Extinguish by J. M. Darhower

  "It's him, isn't it?" Michael asked. "It's this ludicrous assignment you're on."

  "No." She paused. "Well, maybe . . . I don’t really know."

  Michael rose up, his clothes back on in the blink of an eye, his wings expanding defensively as he towered above her. "Don't listen to him, Serah, no matter what he says. You can't let him under your skin. He'll manipulate you if you do. Not a word he speaks can ever be trusted. Do you hear me?"

  "Yes, and I know Satan’s a venomous serpent that wishes to poison us all." The words fell from her lips as if she were reading a propaganda brochure. "It's just—"

  She didn't have a chance to finish her thought before Michael yanked her to her feet and pulled her into his arms, his enormous wings folding around them protectively. "I can't bear the thought of losing you, Serah."

  "You won't," she said. "I love you."

  "I know you do," he replied, "but I know him, too. Better than anybody."

  Two days later, when the remnants of Michael had faded from her body, Serah made the journey through the gates again. She'd spent the morning venturing around Chorizon, watching the children play kickball at the school while the groundskeeper mowed the grass for the last time that year. The seasons were changing, autumn deep upon them with winter just right around the corner. It was business as usual, on Earth and down below.

  Lucifer was already waiting when she approached. Like every other time, she paused a few feet away as he took a deep, calculated breath, inhaling her presence.

  "Ah, the smell of lingering innocence and fresh cut grass," he said. "I'm not sure which is more of an aphrodisiac. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to turn me on—in which case, I'd say it's working."

  She ignored his off-color remark. "I have a question."

  He sighed, waving his hand brusquely. "Ask."

  "How do you know how things smell?"

  He blinked a few times as if caught off guard. Not the question he'd been anticipating. Serah smiled to herself, but concealed her satisfaction at knocking him off-kilter, not wanting him to catch sight of it.

  "I remember things."

  "How?"

  He sighed dramatically. "Just because I’m trapped down here doesn’t mean I have no connections up there."

  "But how did you know what anything smelled like to begin with?"

  It took a moment for it to register with him. "Oh, because I'm an angel, right? And angels can't smell."

  "Right."

  "They also can't taste," he continued. "Or feel."

  "I feel."

  He shook his head. "You don't."

  "I do," she insisted, hesitating before softly adding, "I feel when I'm with him."

  He stared at her peculiarly as something sparked in his eyes, the muted red flaring like a fire doused with gasoline. The sky churned in tune with it as if something deep inside of him controlled the stratosphere. "Whatever measly little tingle Michael offers you pales in comparison to real feeling. Angels know things. We're created with sympathy. You can detect pain and hunger and desire, and you know what they mean, what they need, but you can't feel them."

  "And you can?"

  "Yes."

  "How?"

  He stepped closer, stopping when he was nearly flush against the barrier, closer than the two of them had ever been before. Had she not known better, during his hasty approach, she would’ve sworn he intended to come straight through to her side. A voice in her mind, her angelic reflex, warned her to move away from the immoral soul, but his grave expression solidified her in place as she waited for his answer.

  "Not only was I forced to remember, but I was cursed with something that made it all much, much worse—empathy."

  Her brow furrowed. "Wouldn't that be a blessing?"

  A bitter bark of laughter ripped from his chest, the barrier between them not stopping it from striking her. "A blessing? You think it’s a blessing? I feel it all. Every ounce of feeling they have, every little sensation—I’m forced to endure it. Do you know what it's like to be so hungry, to be so fucking starving, that it feels like you're being eaten alive from the inside out? It's there constantly, but nothing I do ever satisfies the hunger, the need, the yearning.

  "Do you know what it's like to be tortured, to be constantly ripped apart like someone's taking a claw hammer and bashing in your skull, but never finding the sweet relief of death? Do you know what it's like to want something so badly, to need it, to feel like you can't go on without it, only to have it dangled right in front of your face? That torture, that mental torment, is worse than any physical pain you may perceive, angel, stronger than any fucking tingle my brother may bestow upon you when you take your dress off for him."

