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Thirteen years were Zerxus Illerez and Evandrin Alterra married.
Thirteen times does the Father of Lies visit Zerxus wearing Evandrin’s face.
The story of the first time has already been told: within a Hall of Prophecy atop the once-floating city of Avalir at the initiation of the Calamity. After that, Zerxus loses so much of himself that he fears his family would hardly be able to recognize him. He becomes Asmodeus’ champion, just as he had agreed to do to save the son that was not his but whom he loved as his own all the same. He follows the Devil Lord’s commands, no matter how much he might have abhorred his actions before his fall into the Hells.
Zerxus has found that the only way he can survive here in the Hells is, in fact, to lose himself. Zerxus Illerez, once First Knight of Avalir, would never have committed such unspeakable acts as the Lord of the Hells demands. Asmodeus’ champion, however, would serve the Devil Lord without question.
For the first century or so, Zerxus dreads the loss of his sense of self and mourns the parts of him that have already been lost from the moment he fell to the Hells. Eventually, though, there is peace and relief in the place of torment and grief. Following orders is simple (has always been simple). Being merely the loyal champion of Asmodeus is straightforward.
The only piece of his mortal life that Zerxus does manage to hold onto is Evandrin and Elias. Memories of training with Evandrin, of holding a small Elias in his arms. The words “and one day, I will bring you home,” a promise sworn on the very stars themselves. A glimpse of a reunion in the midst of the Astral Sea. In them, Zerxus finds hope in the Hells. In them, Zerxus holds strong to his belief in redemption for all, for himself, for his Lord.
Which only makes it even more painful when Asmodeus takes on the guise of Evandrin.
The Father of Lies had not lied when he first told Zerxus that he often appears as the most beautiful person to those who witness him. There are always shades of Evandrin to him in Zerxus’ eyes, hints of red hair and half-elven features and the graceful strength of a spellsword. But for the majority of time, Asmodeus does not conceal his true nature, the wicked horns that curl and curve with pointed tips or the crimson skin of an archdevil or the flames that seem to always wreathe the air around him.
Every half-century or so, however, Asmodeus summons Zerxus to his throne room at the bottom of the Ninth Hell and greets his champion wearing the full visage of Evandrin.
Every time, without fail, Zerxus falls to his knees in a way that he has never knelt with unending reverence to his Lord. Even if a part of him always knows that this image of his lost husband is a mere illusion, that desperate, final shred of his former self that has been left clinging to memories of his family in order to survive here in the Hells cannot be swayed any other way.
Evandrin’s face smiles at him in the most familiar way. It was that smile that made him fall in love all those years ago. Evandrin’s arms open as if to welcome him home after a long time away, and Evandrin’s eyes sparkle with joy and caring.
Despite his knowledge of the truth behind those eyes, Zerxus could not imagine doing anything other than running straight into those arms.
Each time, Asmodeus takes him like this, and each time, Zerxus clings to his lord with a recklessness borne out of the most misplaced love. He clings just as tightly to the hope that, by allowing the Lord of the Hells to bear witness to the sheer power behind the loves he shares for his lost husband, he will find an avenue with which to finally redeem the Devil Lord. It does not work the first time, nor the second, nor the third, nor the eleventh or twelfth, but Zerxus refuses to give up. By the third century or so of his service to his lord, he learns that change happens over time—especially with regards to gods and deities and immortal beings such as himself—but that it does happen all the same.
And eventually, Asmodeus appears before Zerxus as Evandrin for the final time, not in his throne room for once but in a vision that overtakes Zerxus’ senses entirely.
“Darling,” Asmodeus says in Evandrin’s voice, and Zerxus feels one of the few remaining pieces of his heart shatter. “I must leave you for a while, in order to protect myself. Please, when the time is right, you have to come find me. You have to bring me home.”
Zerxus nods—because spending so much time around the Father of Lies has taught him how to deceive as well. He knows that this is not Evandrin, if only for the fact that Evandrin had once promised to bring him home, and Evandrin would never break his promise like this.
Asmodeus pulls Evandrin’s lips into that familiar, heart-wrenching smile. “I’ll wait for you, darling, no matter how long it takes. I love you.”
And with that final lie (it had to have been a lie), the Lord of the Hells disappears, having given up his godhood to enter mortal life once more in an act of pure self-preservation.
Perhaps Zerxus had not redeemed the Betrayer God in his service to his lord. But he would be a fool not to see this sudden change that time has finally provided him as an opportunity to create more change. To do better now that there has been a shift in the power dynamics playing out between lord and champion.
Zerxus may not have been the best father in life, having missed much of Elias’ formative years after Evandrin’s gradual disappearance, but he will forever cling to the hope that he may yet rectify that mistake. He may not be able to reach Elias again, wherever his son might be after all these centuries, but he can certainly try to raise others in the way that he had once hoped to raise Elias, with love and care and hope and forgiveness and every last scattered piece of himself.
And who better to start with this journey of self-redemption than the little mortal who will one day remember himself to have been the Father of Lies?