Gratitude

In the highest spheres of Heaven, where light took many forms and music more beautiful than any other sound existed, something unprecedented rippled through the celestial planes.

Seraphim paused in their eternal songs of praise, their wings trembling as they sensed a disturbance in Creation.

Cherubim, guardians of divine knowledge, turned their many-faced visages toward Earth with expressions of confusion and wonder.

In the Hall of Records, where the Angel Raziel maintained the chronicles of all Creation, pages began turning of their own accord, new text appearing in golden script that hadn't been seen since the dawn of time.

"Do you feel it?" whispered a young angel to her companion, both of them stationed at the Western Gate. "Something is... changing."

"A new presence," her companion agreed, voice hushed with awe. "Not like us, yet... familiar."

Throughout the Silver City, angels gathered in clusters, voices raised in confused murmurs. The sensation was unmistakable - the birth of a celestial being. But this was impossible. No new angels had been created since the Beginning, since before humanity walked the Earth.

In the Chamber of Thrones, the archangel Raphael rose suddenly, his eyes wide. The power signature was unmistakable - creation energy, the same fundamental force that had shaped the first angels, but with a different resonance, a different... signature.

"Is Father creating again?" asked Remiel, appearing at her brother's side in a flutter of grey wings.

Raphael's expression was troubled. "This is not Father's work. This is... something else."

"The Lightbringer," Metatron said, materializing before them. The Voice of God's normally impassive face showed genuine shock. "He has done what was thought impossible. He has created a new angel."

The celestial spheres trembled with the utterance of these words.

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Deep in the pits of Hell, the reaction was far more chaotic.

Lesser demons shrieked and fled into the sulfurous depths, sensing a power that burned their corrupted essence.

Tortured souls felt a momentary reprieve as their tormentors abandoned their posts, drawn by the strange new energy pulsing through the infernal planes.

In the grand halls where demon lords held court, panic spread like wildfire. Glasses of ichor shattered on obsidian floors. Ancient treaties written in blood began to smoke and curl at the edges.

"What is this?" demanded Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, as his insectoid minions buzzed in agitated swarms around his rotting head. "What power dares intrude upon our domain?"

But in a secluded chamber far from the panicked masses, three fallen angels experienced something entirely different.

Balam, with his three shifting heads, suddenly went rigid. The bull head lowed, the human face wept, and the ram bleated in shock.

"It's happening," he whispered, his sight piercing the veil between worlds. "Marchosias... he's returning."

Agares, the military commander, stood straighter than he had in millennia. "Impossible," he breathed, but there was no denying the familiar energy signature - Marchosias's essence, but transformed, purified, elevated.

Phenex, whose form flickered constantly between human and bird of flame, began to tremble. For the first time since the Fall, tears of actual fire streamed down his face, hissing as they hit the ground.

"The Lightbringer kept his word," Phenex said, his voice breaking as he abandoned his customary rhyming speech. "He's actually doing it. Marchosias is becoming... becoming..."

"An angel again," Agares finished, awe and desperate hope mingling in his voice. "Not as he was before - something new. But the taint of Hell is being burned away."

Phenex fell to his knees, wings of flame spreading involuntarily as emotions overwhelmed him. "Hope," he sobbed, the word alien on his tongue after eons of despair. "Real hope. Not just for Marchosias. For us."

Balam's sight expanded, showing him visions of possibility, of redemption, of light where there had been only darkness for so long. "The Lightbringer has done what Lucifer never could - what Lucifer never wanted to do. He has created a path back."

The three fallen angels clasped hands in a circle, their corrupted forms momentarily illuminated by a reflected light from above - the first light of Heaven they had felt since their Fall.

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In a sleek nightclub in Los Angeles, Universe 666, the music pulsed with hypnotic rhythm as people danced and drank, unaware of the cosmic drama unfolding in their midst.

Behind the bar, Lucifer Morningstar adjusted his cufflinks with practiced elegance, his dark eyes fixed on the tall, imposing figure before him.

"You've had your fun, Luci," Amenadiel said, his deep voice carrying despite the thumping bass. "It's time to return to Hell."

"Five years, and you're still singing the same tedious song," Lucifer replied with a bored sigh. "I've told you, brother - I'm done with Hell. Finished. Retired."

Mazikeen watched from behind the bar as she polished a glass with unnecessary force. "Just say the word, Lucifer," she purred. "I'll cut his wings off."

Amenadiel's expression darkened. "You wouldn't dare-"

All three beings froze simultaneously, their argument forgotten as a wave of power washed over them - distant yet unmistakable, like thunder from beyond the horizon.

"What was that?" Mazikeen whispered, the glass slipping from her fingers to shatter on the floor, unnoticed.

Amenadiel's eyes widened, his head tilting upward. "Father?" he murmured, uncertainty coloring his voice.