  He instantly vanished in a loud crack of thunder, so brash even the hovering reapers paused to take note. Serah just stood there, too startled to yet move, her mouth agape.

  "Sat—uh, Lucifer?" she called, peering across to the vacant land. She had no idea where he’d gone, but she hoped he’d hear her whenever he was. "I may not feel all of those things—the hunger, the pain, the need—but I do feel something you don’t."

  Silence reigned. She continued to stand there, watching, waiting, but nothing happened for a few minutes. Resigned, she turned to leave when the air fizzled behind her. "What?"

  She turned back around to face him. "Love."

  Thick arms crossed over his chest as he stared at her, not an ounce of amusement in his expression. He said not a word in response to her declaration.

  "If you felt love, if you knew true love, you wouldn’t be doing all of this," she said. "The fighting is hurting the ones we’re supposed to love, the ones we’re supposed to protect. It has to stop."

  "Why should I care about them?" he asked. "They don’t care about me. No one does."

  "So is that why it’s happening? Vengeance? Resentment? You do it out of hate?"

  "I do it because I have to."

  "Why?"

  He left again, this time so quietly that Serah knew he wouldn’t be coming back today.

  "Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,

  All dressed in black, black, black,

  With silver buttons, buttons, buttons,

  All down her back, back, back!"

  The two little girls chanted as they clapped their hands together, giggling when they messed up at the same time. Serah watched them quietly as they tried again, making it not much farther the second time around.

  "You've got to be kidding me," Hannah said, flopping down on the swing beside her. "Now that one I know is about death. It's a riddle for a coffin."

  "Or it's just another nursery rhyme."

  "Another absurd one." Hannah rolled her eyes as the girls tried for the third time. "Speaking of death and absurdity—how's it going down in Hell?"

  The feathers on Serah's wings ruffled. "Uh. . ."

  "That bad?"

  "Well, the war's still going on," she said. "He doesn't seem interested in backing down any time soon . . . or ever, really."

  "I'm not surprised," Hannah said. "So, does that mean you're giving up on him?"

  "No."

  "You and your never-ending supply of patience. What do you do down there, anyway? Stare at him?" Hannah shuddered. "Must be creepy."

  "Close," she said. "We stand there and talk."

  "What in the world do you talk about?"

  "Him, of course."

  Hannah's laughter merged with the ringing of the school bell, signaling the start of classes. "I’m not surprised. He's completely full of sinful arrogance and always has been."

  Serah smiled sadly. He wasn’t that conceited, but she didn’t correct her friend.

  The girls ran off together, arm-in-arm, while Hannah and Serah sat in silence. The playground was completely deserted after a few minutes.

  Hannah went to speak when a scraggly, stray dog came aimlessly wandering by. It hesitated as it neared, its focus shifting toward the swings as a gnarled growl vibrated its throat. The filthy yel
low fur on its back bristled as it lowered its head menacingly, bracing for an attack.

  Serah glanced around in confusion. "What in Heaven's name?"

  Hannah twirled her finger in the air, stirring up a small, strong gust of wind that startled the dog. It yelped and scampered away, running from the playground. "Can't say that's ever happened before."

  "It felt like. . ." Serah wavered. ". . .like it was looking right at us."

  "It couldn't have been unless it was possessed. I felt no demonic presence."

  Neither had Serah. No, all she'd sensed was inherent suspicion and some fear radiating from the dog. It had felt threatened, somehow sensing it wasn't alone.

  "Anyway," Hannah said, standing back up. "Duty calls. There's a full moon tonight. Good luck with Satan."

  "Come on, guys! We've got this!"

  Samuel grasped the rope tightly, straining his taut muscles as he tugged. Three bodies behind him worked in harmony as the four across from them pulled with all their might.

  Tug-o-war: such a senseless game.

