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Sandalphon is all too aware that Belial doesn't trust him. Which is fine, really — he doesn't trust the fallen angel any further than he can throw him, either, so he supposes that only makes them even.
He does, however, wish that Belial would at least tell him what he's supposed to be doing. It's been months since Belial led him to this abandoned research lab and told him to make himself comfortable, but apart from occasionally showing up in his room at night, he hasn't seen much of the fallen angel around. His questions are met only with chiding requests for patience, or warnings not to go out lest the primarchs find this place.
Sandalphon has no intention of going out, anyway. This research lab was clearly one of Lucilius' in the past, as evidenced by the mountains of notes documenting every trivial observation the Astral had made about his prized creation Lucifer.
Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer. He doesn't bother holding back his sneer at the thought. So perfect, so complete, that even the Astrals paid no heed to anyone else but him. Sandalphon takes up reading through Lucilius' notes as a pastime (he's little more than a footnote, an occasional musing about the spare), and grows used to the familiar twist in his stomach that comes with thinking about Lucifer.
Until finally, one day, Belial appears to tell him that the next stage of their plan is nearing.
“Isn't it wonderful, Sandy?” Belial asks as he reclines, languidly, in a chair. “You'll be able to get your revenge on Lucifer, at long last. I have a little secret weapon of my own for putting him in his place. You can finally bring him on his knees, have him beg at your feet.”
Sandalphon, leaning against the doorway, scowls at him. It's not that he has any particular reverence left for Lucifer. It's just that associating Lucifer with such crude speech feels— wrong, somehow. But he pushes the familiar twist in his stomach away, and replies, “And then? What are you getting out of this? I'm not stupid enough to believe that you're in this just to help me beat Lucifer.”
Belial shrugs. “All I need is for Lucifer to go down. His power as Supreme Primarch is the main hindrance in bringing this world to an end. Consider this a personal favor for your services, Sandy.”
Sandalphon stares at him for a long time, but Belial only offers a cryptic smile. “Fine,” he finally says. It's not as if he has anything to lose, anyway.
“Right, then, let's go.” Belial stands and begins to make his way out. Sandalphon follows him through the maze of research lab corridors into the open. It's snowing lightly outside, and Sandalphon has to squint and take a moment for his eyes to readjust to the bright sunlight outdoors.
In front of him, Belial spreads his wings, all six of them, and Sandalphon has to noticeably tamper the surge of envy that runs through him at the sight.
Once, for a fleeting few moments, he too had six wings. Once, he too could have equalled Lucifer.
“Come on, Sandy.” Belial has already taken flight, and is hovering just off the edge of the island, arms spread as if in invitation. “Time for fun.”
Wordlessly, Sandalphon follows, spreading his own wings (only two of them, in dirty brown) and tailing Belial as the latter dives through the clouds at an alarming speed.
At the very least, he notes drily, Belial seems to know what he's doing, as he leads Sandalphon effortlessly through a particularly treacherous stretch of airspace. Around them, Sandalphon notices the wreckage of what must no doubt be countless failed attempts by the skydwellers at navigating this route, and for an instant the thought that Belial could oh so easily lead him to ruin here worms its way into his mind.
He pushes it away, though. That would be utterly pointless, and he knows Belial is anything but.
It's only a short while later that they touch down outside what looks like an ancient temple.
“Canaan,” Sandalphon murmurs absentmindedly. This must be where the primarchs live. Already, he hates this place, a twisted urge to destroy it surging up inside him.
“Canaan,” Belial agrees. “Oh, it looks like we have company already.”
Footsteps reach his ears. Sandalphon, with a mix of dread and anticipation, turns to see the Supreme Primarch walking slowly towards them.
“Lucifer,” he spits as a greeting, one hand already lying ready on the hilt of his sword.
“Sandalphon,” Lucifer replies. His face is as placid as ever, but underneath the steady gaze runs a faint undercurrent of sadness. Sandalphon immediately hates himself for noticing.
