Blah, blah, motherfucking blah.
This was his Hell: the inescapable torment he endured all alone. He craved silence but was awarded chaos. Instead of light and vitality, he existed in utter darkness. His Archangel nature helped him take it all in stride, but it was never easy, even for the one the world saw as the enemy.
Satan.
He’d loathed the term from the very first time he'd heard it on the battlefield until just now when he'd been called it in that pure, angelic voice.
Satan, the evil adversary.
Satan, public enemy number one.
Satan. Fuck that.
He'd brought it all on himself, certainly, but that didn't stop him from blaming everyone else, too.
Despite the turmoil in his head, making it difficult to think straight half of the time, he could still easily recall the moment he'd crossed that final line, the moment he'd damned himself to this fate. The war had been started, the spark already ignited when he'd appeared on that battlefield in Israel.
Michael stood there, leading the warrior angels against the uprising. "Stop this, Luce."
"You know I can't."
"This is your last chance, brother," Michael warned. "End this right now."
Luce shook his head. "No."
It was then that it changed, the air shifting as the blood of his extended family splattered his clothing, matching red seeping into the sky above. Michael's expression hardened, every ounce of love and respect melting away to resentment.
They were brothers no more.
"You're the greatest enemy of humanity," Michael said, anger lacing his loud voice. "You'll be condemned for this, Satan."
Satan.
He had been, and as he made his way through the corridors of Hell, deep underground into the black hole of endless suffering, the anger from that day lingered inside of him. It festered, building and building, mounting and mounting, until it got to be too much for him to take.
Swiftly, he entered a cage, clutching a heavy, leather bullwhip. Thick, stone walls surrounded him, darkness ominously coating the locked dungeon. Wrath in its purest form simmered under his skin, pent-up hostility gnawing, pleading, to be released.
The man shackled to the wall inside shrieked, the high-pitched sound rattling between Luce's ringing ears. Without uttering a single word, he savagely beat the man, tearing him apart with the crack of the whip. Ferocious growls rocked the cage, vibrating Luce's chest as the monster inside of him reared its ugly head, elated to be invited out to play.
Nothing helped ease Luce's tension. His muscles were taut, his head still pounding when the man hung limp and quiet, his body shredded. He'd replenish overnight, back to shrieking by early morning, just as Luce's rage mounted again.
It was a vicious cycle, one that was impossible to break. The same, senseless shit. The same, bloody brutality. Over and over. No reprieve.
Frustrated, Luce vanished from the room and materialized inside another. This one was quieter, lit by candlelight, reminiscent of a turn-of-the-century Victorian den. A woman jumped to attention the moment he appeared, her pitch-black eyes staring at him, awestruck. "My Lord."
Demons were the closest things he had to allies, but even he despised the sneaky creatures. They worshiped him, though, another part of his Hell. Given he'd been punished for his pride, it was sort of a sick, twisted joke.
You wanna be God? Go rule Hell, kid.
His Father certainly had a sense of humor.
Demons were the product of countless years of torture. A person can only endure so much before something irrevocably snaps, infecting them with lethal malice once they reach that breaking point. Every ounce of humanity disintegrates, leaving them nothing but dark, deadly souls.
"On your knees," he ordered, unbuckling his pants, needing some kind of release, needing to blow off some steam to lessen the pressure.
She obediently stepped forward and dropped to her knees in front of him, eagerly taking him into her mouth. She sucked vigorously, deep throating every inch of his flesh. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the sensations that swarmed his body.
Lust was his favorite sin, without a doubt.
The next day, Serah skipped her usual morning venture to Chorizon and found herself approaching the boundary first thing, her head held high and conviction in her steps. Yesterday’s brief conversation played out in her mind, their exchange meaningless, but to get what she needed from him—a truce, a concession—she recognized she’d have to play his stupid game.
It was ingrained in her, in a sense, a part of her instincts as a Power. She’d been created to battle creatures such as him, to eradicate the vile poison seeping into the universe, and according to the Dominion, it was her destiny to take Satan on. No matter how much he pushed and prodded, how much he poked and stirred, she’d need to retain the upper hand if she wanted to win.
And the sooner she won, the sooner she could say goodbye to this wretched hellhole forever.
"No spring air today."
He appeared in front of her so abruptly she startled. So much for the upper hand. Her confidence wavered for a second. "No?"
"You smell sort of like dust. No offense, but I much prefer the sunlight on you."
She eyed him curiously as he stood there, hands in his pockets again, waiting expectantly. "Is that how you know I’m coming? You can smell me?"
He cracked a smile. "No."
"Then how?"
He tapped his temple with his pointer finger. "I’m still wired into the network."
Her eyes widened at his confession. "You hear us?"
"Not nearly as strong as before, but I can still hear most of you. The volume’s just turned down a bit low these days."
"How is that possible?"
He gave a slight, casual shrug. "Just because I was exiled here doesn’t change what I am at the core."
"But. . ."
"But what? You thought I lost it all when I fell?"
"Well, yes. You don’t look like one of us anymore."