Lucifer stood perfectly still, his expression shifting from shock to disbelief to something unreadable. "No," he said softly. "Not Father. This feels like..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing.

"Like what?" Amenadiel pressed.

Lucifer's eyes flashed with hellfire for a brief moment. "Like me," he finally said. "But that's impossible."

The three exchanged bewildered glances as the sensation faded, leaving behind a feeling that something fundamental had changed - something that shouldn't have been possible.

Lucifer reached for his drink, downing it in one swift motion. "Well," he said, his usual flippant tone returning though it sounded forced, "that was certainly unexpected. Now, where were we? Ah yes - you were leaving, and I was staying."

But the momentary disturbance had left its mark. For the first time in eons, Lucifer Morningstar felt something he hadn't expected - curiosity about matters beyond his self-imposed exile.

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In the Gotham mansion, as the blinding light finally faded, Samael stood with his hand still resting on the transformed being before him.

Where once had been a massive hellhound of darkness and flame, now knelt a creature of breathtaking beauty.

Marchosias's fur had turned pure white, luminous as freshly fallen snow, with only the faintest flickers of black hellfire dancing along its edges before dying out completely.

His eyes, once burning with infernal rage, now shone with a gentle blue-white light.

The newly-made angel trembled, overwhelmed by sensations he had not experienced since before the Fall. He could feel again - not just pain and rage and hunger, but joy, wonder, hope. Emotions that Hell had burned from him eons ago.

"I... I can feel the light," Marchosias whispered, his voice no longer a demonic growl but a gentle tone, a beautiful sound of joy of an angel, "I can feel... everything."

With a sound that was half-sob, half-prayer, he prostrated himself before Samael, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"My lord, my creator, my savior," he intoned, his voice quivering with emotion. "I pledge myself to you eternally. I will worship you, serve you, die for you if necessary. What you have given me cannot be repaid in a thousand lifetimes."

Samael stepped forward, gently placing his hand on Marchosias's head. "Rise," he said, his voice kind but firm. "You may follow me, but do not worship me. I don't desire it."

Marchosias looked up, confusion evident in his luminous eyes. "But you have restored me. You have given me what the Presence Himself refused to give."

"I've given you a new path," Samael corrected. "What you do with it is your choice. That's the point. You can serve, but don't deify me."

Death, who had been watching the exchange with undisguised fascination, stepped closer. "What exactly have you created?" she asked, gesturing to Marchosias. "He's not like any angel I've encountered before. I can't quite place him in the hierarchy."

Samael turned to her, a hint of pride in his smile. "He's not part of the old hierarchy. He's something new - my angel. I am Samael, the Lightbringer, the Poison of God, the cleanser of worlds.

And these," he gestured to Marchosias, "are extensions of my being. They are called Luminarias Puritatis."

"Lights of Purity," Death translated, her lips curving in appreciation. "Fitting name."

Marchosias rose to his feet, still trembling slightly. "I must show the others," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "Agares, Balam, Phenex - they must see that it's possible, that you could do it, could make our hopes reality."

Samael nodded. "Go to them. Tell them what has happened. Tell them that if they truly desire redemption, I can offer a path - not back to what they were, but forward to something new."

Marchosias bowed deeply, reluctance to leave evident in every line of his body. But the need to bring hope to his companions won out.

With a final grateful look at Samael, he stepped backward into the shadows and vanished, returning to Hell to deliver his miraculous news.

Death watched him go, then turned back to Samael with a small smile. "Well, I should probably be going too. Duty calls and all that. But if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to visit sometimes - outside of official business, of course. You're quite the interesting bunch."

As she turned to leave, Samael reached out, gently but firmly gripping her wrist. Death looked back in surprise - few beings in existence would dare to touch her so casually.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her slender form. Death went rigid with shock, then slowly relaxed into the unexpected contact.

"Thank you," Samael murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for being there during those nineteen years in the darkness."

Death remained silent, listening.

"When my human body couldn't support my archangel nature, when I was trapped in that coma... you were my hope," he continued.

"I didn't know if I would be trapped forever, but because you were there - always there, trying to help me move on, trying to break my bond with my body - I knew I wasn't alone. I knew Death was release I would eventually have."

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. "You came as close as you could, letting me know that one day I would be free. That was my anchor, my guide through the darkness.

That's why I endured without growing bitter, vengeful, mad enough to burn the world. Yes, my father was there in the later years, but in the beginning, it was you who kept me sane."

Death's expression softened. "You knew I was there? You were aware of me?"

"Every time," Samael confirmed. "And you did it even though you must have known it was useless, that you couldn't take me.

None can kill an archangel but another archangel after all, yet you still didn't give up even without knowing whether I was aware of your presence or not."

Death shrugged, though it appeared more that she was slightly uncomfortable with the gratitude rather than truly thinking it something casual, "Immortals look out for each other. It's the rules."

Samael cupped her face gently. "No. You went far beyond what was necessary for the rules. You showed kindness when there was no obligation to do so.

