Forty-One: The Name of God

“White Demon? You mean me?” Lilith pointed at herself, stunned, like a snowflake caught in still air. Only she and the hooded figure were alive in this hollow place, so “White Demon” had to be her. “But I’m not a Demon.”

“How could you not? You’ve got Demon horns and a tail. The tip peeking behind you screams Demon, though you do lack wings. Weird.” The hooded one pointed at the white dragon horns on Lilith’s head, speaking in a rasp like dry gravel, a voice too old for that frame. “But I’ve seen stranger Demons than storms over black waters. You must be rare, a White Demon like me.”

“I’m really not a Demon,” Lilith said, exasperation rising like heat off desert sand. “I’m a White Dragon. A dragon. Nothing to do with Demons.”

Demons, like Vampires, were one of three races the Necromancer Cultists splintered after the Cataclysm, a storm that tore the world like cloth. By the way, have you heard that tale? Two thousand three hundred years ago…

“White Dragon? What’s that?” The hooded one tilted a curious head, strands of ash-gray hair slipping from the hood like stray mist onto her shoulders. “I’ve never seen a dragon.”

“Dragon means dragon,” Lilith huffed, folding her arms like closing shutters before rain. “I’m a White Dragon, not a Demon.”

“Who’d get that from nothing but ‘dragon’?” The hooded one shook her head like a bell with a loose clapper. “So you’re not one of those Void Sect zealots who shout I’m a god?”

“Nope,” Lilith said, a sigh drifting like smoke. “But their weird ritual circle dragged me in.”

“Oh, so that was you,” the hooded one clapped, the sound sharp as a crow’s beak on stone. “I sensed thirteen below, thought those guys were coming, so I pulled you in.” She blinked, a jolt running like lightning across a pond. “Oops. Shouldn’t have tossed you all to different spots.”

“So it was you who dumped us here.” Lilith rolled her eyes, the motion lazy as a drifting leaf. This “god” of the Void Sect felt unreliable, more like a kid not quite grown, the kind you could lure away with a shiny pebble.

“Eh-heh, sorry,” the hooded one scratched her head, playful as a puppy worrying a shoe. With her small frame, she was cute; if only the old-man rasp would stop fogging the air.

“If you’re not one of them,” she said, voice sagging like a tired curtain, “can I take off the hood and stop pinching my voice? It’s exhausting.”

She set a hand on her hood, gaze flitting to Lilith like a sparrow testing wind. “Can I?”

“Go ahead,” Lilith said, curiosity flickering like a lantern in fog. “I’m not Void Sect, I don’t do rigid rules.”

“Yay!” The hooded one cheered, then whisked the hood off like unveiling a moon.

She was young, near Lilith’s age, with long hair washed in gray-white, pooling in the hood like spilled moonlight. Her skin was grayish, not bright white but dim as dawn fog over old London streets, a quiet pallor like ash.

Her left eye was crimson—not the flashy blood-glow of a Vampire. It was a dull, light-swallowing red, a deep well that made Lilith feel she might fall in like a leaf into a whirlpool.

Most striking was her right face—or where it should have been. A dark-red vortex occupied it, black and scarlet stripes winding in a half-moon spiral, a storm carved on flesh.

“Phew, finally free of that ugly hood!” Her voice matched her looks now, bright as sunlight on fresh snow. Hands on hips, she leaned forward, eyes sparkling like morning stars. “Well? Do you feel my beauty?”

“Pretty cute,” Lilith judged, warmth blooming like tea steam. Even counting the right-side vortex, the girl felt endearing; a lively puppy wins hearts.

“Hmph, right? Since you recognize my splendor, you’re cute too.” She squared her shoulders, pride rising like a banner in wind. The Little White Dragon glanced down; the girl’s hills were already taking shape, several sizes ahead of her own beneath the gauze.

Stung, Lilith averted her eyes, telling herself like a mantra drifting on rain, she didn’t care about that stuff at all.

“Right, I don’t know your name yet,” the girl said, curiosity knocking like gentle wind on a paper door. “I can’t keep calling you Little White Dragon.”

“Lilith,” she said, a small smile like moonlight on water. “Call me Little White Dragon if you like. What’s yours?”

“Me?” She preened, pride glittering like frost on glass. “My name isn’t for just anyone. But you’re lucky; I’m in a good mood. I’ll be merciful and tell you. I’m Lord Satan’s most terrifying subordinate, the locust-king from Hell, the second mightiest in the world after Lord Satan—Abaddon!”

“Abaddon? Then why are you in Vampire territory?” Lilith didn’t know scripture well, but the name rang like iron on stone.

“Long story,” Abaddon said, waving it off like smoke in wind. “I argued with Lord Satan and got exiled to this pocket space. Then some Void Sect folks spotted me, so I’ve been tagging along.”

“O-okay.” Lilith let it pass, the thought folding like a fan—Demon internal affairs weren’t her river to cross.

“Forget that,” Abaddon beamed, mischief sparking like fireflies. “Come play with me.”

“P-play what?” Lilith looked around the empty space, a blank plain like bone under snow. What could a dragon and a Demon even play here?

“Heh-heh. Fight, of course!” Abaddon smiled, sweet as candy with a blade inside. Behind her, a dark violet void unfurled like a night-blooming flower. “I won’t hold back.”

“W-wait! Too fast—I can’t keep up!” Panic rose in Lilith like a tide under a new moon, but Abaddon didn’t heed. She struck, merciless as winter wind.

“Hey—wait!”