Reignite

by J. M. Darhower

  "Oh, but it is."

  The voice was barely a whisper as shadows fell over her, blocking out the small shred of light offered from the motel signs. Her breath hitched, her body shaking as she slowly turned around, coming face to face with the eerie figure. She cried out, terror gripping her insides. His sharp face was twisted angrily, despite his grin, his eyes dark pits of blackness. Blackness cloaked him, dark shadows surrounding him. It was Don, but it was something else now… something unnatural.

  Something not human.

  "Oh God," she cried. "What are you?"

  "You know what I am," he said, "and I think it's time you remember."

  Before she could react, before she could run, or scream, or beg for mercy, pray to God to save her, hands roughly grabbed ahold of her, blackness whisking her away.

  Luce popped up in front of Serah's house.

  It was pitch black out, an antique clock in a neighboring house chiming exactly midnight. The witching hour, they call it, the time where human folklore says witches, and demons, and ghosts are most powerful, where black magic is strongest, where the world is most dangerous.

  What people don't seem to realize, though, is it's always dangerous. It's not just the supernatural world they have to contend with. When you're mortal, life is nothing more than a drawn-out game of Russian Roulette. Every moment is the spin of a gun cylinder, every decision pointing the barrel at your head. Over and over, again and again, you pull the trigger, hoping it won't be your last turn in the game.

  Angels were blessed with knowing which would be the last, which decision would hold the bullet ending it all. Luce could look at every mortal and know when they would take their last breath and what would happen to their souls afterward with just a glance.

  Luce knew their futures, but he didn't know Serah's. He should've been able to tell, when she opened her eyes in the street that day, what would come of her, but there was nothing. There was never anything. Every moment was like her last, until another moment happened, replacing the one before it. There was no life, no death, and no future, just a right now. A right now she'd been living for months. The muzzle of the gun was pressed to her temple but nobody had pulled the trigger yet.

  Sighing, Luce looked away from her quiet house, turning to the neighbor's. He could feel Samuel's essence all over the place. His future was easy to see, a long and happy life before he ascended back to Heaven where his soul originated. Luce wished he could see that for Serah.

  Fuck, he wished he could see anything for her.

  If she was destined for Heaven, he could walk away, leave her in peace with a life he'd forced upon her. If she were destined for Hell, he would fight tooth and nail to save her. But she seemed to just be fated to exist in the moment. What would happen when her heart stopped beating?

  He waved his hand toward the yard around the Barlow house. The grass shriveled, withering back into the ground until it was the same short length as everyone else's. He was watching it when a peculiar sting shot down his spine, a feeling that had consumed him all day.

  It felt like a knife in his back.

  Danger.

  He searched out Serah, straining himself to sense her across town, and froze when he faintly caught the melody of her heartbeat. It thumped feverishly, so hard he could ear its echo like it was banging against her ribcage, desperately trying to escape. The second the sound struck him, another joined it, jarring him as the pop of static ricocheted through the neighborhood, so loud dogs started barking, a nearby car alarm suddenly wailing.

  Luce turned, seeing a dozen angels, some with recognizable faces, a few with weapons but most unarmed. The brazen fuckers were visible, shields completely down. Any mortal could look out the window and see them descending upon the neighborhood. He scanned the crowd for Abaddon, but his old friend was nowhere to be found. Luce sought him out, uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

  Anger gripped him.

  The Guardian was startlingly close to that frantic heartbeat.

  The angels started toward Luce as he reached for his weapon, gripping it tightly. He had the advantage, since they couldn't take his wings, but they could wound him enough to keep him from leaving. Some of them faltered when he pulled his knife out, but one brave Power lunged right for him. They were slow, and sloppy, clearly not the best fighters up above. They weren't sent to stop him, or harm him. They were a deterrent.

  A distraction.

  That son of a bitch.

