Chapter Text
The light was blinding, for it was not only the light of the numerous stars in the universe but also Heaven’s grace itself. Lucifer had quite forgotten how he used to bear it. It burned its path through everything its pearly light touched, the fumes of purification permeating the air. The smell of Divinity. Lucifer, a smile on his face, examined the crystal goblet in his hand. It caught the light and reflected it into a constellation of underwater diamonds.
The first time Chloe had arrived in Silver City, at Amenediel’s invitation, she had been struck mute by its sheer grandiosity. The refreshing gardens, the towering fountains, the bustling streets, resplendent with music and laughter. The grand halls, the imposing columns, the solemn libraries. Each old sight seemed refreshed to Lucifer as he looked at them through his beloved’s eyes. Even he had to admit that Silver City was, after all, paradise. How could he not, in the face of Chloe’s perfect awe? He had asked her, later on, in the ashy darkness of their home, lounging in bed, “What did you like the most?”. A nostalgic smile crept onto her face as she recalled the perfectly blue skies. It had reminded her of her childhood summers, chins sticky with spun sugar and faces baked warm in the bright sunlight. She had turned to him with a curious expression on her face, “But it does not smell like summer. Everything smells almost like…like a gas top”.
Thousands of years, and what a small detail to remember. Lucifer had been hopelessly charmed. His dearest queen, more radiant than the sun itself, had kept her roots firm in humanity and still remembers those little joys and quirks of human life. She was right in a way. That orange flame that catapulted humans into civilisation is as close to the lava flow of divine grace as it can get, honey-sweet and star-bright. It was, after all, not a coincidence that the oldest civilisations chose to burn their dead. It was not a coincidence that he burned before returning divine. It was not a coincidence that Heaven’s most dangerous weapon was the Flaming Sword. He remembered the feel of it in his hand. Lucifer and the blade were made for each other. That day in the Colloseum, under the noonday sun, the blade had zinged with unimaginable thrill when she had felt the touch of The Lightbringer. That spark had shot up his own spine as he swung her down, a butcher and an executioner, severing tendons and muscles. The luminous arc of the blade, burnt into his retinas, and the smell of clean flame and ozone was all he could smell for quite some time as he stood there, delivering his judgement against…..
Lucifer raised the glass to his lips. A fine, smooth vintage warmed his throat. Installing his own bar was one of Lucifer’s first demands when Amenediel had asked him to be The Judge. If he was going to be stuck warming a chair with his exquisite arse, playing will they won't they with souls, he was not going to do it sober—no way in…well…hell. Amenediel had looked at him with a fond smile and promptly ordered their little siblings/cronies to have a bar installed, a perfect replica of his collection in Lux. Of course, the bar was installed with angelic efficiency, and if some bottles went mysteriously missing in shipment, well, Lucifer could turn a blind eye. Not like him to be against some fun, no, sir. Amenediel knows they need it.
A lot had changed in his childhood home, Lucifer mused as he looked around from his vantage point on the balcony. The palace was as grand as ever, white and silver and surgical-tidy. The throne room was just as cavernous, and the balcony he occupied above the room, just as tall and imposing. But there was no mistaking the infant warmth that suffused the place now. Dad expected the place to be run like the military. He had ruled absolutely and parented with little mercy. The first monarch. The Patriarch to end all Patriarchs. Amenediel, however, was none of those things. He had a kind smile, a gentle touch, and a sympathetic ear to everyone. The compassionate leader. The Big Brother who is your shield. Lucifer’s favourite. Oh, what a long way they had travelled. The devil had become the Judge and Hell’s Therapist. The bully had become the God and All-father.
Things were changing rapidly in Silver City, yes. But the shadows ran deep, much too deep. It was, of course, not possible to expect things to be the same, not after what had transpired that fateful day, The Incident. Mi …he had left the place in utter shambles. [Well, not exactly. The place was as orderly as ever.] What he had done was much, much worse than any hell-loop in Lucifer’s opinion. He had turned their childhood home, where angels should have been singing and sparring, gossiping like little Regina Georges, into a regimental camp. There was no happiness when their Big Brother had returned, there was no relief that a messy succession had been resolved. Hell, there was not even grief over losing their parents. No. They had lined up like toy monkeys, keyed up by the master manipulator and sang their jingle on their knees.