He let out a laugh, the boisterous, cheery sound surprising her so much she took a step back. "You see what I want you to see—no more, no less. I don’t have much use for the wings down here. There’s no point whipping it out if I’m not going to use it, if you know what I mean."
"But you have them?" she asked curiously. "You still have your wings?"
He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head slightly, studying her. Minutes of strained silence passed. Serah managed to remain silent along with him, but she couldn’t stop herself from habitually fidgeting under his gaze.
Everything unexpectedly changed with a crack of thunder. The ground shook viciously, cracks forming as if the land was being ripped apart by an earthquake. Instinctively, Serah glanced at her trembling feet before looking back at the gate. A loud gasp tore from her chest and she immediately retreated, the sight of him frightening her.
Massive black wings erupted from his back, partially blending into his surroundings like menacing shadows. Only when lightning hit did she see how truly expansive they were. The biggest wings she’d ever seen flashed before her eyes, glimmering in the light before being swallowed up by the darkness again. His sharp features were somehow sharper, inhumanly beautiful yet frighteningly dark. Red swirled in his black eyes, matching the sky above.
Serah closed her eyes as she looked away from him, stealing a moment to steady herself.
She’d seen him once before, ages ago when he'd been the blue-eyed angel up above. As God’s favorite, he'd spent most of his time near the throne, a place those like Serah weren’t permitted to go. He rarely appeared to anyone, few even knowing what he looked like until his notorious plummet. Serah had been there with her brother Samuel when the war first erupted in a field, not unlike the one Michael often took her to. Lucifer had materialized in the middle of the battle, right in front of his brother.
Samuel had protectively grabbed ahold of her and zapped them out of there within a matter of sec
onds, shielding her from the brutality of the oncoming fight. Lucifer had been cast into Hell by nightfall, and Michael had taken his place as Prince before the sun had risen on that part of Earth the next day. Although that battle ended quickly, the war still waged, the fight between good and evil enduring over millennia.
Serah reopened her eyes and glanced back at him, tension receding from her body when she saw the simple human figure standing there, head still cocked to the side, eyebrow still raised.
"I suppose that answers my question," she mumbled.
He laughed again, softer this time, subdued. "I suppose so."
"I don’t understand, though. Others lost their wings."
"They were stripped of their immortality," he said. "It’s why they all bled as they fell."
Serah blinked rapidly as she processed that. "They became human?"
"In a sense, yes, but I was cast down here in this form. I'm cursed to remember, when everyone else gets to forget."
"Is that why you’re doing this? Why you’re still fighting after all this time?"
He shrugged casually again but offered no real response as he turned away. "I have things to do."
"Wait!"
He was gone before the word had fully escaped her lips.
"Do you ever want to help people?"
Samuel's brow creased with bewilderment at the question as he stared across the table at his sister. "Isn't that what I do every day?"
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. You do your job, but do you ever just want to, you know . . . do more?"
"I don't know what more could I do, Ser."
Sighing, Serah glanced around the busy diner. The sun had just risen outside, and the place was already packed with patrons. A bell at the counter repeatedly dinged as the cook yelled, "Order up!" Waitresses in striped skirts and blouses skidded around, taking orders and helping customers, as the infectious sound of some doo-wop song played from the nearby jukebox.
Serah's eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman waiting by the register. She wore a gray skirt and jacket, her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun.
"Take her for example," Serah said, motioning toward the woman. "It's her first day at a new job—an office job, as a secretary—and she has a tear in her panty hose. It's a hard enough struggle for American women in the workplace. Nobody's going to take her seriously like this."
"Really, Ser? You're sounding like this feminist movement. You don't want to get her equal pay while we're at it?"
"Well . . . yes." Serah sighed as her brother laughed at her. "It's the 1960s. They should get with the times already."
"I agree," he said. "That's what the Guardians are for, though. They micromanage the humans, not us."
"Yes, but why can't we?" As the woman walked by, heading for the door with her coffee, Serah reached out and touched her leg, instantly mending her sheer hose. "I just got her off to a good start."
Samuel quirked an eyebrow. "Why does it matter so much to you?"
"Why doesn't it to you?"
"Touché." Samuel relaxed in the booth, his gaze shifting to a man sitting alone in the back, nose buried in today's newspaper. "I guess I'm more concerned with the likes of him than whether or not some lady has a pleasant day at work."
Serah could sense the malicious presence prowling deep inside the man. Samuel had been stalking him since the night before, waiting for the perfect moment to eradicate the harbored demon without causing a scene.
"I love that about you, though, sis," Samuel continued. "You soar above and beyond, while I just take a flying leap into the trenches. And I suppose if I were human, I'd appreciate there being someone like you out there who cares. You know . . . in case I get a hole in my pants."
The man across the coffee shop stood then, clutching his newspaper as he strolled out. Samuel instantly followed. Curious, Serah joined her brother as they tailed him through the city, spending hours just watching, patiently waiting. When the man was finally alone in a backyard, isolated, still unscathed, Samuel pounced.
