"It’s so beautiful here," Serah said, taking a few steps through the field, her bare feet sinking into the soft earth.
"Not as beautiful as you." Michael plucked a pink flower from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. "This is the shade I imagine your flesh would be if you could blush."
He approached, sweeping her long, brown hair over her shoulder before tucking the flower behind her ear, the pale pink brightened by her colorless skin. His large hand cupped her cheek. "You're frowning. What troubles you?"
"I just can't believe it," she whispered. "Samuel's everything. He's a great warrior."
"He was," Michael agreed, sweeping his thumb gently across her bottom lip. "You mustn't dwell on that."
"How can I not?" she asked. "I don't understand."
"You're not meant to," Michael said.
"But. . ."
He pulled her closer, disrupting her train of thought as he tried to ease her burden with his embrace. Serah reached up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their lips met, his tongue exploring hers as they kissed softly, sweetly, in no rush. His strong arms wrapped around her, comforting her, as his massive wings slowly started to fold away. Michael was vulnerable when he took his human form, no more powerful than the rest of them. Serah was one of the rare few who had ever seen him so exposed, stripped down to the core, his guard completely crumbled.
Even like this, his wings hidden, his true nature concealed, Michael remained inhumanly beautiful.
Still kissing her, he removed his pristine white suit, leaving him stark naked when he finally pulled from her lips. She studied him, taking in his immaculate body—his perfectly formed muscles and engorged manhood—as she dropped her dress to the ground, joining him.
They made love in the middle of the field, rolling around in the grass, the two angels merging as one. It was sensual, a tingling ball of never-ending energy and light. Here, tucked in the middle of someone’s obscure serenity, the two could borrow a moment alone in a cluttered universe.
He kissed her neck, his tongue lapping her skin as he hovered over her writhing body, slowly pushing deep inside of her. They worked in perfect harmony, her shifting her hips as he drove inside, filling her completely.
This was their Heaven, touching upon the raw nerves buried deeply inside of them. Very few of them found it, very few knew it was even there, but they’d been the lucky ones to stumble upon it together. What they had was pure, untainted, which was why they were allowed to have it.
It went on and on, neither needing to rest, only ending when their time together ran short. Hours had passed, one day trickling into the next in the blink of an eye. Michael stopped his movements, still on top of her, still inside of her, as he stared into her deep, brown eyes. "I love you, Serah."
She ran her hand through his tousled, dirty blond hair and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I love you, too, Michael."
"Be careful down there," he said. "He can be tricky."
"I know he can. And don’t worry—I’ll be fine."
"You will," he agreed, pulling away from her to stand up. He snapped his fingers, his clothes back in place and wings expanding in a sudden whoosh, from vulnerable man to infallible Archangel in a split second. He gazed down at her still lying on the ground and smiled. "After all, you still have God on your side."
Unlike Heaven, Hell is concrete. It thrives nearly 1800 miles beneath your feet, veiled between the hard mantle and the scorching core of Earth. The fiery pit is literal, although it, too, is much more than that. It's made up of every nightmare ever conceived, torturing its inhabitants day after day.
Hell's reserved for only the truly nonredeemable, those who are so evil nothing can be done except lock them away. It's a maximum-security prison for the deranged. Their souls, their energy, are too dangerous to be allowed to mix with the rest, so they've been cast down to the lake of fire, away from innocents.
Unleashing what dwells down there would be catastrophic, which is why it’s guarded and sealed. Still, it happens. They find ways to slip through the cracks, reappearing on Earth and wreaking havoc until they’re sent back. For every one caught, though, another two seem to make it through. It’s an endless bloody cycle of chase that results in casualties every day.
There's only one way to get to Hell. Deep in the Pennsylvania woods in Hellum Township, not far from the small town of Chorizon, is a series of seven gateways that must be passed through. Many have tried to walk down the path, hearing the legends, thinking it’s a joke, but no mortals have ever made it past the fifth gate. The feelings of despair and death, the menacing sensation of evil, is so overwhelming no man dares go on.
