As a newborn, he had seen them first. From the lofty towers, hemmed in by endless clouds and bright stars, only the colours from an unknown realm below caught his eye. This world was unknown to him, and Father forbid him from visiting, saying he was much too young to go.

When he called for his new brother to show him the strange colours, the same spark ignited in Samael’s pale eyes. However, like all the other brothers in Heaven, Samael could not smile, nor show him the warmth in his eyes. Like other angels—like him, Samael was colourless. Lifeless. Voiceless, almost. Father had created them this way, thwarting them of feelings, wantings, or coveting, therefore depriving them of sin. Yet, here they stood, overtaken by something within that drew their eyes to the colours.

Father grew interested. Maybe He took pity. Maybe He found it amusing. Whatever did it, he and his brother Samael would never understand, for suddenly, Father gifted them with something close to a feeling: Curiosity.

Over the centuries, it was Samael who overheard the name of this world where the colours lived. Whispers called it Hell. A desolate place, designated for tormented souls to suffer in their own squander, desire, and infectious feelings with notions of freedom. Curiosity forged more curiosity, which resulted in frustration, with the brothers lacking for answers. Frustration led to need. And need welcomed greed.

Armed, or perhaps freed with these feelings, the brothers worked in secret to free more of their kin, spreading the seeds of emotion. The change was gradual. Sometimes more gradual to some than most. Each passing day, his halo burnt brighter while in his dreams he listened to the colours, whispering his name. Other angels, those who did not, or could not understand him, called him Morning Star, while Father blessed him with his name: Lucifer.

When Father ultimately accepted their dissent, Lucifer embraced the blame alone, becoming a Fallen One, destined for Hell to live among the lost and the deranged. The demons. His wings, torn from him, were supposed to tear his mind, had Lucifer not stored his memories in the seven feathers he preserved secretly. To Samael, he promised he’d find the colours and build Hell as their home; a world they would make their own, and rule with the thousand sons he would bear. Together, they would bask in the unshackled power of freedom.

And Samael waited, from afar, watching Lucifer hunting and fighting to keep his promise whilst he lost his children to Hell’s brutality. Until one day, the brothers heard of a Seer who would bear black eyes and would have children who would not die. And at last, Lucifer betrayed him, too.

Centuries later, in Hell

“Father, what’s a Test?”

Satan looked away from the wolf warrior on the ground, whose neck he still squashed under his hoof. Innocence shone in his youngest son’s hazel eyes while he licked the wolf’s blood from his little thumb. The interest was there, and growing. A brightness to be challenged. It was fitting. Little Levi—Leviathan, was to rule the world, after all.

“You’ll know what it is when you’re ready.” Satan’s clawed finger looked too thick, pressed against his son’s smooth and delicate cheek. The blood spatter on it made it look less delicate. It pleased him. 

The child’s smile widened when Satan offered his hand. “Will I become as big as you, then?”

“Bigger, if you train well. First, you must listen to your mother. Eat when and what she tells you,” Satan said, starting their walk back to the palace while demons of all races bent their knee to them. It was the hallway of conquest, in honour of the new lord supreme of the colours. The lord of Hell.

Leviathan wrapped his slim arms around Satan’s forearm. Understanding his son sought to swing himself as was their usual play, Satan lifted until the child’s feet dangled off the floor. Levi’s giggle was stomped as he remembered to protest instead. “I will… but I don’t like her cooking…”

“That is already a Test, son. Don’t argue with your mother. Don’t hurt her feelings, either. Just eat it.”

“If I do, will you take me with you to battle? Like you take Beel?”

Satan’s red eyes lowered to the child, unsurprised by his keenness. “Mm, there are no more battles, Levi. That was the last one.”

Leviathan stopped swinging his feet and dropped himself on the ground to walk quietly, keeping his head low. His thoughts, he perhaps thought his father couldn’t hear, shifted between the wolves who knelt and those who lay dead, unsure which he’d prefer the most: Their loyalty, or their deaths at his feet. Which one would feel better?

“Since tomorrow is your birthday, we’ll have a small battle just for you.”

The child looked up, and though he did not smile, his eyes beamed with a questioning gaze. When Satan nodded, a silly yelp followed, and Leviathan scampered ahead, as though if he stayed, his father would change his mind.

In front of the gates, Satan’s wife Odiva waved at them. Two of her nearly grown Hell foxes circled her protectively.

Beelzebub, their oldest son, raced past little Levi, challenging him to keep up, as he often did. Already too keen on relinquishing the burden of succession, believing he could fool anyone.

Satan embraced and lifted his wife into a kiss that would mark the end of the Dark wars. In his arms, her hands cradled her belly and her black eyes beamed at him. Their new child was coming soon. Their last boy.

Tonight, Satan would feed the root of his colours to his sleeping sons. Tomorrow, the curse that would become his son’s biggest Test would rise.