  Serah relaxed on the neighboring grassy knoll, watching her brother and some other Powers test their strength. They'd been at it for hours with no progress, the sides equally matched, the massive mud puddle between them untouched.

  "How long do you think this will take?" Hannah asked, lounging beside her.

  "Not sure," she replied. "Last time it went on for three days before the Dominion showed up with orders to get back to work."

  "Ugh, they're so human sometimes." Hannah rolled her eyes. "They ought to just whip out their genitalia and settle this argument once and for all."

  Serah's eyes widened as she burst into laughter. "What?"

  "Isn't that what mortal men do? Apparently penis size is indicative of true manhood now, which I don't quite understand."

  "Uh. . ." Serah had no idea what to say.

  "Remember the days when having six toes was a big deal? That's what real kings were made of. But every male has a penis. They're just so common, like miniature limbs."

  Serah shook her head. "You certainly know how to trivialize things."

  "Sure, procreation is important, but so is eating, and they don't compare the size of their mouths." She paused. "They don't, do they?"

  "Not usually."

  "So I don't understand what it is about sex that fascinates everyone. The fluids, the sweat, the noises, the impaling. It's so . . . messy. It looks painful."

  "It's pleasurable."

  "Like you'd know," Hannah said, nudging her. "It's a human act, not intended for our kind."

  "But Azreal and Dinah. . ."

  "Both fell."

  "Benjamin and Luna."

  "They, too, fell."

  "Cian and Maylin."

  Hannah hesitated. "Maylin fell."

  "But Cian didn't," Serah pointed out.

  "True," Hannah conceded. "Regardless, I don't see the appeal. I'd never take the risk. Would you?"

  Serah remained quiet as she watched her brother and the others battle for control. Would she do it? She'd watched thousands—millions—of humans fall in love, watched as emotion consumed every ounce of them, controlling their every thought and altering their very being. To know such passion would be glorious. But would it be worth opening one’s self up to earthly temptations? She wasn't sure.

  It was a slippery slope, love and lust. They could bask in love, but surrendering to lust would be the end of them.

  Mere minutes had passed when the air crackled and an Archangel appeared in the middle of the park. His presence startled everyone except for Samuel, who took the sudden distraction to gain the upper hand. He pulled hard, yanking his opponents straight into the mud with a splat.

  Laughing as the angels tried to clean themselves up, Samuel made his way over to the grassy knoll. He took a seat beside Serah, his face lit up with an elated grin. His brown hair reached his chin, falling into his face. He ignored his messy locks and threw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her roughly to him in a headlock. "Hey, little sis."

  "Samuel," she said, trying to escape his grip. "Have you forgotten I'm three nanoseconds older than you?"

  "Older, but still smaller."

  She broke loose. "Yet just as strong."

  The Archangel cautiously approached, the only one in the park not in human form. His wings seemed more expansive with everyone else's tucked away, his stance intimidating.

  "Michael," Samuel greeted him. "Nice to see you, buddy. Have a seat. Relax."

  Everyone remained still, attentive, almost awestruck with him there. They worshiped no one except their Father, but Michael inspired something in them. Being in his presence, witnessing his radiance, made them feel just a little bit holier for a moment.

  Samuel seemed unaffected, though. Always so relaxed, always so friendly.

  Michael didn't sit, appearing not at all at ease. He lingered in front of them, watching curiously, not used to socializing. His eyes met Serah's eventually, the magnificent blue as bright and cloudless as the afternoon sky. Curiosity sparked in them as his lips twitched with a smile—the first smile she'd ever seen on his face.

  "This is my sister, Serah," Samuel said, noticing where his attention had gone. "Serah, this is—"

  "Michael," she whispered. "I know who he is."

  Samuel laughed. "Of course you do."

  The other Powers hollered for a rematch, drawing Samuel back out into the park.

  "Serah," Michael said, her name a warm summer breeze from his lips. "I apologize, but I can't say I'm as aware of you as you are of me."

  "No need for an apology," she said. "You're an Archangel and I'm—"

  "Exquisite."

