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“The morning star,” Uriel whispers, brushing the sleeve of his cloak across the marbled surface. The name sits bitterly on his tongue, but he swallows it nevertheless. He peers into his reflection, muddled by gold and silver veins dancing across it, and he falls through.
—
The souls begin to fall, one by one. The soldier, the singer, the student, the storyteller… Uriel ferries each soul away as their mortal lives are stolen. He cradles each one in his arms, watching them glow and pulse with something more ever-present than life. There is discord spreading, something that poisons the water, something that plunges steel into cartilage.
The souls do not understand it, and though they try to find the root of their demise, they continue to live and die. There is something about human souls that is different – something tenacious and stubborn that those who live in the heavens could not conceive in their infinite lifespans. In the midst of it all, the angel of death continues his duty.
—
Uriel asks the soul for assistance. He smiles at Uriel, perfectly willing. He is practiced in these things, the way that an angel is not, even an angel of death. “Something like this is child’s play,” he tells Uriel, so he will trust the soul to take care of things.
The soul is smart, the way that humans are. They innovate, create new solutions to new problems. The heavens could never understand, stuck as they are in their ways of tradition and infinity. They cannot conceive of things that do not already exist. That is, perhaps, one of the reasons why Uriel has decided to take this route.
“Just let me know what you need, and I’ll get it done,” the soul says, eyes twinkling with mirth. He is meticulous in his work, and so terribly human that perhaps it stains Uriel’s own being. The soul dutifully carries out every task Uriel gives him, never complaining, only smiling.
When the last task is given, the smile on his face stretches out far too widely. Uriel doesn’t mind.
—
He smiles so softly at Uriel. Everything about him is bathed in light. Gentle, kind, the crinkle in his eyes when his lips turn upward. But no matter how adoring his smile is, there is always another one turned to someone else. The human girl with whom he finds himself so enamored, the human girl who cares not for his love or existence. She does not love him like Uriel does.
—
Lucifer is unlike anyone who Uriel has met before. Certainly, he’s far different from anyone who lives in the heavens. He is the antithesis of the heavens’ bright purity – he is shaped from smoke and shadow and the irresistible pull of darkness.
He smiles, looking around at the dust that settles around them. The heavens were always quiet, but not like how it is quiet now – eerie in its stillness, bearing the weight of destruction in its air. Lucifer turns to look at Uriel. His eyes are crackling electric blue with energy, golden blood smeared across his cheek.
Uriel’s eyes wander around the wreckage, unsure of what to say in response to the praise. Instead, there’s only an ache in his chest. Everything has been reduced to ashes. A storm is brewing overhead, threatening to wash away what remains. It never used to rain here.
“Are you unhappy?” Lucifer asks, and Uriel can delude himself into believing that it’s out of genuine concern.
Uriel doesn’t know the answer, and he tells Lucifer as much.
“Don’t be upset now, angel.” Lucifer threads his fingers through Uriel’s hair, slow and careful motions. “After all, we need to destroy before we can rebuild the heavens anew.”
—
There are a few things that are needed to resurrect the undying.
First: a suitable number of sacrifices.
Second: the value of another soul traded in turn.
And third: desperation.
—
“Angel,” Lucifer breathes against his neck, a prayer from the lips of God’s abandoned son. His wings are dark, curled around both of them like a haven or a prison. “You’re getting lost again. What are you thinking of?”
Uriel peers up into murky blue eyes, like the sea in the midst of a storm, searching for land. He does not respond, until Lucifer’s fingers graze over his own wings, covered in soot and ash. “Nothing,” Uriel murmurs, as Lucifer removes the bent and broken feathers that scratch and fall out of place.
“Nothing,” Lucifer repeats. “I see.” In this quiet place, far away from heaven and hell alike, there is no one to see them, an angel and a devil curled up in their corner of solitude.
—
Uriel gathers twenty souls in a manor, and watches them tear each other apart.
—
The being that stands in front of him smiles. It is cold, unnatural on his lips and on his expression. “What say you, angel?” Lucifer asks, holding a hand out as though to make a deal. “My simple request is for you to rule the heavens with me. Now, doesn’t that sound nice?”
Uriel doesn’t move from his place, neither coming closer nor retreating away. He shakes his head. “You demons and your ways,” he murmurs. “What makes you believe that I would wish to rule such a place as the heavens?”
“Isn’t it nice to imagine?” Lucifer continues, seeming undaunted by Uriel’s refusal. “Are you so attached to your duty to this place?”
“Attached,” Uriel repeats. He closes his eyes. “No, not really. A place like the heavens…” A cruel place that cares not for her children, that casts away all that is good of it to keep rusted cogs turning. “Rather than ruling it, it would be better to burn it all to the ground.”
“Oh?” Lucifer smiles. “I’m listening.”
—
An angel that is cast out from heaven can never return. An angel that cannot return to heaven will wilt. Their feathers fall, and their souls wither, and they forget.
—
“Are you ready?” the soul asks. He is Uriel’s faithful servant, and by his hand, everything that is needed has been collected, ready for use. There is only one more item that remains to be retrieved. After this, there will be no need for him to suffer longer. “I’ll go ahead with the process as soon as I can.”
Uriel nods, closing his eyes. “Don’t tell Luci,” he tells the soul, who hums in assent. He does not know what will happen after this. Even the angel of death does not know what lies beyond, when what is meant to be eternal withers away to ichor.
His soul, the final sacrifice in exchange for Michael’s.
The blade falls.