Chapter 170 Pact of Ash and Blood
The air in the lobby was sterile, smelling of sharp citrus polish and the cold, metallic scent of old power. Behind a polished marble desk, the receptionist’s fingers locked over her keyboard, the clicking of keys cutting off mid-stroke. She looked up, her breath hitching in her throat as she met the gaze of the man looming before her. He didn't carry the frantic energy of a businessman; he stood with the stillness of a storm held together by the seams of a tailored suit.
"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Morningstar, sir?" she stammered, her right hand trembling as it hovered an inch above the silent alarm button.
Dream tilted his head, a slow, razor-sharp smirk cutting across his face. "Just tell him his brother has arrived."
The woman’s pulse throbbed visibly against the skin of her neck. Her eyes darted toward the heavy, iron-reinforced doors leading to the inner sanctum, then snapped back to the stranger. "I I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Morningstar is in a high-level meeting. I can’t disturb him without a scheduled"
Dream stepped forward. He didn't walk so much as glide, closing the distance until his shadow swallowed her desk. As he leaned in, the light in the lobby seemed to dim, the shadows along the baseboards stretching and reaching toward him like ink in water. If not for the low, rhythmic humming of the protective wards Lucifer had woven into the very drywall a vibration that made Dream’s teeth ache he wouldn't be standing here debating with a mortal. He would have already materialized inside, his boots planted firmly on his brother's mahogany desk.
His eyes began to bleed into a faint, swirling silver light, the pupils widening until they swallowed the iris. He reached out, his fingers twitching in the air as he prepared to weave a suggestion into the woman’s mind a silent command to make her eyes go glassy and her hand turn the master key.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
The voice was like a blade dragged over heavy silk. Dream froze, his silver-lit eyes narrowing before his smirk shifted into a dry, knowing grin. He turned slowly on his heel. Morgana stood by the elevators, her arms locked across her chest and her expression as unreadable as a tombstone.
"Morgana. You’re looking as lively as ever," Dream said, his voice dripping with a syrup of mock affection that failed to hide the venom beneath.
"Dream," she replied, her eyelids drooping into cold, dangerous slits. She swept past him, her cloak brushing the floor with a dry hiss. She didn't bother glancing at the receptionist, whose face had turned the color of chalk.
"Leave. Now. I will deal with our guest."
The girl didn't wait for a second command. She scrambled for her purse, her fingers fumbling with the strap before she bolted. The frantic, uneven rhythm of her heels clattered against the marble, echoing through the hollow lobby until the heavy front doors swung shut with a final, booming thud.
"She is human, Dream. A creature of glass and breath," Morgana said, her voice dropping into a low, warning hum. "Why waste your enchantments on something that shatters so easily?"
Dream took two measured, predatory steps toward her. He stopped abruptly as the air before him rippled like heat over pavement. He had hit the invisible wall of the barrier; the atmosphere there shimmered with a faint, bruised gold hue and tasted of ozone and ancient, stubborn pride. "He’s bolted the door against his own blood, Morgana. What other choice do I have but to pick the lock?"
Morgana’s chest rose and fell in a slow sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the weariness of a thousand years. "Follow me."
She pressed her palm against the heavy oak handle. At her touch, the wood groaned, the internal mechanisms clicking into place as her magic bled into the lock. The doors swung wide, revealing a cavernous office drenched in the thick, amber light of a dying sun.
Lucifer didn't look up. He was a silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling windows, hunched over a desk crafted from wood so dark it looked charred. The only sound was the rhythmic, aggressive scratch of his pen against a sheet of aged parchment. The sheer pressure of his presence seemed to suck the oxygen from the room, making every breath feel heavy and thin.
"Master," Morgana said, her voice barely a ripple in the silence. "You have a visitor."
The scratching stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. Lucifer looked up, his gaze hitting Dream with the physical weight of a blow. "What are you doing in my city, brother?" he asked, his voice a low, melodic threat.
Dream didn't ask for permission. He sauntered across the room and sank into a high-backed velvet armchair, crossing one polished boot over his knee with practiced ease. "Is this the hospitality of the Morningstar? You can’t keep the world out forever, Lucifer."
"Give me a reason to let you stay for five minutes," Lucifer said, rising from his chair with the slow, terrifying grace of a predator. "Or I will have Morgana drop you from the roof to see if you can fly as well as you talk."
The playfulness died in Dream’s eyes, replaced by a cold, hard light. He leaned forward, his voice sinking into a conspiratorial whisper. "Michael is digging through graves, Lucifer. He intends to wake Abyssara."
For a fleeting second, the granite mask of Lucifer’s indifference cracked. A shadow of something not fear, but a dark recognition flickered in his eyes. "Impossible. I tore the heart from that beast myself. I watched it turn to ash."
"He has gathered the dust," Dream countered, his jaw tight. "And with the celestial blood currently flooding through my realm, the ritual is likely already screaming to life. He isn't looking for a hound to lead on a leash, brother.
He is forging a weapon to erase your very existence."
Lucifer rounded the desk. His footsteps made no sound, yet the floor seemed to tremble under his authority. He stopped inches from Dream’s chair, looming over him with a sharp, piercing stare that searched for any hint of a tremor. "You have spent eons trying to pull the rug from under me, Dream. Why play the messenger now? Why turn your back on the golden son of heaven?"
Dream looked down at the floor, his teeth gritting together. "Because I know the appetite of a Black Dragon fed on celestial blood. It won't stop at your throne. It will shred the fabric of my realm, and it won't rest until the Earth is nothing but a cinder floating in the dark. I don't do this for your sake. I do it for the balance."
Lucifer searched his brother's face, looking for the tell-tale shimmer of a lie, but he found only the cold, jagged edge of the truth. He slowly extended his hand not out of brotherhood, but to seal a grim, unavoidable pact.
"Will you help me, then?" Lucifer asked.
Dream stared at the offered hand, then back up at his brother’s shadowed face. "Help you with what, exactly?"
Lucifer’s lips pulled back into a dark, knowing curve. He knew the stakes for Selena had just reached a breaking point. If the beast he had once slaughtered had crawled back from the void, gorged on the blood of the heavens, the streets of his city were about to run red.