I am who I am because I was raised the way that I was. With two human parents who I loved.”
I look down at the black wood and metal bands of the weapon in my hands. Pushing through the emotion, I harden my resolve and meet the eyes of the female who birthed me.
“Nefta, can you tell me why the blocks stopped working? Was it because of this?” I ask, holding up the weapon.
She looks at it for a moment with a spark of fondness in her gaze. I try not to feel jealous of the fact that she’s yet to look at me that way. I pause for a moment and examine that thought. Why do I care if she feels anything for me? I keep saying that no matter what I find out, I know who my real parents are, and it’s not the Legion Colonel or the Abdicated Sin in front of me.
Yeah, their blood runs in my veins, but that’s just biology. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. So why would I expect fondness or emotion?
Still, as logical as I try to be about it, I can’t help but wonder if Nefta ever checked on me or thought about me. Maybe it’s my own emotions projecting, but I struggle to wrap my mind around walking away from a child and just never giving them or their existence a second thought.
“Have you named her yet?” Nefta asks me, a smile picking up at one corner of her mouth.
“Uh...no?” I reply with a little judgment laced in my tone as I give her a concerned side eye. “Should I have? Would that make it listen to me?” I ask.
“Her, not it,” she corrects. “The scythes have anchored our bloodline since our creation. But no, she didn’t break the blocks I put on you. I’m not sure what did that, but she came to you when you needed her, which is what happens to every female in our line. They come to us because of our blood, and blood bonds us to them.”
With a pop of air, suddenly Nefta holds an identical scythe in her hands. She rubs a reverent palm over the black wood and metal bands of her own scythe, and something about the two weapons in close proximity feels almost...otherworldly. Holy.
“I call her Lark,” Nefta tells me, a hint of a smile in her normally even voice. “She sings as she cuts down the enemy,” she adds, making my eyes widen.
And here I was thinking, awww, Lark, how pretty. I should have figured the Colonel would have some brutal meaning behind the name.
“My grandmother had her Rasorium mounted on the wall when I was little. My friends always begged her to tell them stories about it and all they did together,” she explains before glancing over at Tazreel. “I’m surprised Lucifer didn’t tell you about that. I’m assuming he knows about her, doesn’t he?” Nefta asks with a wave in my direction as her tone turns a touch accusatory.
“He was about to tell me everything, but then this Ophidian nonsense came up, and he just took off,” Tazreel grumps.
“So what am I then? A Gatekeeper like a Grim?” I ask, but my question comes out at the same time that Nefta says, “The Ophidian? What nonsense exactly came up involving the Ophidian?”
Tazreel levels her with a look. “You tell us.”
She bristles, her amethyst-colored wings shifting at her back.
I intervene before they can get off-track with arguing again. “The five of us were attacked in the Vestibule by Outer Ringers,” I explain. “They were there to capture me and take me to the Ophidian.”
I glance over at my guys, just a physical reaction to reassure my mind that they’re all here with me.
Nefta’s purple eyebrows pull together as she takes in what I’ve told her. “Ophidian was the name of the big bad we always fought against when we were playing as children in Heaven. Only four beings would have known that name. Me, Lucifer, Sytry, and Morax. But Sytry and Morax are dead, so either it’s a coincidence or…”
I don’t get to hear option two, because all four of my demons suddenly flinch simultaneously. My head whips to the side at the sound of Jerif’s grunt at the same time that I hear a sharp intake of air come from Iceman. Echo and Crux are looking at each other, like the blood just drained from their faces.