  Luce swung his knife, stabbing, grabbing, slicing, dicing, and nicking every bit of angel he could reach. They swarmed him on all sides, Grace bathing him when he plunged his knife through an angel's chest and yanked it back out. He scarcely had time to enjoy the sensation, to relish in the surge of energy, when a knife stabbed him in the side. He grunted at the sharp pain, swinging toward his assailant, a pretty little Virtue in a red gown. Pity.

  Luce grabbed her arm, twisting it, pulling the knife straight from her hand. He stabbed her with it, stabbed her straight in the stomach, bringing his own blade down through her back when she hunched over. She exploded in a ball of light, surrounding him, the tingle easing some of the burn from the wound.

  Fuck, he hated how slow he healed.

  "Michael," he shouted, looking up at the night sky as he fended off another attack, taking a nick to the cheek. "Brother, if there's ever a moment for you to try to intervene in my goddamned existence, this would be it."

  He swung around, taking out the winged bastard that had cut him. Another female. He sliced another, swinging around as a second loud pop of static tore through the neighborhood.

  Luce's eyes instantly met a pair of familiar ones.

  Michael.

  "Thank fucking Heavens," Luce groaned.

  "I'm not doing this for you," Michael said right away, swinging his sword, taking two out at once.

  "I know you're not," Luce said. "I'm just glad you're doing it."

  More static rocked the night, more angels appearing. "Reinforcements," Luce muttered. "Beautiful."

  There was a pop of static directly to his left, not but a few feet away. He turned, about to throw his knife right at whoever it was, but hesitated with it raised. Another pretty Virtue, but this one he knew. Hannah.

  "Not you, too, sunshine," he said. "Tell me you're not one of Abaddon's fools."

  She froze, genuinely stunned by the sight, before her face twisted in disgust. "Never."

  "Good to know," Luce said, shoving her out of the way to take out an angel behind her. "So what are you doing here?"

  "Serah," she said, her voice urgent. "She's in trouble."

  Luce nodded, swinging around, throwing his knife halfway across the yard and impaling a burly looking Power right in the forehead. He flicked his wrist and his knife can hurling back, the angel exploding into a cloud of expelled Grace. He turned to Michael, seeing his brother was bogged down. It wasn't a matter of winning or losing. They'd win… no doubt about it. Archangels never lost. It was a matter of battle, of endurance, of taking out the other side.

  Michael looked over at him, nodding. "Go."

  "You sure about that?"

  Just as he said it, another loud pop rocked the street, quaking the ground. More angels appeared, this time Powers sent from above. Luce laughed to himself. His Father had sent help.

  "I am now," Michael said, turning his focus to Hannah. "You know how to use a knife, Virtue?"

  Hannah nodded. "Samuel taught me long ago."

  Michael tossed her a discarded weapon, and she caught it mid-air.

  "Don't hold back," he told her. "They won't."

  Luce didn't hesitate any more, zapping right out of there and to the old motel. The place was unlocked, the door open, lights on, but nobody was around. Her heartbeat was gone, as was Abaddon. He sought them out, zapping from place to place, city to city, and country to country, going everywhere he sensed Abaddon had gone, until finally… finally… he found him.

  The Guardian stood on a ledge at the top of the E
mpire State Building, wings fully expanded, his eyes black as night. He had an arm wrapped around Serah's chest, his free hand clutching a knife. He held it to her throat as she trembled, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. She was barely holding herself together. Abaddon's strong grip was the only thing keeping her upright. "Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear."

  Serah cried loudly, letting out a horrified scream when Luce manifested in front of her. He froze in spot, a few feet away as his eyes met hers. He could feel her fear, the sensation so overwhelming that it nearly crippled him. He knew what she saw when she looked his way. His massive wings were fully expanded, the knife gripped firmly in his hand. Blood trickled down his cheek as more coated his ripped shirt on his side.

  "I'm glad you could make it," Abaddon said, his voice calm. "Do me a favor and toss aside that knife, will you?"

  Luce hesitated before dropping his knife. It clattered against the concrete of the ledge, landing between them. "What do you think you're doing, Don?"

  "What I have to," Abaddon answered right away. "I didn't want it to come to this, but you gave me no choice."