“Hey now, don't forget about me.” Belial saunters to Sandalphon's side, neither wings nor weapons visible as he grins at Lucifer. “I know this reunion must be positively stimulating and all, but I’ve never been one to be a third wheel.”
Lucifer's gaze slides to Belial for a moment, then back to Sandalphon. “It's not too late, Sandalphon,” he says softly, as if Belial had never spoken at all. “Please. Step aside and let me deal with him, and then—”
“And then nothing,” Sandalphon cuts in harshly. “Save it. We're here to defeat you, and that's all.”
“Sandalphon, please.” It's as close to pleading as Sandalphon has ever heard Lucifer sound. “I don't want to have to fight you again.”
“Roll over and die, then. I don't care.” Not waiting for a reply, Sandalphon strikes, drawing his sword and leaping at Lucifer in one swift movement.
Lucifer matches him easily, parrying his blade with one hand and reaching behind with his other to draw a second blade. Sandalphon does the only thing he can, pressing on hard and fast with a flurry of attacks that Lucifer nevertheless easily repels, but never returns.
With a snarl, Sandalphon leaps back, disengaging and glaring daggers at Lucifer. “Stop,” he hisses, “stop holding back!”
“...No,” Lucifer murmurs. His eyes don't quite meet Sandalphon's. “Selfish through this may be, I really don't want to hurt you again, Sandalphon.”
The reply rising in Sandalphon's throat is cut short by the sound of languid clapping. Right. Belial's here too.
“A lovely performance, I must say,” Belial drawls. “You really are cutest when you're all worked up, Sandy.”
“Shut up.”
“But playtime's over. It's the adults’ turn now.” And before anyone can respond, he casually turns and pulls a knife out of his jacket, stabbing Sandalphon directly in the torso with it.
Sandalphon doesn't scream. He doesn't, but only because he has no breath to. The stab wound flares white-hot, waves of pain running through him so strongly he can't focus on anything else — Belial must have poisoned the blade, that bastard. He's vaguely aware of collapsing onto the floor in a heap, his legs numb. Everything is numb, apart from the pulsing knife which burns both too hot and too cold at once.
Movement, a blur of white, feathers brushing his skin — oh. Lucifer's rushed to his side, holding him up. He wants to lash out, to shove Lucifer away (how dare he still be concerned about him?), but what comes out is a weak gasp and a fumbling wave that Lucifer intercepts by grabbing his hand tightly.
“Please,” he thinks he hears Belial saying, from somewhere far away. “No need for these dramatics. You've taken far bigger, longer things in you than one small knife, haven't you, Sandy?”
Shut up, Sandalphon wants to scream at him again. Instead, he focuses, weakly pulling his hand free from Lucifer's grasp to instead grasp the knife hilt and pull it out of his chest. He doesn't have enough strength to hurl it at Belial's face, much as he wants to, so he simply lets it clatter to the ground next to him.
His core feels warm. The agonizing burn of the wound is slowly receding to a dull ache, a strange coolness surrounding it and soothing the pain. It's only when the white feathers of Lucifer's wings begin to wrap protectively around him that Sandalphon realizes what's happening to him — Lucifer's healing him, the fool.
"Stop—" he begins to say, but Lucifer's wings are cocooning him oh so tenderly, and he— he has missed this. His cheeks feel wet — is he crying? "Lucifer…" he whispers, and he can't tell if the trembling in his fingers is from his injuries or something else.
And then the moment ends with a wet schlunk, and a soft cry from Lucifer.
A dull thud. Lucifer's wings lie bloody on the floor. Lucifer himself slumps forward to fall against Sandalphon. Sandalphon looks upwards, to see Belial flicking droplets of blood off a pitch-black sword.
"You…" Everything's happening too fast for Sandalphon to really process. Numbly, he stares at Belial, who gives him a mocking smile in return.
"There we go, mission accomplished. I must say, you played your part as bait perfectly, Sandy."
Something in Belial's tone jars Sandalphon sharply back into reality. He narrows his eyes at the fallen angel. "Don't mess with me."
