Chapter Seventy-Three Lucifer
Chapter Seventy-Three
Lucifer
My wife and our Reaper vanish like twin bolts, their ascent vibrating through the atmosphere until the air bleeds with a raw, celestial pressure. My shadows coil and thrash after them, reluctant to let her go, but I force them down. Grind my heel into the scorched floor.
Let her throw open Heaven’s gates. Rip apart the home that was once stolen from me.
I’ve other divine business to handle.
Michael steps forward, the Holy Lance in his grip, the blade glinting in all his pathetic, righteous fury. His wings are unfurled, spread wide and white in all their gilded glory, and oh, how he must fucking relish that mine will never return.
Even with our Father’s redemption.
Charlotte and I are going to have a little chat about her gifting Seraph’s extra pair to Sloth. But I’ve never needed them.
Not for tearing down whatever holy roller might stand in front of me.
Near one of the shattered pews, Azmodeus leans against a scorched column, idly drawing sigils with his finger through the dust and ash.
“Are you two going to keep measuring holiness, or can we fast-forward to the part where Mikey bleeds?” He grins, all teeth and danger.
“I’m placing bets with Mammon on who cries first.”
Michael ignores him.
I smirk wickedly.
My siblings are going to join me after all.
I’d expect nothing less.
They crave angelic blood just as much as me.
Heaven’s downfall.
Michael’s jaw sets. His eyes narrow. “When I’m god, I will show you no mercy.”
I chuckle. “Look around, Mikey.” I gesture to the flaming chapel. “I already am a god.” I point toward Heaven. “And even He loves what a devil I can be.”
Michael lunges.
I meet him head-on, our blades clashing—his Lance against the infernal edge I summon into the heat of my palm. He shoves me back, throwing Holy Fire like it’s a goddamn curse, but I spin out of the way. The blast knocks a few of the pews clear across the room.
This may not be Armageddon, but both of us are bloodthirsty.
Our siblings scatter.
And I push harder, still laughing.
“You think you can kill me?” I spit, eyes blazing. “Even your own army thinks you’re second best.” I gesture to where some of the Hosts are still dithering about the room, clearly questioning where their loyalties lie now that Father has chosen me.
Michael has never been anything more than second fiddle.
Unworthy of being His adversary.
With a furious war cry, I drive back at him with a blast of light, forcing him to shield himself with one wing as its heat scorches the air. We clash again, my shadows to his blade, and the lance sings with a sacred wrath, but I’ve fought worse.
I’ve fought Him. Fought for His mercy.
And this time, I’ve got every reason to win.
Charlotte.
Azrael.
Our child.
Our future.
The Hell on Earth that will be our making.
Michael stumbles, tripping over my foot. He lashes out, blade slicing toward my side, but I twist, the tip grazing only the edge of my shirt.
The fabric hisses as it burns, smoke curling like incense.
“That was Versace, you fool.” I grab him by his tux collar and slam him into the marble floor, my face inches from his. “I was never the one afraid of falling,” I hiss, voice low and venomous. “And this time, I’m dragging you down to Hell with me.”
Michael shoves me off and flips backward, wings flaring out, fury writ across every line of his face. But I see it now. The smallest sliver of doubt. A crack in the mask of his divinity. Because deep down, he knows as well as I do.
I’ve already won.
I smile coldly and draw myself to my full height, fire dancing along my skin. My shadows curl about my legs, my true form bleeding through the seams of this skin.
“You were a prideful fool!” Michael roars, glancing about at the unmoving Hosts in his rage. “We all saw the mockery Father made of you.”
“Looks like Dad changed His mind.” I chuckle. “I never needed to be His favorite. Not like you did. And yet everyone believes I’m the one with daddy issues?”
Michael roars and charges me again.
This time, I don’t hold back.
I become everything He feared and more.
Hellfire and brimstone.
Shadow and fury.
Pain and punishment.
My shadows meet the lance in a blinding clash, heat and light, sin and destruction rippling outward like a force, shattering what’s left of the chapel windows and sending debris raining from the rafters like falling stars.
In my periphery, I’m vaguely aware of my closest siblings charging toward the angelic Hosts in a divine combat for the ages.
Chaos incarnate echoes through the chapel.
