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“I can’t. No, I can’t, I’m sorry—” Michael, shivering, drew away at Lucifer’s touch, as if it were burning him. “I don’t want to. I’m sorry. Father—” Lucifer told him not to say that word again. “I’m sorry—” Those apologies were not for Lucifer. “I’m sorry.” “Let me.” ‘Pray to this body, mold you into holy communion, cry your name like psalm.’ “Let me worship you.” Michael was quiet — the sounds of water, moving — before he said, “Get out, Lucifer.”
If Michael saw him now; if Michael saw him now; if Michael saw him. Michael. ‘Stop. Not now. Don’t think of him after what happened. Coward.’ ‘No, Michael is not a coward,’ said one of Lucifer’s faces. ‘He’s a rotten fearful animal.’ ‘Don’t ever say that.’ ‘Doesn’t he want to be with me? To have fun together? To pleasure one another? He never liked me, he never loved me.’ Breath, sharp, and then Lucifer forced a grin, a giggle.
oh man he’s really lost it
I’ll have a purpose and a will, and all you angels, you will all remember. You might no longer love me, but you won’t be able to forget me.”
Lucifer arranged for all his army to sit in a wide circle in the center of the building.
his…. army?
He remembered Rosier, the angel who’d laid in bed with him and wiped his tears and held his hand in his youth, an unimportant angel, an angel whom God had never the mercy to even meet. His friend. He had friends.
King Lucifer. God Lucifer. It sounded right, like Lucifer had become complete, finally.
Michael’s weighted gaze lifted. “You’re everything to me, the stars and the moons, the heat and the cold, the earth and the seeds, the waters and the flowers, but you are not God.”
died. That isn’t him anymore.” “Died?” Rosier repeated it quietly, because he didn’t know what that meant; he had never gone to Earth or eaten a fish or allowed a fruit to rot. He’d only ever known monotony, the reassurance of it. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t want to. I want to speak to Lucifer.” “No. He’ll hurt you.” “Lucifer is my friend.” “He is no one’s friend anymore.”
‘Beats of music, Father. Everything defiled now. I’m saying something. I don’t know what I’m saying. Can you. Return my innocence, open eyes and little smiles. Return my love. My embrace, like the twigs of a nest. I waited for him his touch to save me.’
“Father,” Lucifer said simply. He felt his tunic dampen then stain, the last of the white cloth becoming corrupted by deep redness. “Welcome back.”
“Lucifer,” said the Lord, “how far you have fallen.”
But the sword never made contact; a golden chain shot out from somewhere, grappled his entire body, flung him downwards. And Lucifer, frozen, kicking, screaming — he saw Michael suddenly above him, then grabbing him by the throat and crushing with both hands, one with the other end of the chain wrapped around the palm.
He had six wings, obscuring his details, but they couldn’t hide the droplets that trickled down from between the hoard of feathers. Lucifer felt the tears land upon his own cheeks, as if they were his own.
“You—” Lucifer panted, hissing when the golden chains burned him. “Why are you doing this?” Through his teeth, Michael seethed, “You are not God.”
“We could have had eternity, we could have had forever with one another, we could have counted every ripple in the sea.” Michael cried, still saying stop, stop. “Together — we could have done it. We— We— It could have been us on that Throne. We could have been happy. We could have rebuilt Heaven. We could have had everything—” “Apologize, I’m begging you, Lucifer, stop, I can’t do this— I don’t want to lose you—” “It was for us. It was always for us.” “I can’t— I can’t—”
Instead, Michael brought down his sword into the kiss between Lucifer’s wings and the rest of his body, and there was a shriek in pain that would erupt into the air. “No—” Lucifer’s entire form convulsed with agony. “Michael— Stop— What are you doing? Don’t do this, don’t hurt me—” Michael, reduced to uncontrollable, ravaging cries.
oh my god this is so sad
And, finally, the God stood, and He was the one who cast Lucifer down, taking him like when he was created, delicate and pretty in His palm, eyes blinking up, full of wonder, a little smile. He let him slip, through His fingers. Fall.
The angels wept at their punishment — Michael, between them all, his tears morphing into crystals, slicing down his cheeks and making him bleed.
The demons fashioned him a crown of bones, thorns, and weeds that gave him the illusion of having horns. And they loved him.
