"You get a second chance, Lucifer." His eyes turned to the Barlow residence. "Just like Samuel did. You'll have a true clean slate, something you asked for often the past few months, and not just from others. You get a clean slate from yourself, too."
"That's not an option," Luce said, brushing hair out of Serah's pale face. "I don't want to exist a single moment without remembering the sound of her heartbeat."
His Father nodded. "So wings it is."
Reaching out, God pressed a hand to Luce's forehead. Instantly, intense warmth filled him, consuming every inch of him. It was familiar, the sensation like a hit of a drug he'd tried to kick.
His Grace.
The moment his Father moved his hand, Lucifer pressed his own palm to Serah's chest. Please don't be too late. He channeled it, pushing it out of himself and into her. Her wounds mended, her body glowing radiantly as Lucifer healed her with his Grace.
Picking her up, he carried Serah inside the house, taking her back to the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, her body limp, unconscious, but she'd wake up soon, feeling brand new.
"Forgive me," he whispered, "but you have to forget all this ever happened. You have to live this life not remembering me."
He kissed her forehead, standing up to leave, when the images flooded him, striking him so hard he stumbled. Serah. A long, happy life, full of love and friends, living just next door to her angelic brother, watching him grow, before succumbing to a peaceful death down the road. He stalled in the doorway, a smile forming on his lips.
Now that she deserved.
When he stepped outside, his Father still lingered.
"Thank you," Lucifer said, the words catching in his throat. He wasn't sure if he even managed to speak them out loud, but his Father heard.
"You're welcome." He turned as if He planned to leave but hesitated, motioning toward Lucifer. "Before you come home, consider doing something about your clothing."
Lucifer laughed. "Unless you call Moses back up and make 'thou shalt wear white' a commandment, there's not a chance in Hell you're going to get me back in that white suit."
Abaddon was on his knees, his head held high with pride, not an ounce of remorse inside of him. The end of Michael's blade of fire was pointed at the Guardian's chest, yet the angel showed no fear at all.
Michael was close to thrusting the sword in, close to taking Abaddon's wings, when the air behind him shifted, another angel appearing. The powerful familiarity struck Michael right away, without even looking. He knew that Grace. He knew it, because he shared it. Impossible.
Turning his head, he watched, stunned, as Lucifer strolled a few steps toward them. Definitely impossible, but yet it was so. His skin glowed, his body healed, the sins that had tainted him dulled to a minimum. They weren't completely wiped away, and they probably never would be, but he had his Grace again. He was keeping his wings.
"Michael," Lucifer said casually in greeting.
Satan was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. He couldn't call him that. Satan didn't have Grace. Satan didn't have the same configuration as him.
He nodded after a moment. "Lucifer."
"Call me Luce."
Michael smiled at the way in which he said that. He had been the one to give him that nickname in the first place. "Luce."
"Touching," Abaddon grumbled. "If you two are finished, I'd like to get on with this. Do what you came to do, Prince."
Before Michael could make a move, Luce grasped him, his palm against his chest, pushing him away. "Allow me."
Michael retreated, lowering his sword. Lucifer had certainly earned the right to be the one to deliver Abaddon's punishment, but it concerned Michael heeding to him. It had been too long since he'd had to, too long since Lucifer held power anywhere but below the soil.
Michael pulled out the gold knife he'd found on Abaddon and tossed it to Lucifer. Catching the Heavenly blade, Lucifer stared at it in silence, a sudden smile overcoming his face that alarmed Michael.
Lucifer turned his focus on Abaddon, twirling the knife in his hand as he closed the distance between them.
Still, Abaddon showed no fear.
"How's your mortal?" Abaddon taunted.
Michael expected Lucifer to explode at the question, but he barely reacted. "She's alive."
"Interesting. She didn't look so well last I saw her." Abaddon's eyes shifted to Michael. "I'm curious how that happened."
Michael didn't respond. It hadn't been him.