Wrath clashes with Raphael, furious ego and healing magic colliding in bursts of crimson and gold. Wrath barrels straight into him, their fight a storm of fists and fire. No grace, just raw, righteous fury. And anger sharp enough to make the sky bleed.
Lust charges at Gabriel, every move a deadly seduction, blades flashing like silver tongues.
Even Envy circles Ramiel, snarling, never satisfied and never still until he’s stolen his opponent’s most cherished ability. Gluttony rips through Sariel’s holy light with an unholy hunger that devours the spells of his angelic counterparts in midair, laughing through the ash.
And Greed—dear, radiant Mimi—spins with the grace of a dancer through it all, her golden blades slashing through Uriel’s defenses before he can blink. Her eyes gleam with the promise of more, as she snatches his power from him with every strike, like it’s owed to her.
Only Sloth is missing, but he has his own war to wage.
They’re devils just like I am, the whole lot of them.
Pains in the arse though they might be.
Michael and I go round for round, toe for toe, my legions and his armies joining the fray. Heads roll. Limbs sever. Blood sprays. Until the palace is little more than shambles around us. Until we are both panting in our never-ending fury.
Michael fights as if he has something to save—Heaven, his legacy, himself maybe.
But I fight like I’ve got nothing to lose.
Because I’m not afraid of burning.
Even if I now have everything to live for.
His blade slices across my chest, driving me back, but I barely feel it. My fist slams into his jaw, and he staggers, wings flaring wildly to catch his balance.
I follow, ever relentless, the ground blackening beneath my feet with every step. My power coils tighter with each blow, each block, each strike.
My righteous fury, my heavenly powers, burst out of me—my light, my divinity, nearly blinding everyone in the vicinity. I steal the moment to my advantage, driving Michael back and into the broken altar furiously as I manage to claw the lance free of his hand.
The holy relics crack.
The gold fractures.
And somewhere nearby, I swear I can hear one of my siblings scream. Seraph, perhaps.
I lean in close, pressing the infernal edge of my blade to Michael’s throat.
He sputters, paling in fear. “All right. All right, you win, Lucy. But for Christ’s sake, Mother’s here, show some mercy.”
“Mercy?” I murmur, voice like embers. “Mercy?” I let out a fiendish chuckle. I knew it wouldn’t take much for him to beg. “Only if you plead for it.”
Michael’s eyes narrow, but he opens his mouth, prepared to relent just as I shove the blade harder against his throat. Blood pools there, calling to me.
Reminds me of every wicked thing I’ve ever been.
I want nothing more than to see him bleed.
I lean in close, hissing, “You forfeited the right to my mercy the moment you threatened my wife.” I bring the blade up.
Michael is breathing hard, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
But his eyes burn with fear, with fury.
The remains of the chapel tremble around us.
Powers converge, like something divine unraveling at the seams.
Above, I can feel Charlotte and Azrael tearing through the gates. Heaven rupturing.
And below, Hell waits for me with open arms.
And here, at the center of it all, I stand, unchained.
Free.
I raise my hand, power gathering at my fingertips, ready to strike the final blow.
“You don’t deserve His forgiveness,” Michael spits.
“Perhaps.” I smirk. “But for the record,” I say, voice like thunder, “I never fell. You did.”
I bring the blade down with all my might.
But my Mother’s power stops me mid-stab, barring me from moving.
“Enough!” she shouts, stepping forth from the shadows and freezing us all. With a flick of her wrist, the lance flies from my hand to hers, and she casts it aside ruthlessly. I’m unable to stop her.
There is only one thing more powerful in this universe than I am.
And it’s my Mother.
“That’s enough,” she says. “You’ve had your fun now, sweetheart.”
I glare at her. “He threatened Charlotte.”
“And when you are the god of our new universe, you can punish him accordingly.” Mother waves her hand, and begrudgingly, I’m forced off him, coming to my feet.
“But until then, you will let your brother live. Death isn’t the worst thing you could possibly do to him.
” She grins, unabashed, in her little secret.
But she’s not the only one who’s fucked mine and Charlotte’s boyfriend. I glare down at Michael furiously.
I’ve gutted greater creatures for less.
Ended countless lives over a mere whisper of treason.
But my Mother is right. For him, I can do worse.
I can show him exactly why I deserve Father’s mercy.
With a furious grumble, I reach down, tugging him to his feet.
The rest of our siblings stare in awe, their own battles long forgotten.
