Reignite (Extinguish #2)

J.M. Darhower

Reignite
is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright (c) 2014 by Jessica Mae Darhower

All rights reserved

Published in the United States

Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no
part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any
form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the
prior written permission of the author.

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Epilogue

To my mama, who shines brightly above, a twinkling
star in the vibrant night sky. I miss you more than words can say.

"One
must pay dearly for immortality. One has to die several times while still
alive."
-Friedrich
Nietzsche

Puffs of smoke wisped from the
smoldering blade as the tip of the sword dragged against the marble floor.
Michael strolled through the chamber, his bare feet heavy, his head held low.

He paused when he reached the front, his gaze
slowly lifting toward the massive Victorian throne. It matched the rest of the
room—all burgundy velvet and shimmering gold.

His eyes met his Father's, crystal clear and blue
as day. He seemed at ease, slouched slightly, His eternally youthful face
expressionless. Michael regarded Him with caution, unable to detect any hints
of emotion. It wasn't unusual... He never gave himself away. But today, of all
days, Michael hoped to find something, some indication of what would happen
next.

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but no words
came out. It was pointless to try to explain it, anyway. Their Father saw all
and knew all. He'd watched everything play out.

A moment passed, then another of strained silence,
before He finally spoke. "You did well today."

Michael gaped at Him. "I spared a
miscreant."

"You showed great compassion."

"Satan is still out there..."

"No, he's not. The dragon has been
slayed."

Confusion crept through Michael. How could that be?
He'd healed Serah, sparing her from eternal damnation in a split second
decision fueled by weakness and lingering love, and he had been summoned
straight to their Father the moment it was complete. He'd left Satan sitting in
the middle of the deserted street, still holding Serah in his arms, the two
covered in filth.

Michael hadn't had a chance to slay him.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't, son."

Slowly,
He raised his hand, swiping it through the air. Michael felt a rush of energy
pass through him as his Father oh-so-easily cleaned up the bloody mess. The sun
would shine again, the flowers would bloom, and life would go back to how it
had been before.

Except... now he didn't have Serah in his life.

"I've only ever tried to obey you, Father. I
only wanted to fulfill my destiny."

"Your destiny wasn't to
kill
him,
Michael," He said quietly. "That was never my intention. In fact, I'm
not even certain you could. There's a reason he's the one who originally sat
beside my throne."

Those words cut Michael deep, striking a simmering
human emotion somewhere inside of him.
Jealousy
.

"I just wanted the hatred inside of
him—the pride, the anger, the arrogance—to finally go away."

His Father motioned toward the chair beside the
throne. Michael instinctively dropped his sword, the metal clattering against
the floor, as he wearily stepped over and plopped down. It had been his seat
for the past six thousand years, day after day, night after night, but he still
felt like he was merely keeping it warm for somebody else. He still lived in
Lucifer's shadow, judged by Satan's countless sins.

"And has it?" Michael asked. "Has
his hatred gone away?"

His
Father tilted His head to the side. "I'm not sure."

Michael gaped at Him. Not sure? He was infallible.
He knew everything. How could He not be sure about something like this?

His Father swiped his hand in the air again. This
time the room before them vanished, the deserted street of Chorizon coming into
view. It was so clear, so close, that it was as if nothing but a thin glass
wall separated them.

"Your brother is a peculiar one."

"My brother?"

"Yes. Lucifer."

Brother
. The
word brought Michael nothing but heartache. His brother was dead. Wasn't he?

"Just look at him," He continued.
"He's stripped bare, and it's hard to know what he'll become when he
builds himself back up. But for now he sits there, cradling her in his
arms—so protective, yet utterly defenseless. He knows, when she wakes,
she won't remember him, yet he doesn't leave, because he loves her so
much."

Michael's voice was a whisper. "I loved her,
too."

"You did, son. And a part of her loved you.
But there's a reason those two were given the same name."

Morning
Star
.

"What happens now?" Michael asked,
staring at the projected image. Lucifer sat in total silence, clinging to Serah
as she started to stir. "Should I return him back below? Imprison him once
again?"

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary,"
He said. "Let him be."

Michael was flabbergasted. Let him be?

"Yes,"
his Father said, hearing Michael's thoughts, sensing his doubt. "Let's see
what he does now that he's free again."

The massive forsaken castle was
overrun with evil.

Demons had flocked to it in droves after the apocalypse came to an
abrupt halt, descending upon the last place on Earth where Lucifer had made
himself at home. They considered it base and gathered there, waiting on word
from their leader. He wasn't in Hell, they thought, so where could he be?