“Praise be, Almighty Brother”
Lines, knees, vacant, thousand-yard stares. Their baby siblings, now soldiers. They used to drill like the city was at war. They stood as though awaiting punishment. They slept with their eyes open. They stared at Amenadiel with wariness, and at him with distrust. But some, oh those impudent brats, their anger and disgust a palpable forcefield. A silent accusation always at the tip of their tongue, a mulish belief still burned in their eyes. “It should have been him”.
Lucifer’s eyes burned red at the memory, the glass in his hand splintering into stalactites. They did not want him here, they did not want Amenadiel here. They would rather have him, that back-stabbing, lying excuse of an angel. They would rather live in fear of his wrath than accept the ones who loved them. Those utter imbeciles, they…they… Lucifer heaved a sigh. They… just wanted Dad back. They wanted Mom back. They wanted their endless piety and blind obedience to have meant something, anything. But there was no meaning, no answers, no absolutions, no pats on the back. Dad had left them all alone, and Mom had left without so much as a goodbye. They were gone. For better or worse, there was nothing to be had in yearning for parents who would not, could not, love them as they had craved. Now, their big brother had picked up the slack, and it was to him they all owed their loyalty.
Lucifer looked down at his ruined glass. The wine ran like honey, splattering the floor as the room still echoed with the shatter, a gunshot in the tranquil silence, staining the marble floor blood-red.
Lucifer sighed, such as waste. He turned away from the bright scenery of the Silver City stretched out like a carpet beneath him and walked into the Sky Room. The room was a cave of darkness amidst the unblinking lustre of the Silver City. Lucifer’s wall of liquor took up most of the far wall, its amber contents glinting in the dim light of the ceiling, studded with countless stars. Lucifer walked to the centre of the spacious room, gazing upwards. The ceiling was a bottomless depth of inky blacks and velvety blues, studded with diamond-stars. They winked and burned, their fires turning swatches of the dark into light. Lucifer smiled at them, eyes glittering with a bottomless emotion he had no name for. He had made them, teased gases into form like a sculptor, ignited their cores with passion and watched the first of his creations roar into life. He had arranged them into patterns of whimsy, watched the universe bend towards them, space-time warping into crests and waves. He had laughed in delight as the first clods of dust coagulated around his beings of light, had been shepherded and squeezed into unbreakable iron cores by an equally unbreakable angel.
Lucifer smiled wistfully. He tended to forget how chummy they were in those days. It seemed a lifetime ago. Those bright days. When Samael and Mi… he had ignited the universe at their Father’s orders, as two halves of the Demiurge. They had been so close, so inseparable, and Lucifer had felt he could conquer the world. When had things gone so wrong?
Lucifer walked over to his bar, lost in thought. He poured himself another glass and downed it in one go, its contents burning a path to his gut. The knots eased a little. It does not matter, he thought, setting his empty glass down on the countertop. Whatever was between them, he had strangled it to death. The only way now was forward. Samael and his twin were dead and gone. Now, Lucifer had a meeting to attend.
He spread his snowy wings and took off with a mighty flap. Flight in heaven was simply orgasmic. Smooth as butter owing to the almost absent air resistance, no clouds and no startled pigeons experiencing emotions their brains were not equipped to handle. That was one memorable day. Lucifer had merely wanted to enjoy the sunset and feel the gentle heat of the setting sun on his wings when he snapped them open on his balcony. What he hadn't noticed was a poor, tired pigeon lounging on the railings. He definitely did notice its squeal as it jumped out of the way, into the air, and as pigeons often do, forgot to fly. It did gather its wits and survive, and word must have gotten around. Lucifer could have sworn on Dad that for almost a month, he had become a tourist attraction for the pigeons of the city. He could almost guarantee that he could find one at any given time, sitting on his car, on his balcony, flying above his head, and generally not being as discreet as they thought they were being.
Chloe had laughed at him, utterly indifferent to his concerns about bird poop.
He reached the throne room in no time. The throne room was a cavernous affair, with ceilings that were so high that they disappeared into the mist. The centre of the room was occupied by a round table and a dozen plush chairs. His siblings, the eldest of Mom and Dad’s vast brood, occupied the chair, all dressed in their heavenly finest. The wall itself cast a pearly light on them, their robes and armour gleaming with a satin sheen and their myriad weapons, a vicious slash of light. The Elder Siblings and the Council of Archangels looked towards him as he snapped his wings closed, annoyed.
