in the mortal realm.
Recently, since the late 1980's I think, and because of the new trends in 2012, he's been dressing in jeans, fitted t-shirts, leather jackets with cut off sleeves and passing off as a young man in his mid, closer to early, twenties. He hates looking older than 30 because it "makes him feel like a prehistoric bag of bones". Sometimes I remind him that he is prehistoric what with being well over a few eons old.
He flicked his blond locks that were in much need of a trim out of his almost completely black eyes and whined, "Honesty why can't I just call you Nyx? Slayer is such an unoriginal name and I like Nyx much better."
If anyone other than I witnessed Lucifer behave like a bratty 9 year old, I think they might have a panic attack or think they were delusional. That, or they would believe that Lucifer, Satan, the Beast, the Devil, King of Hell, whatever you want to call him, was finally going senile or batshit crazy.
A bone-chilling shiver went down my spine at the thought of Lucifer going mental. I don't think the underworld would continue to exist if that were to ever happen. I have little hopes for other realms as well.
I rolled my eyes at his behavior and answered, "Because the whole point of the disguise and secrecy is so that no one knows that Slayer and the hybrid freak are the same person. Calling my other identity my real name defeats the purpose of keeping my real identity a secret."
Lucifer frowned as I called myself a hybrid freak, but it was the truth. I am a hybrid freak, a mix of two species where one was unknown. Half dark angel half something else.
Most hybrids take more of one parent than the other, only having minor traits from the other parent. Me? I only have one wing. Only one raven black wing that is around 7 feet from my back to the tip. My wing is one of the only indications of what I am, or at least half of what I am. No one has been able to figure out who my parents are or what my other half is and being a hybrid is bad enough. A dark angel hybrid being worse.
Like mortals, supernaturals can be quite racist. The difference is that mortals are getting past their racial differences while supernaturals are traditional bastards who still believe in a pyramid social system where dark angels are at the very bottom just because they used to be slaves millennia ago and are relatively powerless.
Hybrids are looked down upon because we aren't "pure". Even half-breeds are more respected than us even though they are half human, not that there's anything wrong with humans, I'm just trying to make a point. Supernaturals are discriminatory assholes, in general.
Some hybrids keep their ancestry a secret just to not be judged and live peacefully. Seeing as there aren't that many hybrids and hybrids usually gain most of their genetics from one parent, it isn't that hard.
But me? I can't even pretend to be a full dark angel. Dark angels have two black or grey wings first of all, and their eyes are never bright orange. Even my aging length is longer than a normal angel's. Also, seeing how the entire underworld knew of my existence since the day I arrived, it would have been pretty pointless in trying.
My eyes are one of the things that completely throw people off on what I am. What supernatural has fiery orange eyes? Not even fire demons have eyes like mine. They don't even have eyes; they just have these empty eye sockets with actual fires burning inside them in place of eyes. And it's not even possible for fire demons and dark angels to breed. Biological and genetic differences that are too vast for them to even fertilize an egg or something.
One other weirdness that makes it harder to find out my other half? My magical capabilities.
Dark angels have little to none abilities in magic of any sort and mine are abnormally strong. My magic is different than a witch or warlock's though because I don't have to say words, use mediums, need a wand, use a spell or make potions. I just think or feel, it's purely instinctual. I can't do elemental type magic since those require spells and other witchy type things, which eliminates the chances of me being part witch.
There's also no chance of me being part faerie or one of the Fay. I have no traits from the Fay and my magic is different from theirs too. I can't put curses on people and I don't have a hypnotic aura that faeries use to deceive and trick their unfortunate prey. I'm deceitful but not faerie deceitful and unlike faeries I can lie and pretty damn well too.
I'm an anomaly. A glitch. Most likely an accident or a mistake.
"Nyx," Lucifer drew out my name in warning.
I focused back on his firmly set jaw and faint flicker of worry in his eyes.
I strengthened my mental blocks and he frowned as he felt more walls being put up.
"You know I don't like people trying to read my mind," I glared.
If there was one thing I disliked more than being treated like trash because of what I am, it was people trying to read my thoughts. My thoughts are my own and no one has any right to see them without my permission.
Lucifer is the only person I know who is strong enough to push past my blocks. There is nothing I can do if he really wants to, but I sure as hell will make it an annoyance for him. King of Hell or not, I will bite his head off if he tries to forcefully read my thoughts.
"Yes, sorry. Anyway, how was the mission?" he asked.