  "You've always had a choice," Luce said. "You chose to join me long ago, and then you chose to abandon me when it suited you. You chose to stand around while I was punished for your indiscretions. So don't talk to me about choices, because you have them, and you've made them. But now, old friend, you've severely limited mine."

  A slow smile spread across his lips. "That's where you're wrong, Lucifer."

  The second Abaddon said his name, he closed his eyes, hearing the gasp escape Serah's lips, a surprising exhale. "Lucifer?"

  Abaddon laughed, looking genuinely amused when Luce opened his eyes again. Serah was staring at him, stunned. He could see she had questions, questions Abaddon, too, sensed.

  "Aw, you didn't know, did you?" Abaddon asked, the words full of forced compassion that didn't at all match the amusement that danced in his eyes. "You didn't know your lover was the one-and-only Lucifer. The elusive Prince of Darkness. Here he let you think he was some storybook Prince Charming when really he's the King of Hell."

  Serah's lips parted, the next word barely a breath, but it held so much power it nearly knocked Lucifer off the ledge. "Satan."

  Satan.

  He hated that fucking name.

  Abaddon tugged on Serah roughly, yanking on the fabric of her shirt with the hand snaked around her, exposing part of her chest. His fingertips traced her scar. His words were directed at Serah, but Luce knew they were meant for him, that they were meant to wound him in a way no knife would.

  "Who do you think gave you this scar?" Abaddon asked as he pressed his palm against her chest. "Who do you think took your memories away?"

  "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No."

  Luce couldn't meet her eyes. He knew she'd see the truth in his.

  "You see, Serah," Abaddon said, "you were once like us. Once, not long ago, you had wings. But Lucifer here manipulated you. He robbed you of everything, left you bleeding in the street. And he did it all with that knife right there, the one laying in front of you on the concrete. You were innocent, until the notorious Lucifer tore you to pieces, one whispered lie at a time."

  "Luce," she called out, her voice quivering. "Please tell me that's not true. Tell me this isn't real. Tell me something… please… tell me I'm crazy."

  Luce met her eyes, drinking in the heartbreak those words had caused. That heart, a heart he savored every time it beat, was shattering over him. "You're not crazy. You've never been crazy."

  "No," she whispered again. "Don't tell me that. Please. Don't… don't tell me this is real."

  "I am who he says I am," Luce said. "I did what he says I did."

  "No." She nearly collapsed as sobs tore through her. "Don't say that!"

  "It's the truth," Luce continued, trying to ignore the ache her words caused. "I took half of the angels down with me when I fell, and I took you, too. I took you cruelly. You trusted me. You believed in me. You thought everyone was wrong when they called me Satan, but I proved them right by making you fall."

  "You're crazy," she cried.

  "No, I'm just a sinner," Luce said. "And a liar. And a snake. I ruled Hell for six thousand years until you helped me escape."

  She could do nothing but stare at him. Devastation marked her features. Defeat slumped her shoulders. Her tears steadily streamed down her cheeks, but he could do nothing to dry them when he'd been the one to cause them in the first place.

  "I'm a lot of bad things, Serah, but that's not all I am, nor is that why we're here," Luce continued. "You see, there's something else I am, something Abaddon knows."

  "What?" she asked. "What are you?"

  "I'm in love with you," Luce said quietly. "He found my weakness."

  Serah never had a chance to respond. Before the last syllable was from his lips, a painful gasp echoed through air as the knife Abaddon held sliced through Serah's throat. Blood streamed from the wound as he let go of her, shoving her right over the edge.

  Make your choice, brother, and make it quick.

  Abaddon's words rang through Luce's mind as he hesitated for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a section, barely a blip, but it was almost too long. He dove off the side of the building, soaring as fast as he could, snatching a hold of Serah just a second before she hit the ground.

  Screams rang out all around, from people on the ground, the entire block seeming to come to a standstill to watch. Luce yanked her body into his arms, leaving mass hysteria in his wake as he apparated, vanishing into thin air.

