The moment the demon uttered those words, the torches lining the throne room flickered violently. The light in his trembling hands pulsed, casting eerie shadows across the polished obsidian floor. Sariel barely had time to process what she was seeing before Lucifer moved.

  With a mere flick of his wrist, the demon was lifted off the ground, his body jerking as unseen forces seized him. His blade clattered onto the floor, its glow already fading.

  Lucifer regarded him with cold amusement. “They?”

  The demon struggled, his eyes wild with pain and something else—desperation. “You… You should’ve killed them when you had the chance.”

  Lucifer tilted his head. “And which ‘they’ would this be?”

  The demon coughed, black ichor spilling from his lips. “The ones you cast aside.”

  The torches surged, their crimson flames momentarily burning white. The air shifted.

  Something was coming.

  Sariel felt it before she saw it—a disturbance in the very foundation of Hell. The walls of the throne room trembled, the polished obsidian floor cracking under unseen pressure.

  Lucifer exhaled, long and slow. “Ah.”

  His fingers curled. The demon let out a strangled gasp as his entire body compressed—crushed inward by invisible force. His bones snapped, his skin ruptured, and with a sickening pop, he was gone. Nothing remained but a smear of blackened ichor on the floor.

  The blade, however, remained.

  Its glow had faded, but the presence it carried still lingered. It was not of Heaven, yet it did not belong to Hell either. Something else had forged it.

  Lucifer turned his gaze toward Abaddon. “Ready the hounds.”

  Abaddon’s lips curled into a grin. “With pleasure.”

  He turned, vanishing in a burst of flame.

  Sariel barely had time to process before the ground shook violently. A deep, echoing boom resounded from beyond the throne room’s doors, followed by a second, then a third.

  Azrael’s grip on his scythe tightened. “They’ve breached the gates.”

  Lucifer’s expression did not change. If anything, his amusement deepened. “Let them come.”

  Then the doors exploded.

  The Ashen Ones

  The blast sent shards of obsidian flying in every direction. The sheer force of it sent Sariel stumbling back, her wings flaring for balance. Through the smoke and dust, figures emerged.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Not angels.

  Not demons.

  They were something in between.

  Their forms were gaunt, their skin a sickly grayish hue, their eyes hollow yet burning with unnatural light. They moved with eerie precision, clad in tattered armor that bore the remnants of celestial engravings long since corrupted. Their weapons—twisted, fractured things—glowed with the same fading light as the fallen demon’s blade.

  Lucifer’s eyes flickered with recognition. “You,” he murmured, almost fondly.

  One of the figures stepped forward. Unlike the others, he was taller, his frame wrapped in a ragged cloak of darkened feathers. His face was lined with scars, his once-ethereal wings reduced to skeletal remnants. He fixed his gaze on Lucifer, his voice hollow yet unwavering.

  “You should have finished what you started.”

  Lucifer chuckled. “And deny myself the pleasure of watching you fail on your own?”

  The figure did not react. “We have come to reclaim what was stolen.”

  Lucifer gestured lazily. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  The figure’s eyes locked onto Sariel.

  She stiffened.

  Lucifer’s smile vanished.

  The throne room cracked as his power surged.

  “I see,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You think she belongs to you.”

  The figure did not flinch. “She belongs to no one.”

  Lucifer’s laughter was sharp. “And yet, you storm my domain to take her?”

  A low, guttural sound rumbled from the gathered warriors—somewhere between a snarl and a chant.

  Lucifer’s amusement faded completely.

  He extended a hand. “Sariel.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  “You have a choice,” Lucifer murmured. “Stand with me—” His eyes darkened, locking onto the leader of the ashen warriors. “—or be taken by them.”

  The leader did not move, his expression unreadable. “She is already lost to you.”

  Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “You overestimate your standing.”

  The warrior lifted his weapon. “And you underestimate our resolve.”

  Then, all at once—

  They attacked.

  The Battle for the Fallen

  Chaos erupted.

  The ashen warriors surged forward, their movements unnervingly precise. Abaddon reappeared in a burst of hellfire, his great sword carving through the air as he met them head-on. Azrael moved like a specter, his scythe cutting down the first of their ranks in a single, fluid motion.

  But the warriors did not falter.

  They fought like wraiths—relentless, unyielding, undeterred by pain or death. Their weapons clashed against hell-forged steel, sending sparks of corrupted light into the air.

  Lucifer remained still. Watching. Calculating.

  Then, finally, he turned to Sariel.

  “You can run,” he mused. “But you won’t get far.”

  Sariel clenched her teeth.

  She should run.

  She should take this opportunity.

  And yet—

  Her feet remained planted.

  Lucifer chuckled, stepping closer. “Ah. You’re starting to understand, aren’t you?”

  A blade narrowly missed her shoulder as one of the ashen warriors lunged toward her. She barely twisted in time, her instincts taking over as she struck out. Her palm connected with his chest, sending him stumbling back.

  The warrior recovered instantly, his hollow eyes locking onto her once more.

  Sariel exhaled. This is not my fight.

  And yet, she was in it.

  There was no way out.

  A figure lunged toward her—another of the ashen ones. She barely dodged in time, her wings snapping open as she maneuvered through the chaos.

  Lucifer smirked.

  “Go on, then,” he murmured. “See if they truly offer you freedom.”

  Sariel gritted her teeth.

  She turned—faced the warriors.

  The leader reached for her.

  For a split second, she hesitated.

  Then, a cold hand closed around her wrist.

  She barely had time to react before she was dragged backward.

  Straight into Lucifer’s grasp.

  His grip was firm—not painful, but unbreakable. The moment their skin touched, a pulse of something shot through her.

  Power. Binding. Ownership.

  Sariel gasped.

  Lucifer leaned in, his voice a whisper.

  “I told you.”

  Then—

  Pain.

  Something pierced her chest—searing, consuming.

  She gasped, her vision blurring as an unnatural force spread through her veins.

  Lucifer’s grip

  tightened.

  “You were never going to escape.”

  Darkness surged.

  And everything went black.