I was glad that he decided to change the subject, no matter how obvious. We had already talked about my, er, problem, you could say, more than a million times. Seeing how I age 1 year for every 15 human years, roughly two and a half centuries is long enough to have the same discussion far too many times.
"It was successful. The cops should have found them by now and I left a recording of their transaction tied to their hands," I smirked as I recalled the way they looked when I tied all six of them up like Captain James Hook tied the lost boys and the Darlingsiblings to his main mast in Peter Pan.
That was a good mortal movie and they almost got the devious and easily jealous nature of pixies completely right with Tinkerbell. But fairy dust to make people fly? Creative, but unfortunately false like most mortal creations. Props for trying though.
I sobered up and continued, "But the drug problem is getting out of hand, Luke. There were two humans mixed up in the dealings this time and this was not their first dose."
Lucifer frowned in thought and asked, "What were the other four?"
Counting on my fingers, I listed, "Two weres, one was a wolf and the other was a half breed fox, more human than fox. A water witch and a faerie, both quite young. The witch must have just recently graduated, I don't know which coven she's from, and the faerie was about a hundred years old, give or take a decade or two. The drug and his inexperience hindered his sloppy powers so he was only a slight nuisance."
Lucifer nodded, taking it in and opened his mouth to ask another question but I answered before he could vocalize it, "The wolf was the dealer. Light brown wolf, 30 to 35 years old, around 6 foot 2 and his eyes were gold even though he hadn't shifted. He was also an addict, the early signs were there and I'd give him about another month until he dies like the others."
I'd been through enough missions to know exactly what Lucifer wanted to know so debriefing was like brushing my teeth or putting up a shade. Routine. Also, since the drug missions were almost daily, I knew exactly what I needed to observe and report back.
He put his head in his hands and leaned on the table, groaning, "Wolf, vamp, demon, nymph, witch, spirit and even an angel. We've been looking through everything! Family, blood type, hobbies, personalities, criminal records, education, companions, work and nothing. Absolutely no connections whatsoever. We haven't even been able to get a sample of the drug!" Lucifer ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
I let a small smile slip as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small phial the size of my pinkie. In it was a silvery, powdery substance with murky, midnight blue speckles. Beautiful but deadly. The phrase fit perfectly.
I set it down on the center of the table, the glass making a sound as it hit the wood causing Lucifer to look up and stare at the object.
I was just barely able to save it this time since the fox tried to break it. The other times my missions related to the silver drug, the druggies destroyed the drug in some way before I could get it. When the drug hits the floor, it disintegrates, like it is has some sort of autodestruct trait that has made it incredibly difficult to get even the tiniest of samples.
Blood sample from the druggies don't help either since technology and even magic can't find the drug in their blood. It's like the drug completely disappears from the body but the effects get left behind.
It makes sense though since Lunaria, as most have named it since it is silver like the moon, is not a normal drug.
We had questioned the various dealers and addicts we caught, but none of them have been able to tell us what is in it. The first one died before we could question her, and the others either perished as well or went insane.
It was like if anyone questioned them about the drug they either died immediately or went crazy and then died or remained rabid. A cursed drug.
All we know is that Lunaria is a supernatural drug created by one of our own kind. Well, that's the only explanation we have and it is the most plausible since it first began with our own kind and we are almost a hundred percent certain it has magical influences.
It has only recently been brought to humans and the side effects are horrendous, resulting in mutated, disfigured corpses. It takes a while for the effects to be extremely severe on a supernatural, but with humans it can only take one or two doses, six or seven if they are lucky.
"You didn't." Lucifer finally spoke as he picked up the phial and held it up to the light to observe. I just sat there and smiled as he slowly went from disbelief to excited joy.
"Nyx you are amazing! I can't believe you got a sample, this is…" He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor. He quickly casted a small protective spell on the phial to prevent it from breaking and tucked it into his jeans pocket. "I have to call the Council."
The Council had tossed the drug problem onto Lucifer at the last Council Meeting about three months ago when it was becoming more serious with death rates going up and humans beginning to get involved. They had wanted him to update them after every mission and if he got any leads or clues.
So far there has been zilch, so I felt pretty damn smug about getting the first decent clue. A freaking sample of the drug itself.
The Council is basically a sort of government for the supernatural world. There are two representatives from each type of supernatural, one male and one female. In turn, each supernatural has their own government to keep track of the laws for the various beings. The Witches Coven, Angel's Council of Light, Council of Weres, Vampire's Dominion, etc.
