Extinguish (21 page)

The demon shook his head. "No, My Lord."

"Then why are you?" Luce asked. "Is a mere mortal king braver than we?"

"Of course not."

"Then get out of my face and do as I say," he seethed. "I'm not asking you to win the war. I'm only asking you to play your part!"

Luce stood up when the demon scampered from the room. He disregarded the next one with the wave of a hand as he strolled toward the exit, slipping the knife in his pocket.

"Where are you going, your majesty?"

"Pennsylvania."

"So close to home? It's dangerous there. They'll be looking for you."

"I'm not a coward," he barked. "I'm not going to sit here with you idiots and wait for them to come. Since you’re worthless on defense, the least I can have is a strong offense."

It was easy to track down Serah this time, still hunkered down in the desolate town of Chorizon. She sat in the corner of the empty community center, knees pulled up to h
er chest, her head down. Luce approached quietly, seeing her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling as she breathed steadily.

She didn't move from her spot, didn't react to his arrival. He stood in front of her, brow furrowed. Was she asleep? Was she
that
far gone?

"I can smell you," she whispered.

"My, my . . . how the tables have turned."

She opened her eyes and peered up at him. Her skin was flushed, her eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying. She lo
oked more human today.

Luce
wasn't sure what to say. He'd apologized, his regret genuine. He didn't regret doing it—he regretted he'd had to. She was an unfortunate casualty of war, a means to an end. It simply couldn't be helped. She was his way out of the pit. It happened all the time, innocents dying. He'd watched many angels fall, some he'd even considered friends at one time or another, but the thought of this one bleeding to death at his feet stirred up something inside of him: something vengeful, something dangerous. Something he barely kept contained.

"Dance with me," he said, holding his hand out.

Serah stared at it. "There's no music."

He snapped his fingers, his hand still extended. The room was instantly filled with a soft, classical song. "
Now
dance with me."

"Why?"

"Because there's music," he said. "Why would there be music if we weren't supposed to dance?"

She didn't answer his absurd question, but she gave him her hand and let him pull her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her, swaying them to the music as she rested her head against his chest.

"I don't want your pity," she said. "I don't need you to come around and babysit me."

Despite himself, Luce
laughed at that. Even as she plummeted from Grace, the fire inside of her burned strong, forever feisty.

"I don't pity you anymore than you pity me," he said. "Frankly, I'm just bored, and you’re half-decent company."

"Thanks," she grumbled. "The apocalypse isn't entertaining enough for you?"

"Nah." He rested his head on top of hers. "It's kind of disappointing so far. I’ve waited for this moment for ages, and there hasn’t so much as been a surprise party in my honor. No one seems interested in celebrating my arrival. I guess nobody missed me up here."

She pulled back slightly to look at him. "Hard to believe, being as you're the life of the party and all."

He smirked. "They
just don't know what they're missing."

Before she could respond, the room started shaking, the music cutting off in a roar of wind.

"Or . . . maybe they do," Luce muttered, spinning around quickly. He shoved Serah behind him, shielding her as half a dozen angels materialized in the room. He scanned them, assessing them quickly. All Powers, some of Michael’s best warriors based on their size. "Ah, you must be the welcoming committee."

"Stand down, Satan!" one of them demanded. "Retreat back to your cage!"

"Now why would I do such a thing?" Luce asked, raising his eyebrows. "I just got here."

"You’re not welcome on Earth."

"So you’re the
non-
welcoming committee then," he said casually. "Neighborhood watch, perhaps?"

"We’re Angels of the Lord and—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Luce said, cutting them off. "Sorry, gentlemen, but it’s going to take much more than a few measly Powers to lock me back up. So spare yourselves the trouble and run along home before I have to hurt you."

"We’re not afraid of you, serpent."

"I’m not going to warn you again. Zap back out of here, or I’ll be forced to end you in front of this gorgeous being." Luce motioned behind him at Serah as she peeked her head around, fear in her eyes as she surveyed the angels. "And I’d rather her not see."

"We command you leave this place!
You and the traitor!"

Lucifer slowly shook his head
, rage hardening his face. "You’re the only ones who will be vacating the premises today."

In the blink of an eye, Luce
reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold knife. With the flick of a wrist, it soared across the room, striking one of the angels between the eyes before any of them had time to react. The angel flickered, his form shifting rapidly between planes like his wiring was on the fritz, a signal struggling for reception.

"Shield your eyes, angel," he hollered, ducking as the Power exploded into
a burst of fiery light. Luce darted across the room, snatching his knife before it hit the floor, and swung around, slitting another angel’s throat. The serrated blade tore at his skin as Luce plunged it deep, nearly decapitating him.

