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Port Breeze is beautiful this time of year. Meadows near intermingling with the towns, spreading endless, the ever-present breeze denying the copses scattered around a moment’s stillness, picture of idyll. Tranquil. Your eyes close almost involuntarily where you’re perched, and you sigh.
Surely not too long now.
A sky-rending shriek is the first to herald the new gospel, and, ahh, there it is—a beast of light rudely jolted awake trying to sink its teeth into the neck of its obverse. Now we’re talking.
Festival? This is the real party, baby. Lights, please!
The ether cycle completely unravels in the absence of its overseer, day and night both losing their hold, descending into madness. You take your cue, the stage is yours now.
Are you watching, Lucifer?
♥
You alight right outside the central temple of Canaan. You are in no rush, you intend to enjoy this thoroughly. It has been a couple millennia too long not to. And if your mind wanders as you make your way deeper in, well… You do have an active imagination.
It’s dead quiet. Your feet follow the faint pull of Lucifer’s presence—fading further by the breath, fingers tracing patterns on unfamiliar pillars, time-worn, but otherwise untouched. You can’t sense Bubs.
Your budding theory is confirmed once you reach a hall not so far from the heart of the structure. There’s Lucifer—Bubs isn’t—pinnacle of creation—your gait isn’t as steady as it was a minute ago—crumpled in a heap—on a bedding of his own feathers!—not one of his swords is unsheathed, really now?—you turn him with the tip of your foot—the same unfailing serenity—Lucifer, Lucifer, perfect even in death…
You’re hyperventilating. You take a step back and shut your eyes. The scene is seared into your memory anyway. Head thrown back, you give yourself a moment to, just, bask. Sweet, sweet dopamine.
When you open your eyes again you scan the rest of the room instead. Almost as bare as the rest of the halls you passed on your way. Again, no Bubs, which… can’t win them all, can you? Not even death could stop Lucifer from being a massive pain. That game is still on then. You understand what went wrong, though. It is the same affliction driving you all, whether acknowledged or not.
Oh, Sandy. Little, innocent Sandy. You haven't been a good boy, have you? What to do with you now?
Barely inches from Lucifer’s unfeeling hand stands a cradle, completely still, blissfully unaware of the epilogue being written on the outside. Of course the Supreme Primarch would rather lay his head on the chopping block than let harm befall his beloved Sandalphon. On that note—don’t mind if I do!
A single crimson blade materialises right above Lucifer’s neck, shimmering, hovers for just one second where you have to acknowledge the sickest, tiniest pull of déjà vu before plunging in a perfect arc through muscle, sinew, bone and the marble flooring below. Sorry about that, Cilius!
There isn’t much point to dragging this on, you’re done with what you came here for. Now all that’s left is taking the body to the small lab you set up—not like Lucifer is going to be needing it in the foreseeable future. Finders keepers! But as you lean to carry away Lucifer and the soon-to-be-Lucilius, your eyes fall on Sandalphon’s cradle—grave? What difference does it make? —and you falter in a flash of inspiration.
Abandoning the body, you reach for Lucifer’s head. A trickle of blood now mars his previously flawless features. Your thumb swipes at it and only achieves smearing the whole cheek with red. Ah, whatever, a dash of colour would do him good anyway. You brush your lips to Lucifer’s in the most chaste mockery of a kiss you can manage. Then, slowly, gently, you press his lips onto the feathers covering Sandalphon’s resting place. Crimson clings onto white.
Sweet dreams, Sandy. Toodles!
You decide to leave Sandalphon be. The entire temple would be reduced to nothing soon enough anyway, and at this point it’s just not worth the trouble. You have better things to do.
The head in the crook of your elbow, the body hanging from your back, you find Avatar’s cage. You are leaving what remains of Lucifer here. He might not be able to enjoy the festivities anymore, but you still have to respect his VIP status. Who deserves front row seats to the apocalypse but the Supreme Primarch?
The lock is an intricate little thing. You place Lucifer on the ground, right where the seals converge. This will take a while. No better time to catch up, really.
You plop down across from Lucifer, Lucilius next to you.
“Long time no see. How’s it hanging?”