The Dark Legion, they called themselves.
Fucking absurd
. They
looked more like a hoard of bumbling idiots, mindless, hideous drones just
sitting around and twiddling their thumbs like the worthless fucks they were.

Luce wasn't sure whether to be flattered or frustrated. The vilest
creatures to walk the Earth seemed to be completely lost without his guidance.
Had Lire been around, he would've had them organized, like a real army, instead
of the frantic scene he encountered when he arrived there.

Too bad Lire met tragedy, going poof on the end of Michael's sword.
Luce almost regretted not protecting the powerful demon more.
Almost
.

It would've saved him
this
headache, that's for certain.

Luce strolled into the old castle. The demons immediately shifted out
of his way, the crowd parting like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea.

He wished he could drown them all, the pathetic excuse for an army.

Luce always demanded they come to him in human form, but most now stood
around with their true nature exposed, their eerie ugliness displayed for all
to see.
How easily they forget themselves
.

"My Lord," a demon said, one of the few that looked like a
mortal, the lone soul brave enough to step into his path and address him.
Brave,
or is it stupid
? The demon bowed his head out of respect. "Welcome
back."

Luce pushed past the creature, not bothering with a response, as he
made his way straight through to the golden throne. He plopped down on the
seat, glaring, eyes taking in the sea of monsters, as he motioned toward the large
double doors. "Get out."

They didn't waver, pushing and shoving to get out of the room, not
wanting to face the wrath they could hear in his voice. The creature that had
addressed him lingered, eyeing Luce curiously, as he took a few hesitant steps
away.

"You," Lucifer said, pointing at him. "What do they call
you?"

"Volac," the demon said.

"You take Lire's post while he's on sabbatical," Luce said.
"Keep the others out of my hair, and inform me when Michael closes
in."

"Yes, My Lord," the demon said, bowing. "Anything you
wish."

Luce waved him away. "Now go."

He sat there, trying to hold everything inside, as he waited for the
castle to clear out, for the creatures to take leave, before exploding. Energy
purged from him in waves, the ground shaking like an earthquake struck, the
sheer force of it enough to blow out what was left of the old stained glass
windows. The glass shattered into millions of tiny fragments, sending them
flying for miles like jagged bullets, slicing and dicing everything they struck.
Blackness overtook the castle, the sky above a mass of dark clouds, lightning
flashing as rain pelted the earth around it, incited by his bitter rage.

Luce's eyes stung.

He once told Serah he could cry, but that he didn't. After all, what
would Satan have to cry about?
Nothing
.

But nobody ever said he was honest.

No matter how hard he fought it back, tears fell from his eyes, the
bitter, salty wetness staining his cheeks, fueling his aggression. This was how
it had to go—she was a sacrifice he had to make, collateral damage in his
quest for retaliation—but this wasn't how it was supposed to end.

He wasn't supposed to lose it all.

She wasn't supposed to mean so
much to him.

Luce destroyed the castle in his rampage, bringing the medieval
structure to its knees, as the other towers toppled around it like dominos.
Built for a king, but it was no match for the King of Hell when he unleashed
the beast. It crumpled, the stone turning to dust, blown away by the
hurricane-force winds his fury stirred up.

He didn't stop there.

The ground around it was annihilated as if ravished by tornado, trees
uprooted, life ruined. He would bring down half the world if it meant
eradicating these feelings. He hopped from place to place, destroying,
desolating, and pummeling towns to nothing before moving on to the next. Over
and over, it went on for hours, one day morphing into the next. He apparated
back to the remote area deep in the middle of Europe around dawn, the same
place his rampage started, where the castle once stood.

Or rather, where the castle
still
stood.

The structure was back in place, tall and sturdy, exactly as it had
been before he demolished it. Even the stained glass was once more in tact. He
glared at it, his tears long ago dried up, his rage waning to exhaustion.

His Father was cleaning up his messes again.

Everything he harmed, everything he
killed
was brought right
back to life, healed and fixed as if he hadn't tainted it. As if he hadn't
touched it.

Everything except for
her
.

The world reset, the slate wiped clean again and again, but Serah was
still gone, lost to him.

"Why?" he screamed, so loud everything around him shook
again. "What do you want from me?"

An orange glow swaddled the land with warmth and brightness as the sun
started to rise. As Luce's voice echoed through the sky, flowers popped up
through the grass around him, blooming as if to send a message. The
pinkish-purple stalks blanketed the land, a peculiar unpleasant odor filling
the air.

