Michael and Serah materialized in the middle of a wide-open field, the grass nearly as tall as their knees. Brilliant wildflowers blanketed the isolated land—reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and pinks all mixed in with the vibrant green. It’s Heaven to a woman named Margaret Lou Jackson, who spent all 48 years of her professional life crammed in a small office cubicle. She’d always wanted to travel and see the world, to enjoy nature and experience true peace, but she never got the chance until she passed away.

"It’s so beautiful here," Serah said, taking a few steps through the field, her bare feet sinking into the soft earth.

"Not as beautiful as you." Michael plucked a pink flower from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. "This is the shade I imagine your flesh would be if you could blush."

He approached, sweeping her long, brown hair over her shoulder before tucking the flower behind her ear, the pale pink brightened by her colorless skin. His large hand cupped her cheek. "You're frowning. What troubles you?"

"I just can't believe it," she whispered. "Samuel's everything. He's a great warrior."

"He was," Michael agreed, sweeping his thumb gently across her bottom lip. "You mustn't dwell on that."

"How can I not?" she asked. "I don't understand."

"You're not meant to," Michael said.

"But. . ."

He pulled her closer, disrupting her train of thought as he tried to ease her burden with his embrace. Serah reached up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their lips met, his tongue exploring hers as they kissed softly, sweetly, in no rush. His strong arms wrapped around her, comforting her, as his massive wings slowly started to fold away. Michael was vulnerable when he took his human form, no more powerful than the rest of them. Serah was one of the rare few who had ever seen him so exposed, stripped down to the core, his guard completely crumbled.

Even like this, his wings hidden, his true nature concealed, Michael remained inhumanly beautiful.

Still kissing her, he removed his pristine white suit, leaving him stark naked when he finally pulled from her lips. She studied him, taking in his immaculate body—his perfectly formed muscles and engorged manhood—as she dropped her dress to the ground, joining him.

They made love in the middle of the field, rolling around in the grass, the two angels merging as one. It was sensual, a tingling ball of never-ending energy and light. Here, tucked in the middle of someone’s obscure serenity, the two could borrow a moment alone in a cluttered universe.

He kissed her neck, his tongue lapping her skin as he hovered over her writhing body, slowly pushing deep inside of her. They worked in perfect harmony, her shifting her hips as he drove inside, filling her completely.

This was their Heaven, touching upon the raw nerves buried deeply inside of them. Very few of them found it, very few knew it was even there, but they’d been the lucky ones to stumble upon it together. What they had was pure, untainted, which was why they were allowed to have it.

It went on and on, neither needing to rest, only ending when their time together ran short. Hours had passed, one day trickling into the next in the blink of an eye. Michael stopped his movements, still on top of her, still inside of her, as he stared into her deep, brown eyes. "I love you, Serah."

She ran her hand through his tousled, dirty blond hair and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I love you, too, Michael."

"Be careful down there," he said. "He can be tricky."

"I know he can. And don’t worry—I’ll be fine."

"You will," he agreed, pulling away from her to stand up. He snapped his fingers, his clothes back in place and wings expanding in a sudden whoosh, from vulnerable man to infallible Archangel in a split second. He gazed down at her still lying on the ground and smiled. "After all, you still have God on your side."

Unlike Heaven, Hell is concrete. It thrives nearly 1800 miles beneath your feet, veiled between the hard mantle and the scorching core of Earth. The fiery pit is literal, although it, too, is much more than that. It's made up of every nightmare ever conceived, torturing its inhabitants day after day.

Hell's reserved for only the truly nonredeemable, those who are so evil nothing can be done except lock them away. It's a maximum-security prison for the deranged. Their souls, their energy, are too dangerous to be allowed to mix with the rest, so they've been cast down to the lake of fire, away from innocents.

Unleashing what dwells down there would be catastrophic, which is why it’s guarded and sealed. Still, it happens. They find ways to slip through the cracks, reappearing on Earth and wreaking havoc until they’re sent back. For every one caught, though, another two seem to make it through. It’s an endless bloody cycle of chase that results in casualties every day.

There's only one way to get to Hell. Deep in the Pennsylvania woods in Hellum Township, not far from the small town of Chorizon, is a series of seven gateways that must be passed through. Many have tried to walk down the path, hearing the legends, thinking it’s a joke, but no mortals have ever made it past the fifth gate. The feelings of despair and death, the menacing sensation of evil, is so overwhelming no man dares go on.

If they would, when they reached the seventh, Hell would swallow them whole.

Serah made her way down the narrow, overgrown trail, unceremoniously passing through the first five gates. She came upon an old wrought iron fence jutting into the sky and slipped through it, walking down a gravel path, straight toward an expansive, stone building. The outside was scorched and covered with filth, the shell of an old, torched asylum. The tall walls and massive columns made it look like a long forgotten castle, forsaken by all royalty. Evil radiated from it, hitting her like shock waves, one after another, trying to warn her and force her to turn away.