Stephen's first view of the Hyperion Hotel was clear as crystal in his mind. In that instant before the fight was joined he'd scanned and catalogued in the blink of an eye as he'd been trained to do from walking age. Searched and memorized the environment for possible obstacles, for possible cover, and for possible retreats. Located possible enemies and assessed their weapons and likely skill. And of course, located him.
His father had told him that his demon-father looked like a man but somehow he hadn't really believed. He'd expected him to be tall and towering, with grotesque animal features, and a predator's gait. Instead he was faced with a simple man, face open with surprise, who backed up toward the weaker ones rather than striding boldly into the fray. Like a protector.
Stephen twisted his face into a smirk and shoved his feelings down, blanking his mind for the fight ahead. "Hi, Dad," slipped from his lips before he began firing stakes rapidly. Aim for the heart, kill the enemy. Kill the demon who killed his father's family. Kill the demon who fathered him.
And he tried. He fought hard, but the demon wasn't like he'd thought. It fought with its human face, it reached out toward him not to hurt but to calm, and when it had his own knife to his throat it yielded, looking at him with all the love he'd ever seen in his father's eyes, and more.
He fled, chest icy with terror, feeling like the ground that had always been solid had suddenly crumbled under his sure step.
002. Middles
It was a trick. It was a lie. The demon was smart but Stephen was smarter. He heard Angel's foolish mortal allies whispering, conspiring together and the demon?s scheme came crashing down in the face of the cold dead truth of his father's corpse.
Bitten, drained, and left wet and pitiful in an alley and someone would pay. Stephen knew just who. And as Stephen severed his beloved father's head from his shoulders, and watched his body burn to ashes, the smell of his flesh thick in his nostrils blocking out the fresh rain and the sharp scent of crushed grass, he began to know how.
He couldn't kill the demon; that much remained true despite the lies. Death was too good.
003. Ends
Stephen paid close attention throughout the days he was exiled to Angel's company. He learned how Angel fought, taking his criticisms with a dark inner smile, knowing that the demon was aiding him in its own demise. Every move was filed away with the meticulousness he had learned in Quor'toth, where everything was life and death. When the time came he would get only one chance and no mistakes could be made.
While he worked to perfect his physical skills, he worked to break down the demon's other defenses. He learned quickly that with a simple word he could cut his demon father more deeply than if he?d held a blade, and he set himself to finding out exactly what words and phrases cut deepest. The end would come down to more than brute strength after all. His father had told him many stories of the beast's cunning.
He contacted Justine and described the details of the plan he contrived while he lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling but seeing his father's corpse. Like the loyal servant Holtz had described, Justine arranged everything. Then he was just waiting for the time, the chance to make everything right.
And though he was filled with dark satisfaction as he watched his demon father sink into the dark sea, a part of him still felt hollow. Like his arrow had missed the Diernak by inches and it was bounding away into the brush. No feast tonight. Was this what they called regret?
004. Insides
(Not part of the series before)
The food in this world had soft middles.
Like the foodstuffs he?d taken from the metal box outside his father's room. A shiny blue wrapping hiding the food inside like the rind of a fruit, and six flat rounds in a row like seeds, with dark crumbly outsides whose particles sprinkled all over, and soft white sugary centers.
Like the chocolate thing that Sunny had fed him his first night on Earth. Soft and sticky and breaking from her fingers even as she held it to his lips, cream oozing through the breeches as he chewed. Tastes more intense than the sweetest fruits of Quor'toth.
It made Connor wonder if the people on this world had soft insides too. If you could break them open with a rough touch and they would bleed out sweetness. He wondered if they were really that easy to break as he watched the pain flood his demon father's eyes when he said "My name is Stephen."
005. Outsides
His father had told him about the devil. The Pretender, the Prince of Lies, he will show you bright things, many colors... In Quor'toth Stephen had had no trouble believing. Most of the demons were drab colors, grey, brown, olive, black. Those were the safer ones, the weak ones who soon learned to hide from the Destroyer.
But the reds, the whites, the emeralds and sapphires of Quor'toth... those were the true evil. Demons with poison that would kill with one scrape of a claw, demons that made traps so well concealed you'd never know until it was too late, demons that showed you your own face, and screamed with your own voice when you killed them.
In Los Angeles though... in Los Angeles everything was bright. The first time he stepped outside the sun nearly blinded him. The sidewalks, the buildings, the clothes, the people, they all seemed to glow here, lit up by the sun and glittering like jewels.
What was inside, really? How was he to know? So many colors...