Grimacing, Luce reached down and yanked a stalk from the ground.
Cleome
serrulata
. Spider Flower. The last time he saw
one,
Serah had brought it with her to the gate and held it
through the barrier for him. It had been the first time he touched her, the
first time he felt that tingle beneath his skin, the tightening of his chest
that he knew she felt, too.

The memory of that afternoon struck him hard, worming its way through
his skull no matter how hard he tried to forget it, his own words haunting him.
He couldn't escape it.

“Our Father offered more
freedom to it than he did us," he told her, staring at the devious plant
through the gate. "This thing does what it wants with no regard, grows
where flowers aren’t supposed to grow, takes over fields and smothers
everything else that lives there, killing it, and yet it’s hailed as one of His
magnificent creations. A fucking plant is given more leniency than me.”

“A plant doesn’t think,"
she said. "It doesn’t make conscious decisions.”

“And what about mortals?
His beloved humans, His favorite creation.
He absolves them
for everything as long as they ask. Why wasn’t I shown that same mercy? I
wasn’t even given the chance to apologize.”

Serah gaped at him. “Would you
have apologized?”

“No. I did nothing wrong.”

Luce laughed bitterly to himself, clenching his hand into a fist,
crushing the flower before throwing it to the ground.

Message received
.

But if God were waiting for an
apology, he'd be waiting a long fucking time.

Countless colorful
lights bounced off the Red Sea at night, surrounding the city of
Eilat
like a vibrant rainbow. Luce stood along the
shoreline, staring out at the darkness, watching as the streaks of color
rippled and swayed in the waves. The cool water lapped at his bare feet in
regular intervals, receding before rushing back at him, over and over again.

He
savored the sensation as he dug his toes into the wet sand, reminiscing of a
time, not long ago, when the water before him boiled, a sea of bloody sludge
he'd single-handedly brewed.

It had only been a few days time, yet every trace
of his presence—every trace of the Great Battle that had taken place in
the sacred land around him—had already been erased. Removed from
existence, and from the minds of the people who lived and worked along these
shores. They all forgot, already, while Luce remained cursed to remember every
bit of it.

Every sordid detail, every single mistake, every
second of heartache had been embedded in his brain, as crisp and clear as the
moment it happened. The chaos he'd been accustomed to the past six thousand
years—the cries for mercy, the screams of agonizing pain that constantly
tried to force itself out of the confinement within his skull—was replaced
with something else now: a
bsolute silence.

There
was no one, and nothing, to keep him company except for his nagging memories. He
was still plugged into the Angel Network, but they knew he was listening now.
The angels purposely blocked him from their thoughts, silenced their chatter to
keep him in the dark, whispering occasionally in code so he wouldn't
understand.

Blah
blah
fucking blah… nothing but bullshit.

It
never ended.

Luce thought it was what he'd wanted—the
silence, the peace—but what he hadn't anticipated was the loneliness.
Nobody had bothered him, nobody had come for him,
nobody
even seemed to be concerned about him.

Why?

A
loud pop of static electricity rocked the air behind him as he considered that.
Luce tensed, expecting the pungent odor of his brother to assault his senses,
like maybe he'd conjured him up, but instead a peculiar spicy scent wafted
around him.

Whiskey and cigar smoke?

"Well,
I'll be damned," a vaguely familiar voice spoke, low and gritty, with the
hint of a Scottish accent.

Luce
smiled to himself in recognition. "You almost were damned."

"Almost,"
he agreed. "Unlike you, though, I came to my senses."

"No,
unlike me, you lost your fucking nerve."

Hearty
laughter rang out. "Touché, my friend."

Friend.

Luce
turned around, looking away from the glistening water, and glanced at his old
friend for the first time in ages. "Abaddon."

Abaddon
stood tall, dressed in a crisp blue suit, his bright white wings shimmering in
the darkness. There was sharpness about him, his jawline chiseled, his nose
pointy, his eyebrow cocked condescendingly.

His
expression seemed harsh, but amusement danced in his light blue eyes, a stark
contrast to his olive skin and long jet-black hair, pulled back at the nape.

"Luce,"
he said. "That was quite an entrance you made, nearly destroying the
planet when you waltzed in. The guys upstairs had their panties in a twist.
They seemed to think for a moment you might succeed."

"I
bet," Luce said. "But in my defense, well... never mind. Fuck it. I
have no defense."

And no apologies, either.

Abaddon
laughed. "You never did."

Comfortable
silence settled around them for a moment before Luce let out a deep sigh.
"The big
guy send
you?"

Abaddon
shook his head. "Nope. Just had to see you with my own eyes."