Chapter 23 - The Fall of the Wings

Lucifer didn't wait. Even before I could prepare myself, he moved, as fast as thought, his hands shaping into black blades that cut through the air between us. It wasn't just physical strength. It was something beyond, something primal. The impact of his attack was like the collapse of a star, throwing me backward as the marble of the floor shattered into a thousand fragments.

I rose, spitting blood. My ribs ached, and the air was thick with a suffocating pressure, as if Hell itself were holding its breath to watch. The angel moved beside me, his sword glowing with a light so intense it seemed to push back the surrounding darkness.

"Don't interfere," I said, looking at him. My voice was firm, but my body trembled. Not from fear, but from the anticipation of something inevitable. "This is not your fight."

"You are human, mortal. Against him, you are nothing more than dust," the angel replied, his eyes burning with something between concern and anger. "Let me fight."

I laughed, a sound that reverberated in the void like shattered glass. My smile was sharp, more for myself than for him.

"I'm nothing. And that's exactly what makes me dangerous."

Before the angel could respond, Lucifer advanced again. He was pure energy, pure intent. I didn't move. I didn't try to dodge. Instead, I allowed him to come close, so close that I could feel the suffocating heat of his presence. And then, at the last second, I slid to the side, my hands finding one of the pulsing veins in the ground and yanking it out with a brutal pull.

The vein exploded, spewing thick black liquid that burned the air around us. Lucifer screamed, a mix of rage and surprise, as the fluid hit his wavering form, corroding it like acid. He staggered, and in that moment, the angel struck, his sword descending in a perfect arc.

The impact was a spectacle of light and shadow. The sword met Lucifer in the chest, and for a brief moment, he screamed, not in pain, but in something deeper. A sound of revolt, as if being torn from his very essence. But he didn't fall. With a brutal motion, Lucifer grabbed the angel by the throat and slammed him into the ground.

The impact was devastating. The marble gave way, cracking like thin ice. The angel tried to rise, but Lucifer was on him, his hand gripping the celestial's throat while his other hand rose, transforming into a black blade.

"You, blind servant, think you can challenge me? Think your light can erase what I am?" Lucifer roared, his voice booming like thunder in the abyss.

I watched, my heart beating in a frantic rhythm. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was something closer to cold fury, a realization that this moment was my chance.

I grabbed one of the marble fragments on the ground, now sharp as a blade, and moved. Before Lucifer could deliver the final blow, I leaped at him, driving the shard of marble into his back. The impact made him release the angel, screaming, spinning to face me.

"You dare?" he roared, his voice filled with something that seemed more like a challenge than anger.

"I don't dare anything," I replied, my voice cold. "I simply do."

He attacked again, and this time the world around us seemed to react. The ground cracked, the veins pulsed more violently, and the air was saturated with a heat that seemed to want to consume me. Every movement I made was an effort, every breath a battle. But I kept going.

The fight wasn't beautiful. It wasn't heroic. It was brutal chaos, a spectacle of blood, shadows, and light that threatened to destroy everything around us. The angel rose again, his face serious, his sword back in his hands. He moved beside me, and together we faced the storm that was Lucifer.

But there was no coordination. He fought with light, with purity. I, with nothing but my will and the amorality that guided every strike. While the angel aimed for precise cuts, I searched for any opportunity, using Hell itself against Lucifer. Veins, marble fragments, even the shadows around us — everything was a weapon.

Finally, there was a moment of pause. Lucifer staggered, his form wavering, less solid than before. He looked at us, and in his eyes, there was something that wasn't fear, but respect.

"You really believe you can destroy me?" he said, his voice now quieter, but still carrying an overwhelming presence.

I looked at the angel. He was tired, his light weaker, but his eyes still burned with determination. And then, I looked at Lucifer.

"I don't want to destroy you. I want something worse," I said, my voice dark. "I want to show you that you're not necessary."

Lucifer laughed, a weak sound, but still powerful.

"Then come, mortal. Prove it."

And I went.