Luce cut in. "Samuel chose to fall."

"Even worse." Abaddon scoffed. "Look at what happened to his sister."

Luce tensed at the mention of Serah, the bitter sting running deep.

"Sex is forgivable… expected… between those that are in love, committed to each other, but what happens when the one you love can't love you back?" Abaddon asked. "How is it fair that she lost her Grace for loving someone incapable of love?"

Those words were like a knife in the chest, severing something inside of Luce. He was up off the stool, grabbing the collar of Abaddon's shirt, and yanking him off the bar in the blink of an eye. Abaddon hit the floor hard, the rush of energy from the impact knocking over the stool, the eyes of people in the bar turning to it, startled. They didn't see the guardian pinned to the floor, didn't see the fallen angel on top of him, pressing the blade of the golden Heavenly knife to his old friend's throat.

Abaddon laid still, eyes wide with surprise. Luce's stark black wings had sprouted from his back, casting the bar in shadows, as if the lights had dimmed. The electricity flickered and lightening flashed outside, thunder clapping in the distance, as Luce let go of his rage, unleashing the negative energy that had again started building in him.

He usually purged it in the pit, day after day, torturing the inhabitants of Hell. Up here, it had nowhere to go, simmering inside of him, creeping beneath his skin. His nostrils flared, eyes black as the pit, flickering red as he glared at Abaddon, the blade close to slicing the skin.

He could do it. He could plunge the knife in and yank it back out without so much as a morsel of heartache, putting the Guardian out of his misery. His Grace would explode from him, and Luce could feel the tingle on his skin from anticipation. Some of it would seep into his system as he breathed it in, absorbing it, and he craved it, like an addict needing a hit.

Yes, he could do it.

Maybe he would.

Slowly, a smile curved Abaddon's lips as he relaxed back against the floor. "There's the Lucifer I remember… all the passion, none of the pretense."

Luce stared at him for a moment before pulling the knife away from his neck and returning it to safekeeping. He stood up, his wings disappearing, as Abaddon zapped to his feet. The angel smoothed his clothes as he shook his head, leaping right back up on the bar and stretching out.

"You may not admit it out loud, but I can see it in your eyes," Abaddon said. "The idea of having the world for yourself still intrigues you. You want it… want what you were robbed of."

The woman from earlier came over, picking up the knocked-over stool and sitting down on it, not noticing as she brushed up against Luce. She ordered more shots, Abaddon's attention drifting right back to her, his eyes scanning her body like he were studying a work of art.

"And all I'm saying," Abaddon said, "is that as good as looking can be, someday I'd like to have the chance to touch."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Abaddon waited until the woman walked away again to look at Luce. "Everything."

Two

Six months is the blink of an eye when you're eternal.

Hours turned to days turned to weeks turned to months. Luce barely registered the change in time. Winter became Spring, which somehow bloomed Summer. The white coldness that had taken Serah from him was now long gone as everything again turned lively and green.

Luce wandered, and wallowed, occasionally visiting Abaddon out of sheer curiosity of what plan the Guardian was hatching, but he mostly kept to himself.

Still, nobody bothered him.

He found himself continually being drawn to Chorizon, drawn to the woman who didn't even remember he existed. He spent countless hours, days, weeks, watching Serah as she adjusted to life as a mortal. She was his very own living indication that the world continued on. She was alive, breathing, and thinking, visible to everyone, her heart steadily beating.

Once a second.

Sixty beats a minute.

3,600 times an hour.

Over and over, day after day. In the past six months, her heart had beat over sixteen million times. Luce counted sometimes, listening to it even when he couldn't see her, her pulse a constant reminder that she was real.

That it all had been real.

He became attuned to the rhythm, like it was a secret melody produced just for him. He could tell when she was happy, or sad, could tell when she grew excited, or agitated, all from the sound her heart made.

It had become an obsession, a necessity, like her heart beating was the only thing keeping him from disappearing.

Maybe it was pathetic.

Maybe he was pathetic.

But Lucifer didn't give a shit how it looked. He couldn't have Serah, but he could hold onto this part of her, and nobody was going to take that away.

Not now, anyway.

Not as long as he could help it.

It was the middle of the afternoon one warm summer day. Lucifer was strolling down the sidewalk in Chorizon, hands in his pockets, enjoying the breeze that he'd oddly grown appreciative of being able to feel again. He could easily zap where he was going, but what was the point?

No sense rushing when there was nothing else to do.

He strolled past people jogging, kids playing, dogs walking... the animals were the only ones that ever reacted to him. The cats would hiss, and the dogs would bark, and whatever human happened to be nearby would tell them to shut the fuck up because there was nothing there, nobody around, oblivious to the fact that the one they considered the devil, the ultimate evil, was so close he could hear their words.