If they would, when they reached the seventh, Hell would swallow them whole.
Serah made her way down the narrow, overgrown trail, unceremoniously passing through the first five gates. She came upon an old wrought iron fence jutting into the sky and slipped through it, walking down a gravel path, straight toward an expansive, stone building. The outside was scorched and covered with filth, the shell of an old, torched asylum. The tall walls and massive columns made it look like a long forgotten castle, forsaken by all royalty. Evil radiated from it, hitting her like shock waves, one after another, trying to warn her and force her to turn away.
Serah pulled open the heavy, creaking door, finding nothing but hazy darkness in front of her. She stepped inside, crossing the threshold of the abandoned building and through the sixth gate.
The air around her instantly changed.
The darkness left in a burst of violent light, so intense that it knocked Serah off her feet. She felt like she was falling then, fast and hard, her stomach lodged in her throat, until it abruptly stopped, everything clearing.
Jolting, she found herself standing at the boundary to Hell, feet planted on the hard sediment as her gaze scanned the terrain for the first time. Nothing living thrived here, nothing breathing or growing, nothing flourishing. The land was cracked and forsaken, the sensation of imminent death clinging to everything, suffering and miserable. Dark clouds blanketed the endless sky, mixed with swirls of fiery red as lightning continuously flashed, bolts striking in the distance, their vicious rumble vibrating beneath her feet. In the distance, at the end of a pencil-thin path, Serah could vaguely make out a tall tower of stone, an eerie castle erected for the King of Hell.
The final gate was invisible, a massive, bewitched shield of energy and electricity. Serah could faintly see it, fizzling and flickering, crackling and shimmering, as black shadows hovered high above it. Reapers guarded the insufferable plot, feeding off of the vile souls within.
Taking a deep, needless breath—a habit she’d picked up on Earth—Serah stalked forward, pausing a few yards away from the gate. It was silent on the other side, appearing abandoned, nothing but barren land and mountains of rock shrouded in black shadows.
Was Hell supposed to be this . . . quiet?
"Hello?"
One beat, two beats, three beats passed. Nothing but silence.
"Hello?" she called again. "Anyone around?"
Serah smoothed out her dress and fidgeted—another senseless, human habit—as she waited for something, anything, to happen.
Minutes passed, then hours. Half a day withered away in the blink of an eye, absolute stillness persisting. Physically, she felt no exhaustion, but mentally she’d had about enough of the place. "This is incredible."
"It is."
The sudden voice alarmed Serah. A bang of thunder ripped through the land as the bright lightning flashed, revealing a form lurking in the shadows on the other side.
"The only question," he continued, stepping into the hazy light, "is whether you mean that in the good or bad way."
Black eyes bore into her, his skin the hue of Earth’s filth, covered in silver-toned scars and vibrant black markings. Sigils had been burned into his flesh like tattoos, seemingly still smoldering as steam radiated from his skin. The sleeves of his black button-down shirt were shoved up
to his elbows, exposing them to her. Serah’s eyes widened as she deciphered the symbols.
Serpens. Malum. Diabolus. Inimicus.
Serpent. Evil. Devil. Enemy.
Satan, she knew instantly, nearly unrecognizable from his once angelic form. He appeared as if he'd walked through fire, his clothes singed and his bare feet scorched. He was rough and rugged, his voice slightly gritty, like worn sandpaper.
Despite his unsettling exterior, he seemed more human than she’d expected him to be, a fact that unnerved her. He was sturdy like Michael, dark where her Archangel was light, but he carried himself like a man. His steps had a slight swagger, unhurried and graceless.
This thing—this man—was the great enemy? The biggest threat to them? To humanity?
"I mean it’s absurd," she said tentatively. "There’s nothing good about this place. I’ve been standing here for hours."
"I know."
She gaped at him. "You know?"
"Yes. I’ve been watching you."
"You’ve been watching me?"
