Page 12 of Altar of Flesh

“You wish to survive this place in order to reach our Lord Asmodeus, King of this Circle, Prince of Lust?”

I nodded pensively into the support of its palm. Furcas pressed its pink tongue to its teeth; the flesh bulged between the filed canines, spilled out between them like minced meat.

“I can impart my wisdom onto you, little priest,” it whispered. “For a price, of course.”

I’m ashamed to say my eyes wandered, dipping down to that place where, on a human man, a cock would sit. My eyes moved to gaze over a horse-like flank. But Furcas saw me staring. It chuckled low in its throat.

“I am sure that is the price you would like to pay,” it said and then seemed to stop itself from finishing the thought. Its fingers drifted from my chin, and I swayed without the additional support.

“The price. . .?” I murmured, hoping to clarify.

But it curled its lip and hissed something too softly for me to hear. Those strange eyes darted to me. “Later. Let me impart my knowledge upon you first.”

I did not fight it. It moved away from the circle and sat cat-like on its haunches. Its tail—serpentine, bare-boned and forked at the end—rested gracefully across its hooves. I pointedly did not look at what I knew to be between its legs and sat in a way I would not be tempted to see it, for I feared to anger Furcas.

Like this, we began to talk. Furcas taught, and I listened and learned. Hours passed, and perhaps days, too, sat before it in the abandoned library. It seemed to take pleasure in teaching, and since I was there to give pleasure, I couldn’t deny it. When my attention wandered, its human mouth hissed at me and demanded my attention return. Quickly, I gathered all my focus, and gave it to this centaur demon before me.

At first, Furcas taught me more about the hierarchy of Hell—that it had been given the distinctive title of Knight for its chivalry and loyalty during the Fall. When I asked to whom it had been most loyal, it clicked its tongue at me.

“Questions are an inevitable consequence of my tutelage, but I do not always have to answer.”

Which was the politest way a demon could have told me to shut up. It had an honour about it, or a belief in itself and its goodness, as if being confined and condemned to the hellish pits hadn’t undermined its honour. I came to understand that it did not revel in wrongdoing nor encourage such a thing in the way many of its brethren did. It had taken a deal of sorts, chased knowledge, and refused to give up that pursuit. It had been a servant, no archangel nor favourite of the Lord on high. All it had done was refuse to serve humanity without earning something in return.

“You believed you were above humans?” I clarified.

It said immediately, without emotion, “I am above humans. Anything that fell from Heaven is.”

In truth, this did not frighten me. I understand God had made us in the image of his Son, and then declared us above the angels. I had been taught Lucifer’s defiance of this had sparked a war. That pride had corrupted Lucifer Morningstar, the adversary, Satan, who had exclaimed:

‘I will ascend to Heaven;

above the stars of God

I will set my throne on high;

I will sit on the mount of assembly

in the far reaches of the north,

I will ascend above the heights of the clouds;

I will make myself like the Most High.’

Isaiah 14

“Our great Lord Satan had been made perfect,” Furcas clarified for me. “The greatest beauty, the most perfect angel, formed just so. Imagine a thousand years passing where you are one thing, only for your father to take it all away. To bestow status instead on undeserving mortal life. God’s decision enraged my Lord. It enraged a third of God’s angels. When I learned that I, too, would need to bow before humanity, who might summon me to answer their questions of rhetoric, logic, or astronomy and provide me nothing in return, is it any wonder I chose to fall and carve out a new life here?”

I did not answer. Something about considering Lucifer, who had been my greatest adversary for most of my life, frightened me. I’d been an agent of God, and thinking ofSatan, let alone speaking of him so candidly, had always seemed akin to invoking him or begging him to turn his eye upon you. To think of him like this—a being scorned, a role reversed, an identity confused—made me near empathetic. I baulked at that realisation. My heart began to race. I was sure Furcas noticed, for it stopped talking and leaned forward.

I did not open my eyes. I tried to find comfort in that dark nothingness, hoping I could regain my composure even as nausea twisted in my stomach. Clawed fingers pressed into mysoft palate, and only when it began to sting did I blink my eyes open.

Furcas had grown exceptionally close. Its nostrils flared, and the white whiskers of its beard tickled my cheek. It was inhaling me. My body shivered, like some essence was being willed out of my flesh through the pores. Furcas sucked its teeth.

“Frightened, are you?”

I might have laughed if my body could have moved. But I was locked in a trance before it, too nervous to shift away lest those claws slice my throat. Sweat I hadn’t noticed began to drip into my eyes, and very gently, Furcas leaned forward and licked my brow clean.

“What have my brethren done about you?” it asked me, pressing for more details. “You mentioned lesser demons and Malphas—who did not enter you?”

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