"You always seem to be curious about something, Abaddon."
Abaddon shrugged casually. "Guilty."
"Guilty," Lucifer echoed. "That you certainly are… guilty as sin."
The tip of Lucifer's knife pressed against Abaddon's chest. The Guardian screamed as the blade dug in, burrowing through his skin.
"You're one to talk," Abaddon growled through clenched teeth. "Where do you think I learned it all, huh? Who do you think taught me all my tricks?"
"You learned nothing from me," Lucifer said. "What I tried to teach you was strength, and respect, and loyalty… I tried to teach you to stand up for yourself, to fight for what was just, and fair… but all you know, Don, is cowardice. All you know is evil. You stood up for self-interest, not for justice, and that's not the lesson I aspired to teach."
Abaddon glared at Lucifer, his dark eyes burning redder as he howled again when Lucifer twisted the blade of his knife, digging it in a little deeper. Michael considered stopping him, to put a halt to what Lucifer was doing. They weren't in the business of torture. This was supposed to be about punishment. But Lucifer's calm expression kept him from intervening. This wasn't done with sinister intent. This was just the Archangel's brand of penance. His eyes were pure, as bright blue as the afternoon sky had been before the reapers had surrounded the area, blanketing the sky in the sort of darkness usually only brought upon by night.
"You are an enemy to humanity," Lucifer said, his voice quieter than Michael had ever heard it before. "You show no remorse for anything. Repent, Don, before it's too late. Ask for mercy, and I'll show you it."
"Never."
For a moment, a short moment, it seemed as if the world had fallen still. Nobody moved. The air was devoid of sound. But as quick as it came upon them, it was shattered by the quiet, stoic voice. "I was hoping you'd say that."
A screech of agony echoed through the air as the blade of Lucifer's knife sliced through Abaddon's chest. It didn't puncture him, not going deep enough remove his wings, just scratching the surface and siphoning out what was left of his Grace. In the blink of an eye, the ancient sigil appeared, the star locked in a circle burned into the Guardian's chest.
The Mark of Satan.
Lucifer pulled the blade away, his eyes burning red. So, so red. It made Michael's spine prickle as his blade of fire ignited in response to the scene, when Lucifer kicked Abaddon hard, sending the angel skidding a few feet away on his back. Dropping the knife, Lucifer raised his hands defensively and turned to Michael before he could react. The smile was back on his lips, the red dulling as the reapers descended from the sky, Abaddon's wailing escalating as he was attacked by the black masses.
"Sorry, brother," Lucifer said, the blue once more reappearing in his eyes. "Old habits die hard."
Michael was silent, pointing his sword at Lucifer, as he watched Abaddon be carried away. The sky cleared when the reapers disappeared, leaving the world around them in silence again.
Slowly, Michael lowered the blade. "He's gone."
"For now," Lucifer said, "but not forever."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm here," Lucifer said. "I know what being in the pit does to you. Give him a few thousand years to get adequately pissed off and he'll find his way out of there."
"Then why did you send him there? Why not end him now?"
"Because when I take him out, brother, I don't want him to be on his knees," Lucifer said, picking up his knife and twirling it for a moment. Michael watched with fasc
ination as Lucifer sliced his own hand with the blade. There was no blood, simply a line of glowing light as some Grace trickled out before the wound sealed. Lucifer stared down at it, smiling, before meeting Michael's eyes. "When I take him out, I want him to learn a lesson he was too dense to learn today."
"What's that?"
Lucifer stepped toward Michael, and he tensed, gripping the handle of his blade tighter, but he didn't move. Lucifer's smile grew when he caught it, though, his eyes flickering down to the sword briefly as he said, "Nobody fucks with an Archangel. Nobody."
Michael shook his head as Lucifer laughed, the pop of static cutting off the amused sound as the Archangel disappeared. Michael stood there for a moment as something swam inside of him, something he tried to push back, but it got the best of him eventually: curiosity.