Another burst of light vibrated the room as the la
st four angels sprang at Luce. He fought off their attack, violently thrashing around and slicing skin, striking them wherever he could reach. One of the angels pulled out a small sword and swung it at Luce, but he wasn’t fast enough. Luce ducked, thrusting his knife into the thigh of another angel, using the distraction to grab the hilt of the Heavenly sword. He twisted the angel’s arm around and thrust the blade into his stomach as he again grabbed his knife with his free hand, stabbing another in the chest.

Explosions went off, one after another, the angels fizzing out as their Grace bl
asted from their chests. Luce stood up straight, the sword in one hand, his knife in the other, and turned to the last angel left. The Power stood still, eyes narrowed, making no move to attack.

"Pick your poison," Luce
said, holding up the weapons. "Shall you go out by your brother’s sword or by your enemy’s knife?"

No answer came. The angel immediately vanished from the r
oom, escaping unscathed. Luce shook his head as he screamed into the empty space in front of him, "That wasn’t one of the choices, you fucking coward!"

He dropped the sword as he turned around, slipping his knife in his pocket as he sought out Serah. She hunkered down along the back wall, gaping at him with shock, but the fear was gone in her eyes. "You killed them."

"Yes," he said. "I know they’re your family and all that, but it was either them or me, so I plead self-defense . . . or insanity. Either works for me, I think."

"I know," she said. "But you killed them—
all
of them. Alone."

He crouched down in front of her. "I’ve told you before—you Powers are a dime a dozen. You guys are a force to be reckoned with against my minions, you can slaughter thousands of demons without so much as
even breaking a sweat, but you’re no match for me. Only one is."

Michael
.

"Angels don’t sweat," she reminded him.

He reached over, cupping her warm cheek, feeling the dampness on her clammy skin. "You’re sweating."

"Like I said," she whispered, "angels don’t sweat."

He sighed. "Who’s to say what angels can or can’t do, anyway? It is like saying the wicked can’t feel remorse, or virtuous people don’t murder."

"They don’t."

"Michael does."

"Michael only kills the wicked."

"Nevertheless, he kills."

Her lips parted like she’d planned to argue her point, but no words came out.

"It’s not black and white," he said. "If it were, I wouldn’t be here right now, and neither would you. We’re the gray area, angel. We’re the pieces of the puzzle they don’t know what to do with, the pieces that don’t quite fit into their perfect little picture, so they choose to discard us, to keep their image untainted, but we can only be ignored for so long. Because eventually, whether they want to admit it or not, all of their black and white will bleed together, anyway."

"Stop this," Serah pleaded for what had to have been the twentieth time, sitting on the middle swing of the deserted playground, the bottom of her filthy dress brushing the ground. Six weeks had passed since she'd started her task, and she was no closer to succeeding as she'd been at the beginning. "Please."

Lucifer stepped forward as Serah shuddered violently. "I can't."

"You have to," she insisted. "It's gone too far."

The red and black sky churned, acidic raindrops falling on the two of them.

"Lucifer, they're going to—"

They’re going to destroy you.
Why did that thought squeeze her chest, her heart lodged in a vise grip?

He cut her off. "I know."

"You can't win."

"I know that, too."

"Then why?" she asked. "Why are you doing this?"

He took one more step toward her, his hands clasping the chains of her swing. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. After a moment, he let out a deep sigh and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly.

"I have to try," he murmured, "for you."

"Don't," she implored. "Enough already. Please."

Lucifer frowned as he pulled away from her. "You don't understand what you're asking. You want me to just go back to my cage? Then what? Huh?"

"Then things go back to normal."

Even Serah didn't believe those words as she spoke them, and Lucifer called her out on it. "Bullshit. What do you think is going to happen to you? Michael is going to want to punish someone. If I retreat, guess who's going to get the full force of his rage?
You
, angel. No one but you."

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm going to be punished, regar
dless. I'll die either way."

He narrowed his eyes. "How can you be so casual about that?"

"Death is nothing to fear," she said. "It's not the end. It's just another beginning."

"You're infuriating," he groaned. "Completely maddening."

Despite the situation, Serah smiled at that. She remembered a time not long ago she'd said those same things about him. What had changed?

"I think you're my apple," she said quietly. "I don't regret tasting you. I can't. You're not perfect by any means—there are sweeter out there, and you have a few rotten spots—but I'd never have found a juicer apple anywhere in the world."