"I have to go," Lucifer whispered, kissing her chest.
"Don’t."
"I have to," he said. "It’s almost time."
He pulled out of her, sitting back on his knees briefly, his eyes trailing over her naked body slowly, consciously. By the time they reached Serah’s again, the blue had disappeared, the darkness creeping back into his soul.
Serah climbed to her feet, redressing, and slowly strolled over to the window to gaze out.
"Come with me," Lucifer said, standing behind her. "Fight with me."
"I can’t," she said. "I can fight no more than you can stop."
"Why?" he pressed, desperation twining with his voice.
"Because it’s not in me," she said. "I still believe. I still have hope for the world, and for everyone and everything in it. I look out the window, and instead of ugliness—instead of darkness—I see the yellow dandelions growing once more from the crack in the concrete down the street."
"But these people . . . these mortals. . ."
"I’ve spent my entire existence watching over children, trying to keep the evil from tainting them. I look at the kids and see their inherent goodness, their innocence, and their compassion. They’re born that way. They only change, only turn their backs on the world, when the world turns their back on them." She turned around, facing him. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. "I see beauty and goodness in everything—even you, Luce. And as long as that’s there, I can never turn away from it."
Luce stood high atop the Eilat Mountains in Israel. The sandstone beneath his feet had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in this region, the brittle yellowish-brown morphing to a macabre darkness, flowing down the side of the mountain like someone had spilled a bucket of black paint.
In the distance he could see the Red Sea, simmering a bright crimson in the night as the blood of thousands spilled across the land and seeped into the water, staining it. Angels and demons battled viciously along the foothills of the mountain and out toward the coastline, each sent for contradictory purposes.
The demons, released to destroy humanity. The angels, sworn to defend it.
Through the chaos, there was little time for the angels to focus on finding Luce, momentarily giving him the upper hand. He watched from afar, biding his time as he basked in the delight of Hell finally reigning on Earth.
Luce thus far had managed to stay two steps in front of his brother, but it was only a matter of time before Michael caught up to him. It was a confrontation Luce had been waiting for forever, it seemed. And this time, he swore, Michael wouldn't get the best of him. He had been infested with pride at their first encounter and underestimated his brother’s strength and their Father’s sheer determination. That wouldn't happen again. For now he was filled with something much more powerful—something deeper, more compelling: hatred.
The only thing the dark angel had thought about more than himself and his own egotistical, materialistic wishes over the years was getting revenge on his brother. He’d cast him into the lake of fire, trapping him in the pit for eternity, without so much as showing an ounce of distress.
So even if it was the last thing he did, he was going to distress Michael, one way or another.
"My Lord. . ."
Luce didn’t turn around at the sound of Lire’s voice. His eyes remained intently focused on the battle before him. His minions were no match for the angels—except for a few heavenly weapons they’d managed to steal and smuggle out over the years, the angels were invincible to the demon’s touch. Only Luce held the power to massacre their kind, but that wasn’t his goal. He only wanted to destroy one, and by destroying that one, he hoped the rest would fall down like dominoes.
A house is only as sturdy as its foundation.
"My Lord, they’re getting close. . ."
He could sense it as the angels flooded the area, trying to protect the sacred land and clean up the mess. It had only been a little over a week since his escape and the world was already in chaos, seals popped open one by one, unleashing anarchy on God’s soil. The horsemen had been let loose from their cages, bringing mass destruction everywhere they touched.
"My Lord, please. You must leave before it’s—"
Too late.
A violent lightning bolt struck the mountain, crumbling parts of it around Luce’s feet. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move an inch as the demon was cut off in the middle of his sentence, a sickening gurgling echoing from his throat. The putrid scent instantly infiltrated his body, so concentrated in the air around him that Luce’s face contorted. Slowly, he turned around, his crimson eyes meeting Michael’s sky blues. The sword of fire cast a sweltering glow upon Luce’s face as his brother held it, Lire impaled on the end of it.
Eyes never leaving Luce, Michael thrust his sword back out of the demon, sending him vanishing in an explosion of fire and black smoke. He shifted his body then, pointing the sword at Luce. "Satan."
"Prince." Luce tipped his head casually in greeting. "What’s it been? Six thousand, seven thousand years?"
"Not long enough."
"I’ve missed you, too, little brother."
Michael stepped forward, the tip of the sword a mere few inches from Luce's chest. "I’m no brother of yours."