He apparated from the area and popped up in front of the small house in Chorizon. Serah was inside, fast asleep. Michael stood in the street for a moment, glancing around. All was how it had been the day before, the slate wiped clean, removing the fight between angels from all mortal memory. Michael remembered, though. He always would. Just like his brother, he remembered everything. He remembered how it felt the day he spared Serah not far away in the street, the grief he'd felt for the first time in his existence.
He'd felt it again, not long ago, right in this spot when he couldn't spare her again. Orders were orders, and his Father had expressly stated it when he'd been sent to help Lucifer.
Whatever comes of the one called Serah, you're not to intervene.
The grief of leaving her to die wasn't because of her lost life. It was because him and Lucifer were still connected, and he felt it inside of his brother, grief like he'd never known before.
Michael took a last look at the house before turning away. There was nothing left to make him want to stay. She'd left him long before today. Now it was time for him to let go.
Colors.
Mortals have thousands of names for them, different shades of different colors, only subtly altered from the one before it. They hold colors in high regard, mixing and matching, coordinating their clothing and painting their cars and even going so far as to alter the shade of their lawns. Colors, to them, are symbolic… they grow red with anger, they feel green with envy, or they catch the blues when they're feeling down.
It puzzled Lucifer.
Colors, technically speaking, are wavelengths of light. The eyes merely detect what light the item reflects most. There's nothing metaphorical about it. The shade the grass grows doesn't make it more or less useful. Pink tulips don't smell better than purple ones. If they put stock in reflected light, they should cherish white, as it reflects the most, whereas black simply absorbs it.
It's why angels are usually seen in white, especially the Archangels. Light surrounds them. They're pure. It's also why Lucifer stood in the middle of a the vast white space he'd once again come to think of as 'home', wearing his usual get-up of black from head to toe.
Sixty years.
He'd stayed up here for the past sixty years, not stepping foot down below, and merely watched as the Earth continued to turn. It spun round and round, reflecting light, sustaining life, still the magnificent creation his Father dreamed it would be.
"Feels like just yesterday, doesn't it?"
Lucifer turned his head at the sound of the familiar voice, seeing Michael standing behind him. He saw his brother occasionally, once a month or so. Michael still spent most of his time in the throne room at their Father's side. Lucifer hadn't stepped foot in there since arriving, not because he wasn't invited… mostly because he felt like he didn't quite belong.
Maybe in another sixty years.
Only God knows…
"Feels like just yesterday you and I sat here," Michael continued, "watching the first human take their first breath."
"It practically was just yesterday," Luce responded, turning away as Michael took a few steps forward, pausing at his side.
Michael nodded, looking straight ahead at the image projected, the same image that had been playing in this spot for decades. Serah lay in a bed, just as she had last time Lucifer saw her in the flesh, only much older now.
"It won't be long," Michael said.
Lucifer whispered, "I know."
Her heart had beat almost two billion times since he'd left her. He'd counted every single one. And he knew she had only a hundred left before it wouldn't beat anymore.
Ninety-nine…
Ninety-eight…
Ninety-seven…
"You shouldn't be worried," Michael said. "What's mean to be—"
"Will be," Lucifer grumbled. "To everything there is a season, blah blah fucking blah, the wheel in the sky keeps on turning. You're wasting your breath, brother. I've heard it all before."
Instead of being annoyed, Michael smiled. The sight of it made Lucifer roll his eyes. He wanted to knock that grin right off of his holier than thou face.
Seventy-four…
Seventy-three…
Seventy-two…
"It's the truth," Michael said.
"It's bullshit," Lucifer countered, motioning with his head in the general direction of the throne room. "He knows what will happen, but the rest of us are in the dark."
"I don't think He knows."
"Again," Lucifer said, "Bullshit."
"I'm serious," Michael said. "Heaven is an idea. He doesn't create it. They create it. They spend eternity wherever they're happiest, wherever their souls are at ease. She was once like us, brother, but she has free will now. She will go where her soul chooses to be."