  She blanched. That certainly wasn't something she'd expected him to say.

  Michael's gaze drifted out onto the park as the second game of tug-o-war started. "Your brother's a great warrior. I couldn't ask for a better ally in the fight against evil."

  "Yeah, Samuel's brilliant. I hope to be just like him someday."

  "I have no doubt you already are," he said, turning back to her. "I've never seen you in battle, though."

  "I prefer earthly duties."

  "Shame," Michael said. "If I had you by my side every day, maybe it all wouldn't feel so utterly drab."

  Before Serah could even make sense of his words, Michael drifted away. He broke up the game of tug-o-war, grabbing the middle of the rope and singlehandedly sending all eight men flying into the puddle before disappearing.

  Hannah cleared her throat. "Well, I guess we know now who has the biggest penis here."

  Serah shook with laughter as the gathering broke up, Hannah vanishing to go back to work as the Powers wandered off. Samuel shook off the mud as he strolled toward her. "I had a feeling he was going to do that."

  "He's, uh . . . interesting."

  "He's a great ally."

  "That's the same thing he said about you," she said. "He seems fond of you."

  "And I of him," Samuel said. "Most shy away from Michael, and I get why. No matter how good he is, no matter how pure, it's hard to break from the shadow of someone who, so badly, fell from Grace."

  "Satan."

  "Yep," Samuel said. "Imagine having that dude as a brother. Makes me look a million times better, huh?"

  Serah dramatically scrunched up her nose. "Eh, I guess you're okay."

  "It was my brother."

  Lucifer’s brow creased as he gazed across the gate at Serah. "Your brother?"

  "You asked how Michael noticed me," she said. "It was because of my brother."

  "Ah." He kicked at the ground casually, disrupting the dry dirt. It clouded in the air around him, swirling around his ankles. "You’re a Power, though, so you have to have what, hundreds of thousands of brothers?"

  "Technically," she said, "but this was my real brother. He and I were created at the same time, born from the same light."

  "Twins," he muttered. "Two halves of one whole."

  She knew he’d understand, a
s he was one of the few who knew what it was like. A part of him existed outside of his body, the same formula of Grace that had once simmered in his veins still flowing through another’s.

  Michael.

  "So I take it you and this brother are close then?"

  "Yes," she said. "We were."

  "Were?"

  "He, uh . . . he’s fallen."

  Lucifer’s eyes instantly met hers, the red swirling madly with intrigue. "Did he fall with me?"

  She slowly shook her head. "Nearly two weeks ago."

  "Ah, Samuel."

  Serah blinked rapidly as the devil spoke her brother’s name. "You know?"

  "Yes, I know he fell. I know the moment they all fall." He tapped his temple. "Angel Network, remember? I’m surprised Samuel held out so long, to be honest. I tried to get him to go with me from the beginning, but he resisted. He wanted to, though."

  "You’re lying," she said. "Samuel would’ve never joined your side."

  "I’m telling the truth. He nearly did, but he decided against it at the last second. I seem to remember his saying he had a sister he was worried about leaving behind. Makes sense now. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave you, either."

  The conviction in Lucifer's smooth voice made Serah pause and actually consider his words, despite her defenses prickling to the contrary. Don't listen to the vindictive snake. Don't trust a thing from his vile, slithering mouth. She didn’t want to believe Samuel would turn, and until two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the notion. But the truth couldn't be denied—he'd lost his Grace some way, somehow.

  Despite being a Power, one of the intermediate angels in the grand hierarchy, Samuel had always seemed so formidable—almost as intimidating to Serah as the Archangels. His strength and steadfast belief that innocence needed protecting was so at odds with the scarred, fallen angel standing in front of her. How could Samuel ever consider joining Lucifer’s side?

  Preposterous.

  "Is he here?" she asked, the words spilling out before she had fully made sense of it all. "Is Samuel like you now? Or is he . . . you know . . . ?"

  "Does it matter?"