Demons were the product of countless years of torture. A person can only endure so much before something irrevocably snaps, infecting them with lethal malice once they reach that breaking point. Every ounce of humanity disintegrates, leaving them nothing but dark, deadly souls.

"On your knees," he ordered, unbuckling his pants, needing some kind of release, needing to blow off some steam to lessen the pressure.

She obediently stepped forward and dropped to her knees in front of him, eagerly taking him into her mouth. She sucked vigorously, deep throating every inch of his flesh. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the sensations that swarmed his body.

Lust was his favorite sin, without a doubt.

The next day, Serah skipped her usual morning venture to Chorizon and found herself approaching the boundary first thing, her head held high and conviction in her steps. Yesterday’s brief conversation played out in her mind, their exchange meaningless, but to get what she needed from him—a truce, a concession—she recognized she’d have to play his stupid game.

It was ingrained in her, in a sense, a part of her instincts as a Power. She’d been created to battle creatures such as him, to eradicate the vile poison seeping into the universe, and according to the Dominion, it was her destiny to take Satan on. No matter how much he pushed and prodded, how much he poked and stirred, she’d need to retain the upper hand if she wanted to win.

And the sooner she won, the sooner she could say goodbye to this wretched hellhole forever.

"No spring air today."

He appeared in front of her so abruptly she startled. So much for the upper hand. Her confidence wavered for a second. "No?"

"You smell sort of like dust. No offense, but I much prefer the sunlight on you."

She eyed him curiously as he stood there, hands in his pockets again, waiting expectantly. "Is that how you know I’m coming? You can smell me?"

He cracked a smile. "No."

"Then how?"

He tapped his temple with his pointer finger. "I’m still wired into the network."

Her eyes widened at his confession. "You hear us?"

"Not nearly as strong as before, but I can still hear most of you. The volume’s just turned down a bit low these days."

"How is that possible?"

He gave a slight, casual shrug. "Just because I was exiled here doesn’t change what I am at the core."

"But. . ."

"But what? You thought I lost it all when I fell?"

"Well, yes. You don’t look like one of us anymore."

He let out a laugh, the boisterous, cheery sound surprising her so much she took a step back. "You see what I want you to see—no more, no less. I don’t have much use for the wings down here. There’s no point whipping it out if I’m not going to use it, if you know what I mean."

"But you have them?" she asked curiously. "You still have your wings?"

He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head slightly, studying her. Minutes of strained silence passed. Serah managed to remain silent along with him, but she couldn’t stop herself from habitually fidgeting under his gaze.

Everything unexpectedly changed with a crack of thunder. The ground shook viciously, cracks forming as if the land was being ripped apart by an earthquake. Instinctively, Serah glanced at her trembling feet before looking back at the gate. A loud gasp tore from her chest and she immediately retreated, the sight of him frightening her.

Massive black wings erupted from his back, partially blending into his surroundings like menacing shadows. Only when lightning hit did she see how truly expansive they were. The biggest wings she’d ever seen flashed before her eyes, glimmering in the light before being swallowed up by the darkness again. His sharp features were somehow sharper, inhumanly beautiful yet frighteningly dark. Red swirled in his black eyes, matching the sky above.

Serah closed her eyes as she looked away from him, stealing a moment to steady herself.

She’d seen him once before, ages ago when he'd been the blue-eyed angel up above. As God’s favorite, he'd spent most of his time near the throne, a place those like Serah weren’t permitted to go. He rarely appeared to anyone, few even knowing what he looked like until his notorious plummet. Serah had been there with her brother Samuel when the war first erupted in a field, not unlike the one Michael often took her to. Lucifer had materialized in the middle of the battle, right in front of his brother.

Samuel had protectively grabbed ahold of her and zapped them out of there within a matter of seconds, shielding her from the brutality of the oncoming fight. Lucifer had been cast into Hell by nightfall, and Michael had taken his place as Prince before the sun had risen on that part of Earth the next day. Although that battle ended quickly, the war still waged, the fight between good and evil enduring over millennia.

Serah reopened her eyes and glanced back at him, tension receding from her body when she saw the simple human figure standing there, head still cocked to the side, eyebrow still raised.

"I suppose that answers my question," she mumbled.

He laughed again, softer this time, subdued. "I suppose so."

"I don’t understand, though. Others lost their wings."

"They were stripped of their immortality," he said. "It’s why they all bled as they fell."

Serah blinked rapidly as she processed that. "They became human?"

"In a sense, yes, but I was cast down here in this form. I'm cursed to remember, when everyone else gets to forget."