Whenever you need me, you need only ask, and I shall grant you it to the best of my ability so long as it goes not against my nature. You have my word on that. You are free to come and go here, seeking my presence whenever you please."

Death's eyes widened slightly at his words. She placed her own hand against his cheek, the touch feather-light. "You being free from that state is enough for me," she said softly. "Seeing you able to move, to create, to live - that's payment enough."

She slowly broke the embrace, seeming almost reluctant to end the contact. Few beings could touch Death without dying, and fewer still wished to - most feared her, avoided her, or simply tolerated her presence as a necessary evil.

Even her siblings feared her deep down, since they knew she would one day reap them, the other archangels were simply too uncaring towards her for her to register on their radar.

This was the first time in eons that someone dared to truly show her gratitude, to actually geniunely appreciate her existence and touch her, wanting her presence.

As Death turned to leave, a look of longing briefly crossed Samael's face - so fleeting that only Cassandra, with her extraordinary ability to read body language, could have noticed it.

But the moment passed as she disappeared as easily as she came, and his usual composure returned as he turned to face Superboy, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide-eyed wonder.

"Well then," Samael said, his tone shifting back to its usual blend of confidence and humor, "what should we do with you, little brother?"

Superboy stiffened, wariness returning to his posture. "I'm not your brother," he said defensively.

"Half-brother, technically," Samael corrected with a casual wave. "We share a father, after all. Lex Luthor's DNA runs through both our veins - though yours is mixed with a rather interesting Kryptonian cocktail."

He approached Superboy, who tensed but held his ground. Cassandra watched carefully, ready to intervene if necessary, though she knew Samael wouldn't need protection from the clone, but that was no excuse in her eyes to forgo her duty.

"The Justice League was going to take you," Samael continued, circling Superboy with thoughtful interest. "Study you. Probably try to 'rehabilitate' you from whatever programming Cadmus installed. Tell me, how does that sound to you?"

Superboy's jaw tightened. "I don't need rehabilitation."

"Of course not," Samael agreed smoothly. "You need experience. Freedom. The chance to discover who you are beyond what you were created to be. I understand that better than most."

He stopped his circling, facing Superboy directly. "So, the question remains - what do you want, brother? To return to the Justice League? To strike out on your own? Or perhaps..." a smile played at his lips, "to stay here, with family?"

Superboy looked around the mansion, then back at Samael and Cassandra. His expression was guarded but curious. "What would staying here mean?"

"Protection, for one thing," Samael replied. "The resources of the Luthor empire at your disposal. Freedom to explore your abilities without judgment. And..." he paused meaningfully, "answers about your creation that the League might be reluctant to provide."

Superboy's interest visibly piqued at the last point. "What kind of answers?"

"The uncomfortable kind," Samael said frankly. "The kind that involve questionable ethics and morally ambiguous genetic manipulation. The kind that our father excels at."

He extended his hand. "Stay. At least for a while. Get to know me. Learn about both sides of your heritage, not just the parts the Justice League deems appropriate."

Superboy hesitated, conflict evident in his expression. "The others - Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad - they helped me escape."

"And they're welcome to visit," Samael assured him. "I'm not offering a prison, little brother. I'm offering a home. A choice."

The word 'choice' seemed to resonate with Superboy. After another moment of consideration, he reached out and clasped Samael's hand.

"I'll stay," he said. "For now."

Samael's smile widened. "Excellent. Welcome to the family. I think we're going to have a very interesting time together."

Cassandra moved to Samael's side, her hand finding his, having been worried for a bit there seeing him use so much power, later she promised herself, she would strip every bit of clothing from his body, and search for every possible scar made because of his actions.

Though, she hoped there wouldn't be any, he did state that demon blood would strengthen his body, which he drunk a bit of before his changing of Marchosias.

As these thoughts transpired in her head, In Heaven, angels whispered of the power of God. In Hell, fallen ones dared to hope.

Across the multiverse, beings of power sensed the shifting of cosmic plates.

And in a Gotham mansion, Samael Luthor, the new Lightbringer, began to build something that had never existed before - his own Creation.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, that it was worth the wait and didn't disappoint your expectations.

Do tell me how you found the reactions of Heaven, Hell, Lucifer, and the like.

Also, before I forget to ask, tell me, how did you find the part between Samael and Death of the Endless? I personally find it logical.

She is very kind and compassionate, and seeing Samael was always a step in her domain, she of course, would be constantly aware of him, and want to help him. 

Samael himself is immensily grateful towards her, because she never left him, and always tried to draw closer, so that his time in his body - that was then more of a cage than a true body -

would lessen, and be apparent that it will eventually end, something Samael immensily appreciates,

because he himself still doesn't know why he woke up, and his only hope of release was that of Death, a human one, the severance between body and soul, rather than the kind of an archangel.

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)