Hell's Court is the largest as it contains both dark angels and all the types of demons. Obviously, Hell's Court is under Lucifer's authority and he usually goes to the Council Meetings on his own. Sometimes, he'll take me along as Slayer if the Council has a need for me, or if I want to go which is extremely rare.
The first Meeting I went to was when Slayer became publicly known and it was horribly intimidating even though everyone behaved like 5-year-old snobs. Now, I only go when the Council specifically asks Lucifer to bring me.
Lucifer was already at the his door, hand on the scythe handle ready to open when he turned to face me with that look. The look where he was worried or unsure about me.
"Are you sure you don't want them to know about you? And I mean you as in Nyx, not Slayer who doesn't even exist. If people knew what you actually do, then you wouldn't have to deal with their bullying and racism. You could finally get the credit you deserve and be treated right."
I groaned, slightly exasperated from having this almost argument numerous times, "I'm fine, Luke. Besides, Slayer is known as an assassin and it's better to keep it that way. And I likebeing quiet Nyx where no one bothers me and I can go around without being questioned since no one wants anything to do with me. When I disappear for days on a mission or for my own time, no one notices or cares and I like it that way. Honestly I'm fine. Stop worrying and go suffer another Meeting."
He looked hesitant before sighing an "okay" and exiting his room.
I slumped into the chair when the door closed audibly and sighed at the comfort sinking and letting loose gave. I kicked off my mud caked combat boots and took off the fingerless gloves before putting my feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles, and closed my eyes to finally relax despite my mind refusing to shut down for a bit.
Even though I won that small battle I knew that it wasn't the end, and that may have been one of my few victories. What was that human saying? "Win the battle, lose the war"?
Lucifer was always worrying about me though he never showed that to anyone else. He took me under his care in the guise of having a personal servant when I was more like a niece he promised to take care of. Sometimes he almost felt fatherly, or what I think a fatherly feeling is.
Lucifer told me I kind of just showed up on the doorsteps of Hell in a clichéd basket a few days, maybe weeks, old with a single note. Nyx. My name was neatly written in an elegant script and an old dark angel nurse raised me until my wing had begun to grow when I was 4.
Immediately I became known as the one winged orphan. The freak. The demons of the palace shunned me because I was a dark angel hybrid and the dark angels ignored me because I only had one wing and fire-like eyes. I didn't fit in anywhere.
When I was around 50, a mere toddler, Lucifer found me playing with a black iris from one of his gardens that I had somehow been able to sneak into. He was going to scold me but then I made the flower explode right in my face. Black, burnt petals scattered the floor and my expression was as shocked as Lucifer's.
That was the first time I had ever used magic and it was the last time I ever made something combust. I've tried to replicate what I did but it never works. It was just a fluke, an accident.
He walked to me, crouching down to my level and began to talk to me. I was scared and confused because no one ever wanted to talk to me much less be in the same area. I thought he was going to yell at me like the others and call me those horrible names, but he was kind with a voice like warm honey.
He smiled at me. Me. He asked to see my wing and didn't make fun of me or give me a disgusted look. He said it was pretty like my eyes.
Even though he was a complete stranger with a hypnotic voice that could make people happily jump into a pit of swords (now I know that it actually can do that to an extent), I trusted him and still do.
From then on for a few months I kept meeting him in the garden or the field that was a little distance away from the palace and usually deserted. When he wasn't helping me with my newly found powers, he'd ask me about my day, how I was doing, if anything interesting had happened, if I knew of any scandals or overheard some good gossip. Anything about anything to talk about.
I readily answered all his questions since he was the only person I could ever talk to without getting insulted or snarled at. He listened patiently as I rambled my responses, almost always going on a long tangent. I always looked forward to those meetings with the blond haired man with black eyes and the blue rim.
At the time I didn't know who Lucifer was. I mean I knew he was the king of Hell, but I didn't know what he looked like or his personality. What limited knowledge I had of him came from the palace gossip and snippets of conversations I'd hear in the main city.
I imagined him to be a grumpy, strict, mean old bag of bones who always wore a scowl on his face. Completely different than the blonde haired man that was my sun who always had a small smile and was the nicest person I had ever met.
So, imagine my surprise when at a rare court meeting where every single subject of Lucifer had to attend, I saw him, my blonde haired sun, sit in Lucifer's throne and call my name. He announced that I would be his personal servant and when he dismissed the meeting, took me in private and said that he was more or less unofficially adopting me.