  He made his choice.

  He chose Serah.

  He left Abaddon alive on the ledge.

  He didn't have another second to spare.

  Luce popped back up in Chorizon, right in front of Serah's home. The chaos had dwindled, the rebel angels defeated thanks to Michael. The moment Luce appeared, Hannah rushed toward him, frantic, but his eyes were solely on his brother.

  "Save her," he said. "I beg of you, Michael."

  Michael stared at Luce, gaze drifting to Serah, limp and bleeding out in his arms. His eyes met Luce's once more. Seconds passed, long torturous seconds that were accented by Serah's fragile heartbeats.

  He was squandering those seconds, wasting too much fucking time.

  "Michael," he yelled. "Please!"

  Michael looked away, and Luce knew it then. He wasn't going to do it. He wouldn't help him.

  Not again.

  Luce couldn't be surprised. He knew how it went. Serah was a mere mortal. Sooner or later, she'd die anyway. Since that day in the garden, they'd watched over a hundred billion perish.

  She was just one life.

  But she was important to him.

  Lucifer felt drained, the energy seeping from his body as he clung to Serah. Dropping to his knees, he sat in the yard, staring down at her. Devastation rocked him, the one feeling that he'd never grow used to nagging at him. Remorse.

  "I'll find Abaddon," Michael said, his voice strong and steady. No sympathy. "He'll pay for what he has done."

  In an instant, Michael was gone, all hope whisked away with him. The other lingering angels slowly followed, leaving Lucifer alone.

  Alone.

  So fucking alone.

  He still wasn't used to that.

  "You're not alone."

  The unexpected declaration tingled Luce's spine as it rang out just behind him. Luce closed his eyes as that voice washed through him.

  When he opened his eyes again, He stood in front of him. His Father, in all His glory, stood on Earth's soil again. It had been a long time since He last ventured down here. A very long time.

  "Since that afternoon in the Garden," He said, adding to Luce's thoughts. "That was the last time I came."

  "Why are you here now?" Luce asked, a bitter edge to his voice he couldn't restrain. It came from a place deep down inside of him. "I'm not in the mood for an 'I told you so'. I'd rather be alone with her, to have a mom
ent... just one more moment... before they take her."

  A reaper hovered above. Luce hadn't looked up, probably couldn't even see it in the darkness if he did, but he could sense it lurking. He didn't want to consider what that meant at the moment. Reapers only delivered souls one place.

  She didn't deserve that.

  His Father looked up at the sky, staring for a moment before glancing back at Lucifer. "It's not here for her."

  Lucifer met his eyes. "It's not?"

  He shook His head. "A lot more angels fell tonight, Lucifer."

  "So she's not..." Luce glanced back down at Serah. So she's not going to Hell...

  "No, she's not."

  Lucifer closed his eyes, relief rushing through him as he absorbed that information. "I wasn't sure. I can't see her future. I've never been able to."

  "I know," He said. "Nobody can. I've kept it to myself."

  "Why?"

  It was a question asked of Him often, but one He usually never answered. This time, though, He didn't ignore it. He offered Luce what he craved—the truth. "You two are so entwined it's difficult to distinguish where you end and she begins. Her future was never set because you hadn't decided yours. I gave you what you wanted, Lucifer. I allowed you free will. Every choice you made altered what happened to her."

  Free will. It didn't quite feel as freeing as Luce thought it would.

  "That's the thing about free will," He continued, once more reading Luce's thoughts. "Decisions have consequences. They don't just impact you, but everyone around you also. Every choice you made somehow altered what happened to her."

  "So I did this," Luce said. "I destroyed her again."

  His Father stepped closer. "She's still breathing."

  "For now."

  "Yes, for now," He agreed. "So you have a decision to make, son, and it's not going to be easy."

  "What is it?"

  "Whether or not you want to keep your wings."

  Lucifer stared at Him.

  "You can keep them," He explained, "and I'll welcome you back home."

  "And what? If I give them up, I get dragged back to the pit?"