Well, not on time then. Lucifer plastered the most winsome smile he could muster and sauntered towards the round table. He took the time to take in all of their faces. Dour-looking faces, bored faces, wary faces and amused faces [well, face singular]. Ah, his lovely siblings, all work and no play.
“Hello, siblings! Quite the Camelot you guys have built here, eh?”
An aborted snort and then, silence.
There were days when Lucifer wanted to take his own sweet time plucking his siblings’ wings like so many poultry chickens. As they stared at him with varying degrees of annoyance and blank-faced stupidity, Lucifer himself, temptation-incarnate, was sorely tempted. But he could admit that this was not his best attempt. Thus, he chose to focus on the small victories. Lucifer zeroed in on the one brother with any sense of humour and plopped down next to him. Jophiel looked at Lucifer with a strange look in his eye, half surprised and half disbelieving.
“Come now, Joph, you know I am funny,” Lucifer said, unbuttoning his pristine coat, “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”.
Amenadiel rose from His chair, smiling to Himself and at them all. Dressed in jeans and His signature jumper, He was the very picture of warmth. He had chosen to sit with them at the table instead of looming over them. He discarded the throne [and that sturdy oaken chair beside it], effectively levelling the playfield. That was His first act as God. To open His arms wide and welcome all to his embrace. Lucifer sometimes wondered if this was the same angel feared far and wide as the Fist of God and the Giver of Celestial Spankings. The God in front of him was a far cry from the bully He had been. But the fundamental warmth of spirit that filled Amenediel's eyes could not be faked. Such goodness had to be from the soul.
“Welcome, brothers, it is good to see you, sisters,” Amenediel cast his gaze upon them all. “I hope all is well with you. Ariel? How are those little sylphs you found in the sapphire cloud? Did they survive the fortnight?”
Ariel jumped a foot into the air and looked at Amenediel’s concerned face. “Um…Ye…Yeah”, her voice fizzled out like flat soda. Lucifer had seen less surprise in a deer finding itself in the path of a barreling car. Dear Brother, this was painful to watch. He knew it would take some time for his siblings to get used to the regime change, but really? He was still their big brother, just… juiced up a little. Ok, a lot. But still, their very own brother.
“I am glad to hear it, sister. We all know how much the little beings in your care mean to you,” he looked at her with a kind smile, “ and I am always ready to be of help”. Ariel floundered, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Before she could get a word out, Amenediel, with a last smile, turned his attention to the rest of them, “But now, we do need to discuss something important. So let’s get right into it”. He gestured to the angel sitting at his left, “Sara? You wanna brief us all?”
A tall angel, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, stood up, brushing off the imaginary dust from her gown. Dear Saraqael, so extra. Sometimes Lucifer found it hard to reconcile his prim little sister with the fearsome warrior she was. There was a time the deadly silver of her sword was second only to Amenadiel, and Lucifer bit the inside of his cheek, well…him. To watch her fight was to watch a panther stalk. Lucifer would always be awestruck by the fluid grace with which she moved, half dancing, half flitting. There wasn't a single enemy that had managed to cross her line of protection. When going got tough, Silver City stood safe under her Shield. When things calmed, it thrived under her stewardship as she opened markets and organised festivities. She so loved colour and life.
Lucifer did not understand why she chose to back that Type A buzzkill of all angels. They were too different, too distant. But it did not matter, for she had gambled on him and lost. She had bent the knee to him. There was an exhaustion in her now. Ever since The Incident, beautiful Sara’s proud eyes had taken on a mistrustful wariness.
“Yes, Brother,” she bowed. She turned her attention to the rest of them and clasped her hands in front of her robes, sleeves catching on the pommel of her sword, “I will not waste your time, siblings. The recently stationed sentries report some minor disturbances along the Edge, and I elect that we send out a trusted patrol. See what is really going on”.
Ugh, boring.
The Edge was more dead than a nightclub at noon. Who even bothers about it anymore? Well, yes, there was a time they had all fought back against its creatures with everything they had. But those disgusting globs of Amenadiel-knows-what had been defeated for good.