"Yes. And you’re late."
She scoffed. "I’m late?"
"Yes, you’re late. What’s with you? I assumed the wings meant you were some sort of angel, not a damn mockingbird."
She started to reply to his childish ridicule, but he stopped her before she could, his voice an octave higher, force to his words as he spat them at her.
"You were supposed to be here last night. I expected you last night, but you kept me waiting. So it was only fair, when you finally decided it was important enough to show your face, that I keep you waiting just as long."
"I didn’t realize we had an appointment," she said defensively. Who was he to speak to her that way? "I was busy."
"I bet you were." He inhaled deeply, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes. A coinciding vortex of wind gusted by, stirring the dirt and the bottom of her dress as it whipped her hair into her face. She brushed it away as the air calmed down, his eyes slowly reopening. "You smell like my brother. His scent is all over you. It reeks."
Serah stammered. "I, uh. . ." He could smell it? "Look, Satan. . ."
"Stop," he said, the scathing tone harder in his voice. "My name’s not Satan."
She hesitated. This wasn’t going well. "Would you rather be called the Prince of Darkness?"
"No, I’d actually prefer my name."
"Lucifer."
A hint of a smile ghosted across his lips. "Call me Luce."
"Lucifer," she said again. "I just came here to ask—"
"To ask me to stop the fighting? To give peace a chance?" He laughed bitterly. "I know why you came here, and you can just turn around and leave right now. I won’t have someone walking into my territory and disrespecting me, treating me like I’m nothing, calling me that filthy word like it's my name. You want to talk to me, angel? You want to have that conversation? Come back when you don’t stink so fucking much."
As hastily as he’d emerged, he vaporized, disappearing back into the blackness, leaving her there alone. She walked backward, passing back through the sixth gate, blackness overtaking her vision as she was sucked into a swirling cyclone. She flew into the air, landing right back on her feet just inside the doorway of the forsaken asylum.
She shuddered. Creepy.
"You did what?"
A crack of abrupt thunder rocked the afternoon sky. Serah flinched at the noise and tensed. Oh God, not again. "Please tell me that was you."
"Sorry," Hannah muttered. "Didn't mean to startle you. I just . . . I'm shocked."
Serah sighed as she casually twisted and swayed on the middle swing. The schoolyard was vacant, the kids home for the weekend. Raindrops started to fall as clouds emerged directly above them, a consequence of Hannah's abrupt reaction.
Hannah plopped down on the swing beside her after a moment. "So what was it like down below?"
"Surreal," she replied. "I've been trying to wrap my mind around it since I left. It's strangely quiet. Very unnerving."
"And you saw him? Like, really saw him?"
"Yes."
"What was he like?"
What was he like? "Maddening."
"Wow," Hannah said. "So are you going back down?"
"I suppose," she replied. "Michael says it won't work, but I have to try."
"Of course it won't work. We're supposed to believe he'll end it just because you ask? Yeah, right. There's not a compassionate bone left in his body. Every ounce of him was claimed by evil when he fell from Grace."
"The Dominion said it was His will."
Hannah was quiet as she took that in. His will, His word, was everything. "Since when do we negotiate with terrorists? I thought we were on board with that Ronald Reagan guy."
Serah cracked a smile at that. "You're a few decades behind on American politics."
"Huh. Did he win?"
"Yes. Twice."
"Good to know," Hannah said. "I'm not sure you'll be that successful, though."
Serah smiled sadly. She was probably right, of course. "I wonder what Samuel would think about it all."
"Well, first of all, he'd whine that it wasn't him. You know he loved being front and center in this war."
"True."
"Then he'd tease you about it. You know, going to Hell." Hannah dropped her voice lower, imitating the familiar, male tone. "I always knew I was the good one, sis."
Serah laughed, although sadness nagged at her chest. How she longed to hear his voice again.
"But then, while you were down there and nobody was paying attention, he'd be frantically pacing, probably here in this playground, waiting for you to return, to make sure you were okay. He always did worry about you."
