The mark of Lucifer.

He hadn't seen it—hadn't used it—in a long time, not since it had been traded in for the mark of Satan instead. Each of the Archangels had their own. He just hoped enough of that angel still existed inside of him for it to work. The mark pulsated, the light dim, but it didn't fade from his skin.

Clutching the knife tightly, Lucifer stepped straight into the gate. It resisted, the pain from the mark radiating through his body like a jolt of electricity, frying his insides, but the charms gave way, pushing him through to the other side. It shoved him so hard he lost his balance, nearly falling, as he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

The reapers barely took notice of him once he was outside.

Luce didn't look back, striding away, venturing through the gates and stepping back on Earth. He went straight to Chorizon, straight to the small motel on the outskirts of town. As soon as he arrived, he sensed her there, but she wasn't the only one.

Abaddon.

"Son of a bitch," Luce muttered, looking toward the main lobby of the motel in disbelief. He was actually here. Luce strode that way, pausing outside and glancing through the window with the florescent vacancy sign shining from it.

Serah sat behind a desk, humming to herself, her feet kicked up and a magazine on her lap. Abaddon lurked nearby, stone cold silent as he watched her. He was invisible to the human eye—should be invisible—but there was no telling where Serah was concerned. After all, she'd seen him.

Don.

Luce silently called out to him, the name ringing loud and clear in his mind. Abaddon immediately shifted position, glancing toward the window a second before he vanished from the room. He popped up in the parking lot, a grin lighting up the angel's face as he regarded him. "Luce, good to see you again."

Luce glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

Abaddon raised his eyebrows. "I'm just hanging around."

"With Serah?" Luce asked incredulously. "You thought that was wise? That I'd be okay with that?"

Abaddon raised his hands defensively. "Relax, brother. She couldn’t see me."

"Are you sure about that?" Luce asked.

Abaddon's gaze darted toward the motel with confusion before he looked back at Luce. "Yeah, positive. She had no idea I was there. I didn't show myself to her."

"But you have," Luce said, stepping toward him. "You've shown yourself."

Abaddon laughed lightly, shrugging a shoulder as if it weren't a big deal. "She needed some help. That's what Guardians do, right? Help the humans."

"She's not just a human," Luce said. "She's different, and you know it. Stay away from her."

"Ah, come on… don't be like that."

Luce got right up in his face. "Don't make me tell you again, Don. I don't take well to being disregarded."

Abaddon's posture stiffened, his playful expression fading away. Gone was the old friend Luce once knew, the angel's eyes darkening a shade, the blue deepening to a peculiar purple. It was a color Luce knew well… the next step from there was black and then red, the eyes that had stared back at Luce every time he caught sight of his reflection in a spans of crystal clear water or a sliver of glass down in the pit. They were the eyes of evil, the eyes of someone who had gone over the edge and allowed themselves to be consumed by wrath.

Blue was pure; blue was the color of benevolence.

When sin crept in, taking over every cell in the body, darkening the soul, the world turned bright red.

Abaddon was just a few steps away from the point of no return.

"Careful, Don," Luce warned. "Don't do anything you'll regret."

Abaddon scoffed. "I regret nothing."

"Nothing?" Luce asked. "You don't regret double-crossing me? Turning your back on me? Leaving me to face the consequences alone? What about sinning, huh? You don't regret that anymore?"

Leaning forward, Abaddon narrowed his eyes indignantly, a mocking smirk turning the corner of his lips. "Nothing."

With a loud pop of static, the angel was gone, leaving Luce alone in the parking lot. Before he could react, a loud gasp echoed through the air around him. He quickly turned his head toward the sound, tensing when he saw Serah standing at the glass door, looking out. Her eyes were fixed straight to him. While he couldn't see his reflection in the glass, knowing nobody else would know he was there, he could tell she saw him.

Fuck.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and counted to ten. Although she whispered, the words barely a breath, Luce could hear her. She reopened her eyes, meeting his, and blinked rapidly before doing it again.

And again.

She expected him to disappear.

He probably should've disappeared, vanishing while her eyes were closed so she'd think he wasn't real again, but he couldn't.

Michael was wrong. He wasn't a coward. But he was a pathetic son of a bitch who couldn't bear to keep letting go of her.

Shaking his head, he laughed dryly to himself before turning toward the door. Serah's eyes widened when they broke from his gaze, drifting down to his chest as she gasped again. He glanced down, realizing he wasn't wearing his shirt, and although the wound he'd inflicted on himself had started to slowly heal, blood covered his chest.

The door to the motel thrust open and Serah stepped out into the darkened parking lot.

"Hello?" she called out. "Are you okay?"