And oh, what a glorious victory it had been. They had marched, fresh and hot-blooded, into the dark night at the very edge of all that existed with one goal and one goal only: to subdue The Dark. It was a hard battle. Lines and lines of their siblings had fallen against foes that sprang out of that hostile backyard of the universe, fearsome dragons, tentacled monsters, cloying fogs. It seemed like a lost cause for a terrifying moment. But provoked into brutal efficiency by a certain dark-winged angel, they had persisted. Rallying behind him, they had been strangely…fearless. In the end, they had marched back home, the thrill of violence singing in their blood, the Dark tamed. They had discovered newfound powers, feeling like the heirs of a whole new world, undefeated and unbroken. Injuries were reversed like they never existed under their Father’s touch, and victory had been theirs. …He made sure of it.
From then on, all they had seen and heard was radio silence. Sure, he had heard some minor stirrings all the while, the edge did share a border with hell after all, but that is all they were, minor stirrings. The morning wood of the greatest pile of nada in the cosmos.
Jophiel shifted forward, his surfer blue eyes almost translucent in the heavenly light, a stark contrast against his tan skin. His little brother was always a handsome one, Lucifer thought with a smidge of pride [huh, that was a surprise]. Jophiel was the Angel of Beauty for a reason. His hair shone a honey gold, lit from within, a pleasant contrast to his summery skin, always warm to the touch, like he had spent a day on the beach. Beings from all around the universe coveted him, hopelessly reminded of gentle comforts and sensual warmth. Jophiel indulged, but never stayed too long, too fickle. Beauty, after all, is permanent only in Paradise.
“Are you sure, sister? The edge has been dormant for centuries. The threat passed a long time ago.”
“The sentries have no reason to lie, Jophiel.”
“They might. You know who they belonged to.”
There he was again, like a diseased rat. Before Amenadiel rose to Godhood, when He still believed Lucifer would be God, He had stalked up to the Silver City in a blaze of righteous fury. The palaces had been routed, and the angels stood in front of the Fist of God and awaited their judgement. They were given the grace and mercy that Lucifer’s sibling-factions were never given. No hellfire, no imprisonment, no banishments. Amenediel still had some sense, though, along with all that mercy. There were consequences. It took some time, but most of his loyalists were singled out and put on one heavenly time-out: sit at the edge of all creation, stare at the nothingness and think about what they had done. The others, the most dangerous of them all, were cleverly split up. One half patrolled the edge, and the other squatted at the city gates right under Amenediel’s nose. No messages or communication between them. It was a wise choice, but Lucifer guessed that thinking gets boring after a hundred years. He does not blame them for trying to stir things up. Hell, he would do the same.
“Jophiel, brother dear,” a curly head speaks, a carefully blank smile on her face, “now what purpose would that serve?”
Gabriel.
She had been a pain to track down. That little shit had disappeared soon after The Incident. Perhaps she thought she would be punished as he had been. At the first meeting He had held as God, He asked them all to call back Gabriel. They had all missed her, in a way. Her endless chatter, while inane, was certainly entertaining and oddly endearing. The gossip had been a soothing white noise. In her absence, Gabriel had left behind a ringing silence. Eyes brimming with tears, Amenediel had begged to find the only one who could fill it. They needed her pleasant distractions in the early days after The Incident. Azrael, who travelled to all corners of creation to collect deceased souls, had been deputised for the job as the best-suited. She had searched far and wide with no luck. Surprisingly, it was Zadkiel who found Gabriel with nothing but a simple prayer. No one knew how he convinced her to return as their Hornblower, but she did, even if it seemed she had left half her soul behind. The void left behind in her had been filled with a quiet, seething rage.
Jophiel turned towards her, “I do not know Gaby. But their loyalties were elsewhere. Are elsewhere. I am merely pointing that out”.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed for just a second before the mask slid back on, “That may be so, I agree. But to doubt the integrity of the most capable of angels, I just do not think that is wise. You know they are trained better than that”.
“This is not about capabilities, Gabriel. It is just about perception and…”
“Forgive me, brother, but they would never let personal feelings get in the way of duty. To think that you would even suspect,” her voice slithered over them, smooth as silk.
