Lucifer's Angel: Lebanese Girl

The day started out ordinarily enough. He woke up, from that dreamless and deathlike sleep that only he knew. He rose from the bed, showered, got dressed and left. Walking through the busy streets of Ottawa, Ontario, he let his mind wander. As it often did, his mind went back to before. The so-called happier times of his old life, when he was a Prince instead of a Stray. Back when he had Family. Ah, the Family. Although he hated doing it, he wondered what they were doing this very moment. Going about their busy, happy little lives no doubt. He wondered if they still talked about him. The Rogue. The one who was born different. The betrayer.

Whenever he thought of his Father, a pang of remorse coursed through him. How he loved the Old Man back then. The only thing he ever wanted was to do him proud. Of course, the Old Man had to go and spoil things. He gave all of His love to others. The hairy beasts among whom he walked. Even after thousands of years, the mere sight of them still bothered him. Not that he ever let it show. Seven thousand years of living among them gave him a bit of tolerance toward the breed. Visually, he looked exactly like them. The body in which he was housed belonged to a six-foot-three, lean and athletic young man with light brown skin, curly hair and hazel eyes. An Afro-Arabian man from the Desert. Sometimes he missed the Desert. How much more peaceful than this bustling Canadian metropolis the Desert seemed. Of course, the Canadian capital had its charms.

He went to the university, where he was just one student among many. Carleton University was one of the most racially diverse schools in Canada and attracted students from all over the world. Africans, Arabs, Asians, Hispanics, Aboriginals. They all made their way to Canada's Capital university. As he had, for what else did he have to do? In his time he'd been so many things. In what would one day be called Mesopotamia he was once a King. He ruled over hundreds of thousands of subjects. His word was law. He remembered those heady days. Of course, his Brothers and Sisters had to come from Above and destroyed everything he ever built. How he hated them for doing this. Seriously. It wasn't enough that he'd been cast out. They who had everything had to come down and take from him what little he was able to grab for himself. And they called him prideful. Wow. The nerve on them, really. Oh, well.

Throughout history, he always followed his internal drive to excel, to distinguish himself above all others. When he lived in his Father's Kingdom, he was one of the best and brightest. Why should he be any less on earth? He told himself that while his Brothers and Sisters reigned in his Father's House, he would rule down below. And for many years, he did. How many names had he had. Gilgamesh. Hercules. King Solomon. That last one was a joke. He ruled the Hebrews, his Father's favorite people, and they called him the wisest man in human history. Such fools those mortals were, really. Ordinary men and women were easy to fool. And he couldn't stand them partly because of their foolishness. When would they ever learn?

As time went by, the mortals of various cultures became aware of a great, dark power moving about in the world. To the ancient Greeks, he was Hades, the Lord of the Underworld. To the Hebrews, he was Satan, the Lord of Darkness. To the Christians he was Lucifer, the Morning Star. To the Muslims he was Iblis, the evil one. Since the Fall, he'd been trapped here. He indulged every pleasure and torture known to man. With his shape-shifting powers, he could change his race, his gender and his very mindset at will. Shape-shifting was one of a few powers he retained after the Fall. Like all of the Fallen, he lost his Wings when he fell. His Brothers and Sisters who dwelled Above severed his Wings the moment they captured him and threw him down to this ball of mud. He couldn't fly. Not anymore. And no, he couldn't will his Wings to grow back. They had been severed by heavenly fire through the Will of the Almighty. Something not even he could undo...

Of course, when he felt like it, he assumed the form of a bird, usually a hawk or a crow, and soared in the heavens as he pleased. This form of flying was fun, but it paled in comparison to the sheer pleasure of flying through the air under his own power, a human-shaped immortal with Wings of the purest alabaster. How he hated those bastards and bitches Above for taking away his Wings. He never thought it would come to this, that this could happen to him. As he led his Army against the Legions of the Faithful, he never thought he could lose. For his loyal soldiers made up half of the entire Roster of Heaven. Once, he was the Leader of the Heavenly Host. The warrior par excellence. The Almighty's Favorite. With himself as supreme leader of the Renegades, how could they lose?

That's what he wondered even as his Brother Michael and his Sister Gabriel thrust their blades of fire into his chest and belly, burning through him. Ah, the intense agony. Even after thousands upon thousands of years, he remembered it. How could he forget? They defeated him through their treachery. All of Heaven knew that he could not be defeated in single combat. When his Brother Raphael fought him, he lost. He smiled as he remembered the stunned look on Raphael's face as he thrust his blade of fire into him, setting him ablaze. The wounded Archangel fell from Heaven, burning like a star. Michael and Gabriel had no desire to suffer Raphael's fate, so they attacked Lucifer together. Two against one. That was hardly fair. Such treachery. And they called him the ultimate traitor, the prince of lies, the father of mischief. They spun these wild stories about him and actually bought their own myths...

Of course, the mortals spun even wilder stories about him. In their legends, he was the Devil. Dwelling in a pit of fire deep below the earth, surrounded by demons, monsters and the souls of the damned. The place they mentioned in their myths and legends was so depressing and gloomy. Why on earth would he choose to dwell there? They never asked themselves that. They wouldn't want to live in a hole somewhere, surrounded by molten lava and who knows what else, yet they expected that of him? He was supposed to be supremely smart and wicked, yet pathetically dull-witted when it came to real estate choices? Not likely. He smiled to himself. They would never believe where he actually lived. In the quiet, affluent suburb of Barrhaven, one of the nicest areas in the City of Ottawa, Ontario.

As he made his way through the throngs of students on the busy main campus of Carleton University, something jerked him out of his reverie. A gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned, and gazed into the face of Nicole Suleiman. His, um, main squeeze. A short, slender young Arab woman with light bronze skin, curly Black hair and pale brown eyes. Nicole Suleiman came from the southern tier of Lebanon. She was a Maronite Christian, and a newcomer to Carleton University, where she studied business administration. She was also hopelessly in love with Carleton University Christian Students Association President Lucas Cyrus, the alter ego of one Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil Incarnate.

After gazing at her thoughtfully, 'Lucas' smiled at Nicole, and shook her hand. The young woman beamed at him, and asked him how his weekend went. He smiled, shrugged and effortlessly spun a tale about bar-hopping in Toronto with his buddies. They had themselves a guy's night out which turned into a weekend. Even though he spent much of the weekend in the Middle East, fostering tensions between Sunni and Shiite Muslims, and also egging them on against the Christians and Jews. A Devil's work is never done, you know? But he wouldn't tell her that. He took her hand in his and gently kissed it. Nicole smiled brightly. Hand in hand, they made their way to the library.