To the public I was a serving girl for Lucifer and he my Master. In private he was my teacher and best friend who helped me control my powers and for a time, tried to help me find out what I was until I told him it didn't matter anymore.
Then I became Slayer.
Slayer is Lucifer's right hand man. A mysterious, silent figure and no one knows what he is except for Lucifer and myself.
Slayer came to be when I was 176, so around 12, but he wasn't called Slayer then. His name came after an incident that drew a lot of attention and made him a public figure. A feared figure to most.
There was a rebel group amid Lucifer's subjects and I happened to stumble into their hideout right before their meeting. I had hidden quickly and overheard their plan to take over the palace. Luckily I was never found out.
Immediately after the group had left, I ran to find Lucifer but he had gone to a Council Meeting and no one would let me talk to him. I even pulled out the personal servant charade but they ignored me and one stupid demoness threatened to skewer me with her spear.
Since no one would listen to me and I didn't know who was a part of the rebel group, I put my lessons with Lucifer to use and created the first shade of Slayer. It was rough and quickly done, but fortunately it was enough to be unrecognizable with the black cloth.
At the time, the shade wasn't called Slayer, just brown-haired-blue-eyed-boy mask. Brilliant name I know.
Long story short, I kind of messed up along the way but in the end the rebel group was stopped. Their first punishment was to repair the destroyed wing of Lucifer's palace that may or may not have been my fault. Once the repairs were done, they were each sentenced differently, most executed in various ways and the others banished or imprisoned or whatever.
Lucifer didn't find out that I was the brown haired boy that suddenly appeared, but I think he suspected it. He finally found out when I continued to use the shade to do little mysterious odd jobs during my free time, which was plentiful and long.
I'd over hear guards talking about some petty thieves and the next day, the thieves would be caught in an embarrassing situation. Some kid demon being an annoying douche? Wrapped up in rope hanging upside down like a piñata.
Sometimes I'd actually do something serious and a few times it was petty payback or pranks to brighten up the day. You'd be surprised by how much small criminal acts occurred in the main city. Then again, this is Hell.
It was fun, something that made me smile at the end of the day and I didn't want to stop. When Lucifer found out, he almost made me give up Slayer because I was exposing too much of my powers and it would be dangerous if I were to be discovered.
I begged him to let me continue and after much persistent badgering, pleading and attempts at guilt tripping, I finally succeeded to sway his mind from completely eradicating Slayer.
Now, I do missions for him that usually relate to Council business or his own personal duties in Hell or the mortal realm. It gives me a chance to leave the palace and see more of the mortal and supernatural world. A chance that few supernaturals have, much less a dark angel freak of nature.
I frowned as I tried to clear my mind from thoughts in vain. I just wanted to rest without over thinking, but that rarely ever happens unless I nick a potion from the infirmary or take a pill or two.
My brain seems to think that it always has to reflect on the past and present and think about everything when I want to rest and not think.
I removed my feet from the table as I got off the chair and stretched my hands over my head. Leaving my shoes and gloves where they had been discarded, I made my way to Lucifer's large, neatly made and very inviting bed. It was calling for me, pleading to have someone rest amid the soft covers.
I stood at the side and momentarily thought about borrowing some of Lucifer's clothes to change into, but I was too tired. He could yell at me for dirtying his bed when I woke up.
Before crawling under the covers, I used a bit of magic to open up a small space that was essentially a magic 'drawer'.
Lucifer had taught me how to create a space with magic that I could open at anytime and store almost anything. It was slightly easier than creating a shade, but still aided in proving that I was a freak.
I reached into the magical space and pulled out a small plastic container. I unscrewed the lid and took out one of the small, pale white sleeping pills then gulped it down dry with practiced ease.
I waited for the familiar detached feeling to cloud my mind before closing the lid and tossing the container back into the 'drawer' before closing that too.
The effects of the pills sometimes come quickly and other times I need another dose, but I never take more than two at a time. I only ever take the pill when I really need dreamless sleep, or when my thoughts are too overpowering and keep me awake no matter how drained I am.
I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes, feeling my body and mind drift off.
The only downside of becoming this detached was that I didn't have much control over my body. So, the result of that was my wing growing out, stretching to its full length at 7 feet and 2 inches as it folded over my body acting as a solitary, raven black, feathery shield. A lone protector as my mind finally went blank.