I wrench Michael in close, lowering my voice as I hiss, “Perhaps this is why He chose me.” Abruptly, I release him, turning my attention to our Mother.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” She pats my cheek affectionately. “Everything will be better in our new universe.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Mother, and neither is Charlotte.” I brush ash from my chest, eyes flicking to the heavens. Perhaps this is what He had in mind all along.
Perhaps He may have foreseen . . .
No, I’m not going to give that Bastard even a shred of my credit.
I am a being of my own making.
“You’d choose to remain here? In your Father’s world?”
I nod. “I have no interest in being a god. Not beyond what He’s made me.”
She looks at me as if she’s never seen me before. Or perhaps, it’s that I’ve changed recently. Love really has made me its fool. “You’d give up your place, your chance to take your Father’s role, for them?” She gestures to the human nun, collapsed among the debris.
As if she alone represents the whole of humanity.
As Charlotte once did for me.
“Of fucking course not.” I shake my head. “I’d give it all up for her. For my wife.”
“For the woman I gifted you?” my Mother practically shrieks. “You’d choose her? Over your own fate? Over me?”
I shrug. “It’s the natural order of things.”
She scoffs. “Now, you sound like your Father.”
I wince.
Perhaps I am a little more like Him than I thought previously.
Though that sparks an entirely new conflict inside me.
I have no fucking idea how to be a father.
I pale slightly.
“Don’t worry, darling. I can fix this. Make it all go away. You’ll be just like your old self.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snarl, surprised at how readily the words come to me. “I do not want to go back to who I was before her, and there is no universe you could possibly create that I wouldn’t burn to the ground in order to get back to her.”
“You . . . love her?” My Mother says it as if it’s something even she thought I was no longer capable of.
“Of course, I do. And fated or not, the outcome would’ve been the same.” Charlotte may have struggled with it, but I’ve known that with complete certainty right from the start.
From the moment I gifted my Father’s redemption to her.
She is mine.
As is he.
Always.
For the rest of our immortal eternities.
“Well, where does that leave me?” Mother pouts, sticking out her lip like the divine child she’s currently being. “In a new universe with no god? With Michael to lead?” She gestures toward my brother, who’s finally stumbled to his feet, his mouth still bleeding.
And I find that I understand my brother’s hatred of me.
Even if I’d gut him as soon as look at him.
If only our Mother weren’t watching.
“You could give the job to someone far more deserving.” I nod toward Seraph.
She stands at the edge of the crowd, her sword in her hand, the whites of her single pair of wings sprayed with red.
I can think of no one better. More willing to make sacrifices for the ones they love. Even when they don’t deserve it.
For a moment, Mother looks as if she might consider it. Ever since our Father stole her power, the concept of a divine feminine universe has always appealed to her.
But then Michael stomps his foot, like the petulant brat he is, ruining the whole goddamn thing. “No,” he snarls. “No, no, no, no, no. That’s not fair, Mother.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not certain fairness has ever had anything to do with it.”
Clearly, we were not raised in the same celestial Heaven.
Fair?
Our family is right fucked.
“Quiet, Michael,” Mother snaps, eager to dismiss him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother retrieve the blade from the floor and lunge for me.
“Lucifer!” Mimi shouts.
I turn, just seconds before the blade reaches me.
A blast that shakes the foundations of the chapel nearly levels everything.
Michael stands, swaying for a moment, staring down at the smoldering hole Mother’s just burned into his chest like he can’t believe that she would ever choose to destroy her own son.
“Does anyone else want to disobey me?” Mother shrieks, glancing about the rubble in her fury.
Michael drops, as dead as if I’d been the one who ended him, while I stand over him, unscathed. “Well, that was anticlimactic.” I pluck the Holy Lance from his still-warm hand, depositing it in the interior pocket of my tux. “You never did learn.”
The number one rule of our dysfunctional divine family.
Don’t anger Mother at all costs.
I return my attention to her. It seems I might’ve broken my own protocol, I’m afraid.
Mother’s eyes narrow. “If you won’t listen to reason, then perhaps your wife will.” She snaps her fingers, and then she’s gone, racing toward Heaven, no doubt.
Not a single tear shed over the son she lost.
My spine runs cold.
And I may no longer be mortal, but I’m still just as powerless.
As she chases after my new wife and her grandbaby.
Into the one realm where I will never be free.