Jophiel’s voice, coloured with disdain, “Your faith is really cute Sis but I think we all have a damn good reason to not trust a word that comes out of…”
“Brother,” Gabriel’s voice took on the sharp edge of warning.
“Enough,” Amenediel’s voice rang out, clear as a bell. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Jophiel’s retort died on his tongue, and Gabriel looked downright mutinous. But she held on to silence. Only that seemed to be her shield these days. Silence and a near suicidal anger.
Amenediel sighed and leaned forward, “Guys, come on. We don’t have to fight. Let us think about this logically, all right? We are all experienced warriors here. We are all good managers, too. I am sure that between us, we can come up with a proper course of action. See, what I think is….”
The conversations continued. Every angel had an opinion to give: to trust or not to trust? Does it matter? Sending out a patrol won’t be too hard, right? Why do we need to keep them all here? So on and so forth, the sun is hot, and mint ice cream is toothpaste. Lucifer was bored out of his mind. He already had a kingdom to run. It was unfair that he was being roped into running another. The detective would be all alone down there now, spending her time with Rory, getting decimated at Monopoly, and here he is listening to ... ah! Zadkiel kissing ass and volunteering his faction. Dull. Drivel.
A loud bang stunned the council into utter silence.
Luniel clutched the frames of the door, wheezing like she had flown light years, her strikingly green wings raised in full display. Lucifer didn't know the angel, she was but a little fledgling during the Rebellion, her wings still full of down. Then he fell and lost any opportunity to bond with the younger of his siblings. But from what he had observed of Luniel, she was a pillar of strength. One of the few that had chosen to back Lucifer’s claim, Luniel had stood firmly by Amendiel’s side during the tumultuous regime change. She had worked tirelessly to fulfil his commands, even when Lucifer could see her heart cracking in her soulful eyes at the mere thought of delivering her siblings to punishment. But she had done what needed to be done, and she had done so with an able hand, gentle yet not permissive, firm yet not harsh. Lucifer admired her tenacity. Lucifer respected her. And Luniel looked terrified.
“Brother,” she gasped out, “come at once”.
She did not wait to see if they followed her before taking off. The throne room was filled with the snap-whoosh of wings as they tore after her. She led them past the lush gardens, the training grounds, now sitting abandoned, to the city square with its fountain of starlight. As they landed on the cobblestones with a thud, Lucifer remembered having been forced to his knees right here many aeons ago. That day was hazy at best, but he could never forget the burn of his wounds and the distinct wellspring of coolness at his back, a sharp contrast to the pain. That beloved fountain of his had been his only solace in all that horror, as if the stars themselves yearned to comfort their creator.
Lucifer looked around at the sentries, standing with their backs towards the fountain, evenly spaced like the numbers on a clock. He could not see their faces, just the back of the gleaming celestial steel. So he looked at their palms instead, clutching their weapons, white-knuckled. Their wings stretched out and pinions sharpened at some unseen threat, trembling like newborn foals.
Fear. he did not have to be…him to taste its sour rot in the air. He turned towards the fountain and saw his siblings peeking inside. Saraqael had covered her mouth, a scream trapped behind her fingers. Zadkiel stared at the pool of starlight, face frozen in abject horror. Jophiel’s face was twisted into something ugly.
Something was deeply wrong.
Lucifer shouldered past them and looked inside, and what he saw froze his blood in his veins.
The pool of starlight cast no glow on their faces, its light leeched off like ink swirling down a drain. As it streaked away into nothingness, in its midst lay an angel. What was once a cherubic face adorned by beautiful almond eyes was staring at Amenadiel blankly, a mask of hardened wax. Noel, Lucifer recognised the angel; he was the one who loved to paint. Tears had carved an acid track down his lovely face, drying into sticky smudges. His spine rocked with tremors, but his rigid limbs did not give a quarter, frozen solid. But that was not the terrifying part.
Noel’s chest, once planes of hard-earned divine muscle, was now a sunken crater, sternum cracked like a quail’s egg. Jagged lines of gold littered the pristine skin, and a black rot spidered from the epicentre. His mind was filled with cotton wool, thoughts moving like molasses. The lines made sense, Lucifer realised after an agonising minute. The gouges formed letters in Elohim, his long forgotten mother tongue.
“The End is coming for you”
A scream ripped the air into shreds.