The demon sensed the impending attack a fraction of a second before it happened. It reacted, taking full control, the man's tired green eyes flashing pitch-black. A snarl ricocheted through the yard as the creature fought back, a long scuffle ensuing before Samuel was able to lay his palm flat against the man's chest, over his silent heart, seized by the damned beast. "Exorcizo te, omnis immunde spiritus. . ."
The man convulsed and dropped to the ground as Samuel recounted the exorcism incantation, the grass around his body withering to a crispy brown as the life expelled from it, the demon violently being forced below, damned back to his cage. Samuel stood over the man until he detected a steady heartbeat, then he turned and strode away.
The man would be unconscious for a few minutes. When he awoke, he'd have no memory of the event. It was a gift humans had been blessed with—the ability to forget—and Samuel took full advantage of that.
Others weren't so kind. It was just as easy to destroy the demon with the blade of a magical knife plunged in the human's chest as it was to banish them with a spell.
Only the knife made it much, much quicker.
Smoke billowed from the tall stacks, infiltrating the cloudless sky and tainting the blue with curls of ashy gray. Hundreds of heartbeats thumped harmoniously inside the old factory as the workers finished up their morning shifts, oblivious to Serah loitering just outside.
She hadn't been there long when the air behind her cackled and strong arms immediately wrapped around her small waist. A smile tugged her lips as she wordlessly rested against Michael, seeking comfort in his embrace.
It had been a long week, to say the least.
"I always know if I have a hard time sensing you, it's because you're down here mingling with these mortals."
"It's peaceful here," she said. "The people work hard and love even harder. It seems so . . . simple. To live such a passive existence."
Just then, a loud whistle roared as the front door of the factory burst open. The people came pouring out, laughing and chatting, oozing contentment. They’d been working for twelve long hours, yet most of them were still filled with energy as they headed home for the evening.
Nicki Lauer’s father, Nicholas, strode outside, squinting painfully as the late day sunshine blasted him in the face. He brought his hand up and rubbed his temple as an exasperated sigh poured from his lips.
"You all right, man?" his friend asked, clapping him on the shoulder. "You’ve been quiet today."
"Yeah, just a headache. Keeps getting worse."
"Maybe you ought to see a doctor."
He scoffed. "With our insurance?"
"I hear you," the guy said. "Well, do you want a ride?"
"Yeah, sure." The two men strolled right toward them, so close Serah reached out and touched Nicki’s father as he passed. She swiped her fingertips lightly across his forehead, instantly easing his agony. His footsteps paused as he blinked rapidly. "Actually, I’m feeling better, so I think I’ll just walk. Thanks, though."
"Brain aneurysm," Michael mused, watching the men as they went their separate ways. "Is there a reason you just saved that particular human’s life?"
"He’s one of the good ones. We can use all we can get on our side."
Michael kissed the top of Serah’s head as he pulled her tightly against him, her body melting into his. They remained quiet, her gaze shifting to the fading clouds of smoke once the people were gone for the day.
"What are you thinking?" he asked after a moment. "Your mind is blocked to me down here."
"I'm thinking about Samuel," she said. "Wondering what happened to him."
"It doesn't matter."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he fell, Serah," he said. "Where he ended up doesn't make a bit of difference. He lost his Grace. He's gone to us for good."
"But he's my brother."
"Not anymore."
Her smile died at his words.
"Come on," he
said. "Let’s get away and forget about things for a while. We've both certainly earned it this week."
His words promptly reminded her of others: I'm cursed to remember, when everyone else gets to forget.
"I'd like that," she said. "Forgetting would be nice."
The two apparated to the field of wildflowers and lost themselves in carnal embrace. Subtle passion simmered as Michael slowly slid in and out of her, giving her every bit of himself that he could. He continuously held back, the full strength of his power something she'd never witnessed, much less experienced. He restrained himself, making the two of them equals, a far cry from the commanding Archangel she knew he truly could be.
The commanding Archangel he was intended to be.
She explored his sculpted back, only faintly feeling the knots from his hidden wings on his shoulder blades. Her hands ran through his light locks and twirled the hair around his neck as their lips met in sweet, sensual kisses.
Serah moaned when he whispered her name, grounding her, gripping tightly to her, as a current hummed across her exposed skin. Being with him always added an extra spark to her Grace, the light and vigor inside of her at full blast as it stirred, replenishing, feeding off of his. It was like being plugged into an electrical socket, recharging her batteries as he gave himself to her.
Michael came to a stop eventually and rolled them over in the grass, pulling her body gently on top of his. He held her, stroking the soft skin of her side, as she snuggled against his chest.
The two were quiet for a while before Serah spoke. "Michael, what do you see in me?"
His hand stilled on her hip. "You're full of beauty and grace."
"Yes, but so are all the other angels. Out of all of them, why me?"
"Why are you filled with so much insecurity?" he asked. "We found love together a long time ago. Why question things now?"
"I'm not. It's just. . ."
She trailed off. She didn't know what to say, how to explain it.