Chapter 335: Rich and Thick
The Noór rocks, on the hilly rise of the palace got a surprising blood sacrifice that stormy day.
Lilith’s body dropped out of the heavens, in such force that to those watching it was only two blinks of the eye. The burned earth received her body like a catcher’s fat glove. Stones shattered on her impact. Whatever sturdy walls of the Imperial Castle that remained upstanding through the fight in the storm quickly crumbled to dust. In her hidden tower, the Blood Mother shut her eyes and leaped clear before the last edifice could fall.
"May the Martyr have mercy." Racquel prayed, silently, but like many others she sorely doubted the soul of Lilith had a place in the Halls of Valor. Devils—and she-devils—died alright, but they died different. Racquel Serpent didn’t want to bother her mind with the mysteries of the beyond; she’d already seen enough. A principality self-deleting was on some people’s bucket list.
Before now, the point that an immortal and near-omnipotent goddess of the abyss could DIE was farfetched. But it just happened. Normally Lilith shouldn’t die from a fall out of heaven. Shit! She had already fallen once before from Paradise and she had only gotten stronger for it. But this wasn’t normal circumstances.
A [Demonagogue] had been involved.
Demononagogues were notorious god-killing weapons.
As ancient as Babel, they almost preceded the Fallen themselves. These arsenals of lore were mighty in land and fable. A single Demonagogue could kill an [S Rank] in a moment. They were perhaps the only mortal-fashioned weakness of divinity in written history. Many of these great weapons were detailed in the Druids Shivvánti Tome. Many lost in [Helpockets], Nether cities, underworlds, and realms with beings so discolored, morphed and variant they but seemed to exist in man’s imagination alone. But only one was sure to have survived so many goth battles of Holocaust: the Iron Cross.
It was with this forged crucifix that Ravenna de Vries, the [Empyrean] and Her Majesty stabbed Lilith—right in the fucking heart.
Sheesh!
Racquel didn’t know if even ...Lilith could survive that. "I guess now I do," she murmured.
The [Iron Cross], Demonagogue of Old, Devil Killer drained out so much of Lilith’s Hel essence, her purple infernal mana that she was just short of paralysis. Racquel guessed her depression did the rest. Lilith had been steady climbing down dark thoughts ever since her own son put her in the deep pits of Eragonn, ever since she had confessed the truth to him, and ever since he’d declared the fracture between them. Racquel supposed those dark thoughts hit its peak when Israfel chose Ravenna instead of she.
At a time of his utter injury when he should call, "Mama," the thin whisper that escaped his torn lips was for the Redeemer. His Redeemer. And she just about died on the inside.