Prologue

Puffs of smoke wisped from the smoldering blade as the tip of the sword dragged against the marble floor. Michael strolled through the chamber, his bare feet heavy, his head held low.

He paused when he reached the front, his gaze slowly lifting toward the massive Victorian throne. It matched the rest of the room—all burgundy velvet and shimmering gold.

His eyes met his Father's, crystal clear and blue as day. He seemed at ease, slouched slightly, His eternally youthful face expressionless. Michael regarded Him with caution, unable to detect any hints of emotion. It wasn't unusual... He never gave himself away. But today, of all days, Michael hoped to find something, some indication of what would happen next.

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was pointless to try to explain it, anyway. Their Father saw all and knew all. He'd watched everything play out.

A moment passed, then another of strained silence, before He finally spoke. "You did well today."

Michael gaped at Him. "I spared a miscreant."

"You showed great compassion."

"Satan is still out there..."

"No, he's not. The dragon has been slayed."

Confusion crept through Michael. How could that be? He'd healed Serah, sparing her from eternal damnation in a split second decision fueled by weakness and lingering love, and he had been summoned straight to their Father the moment it was complete. He'd left Satan sitting in the middle of the deserted street, still holding Serah in his arms, the two covered in filth.

Michael hadn't had a chance to slay him.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't, son."

Slowly, He raised his hand, swiping it through the air. Michael felt a rush of energy pass through him as his Father oh-so-easily cleaned up the bloody mess. The sun would shine again, the flowers would bloom, and life would go back to how it had been before.

Except... now he didn't have Serah in his life.

"I've only ever tried to obey you, Father. I only wanted to fulfill my destiny."

"Your destiny wasn't to kill him, Michael," He said quietly. "That was never my intention. In fact, I'm not even certain you could. There's a reason he's the one who originally sat beside my throne."

Those words cut Michael deep, striking a simmering human emotion somewhere inside of him. Jealousy.

"I just wanted the hatred inside of him—the pride, the anger, the arrogance—to finally go away."

His Father motioned toward the chair beside the throne. Michael instinctively dropped his sword, the metal clattering against the floor, as he wearily stepped over and plopped down. It had been his seat for the past six thousand years, day after day, night after night, but he still felt like he was merely keeping it warm for somebody else. He still lived in Lucifer's shadow, judged by Satan's countless sins.

"And has it?" Michael asked. "Has his hatred gone away?"

His Father tilted His head to the side. "I'm not sure."

Michael gaped at Him. Not sure? He was infallible. He knew everything. How could He not be sure about something like this?

His Father swiped his hand in the air again. This time the room before them vanished, the deserted street of Chorizon coming into view. It was so clear, so close, that it was as if nothing but a thin glass wall separated them.

"Your brother is a peculiar one."

"My brother?"

"Yes. Lucifer."

Brother. The word brought Michael nothing but heartache. His brother was dead. Wasn't he?

"Just look at him," He continued. "He's stripped bare, and it's hard to know what he'll become when he builds himself back up. But for now he sits there, cradling her in his arms—so protective, yet utterly defenseless. He knows, when she wakes, she won't remember him, yet he doesn't leave, because he loves her so much."

Michael's voice was a whisper. "I loved her, too."

"You did, son. And a part of her loved you. But there's a reason those two were given the same name."

Morning Star.

"What happens now?" Michael asked, staring at the projected image. Lucifer sat in total silence, clinging to Serah as she started to stir. "Should I return him back below? Imprison him once again?"

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," He said. "Let him be."

Michael was flabbergasted. Let him be?

"Yes," his Father said, hearing Michael's thoughts, sensing his doubt. "Let's see what he does now that he's free again."

One

The massive forsaken castle was overrun with evil.

Demons had flocked to it in droves after the apocalypse came to an abrupt halt, descending upon the last place on Earth where Lucifer had made himself at home. They considered it base and gathered there, waiting on word from their leader. He wasn't in Hell, they thought, so where could he be?

The Dark Legion, they called themselves. Fucking absurd. They looked more like a hoard of bumbling idiots, mindless, hideous drones just sitting around and twiddling their thumbs like the worthless fucks they were.

Luce wasn't sure whether to be flattered or frustrated. The vilest creatures to walk the Earth seemed to be completely lost without his guidance. Had Lire been around, he would've had them organized, like a real army, instead of the frantic scene he encountered when he arrived there.

Too bad Lire met tragedy, going poof on the end of Michael's sword. Luce almost regretted not protecting the powerful demon more. Almost.