"You’re welcome to think that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are."
"Don’t."
"I have to," he said. "It’s almost time."
He pulled out of her, sitting back on his knees briefly, his eyes trailing over her naked body slowly, consciously. By the time they reached Serah’s again, the blue had disappeared, the darkness creeping back into his soul.
Serah climbed to her feet, redressing, and slowly strolled over to the window to gaze out.
"Come with me," Lucifer said, standing behind her. "Fight with me."
"I can’t," she said. "I can fight no more than you can stop."
"Why?" he pressed, desperation twining with his voice.
"Because it’s not in me," she said. "I still believe. I still have hope for the world, and for everyone and everything in it. I look out the window, and instead of ugliness—instead of darkness—I see the yellow dandelions growing once more from the crack in the concrete down the street."
"But these people . . . these mortals. . ."
"I’ve spent my entire existence watching over children, trying to keep the evil from tainting them. I look at the kids and see their inherent goodness, their innocence, and their compassion. They’re born that way. They only change, only turn their backs on the world, when the world turns their back on them." She turned around, facing him. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. "I see beauty and goodness in everything—even you, Luce. And as long as that’s there, I can never turn away from it."
Luce stood high atop the Eilat Mountains in Israel. The sandstone beneath his feet had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in this region, the brittle yellowish-brown morphing to a macabre darkness, flowing down the side of the mountain like someone had spilled a bucket of black paint.
In the distance he could see the Red Sea, simmering a bright crimson in the night as the blood of thousands spilled across the land and seeped into the water, staining it. Angels and demons battled viciously along the foothills of the mountain and out toward the coastline, each sent for contradictory purposes.
The demons, released to destroy humanity. The angels, sworn to defend it.
Through the chaos, there was little time for the angels to focus on finding Luce, momentarily giving him the upper hand. He watched from afar, biding his time as he basked in the delight of Hell finally reigning on Earth.
Luce thus far had managed to stay two steps in front of his brother, but it was only a matter of time before Michael caught up to him. It was a confrontation Luce had been waiting for forever, it seemed. And this time, he swore, Michael wouldn't get the best of him. He had been infested with pride at their first encounter and underestimated his brother’s strength and their Father’s sheer determination. That wouldn't happen again. For now he was filled with something much more powerful—something deeper, more compelling: hatred.
The only thing the dark angel had thought about more than himself and his own egotistical, materialistic wishes over the years was getting revenge on his brother. He’d cast him into the lake of fire, trapping him in the pit for eternity, without so much as showing an ounce of distress.
So even if it was the last thing he did, he was going to distress Michael, one way or another.
"My Lord. . ."
Luce didn’t turn around at the sound of Lire’s voice. His eyes remained intently focused on the battle before him. His minions were no match for the angels—except for a few heavenly weapons they’d managed to steal and smuggle out over the years, the angels were invincible to the demon’s touch. Only Luce held the power to massacre their kind, but that wasn’t his goal. He only wanted to destroy one, and by destroying that one, he hoped the rest would fall down like dominoes.
A house is only as sturdy as its foundation.
"My Lord, they’re getting close. . ."
He could sense it as the angels flooded the area, trying to protect the sacred land and clean up the mess. It had only been a little over a week since his escape and the world was already in chaos, seals popped open one by one, unleashing anarchy on God’s soil. The horsemen had been let loose from their cages, bringing mass destruction everywhere they touched.
"My Lord, please. You must leave before it’s—"
Too late.
A violent lightning bolt struck the mountain, crumbling parts of it around Luce’s feet. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move an inch as the demon was cut off in the middle of his sentence, a sickening gurgling echoing from his throat. The putrid scent instantly infiltrated his body, so concentrated in the air around him that Luce’s face contorted. Slowly, he turned around, his crimson eyes meeting Michael’s sky blues. The sword of fire cast a sweltering glow upon Luce’s face as his brother held it, Lire impaled on the end of it.
Eyes never leaving Luce, Michael thrust his sword back out of the demon, sending him vanishing in an explosion of fire and black smoke. He shifted his body then, pointing the sword at Luce. "Satan."
"Prince." Luce tipped his head casually in greeting. "What’s it been? Six thousand, seven thousand years?"
"Not long enough."
"I’ve missed you, too, little brother."
Michael stepped forward, the tip of the sword a mere few inches from Luce's chest. "I’m no brother of yours."
"You’re welcome to think that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are."
