Extinguish
Page 44
Explosions went off, one after another, the angels fizzing out as their Grace blasted 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 room, 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, regardless. 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."
He sighed, the sound heavy with defeat, but his expression remained unwavering. "I'm not going to tuck my tail and run like a little bitch. That's not how this story ends."
"It ends with you losing."
"I defied destiny once. Who says I can't do it again?" He turned to her, holding out his hand as her teeth started chattering, cold seeping into her bones. The rain was coming down harder, splattering Serah's dress. "Come on. Let’s get out of the rain."
"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 room, 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, regardless. 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."
He sighed, the sound heavy with defeat, but his expression remained unwavering. "I'm not going to tuck my tail and run like a little bitch. That's not how this story ends."
"It ends with you losing."
"I defied destiny once. Who says I can't do it again?" He turned to her, holding out his hand as her teeth started chattering, cold seeping into her bones. The rain was coming down harder, splattering Serah's dress. "Come on. Let’s get out of the rain."