Serah frowned. "I worry about him now."
"Don't," Hannah said. "He's gone."
"Gone where?"
Hannah shrugged. "We don't ask questions when they fall, Serah. You know that. We just say goodbye and walk away."
The terrain was quiet once more as Serah approached the seventh gate a few days later. The peculiar reddish-tinted darkness again shrouded the sky as reapers soared above, supervising. Nothing had changed since her last visit, and she guessed nothing ever would. Hell was as stagnant as the dead inside of it.
She paused a few yards away and sighed. Before she could call out, a gust of wind swirled around her. Her wings rustled, shimmering, as she was lifted a few feet off the ground.
"You smell like the sun."
Once back on solid ground, Serah peered through the translucent barricade as Lucifer materialized on the other side. "Do I?"
"Yes. You smell like springtime. Now that’s a scent I miss. The other one? I can do without ever smelling him again."
He sauntered closer, his shoulders relaxed, his hands casually shoved in the pockets of his black slacks. He seemed at ease. Even his voice oozed a bit of quiet contentment, his demeanor much different than the creature she'd encountered the first day.
Maybe there was hope, after all. Maybe she had a chance.
"I'm here to ask you to stop," she said. "Call an end to the fighting."
"I know why you're here," he said, his gaze so intense it burned through her. "You’re much prettier than the last one they sent."
"I, uh. . ." She was taken aback by the compliment. "If you know why I’m here. . ."
"I don’t want to talk about that."
She stared at him in confusion. "What else is there to talk about?"
"You, angel. Let's talk about you. Tell me why it took you so long to return."
"It's only been a few days. I've been busy."
"Hmmm, but not busy with my brother this time." The corner of his lips curved into a dimpled smirk. "How did that happen, anyway? You're not an Archangel for sure, and you're certainly not one of the Seraphim. I remember every single one of them. But you—I don't remember you at all. Based on the fact that you're here, I'd say you're one of the many warrior angels. Correct?"
She nodded slowly.
"So
how'd you capture Michael's attention? No offense, but you Powers are a dime a dozen, God’s little soldiers in the Great War against . . . well . . . me. How'd an Archangel even realize you existed?"
"Just because you can’t look past yourself doesn't mean your brother's the same way," she replied. "Not everyone’s self-indulgent like you."
He dramatically grasped his chest. "Oh, ouch, I'm hurt. Please, take it back."
His mockery irked her. She ground her teeth together, keeping her mouth closed, refusing to be goaded by the likes of him.
"No, seriously, tell me," he continued. "I want to know how your, uh, extracurricular activities with good ol' Mikey haven't landed you right down here with me. Last time I checked, sweetheart, lust was still a sin."
"I'm not here to talk about Michael."
"I don’t care. I couldn't care less what task you've been given by our Father." He spat the word like it offended his tongue, his calm demeanor fading as tightness overtook his body, warm flesh morphing to cold stone. "You wanna talk, angel? It’s my way or no way."
"My name is Serah," she said, purposely raising her voice to match his, "and you won't boss me around, Satan."
He recoiled, slinking back toward the shadows like he’d been struck. "It's time for you to leave. You're not welcome here."
"But—"
Thunder cracked, and once again he vanished right before her eyes. She stared at the barren land he'd seconds ago occupied, frowning.
He'd provoked her, after all.
Two
Icy air trailed Luce as he strode through Hell, fueling the pockets of raging fire throughout the land. Despite it being the center of Earth, scorching lava surrounding them, the temperature grew colder the deeper into the pit he went.
Torturous screams bounced around in his head, whimpers and cries of pain and lust clouding his mind, overbearing and foreboding. Sinning surrounded him, suffocating him, imprisoning him like a straightjacket. He tried to drive the noise away, to force it back and focus on something else, but the ruckus never stopped, never let up. It hindered his connection to the world outside the gates, muffling everything else to mere background noise.