"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.
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.
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.
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.
