Extinguish (4 page)

"I'm here to ask you to stop," she said. "Call an end to the fighting."

"I know why you're here
," he said, his gaze so intense it burned through her. "You’re much prettier than the last one they sent."

"I,
uh. . ." She was taken aback by the compliment. "If you know why I’m here. . ."

"I don’t want to talk about
that."

She stared at him in confusion. "What else is there to talk about?"

"You, angel. Let's talk about you. Tell me why it took you so long to return."

"It's on
ly been a few days. I've been busy."

"Hmmm, but not busy with my brother this time." The corner of his lips curved into a dimpled smirk. "How did that happen, anyway? You're not an Archangel for sure, and you're certainly not one of the Seraphim. I remember every single one of them. But you—I don't remember you
at all
. Based on the fact that you're here, I'd say you're one of the many warrior angels. Correct?"

She nodded slowly.

"So how'd you capture Michael's attention? No offense, but you Powers are a dime a dozen, God’s little soldiers in the Great War against . . . well . . .
me
. How'd an Archangel even realize you existed?"

"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 i
s 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.

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.

Demons were the product of countless years of torture. A person can only endure so much before something irrevocably snaps, infecting them with lethal malice once they reach that breaking point. Every ounce of humanity disintegrates, leaving them nothing but dark, deadly souls.

"On your knees," he ordered, unbuckling his pants, needing some kind of release,
needing to blow off some steam to lessen the pressure.

She obediently stepped forward and dropped to her knees in front of him, eagerly taking him into her mouth. She sucked vigorously, deep throating every inch of his flesh. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the sensations that swarmed his body.

Lust was his favorite sin, without a doubt.

The next day, Serah skipped her usual morning venture to Chorizon and found herself approaching the boundary first thing, her head held high and conviction in her steps. Yesterday’s brief conversation played out in her mind, their exchange meaningless, but to get what she needed from him—a truce, a concession—she recognized she’d have to play his stupid game.

It was ingrained in her, in a sense, a part of her instincts as a Power. She’d been created to battle creatures such as him, to eradicate the vile poison seeping into the universe, and according to the Dominion, it was her destiny to take Satan on. No matter how much he pushed and prodded, how much he poked and stirred, she’d need to retain the upper hand
if she wanted to win.

And the sooner she won, the sooner she could say goodbye to this wretched hellhole forever.

"No spring air today."

He appeared in front of her
so abruptly she startled.
So much for the upper hand
. Her confidence wavered for a second. "No?"

"You smell sort of
like dust. No offense, but I much prefer the sunlight on you."

She eyed him curiously as he stood there, hands in his pockets again, waiting expectantly. "Is that how you know I’m coming? You can smell me?"

He cracked a smile. "No."

"Then how?"

He tapped his temple with his pointer finger. "I’m still wired into the network."

Her eyes widened at his confession. "You hear us?"

"Not nearly as strong as before, but I can still hear most of you. The volume’s just turned down a bit low these days."

"How is that possible?"

He gave a slight, casual shrug. "Just because I was exiled here doesn’t change what I am at the core."

"
But. . ."

"But what? You thought I lost it all when I fell?"

"Well, yes. You don’t look like one of us anymore."

He let out a laugh, the boisterous, cheery sound surprising her so much she took a step back.
"You see what I want you to see—no more, no less. I don’t have much use for the wings down here. There’s no point whipping it out if I’m not going to use it, if you know what I mean."

"But you have them?" she asked
curiously. "You still have your wings?"

He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head slightly, studying her. Minutes of strained silence passed. Serah managed to remain silent along with him, but she couldn’t stop herself from habitually fidgeting under his gaze.

Everything unexpectedly changed with a crack of thunder. The ground shook viciously, cracks forming as if the land was being ripped apart by an earthquake. Instinctively, Serah glanced at her trembling feet before looking back at the gate. A loud gasp tore from her chest and she immediately retreated, the sight of him frightening her.

Massive black wings erupted from his back, partially blending into his surroundings like menacing shadows. Only when lightning hit did she see how truly expansive they were. The biggest wings she’d ever seen flashed before her eyes, glimmering in the light before being swallowed up by the darkness again. His sharp features were somehow sharper, inhumanly beautiful yet frighteningly dark. Red swirled in his black eyes, matching the sky above.

Serah closed her eyes as she looked away from him, stealing a moment to steady herself.

She’d seen him once before, ages ago when he'd been the blue-eyed angel up above. As God’s favorite, he'd spent most of his time near the throne, a place those like Serah weren’t permitted to go. He rarely appeared to anyone, few even knowing what he looked like until his notorious plummet. Serah had been there with her brother Samuel when the wa
r first erupted in a field, not unlike the one Michael often took her to. Lucifer had materialized in the middle of the battle, right in front of his brother.

Samuel had protectively grabbed ahold of her and zapped them out of there within a matter of seconds, shielding her from the brutality of the oncoming fight. Lucifer had been cast into Hell by nightfall, and Michael had taken his place as Prince before the sun had risen on
that part of Earth the next day. Although that battle ended quickly, the war still waged, the fight between good and evil enduring over millennia.

Serah reopened her eyes and glanced back at him, tension receding from her body when she saw the simple human figure standing there, head still cocked to the side, eyebrow still raised.

"I suppose that answers my question," she mumbled.