Forty-six…
Forty-five…
Forty-four…
Lucifer stared at the image, watching as her heartbeat slowed, growing weaker, inconsistent. He knew she wouldn't feel it when the end came. She'd go peacefully in her sleep. She never married, never had children, but she found a family in her friends. She became a teacher, led Sunday School at a local church, and volunteered her time to help others. She was the definition of pure, her soul untainted and marked straight for Heaven.
But he had no idea where she'd go once she got here.
No idea who she'd be, or what she would see.
No idea if she would even remember him.
Twenty…
Nineteen…
Eighteen…
"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things," Michael said. "Love never ends."
Lucifer normally mocked his brother for quoting scripture, but he didn't have it in him at the moment. He found solace in those words, even if he wasn't sure what to make of them. "Do you think she loves me? I know I love her, but…"
But she'd never said it to him.
Had he done anything to really deserve her love?
He didn't think so.
"I suppose we'll find out," Michael said, once more giving him a smile before disappearing.
Lucifer stared at the image of her once he was alone before closing his eyes, focusing solely on the sound of her heart.
Three…
Two…
One…
The silence that met him then was deafening. His chest tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, feeling for her essence around him. He sensed it appearing, not far away, and channeled himself to that space.
To her Heaven.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
A playground.
He knew the place. He'd been there before a few times, and he'd watched Serah go there nearly every day over the years. Chorizon Elementary School. All was quiet, only a soft breeze wafting through the playground. After a moment a squeak echoed through the air, the grinding of a rusty metal chain. Lucifer turned toward the swing set and froze when he saw her. She was so much younger than she'd been in recent years, utterly beautiful, wearing a peach dress, her long brown hair cascading around her shoulders. Bare feet drug the ground as she swung back and forth slightly, toes digging into the dirt. Her left hand c
lutched the chain, while in her right she held a familiar plant stalk.
Spider flower.
"You were right." Her voice was soft as she spoke, glancing away from the plant, looking toward him. "These flowers really do stink."
The pressure in Lucifer's chest lessened.
After a moment, she held it out, silently offering it to him.
He shook his head. "I can't smell anymore."
"I figured," she said. "That means there's nobody more perfect than you to give it to."
Lucifer laughed lightly, stepping toward her, carefully taking the flower from her hand. He stared down at it for a moment before meeting her eyes again. Neither said anything. Lucifer wasn't sure what to say. He'd survived six thousand years in Hell, but the past sixty without her were the most torturous of his existence.
"I didn't think…" he started. "I didn't expect…"
"Didn't expect what?"
"You to remember me," he admitted. "I did you wrong, Serah. I stole everything from you. I hurt you. I thought I'd show up here, and you wouldn't see me, because I wouldn't exist in your eternity… that Heaven, to you, would be somewhere I couldn't be."
She stared at him for a moment before her expression softened. She swung for a second longer before standing up and stepping toward him. "I never forgot you, Luce. Even when I didn't know you, you haunted my dreams. My first thought, when I opened my eyes and found myself sitting on this swing, when I remembered every second I'd ever existed, was that someone had gotten it wrong, because this wasn't where I wanted to be."
"It wasn't?"
"No."
The air was disturbed around them before she could elaborate, loud pops as others apparated into the area. Serah turned away from him in just enough time for Hannah to descend upon her, grabbing her friend in an excited hug as Michael's voice cut through the air.
"Serah," he said, sounding about as nervous as he'd told Lucifer not to feel.
Serah pulled away from Hannah to look at him, smiling kindly. "Michael."
Before either could say anymore, another loud pop rocked the area. They all turned, and Lucifer froze when Samuel appeared in all his angelic glory. His mortal body had died months ago, appearing in Heaven back in his true form. Lucifer had avoided him, and Samuel hadn't sought him out. It was the first time they'd come face to face since the day he'd visited him at the gate so many years ago.