Despite being a Power, one of the intermediate angels in the grand hierarchy, Samuel had always seemed so formidable—almost as intimidating to Serah as the Archangels. His strength and steadfast belief that innocence needed protecting was so at odds with the scarred, fallen angel standing in front of her. How could Samuel ever consider joining Lucifer’s side?
Preposterous.
"Is he here?" she asked, the words spilling out before she had fully made sense of it all. "Is Samuel like you now? Or is he . . . you know . . . ?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he’s my brother."
"Still?" Lucifer pressed. "Even after falling, even after what I just told you, you still think of Samuel as your brother?"
"Yes."
After a moment of contemplation, Lucifer gave a half-shrug. "I can’t tell you where he is. You’re more than welcome to come inside and have a look around, though."
Serah stammered, taken aback by his suggestion. Come inside? Hell? "You’re insane!"
He chuckled to himself. "I’ve been called worse."
"I’d never go in there. It’s stupid. It’s impossible."
"Stupid? Maybe. Impossible? Hardly."
Lucifer kicked a rock on the ground, sending it barreling straight toward the gate. It hesitated as it hit it, penetrating the shimmering force field in slow motion. A low hiss shook the land, momentarily disturbing the reapers, who watched as the rock flew through to the other side. It came straight at Serah, rolling to a stop near her bare feet.
Alarmed, she immediately took a few steps away, her gaze frantically bouncing between Lucifer and the rock. How had he done that? The gate was supposed to keep everything in.
"It’s just simple magic," he explained, as if he’d heard her worried thoughts. "Some things are immune to the charms."
"Like rocks," she gathered.
"And angels."
She stared at him with shock. "If angels are immune, how are you. . .?"
"How do they keep me in here?" he guessed. She nodded, and he quickly tore his shirt open, exposing more sigils covering his toned body. On his chest, over where a forgiving heart should reside, a massive distorted black hexagram was engraved in his skin, the elaborate six-pointed star contained in a circle. She studied the mark as it throbbed on his flesh, pulsating like a steady heartbeat.
Reaching up, Lucifer slowly traced the mark with his calloused fingertips, wincing. "The closer I get to the gate, the more painful it is."
"It keeps you locked in there?"
"Yes."
"It seems . . . flimsy." For such a creature, she expected more security than a simple glorified tattoo. "Superficial."
"I thought so, too. I actually laughed when I saw it. I laughed at our Father, at Michael, at all of you pesky, perfect angels when I was cast down into this pit with these marks. I was an Archangel, and they expected this to keep me imprisoned?" He laughed bitterly. "First thing I did was head straight for the exit. The moment I hit it, the moment it had me in its grasp, I felt true torture for the first time. Felt like I was being ripped apart. And then the reapers pounced, hell-bent on keeping me locked in here, and destroyed whatever smidgen of goodness was left inside of me."
He buttoned his shirt back up, covering the mark.
"Does everyone down here have one of those?"
He shook his head. "Only me."
"Why?"
"You know, it's quite sad how in the dark He keeps you. Instead of interrogating me, why don't you just ask our Father?"
She couldn't, and he knew it. No one questioned Him. His word was gold. He told you only what you needed to know.
"I get free rein in the pit," he offered after a moment. "The others are trapped in their own little cages, their personal nightmares. They slip their restraints, escape their Hell, and their only obstacle is getting past the reapers. I'm the one imprisoned by this gate."
"There's a reason for that," she said. "You’re kept in there for a reason."
He scoffed. "You think I don't fucking know that?"
She wasn't sure why she'd said that, knowing it would only provoke him. "I'm just saying, you know . . . that's why I'm staying on this side."
"You think I'll hurt you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "You think, if you got too close to me, I'd happily unleash the beast? That Satan would annihilate the pretty little angel?"
"Well . . . yes."
He kicked at the ground again. "I have no desire to hurt you, but even if I did, I couldn’t."
"You can't?"
"Nope."
"I don't believe you."
Lucifer shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. "You’re beginning to be tiresome, angel."
Serah wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t there to entertain him.
"Look, if you dump frozen ice in a bucket of scalding water, what do you end up with?" he asked.
"Lukewarm water, I guess."
"Precisely," he said. "The two extremes even out. We're the same here, you and me—angels in Hell."