Belial shrugs, the movement slow and carefree. "What? That toy wasn't going to kill you. Anyway, here. Your reward." In a single quick movement, he flips the sword around to hold it by its blade, offering it hilt-first to Sandalphon. "This baby here can kill primals with a single thrust."
Sandalphon ignores Belial in favor of pushing Lucifer off him and getting to his feet. Lucifer topples pitifully onto his side, blue eyes watching the other two steadily even as the pool of blood under him continues to widen.
"Go on, take it. Didn't you want to kill Lucifer?"
Sandalphon swallows. Suddenly, the idea no longer sounds quite as appealing. He glanced downwards to see Lucifer's lips curved into a resigned smile, and something about the sight infuriates him.
"...No," he says finally. "I've changed my mind." Before Belial can do more than raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, "Let him watch the world end while knowing he's powerless to stop it. Maybe then I'll kill him, if he begs."
"Mm." Belial continues to stare at him for an uncomfortably long time before shrugging. "Well, okay. It's the same to me either way."
"Let's go." Without waiting for an answer, Sandalphon turns to stalk out of the temple. He's painfully aware of Lucifer's eyes following him as he leaves.
"Not just yet, Sandy," Belial says as they touch down back in front of the lab and Sandalphon turns to walk away. "Enjoy the afterglow for a little with me, won't you?"
Sandalphon scowls at Belial, but stops. "What? We've both gotten what we want here. I'm leaving." Not that he's going anywhere in particular, but some part of him simply refuses to share the same space as Belial any longer then he can help it.
"Oh?" Belial is all taunting smiles as he holds up a bloodied feather in one hand. Sandalphon's stomach twists the moment he sees it — he doesn't need to ask to know that it's Lucifer's severed wings that Belial is holding. "Aren't you curious about my plans for this?"
Revulsion and bile curiosity take a few long moments to duke it out within him, but the curiosity finally wins out and Sandalphon cautiously nods. "If you insist on showing me, then go ahead," he sneers in an attempt to cover up the messy feelings that have been plaguing him ever since Lucifer did… did that.
Belial nods, tucking the feather away and jerking his head vaguely towards the interior of the lab. "Come on, then. It's just not the same without a little exhibition, you know?"
They walk in silence, the echoes of their footsteps ringing in Sandalphon's head as he follows Belial down the corridors. It's when Belial flicks on the lights to the room that is their destination that Sandalphon stops short.
"That's—" he begins, unable to keep the revulsion out of his voice. The room is decorated all in white, a raised altar at its center with a single object lying upon it.
"My dearest Cilius, of course." Belial crosses the room and picks up the tank containing Lucilius' severed head to gaze warmly at it.
"Why— what are you—" The initial shock of seeing what he thought was Lucifer's head hasn't quite faded.
Belial's smirk is uncomfortably predatory as it fixes itself on Sandalphon. "Cilius was quite a revolutionary, you know. He was fully aware that he might be killed at any time by his peers for his research, and made all sorts of plans for that eventuality. Who'd have thought that it was his own prized creation that eventually did him in?"
The pit in Sandalphon's stomach is slowly growing, and he takes an involuntary step back, only to collide with the door that was certainly not shut a moment ago. He drops one hand to the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing. "Belial..." he growls.
"Now, now, Sandy. No need to be so on edge here." Sandalphon can only watch as Belial pulls out the bloody feather and presses it against the walls of the tank containing Lucilius' head. It glows briefly with an unholy light, and when the glow fades the formerly white feather has been dyed jet black.
Sandalphon opens his mouth to retort, but whatever he intended to say is lost in the rush of Belial crossing the room in a single movement and stabbing the feather deep into his torso with his bare hand. It doesn't hurt this time, but Sandalphon can feel the oppressive weight of the feather's unholy energy slowly curling around his core and subsuming it.
"Good night, Sandy," he thinks he hears Belial say through the fog that's slowly consuming his senses. It's becoming increasingly hard to think, and all he can do is fall forward into Belial's waiting arms. "And good morning, my Messiah."
And then blackness overtakes him.