“Tell me!” Lucifer’s shout shattered every vase in the room simultaneously.
With bloodshot eyes and tears streaking through the grime still caked on his face from the earlier battle, Olivier’s throat bobbed several times before the dreaded words escaped his lips. “Zeus laughed.”
He laughed? Not the response Lucifer had expected. Zeus’s behavior deserved a swift rebuke, but it didn’t warrant the fear and fury radiating off Olivier.
“What else?”
“He... he said it was too late. Punishment had already been meted out.” Olivier pulled Lucifer close for another embrace. “I feared the worst. They had no right to touch you, but I had no other coherent thoughts after Zeus’s smug pronouncement.”
No harm had come to him. Everyone had been accommodating toward him. Nice even, after the initial shouting match upon their arrival on Olympus.
“Brother, as you can see, I am fine.” Lucifer patted Olivier’s broad back in an attempt to soothe his sobs. “I have not come to harm.”
He pulled back and heaved a sigh of relief. It was quite typical for Olivier to construe the worst possible scenario in his head. It was all a simple misunderstanding.
“Yes...” Olivier swiped tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. “But...”
If it was indeed possible, the universe stopped spinning, stopped expanding in that instance as Lucifer comprehended what true horror had passed.
Even with blood thundering in his ears, Lucifer heard Olivier’s next words with crystal clarity.
“I am relieved to find they did not dare touch you, my brother. But... I saw with my own eyes...” The angel doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees to gather the breath and strength to speak the truth. “Brother, please know that I did everything I could. It was too late. By the time I discovered her body...”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Lucifer knew. That pain in his heart last night... the one that had sliced through him and sent him to his knees in prayer... that had been his soul experiencing the fate of his love.
“Say the words, Olivier.” Lucifer spoke with a calm that belied the rage exploding in every cell of his physical and spiritual body. “Say it!”
“Diana is dead. They passed sentence on her and immediately carried it out while I had been kept in the dark, not allowed into their deliberations. I only suspected when I witnessed Apollo, her twin, running out of the chamber, his face thunderous and more frightening than Zeus on a difficult day. Still”—he straightened up to his full height—“I would never have imagined they’d go to such extremes. Not with one of their own. Not with the beloved goddess...” His voice broke off, leaving the room in utter silence except for Lucifer’s pounding blood.
He'd experienced the sensation of pure, unadulterated fury underneath the mountain when he’d ripped into Sathanas. That was nothing compared to what rampaged through Lucifer—body, heart, and soul—now. The serenity of earlier, the peacefulness of knowing all was well or at least would be soon, and the naïve acceptance of that concept shattered into billions of shards of light.
He would never know peace again. And neither would Zeus, nor any other lesser god or goddess. Olympus would burn into oblivion, never to rise from the ashes. He would make sure of it.
COVERED IN BLOOD, GUTS and brains—if the gods actually had any—Lucifer strutted through the halls of the palace. The stench of smoke and the coppery scent of blood was a welcome perfume.
Zeus—dead; beheaded after forcing him to watch everyone around his throne being decapitated, drawn, and quartered.
Ares—dead; strangling him until his head popped clear off his shoulders had been delightful.
Every living thing on the entire planet—dead; even the dainty pixies living underneath the waterfall where he’d first kissed Diana on a whim.
Except they’d been unable to find Apollo or Puck. Perhaps Diana’s brother had known what would transpire and had whisked her favorite companion to safety. It didn’t matter. Lucifer had every intention of finding Apollo, at least.
He could’ve done something to save his sister. He either hadn’t bothered or hadn’t been strong enough—both deeds punishable by death in Lucifer’s opinion. He’d already sent Olivier to scout for the missing god while he still had wrath to unleash on the entire planet of Olympus. Perhaps he’d vaporize this entire realm, for the fury burning through him had not been quenched by the mass slaughter.
Puck—the creepy guy could live on, wherever he was.
He passed a large, ornate mirror. Something in its reflection startled Lucifer enough to stop to investigate.
He’d always been known as the most beautiful angel, most beloved of the Creator. There had been ballads sung of his golden skin, mesmerizing amber eyes, and brilliant chestnut hair that shone like the sun with lush auburn highlights.
This was not the image that stared back at him.
His complexion was deathlike and pale as if drained of all his divine blood. His hair had deepened to that of shiny obsidian. And his eyes no longer danced with golden flecks, but were an empty abyss of black.
Out of curiosity, he fluffed out his wings. Instead of downy white feathers, they were darker than any raven he’d ever seen.
No longer a shining Archangel of Light, Lucifer understood.