"Except I still have my Grace."
"You do," he agreed. "I can sense it, you know. I feel it emanating off of you. It's extremely powerful. Makes me miss my own."
Preposterous.
"Is he here?" she asked, the words spilling out before she had fully made sense of it all. "Is Samuel like you now? Or is he . . . you know . . . ?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he’s my brother."
"Still?" Lucifer pressed. "Even after falling, even after what I just told you, you still think of Samuel as your brother?"
"Yes."
After a moment of contemplation, Lucifer gave a half-shrug. "I can’t tell you where he is. You’re more than welcome to come inside and have a look around, though."
Serah stammered, taken aback by his suggestion. Come inside? Hell? "You’re insane!"
He chuckled to himself. "I’ve been called worse."
"I’d never go in there. It’s stupid. It’s impossible."
"Stupid? Maybe. Impossible? Hardly."
Lucifer kicked a rock on the ground, sending it barreling straight toward the gate. It hesitated as it hit it, penetrating the shimmering force field in slow motion. A low hiss shook the land, momentarily disturbing the reapers, who watched as the rock flew through to the other side. It came straight at Serah, rolling to a stop near her bare feet.
Alarmed, she immediately took a few steps away, her gaze frantically bouncing between Lucifer and the rock. How had he done that? The gate was supposed to keep everything in.
"It’s just simple magic," he explained, as if he’d heard her worried thoughts. "Some things are immune to the charms."
"Like rocks," she gathered.
"And angels."
She stared at him with shock. "If angels are immune, how are you. . .?"
"How do they keep me in here?" he guessed. She nodded, and he quickly tore his shirt open, exposing more sigils covering his toned body. On his chest, over where a forgiving heart should reside, a massive distorted black hexagram was engraved in his skin, the elaborate six-pointed star contained in a circle. She studied the mark as it throbbed on his flesh, pulsating like a steady heartbeat.
Reaching up, Lucifer slowly traced the mark with his calloused fingertips, wincing. "The closer I get to the gate, the more painful it is."
"It keeps you locked in there?"
"Yes."
"It seems . . . flimsy." For such a creature, she expected more security than a simple glorified tattoo. "Superficial."
"I thought so, too. I actually laughed when I saw it. I laughed at our Father, at Michael, at all of you pesky, perfect angels when I was cast down into this pit with these marks. I was an Archangel, and they expected this to keep me imprisoned?" He laughed bitterly. "First thing I did was head straight for the exit. The moment I hit it, the moment it had me in its grasp, I felt true torture for the first time. Felt like I was being ripped apart. And then the reapers pounced, hell-bent on keeping me locked in here, and destroyed whatever smidgen of goodness was left inside of me."
He buttoned his shirt back up, covering the mark.
"Does everyone down here have one of those?"
He shook his head. "Only me."
"Why?"
"You know, it's quite sad how in the dark He keeps you. Instead of interrogating me, why don't you just ask our Father?"
She couldn't, and he knew it. No one questioned Him. His word was gold. He told you only what you needed to know.
"I get free rein in the pit," he offered after a moment. "The others are trapped in their own little cages, their personal nightmares. They slip their restraints, escape their Hell, and their only obstacle is getting past the reapers. I'm the one imprisoned by this gate."
"There's a reason for that," she said. "You’re kept in there for a reason."
He scoffed. "You think I don't fucking know that?"
She wasn't sure why she'd said that, knowing it would only provoke him. "I'm just saying, you know . . . that's why I'm staying on this side."
"You think I'll hurt you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "You think, if you got too close to me, I'd happily unleash the beast? That Satan would annihilate the pretty little angel?"
"Well . . . yes."
He kicked at the ground again. "I have no desire to hurt you, but even if I did, I couldn’t."
"You can't?"
"Nope."
"I don't believe you."
Lucifer shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. "You’re beginning to be tiresome, angel."
Serah wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t there to entertain him.
"Look, if you dump frozen ice in a bucket of scalding water, what do you end up with?" he asked.
"Lukewarm water, I guess."
"Precisely," he said. "The two extremes even out. We're the same here, you and me—angels in Hell."
"Except I still have my Grace."
"You do," he agreed. "I can sense it, you know. I feel it emanating off of you. It's extremely powerful. Makes me miss my own."
