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Chapter Twenty-Three

The battlefield had become a graveyard for my rebellion. The scorched ground stretched endlessly before me, littered with the broken bodies of those who had fought beside me. Blood and ash clung to the stifling air, and each breath seared my lungs, the sulfurous stench and smoke choking me. I tried to move, to stand, but Lucifer’s grip, cinched around my throat, pinned me to the ground.

His grip tightened, his cold, unrelenting fingers digging into my skin as he lifted me up, holding me high in the air, my feet dangling uselessly above the ground. I clawed at his fingers, desperate for air, desperate for escape, but his hold didn’t falter. I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. My wings hung limp behind me, and my heart drummed so violently, I feared it might burst.

“You think you can defy me?” my father snarled, his face twisted with rage.

I gasped, struggling for a breath that refused to come. My chest heaved in vain, and my mouth gaped. Panic surged through me as darkness clawed at the edges of my vision, but it wasn’t just the suffocating grip on my throat—it was the crushing force of my father’s power. Lucifer didn’t just control the realm; he commanded it, bent it to his will. His fingers tightened and my wings twitched weakly, a pathetic reminder of how powerless I was in his grasp.

“Did you really think,” he growled, the sound vibrating through my bones, “you could stand against me?”

The ground trembled beneath us, the entire realm seeming to quake from the force of his fury. His black wings flared wide, casting a massive shadow over the battlefield. Even the distant geysers, which once roared with unrestrained passion, seemed to shrink, their flames sputtering under the weight of his presence.

I tried to summon my powers, to call the fire to me, to summon the hellfire I controlled, but not a single flicker sparked inside me. Lucifer had won. He’d beaten me, and he knew it.

“I will tear you apart,” Lucifer whispered, malice dripping from his every word.

A glint of cruel satisfaction flickered in his eyes before he slowly, deliberately, turned me in his grasp, his grip loosening. He faced me toward the battlefield, forcing me to look upon the devastation, and I sucked in a rasping breath. My fallen soldiers, the shattered remnants of my rebellion, lay strewn across the scorched ground, broken and defeated. Blood and ash coated their bodies, and my heart broke at the sight of their sacrifice.

But it wasn’t just the dead that surrounded us.

Lucifer’s forces stood like dark sentinels amidst the carnage, their eyes fixed on me. They encircled us, an audience to my destruction, their expressions cold, indifferent to the violence. This was no longer just punishment—it was a spectacle. A message to all who dared defy him.

Lucifer loosened his grip just enough for me to drag in a lungful of air.

And then the agony struck.

It was sudden, brutal.

His fingers dug into the base of my wings, sharp and merciless. Searing agony shot through my back like liquid fire, spreading with an unbearable heat that consumed everything in its path.

A scream tore free of my throat—raw and ragged, echoing across the battlefield. My father tore asunder every shred of muscle and bone. Blood poured down my back in hot, sticky streams as he tore my wings from my back, piece by piece.

I gasped for breath between screams, my body convulsing with each savage wrench as Lucifer tore into me. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. Every movement was deliberate, every second filled with unbearable torment. He wasn’t just ripping my wings from my body—he was destroying me. Shredding my soul.

Finally, with one last, excruciating tear, my wings were gone. The scream that escaped me was ugly. A burning void seared across my back where my wings had once been, and the pain, the loss, the overwhelming emptiness crashed over me in relentless waves. My father had ruined me, left me nothing more than a shattered shell of what I once was.

I sank into despair, wishing for the darkness to take me. If I could just sink into it, maybe I’d never resurface. Maybe I could finally be free. But amidst the torment, a sound cut through the haze.

A voice. Distant at first, muffled by the overwhelming pain.

“Lily!”

It was soft, but insistent, pulling at the edges of my consciousness. It pulled me away from the darkness, dragging me away from my father’s clutches.

“Wake up. Come on, Lily. Wake up!”

The agony in my back began to dull, and the searing heat pressing down on me faded. My vision flickered, and the battlefield—and Lucifer—dissolved around me. The voice grew clearer, more familiar, and something warm and solid held me in place.

I quickly realized I was dreaming, and that realization yanked me back into the waking world.

My eyes shot open, and my body jerked violently. Remnants of the nightmare clung to my mind and agony speared through my shoulder blades. I thrashed, arms flailing, but then I realized—I wasn’t alone.

“Shh, Lily,” came Rathiel’s voice. He wrapped his muscular arms around me, holding me tightly to keep me from hurting him—or myself. “You’re awake. It’s over. It was just a dream.”

Every inch of me trembled and sweat soaked my pajamas. My pulse pounded relentlessly in my ears. Phantom pains shot down my back and I cried out, arching in Rathiel’s grasp. It felt like my wings were still there, the weight dragging down on me. But I knew better. I knew they were gone. Forever.

Rathiel pulled me against his chest and his voice, low and soothing, cut through the remnants of my fear and pain. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, and he combed his fingers through my hair, gently stroking, his touch soft and reassuring.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

I shuddered, my body still trembling, but his steady presence anchored me. He brushed his lips against my forehead, the brief, tender kiss sending a small wave of warmth through me, cutting through the remnants of fear. His other hand moved to cup my cheek, brushing his thumb gently across my skin, his touch so careful, as though I might break.

Gradually, my breathing slowed, the violent pounding of my heart easing into a steadier rhythm.

“I know I’m not your favourite person right now,” Rathiel said, and I gave a watery laugh, “but do you want to talk about it?”

I instantly shook my head. I very much did not want to relive the horror I’d just woken from. The pain, the terror, it was still too fresh.

He stroked my hair again, in a way that had me practically purring in his arms. It didn’t surprise me that he knew exactly what I liked—but it did frustrate me. He knew far too much about me, like how to calm me when upset.

“Talking about it helps sometimes,” he said. “It can ease the fear, even if just a little. It’s like you’re releasing it into the world, so it doesn’t torture you anymore.”

I doubted that. I had a feeling this nightmare would haunt me for the rest of my life. Rathiel didn’t understand—I’d felt everything. Every rip, every tear. The loss of every single feather. And the fact that my father had been the one to torment me broke my heart. Not that Lucifer and I were ever close on the father-daughter scale. Even so, it hurt.

At the same time, I didn’t want to give my father that kind of power over me. I didn’t want his presence haunting me every single night. What I wanted was to stab a few more holes in him.

Sighing, I considered my options. I could keep the nightmare to myself and let it fester, or I could let it go. Perhaps talking about it would help.

I swallowed, then braced myself. “I was…on a battlefield,” I began, my voice shaky. “Everyone was dead. My soldiers, the rebellion. Their bodies were everywhere. My father—” I choked on a breath and closed my eyes.

Rathiel’s hand resumed gently stroking through my hair and my pulse slowed, responding to his touch.

“I can feel his grip on my throat, even now,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He lifted me into the air like I was nothing. I…I tried to summon the hellfire, but it wouldn’t come. I was so weak. He turned me to face the battlefield. All I could see were the bodies of everyone I had failed. There were so many.

“And then…” My voice completely broke, but I forced myself to continue. “And then he took them. My wings. He just ripped them away. I could feel it happening. Every tear, every drop of blood, every scream. It was too real. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like I was reliving it.”

Rathiel’s entire body went rigid, and his hand stilled in my hair.

“What?” I asked, a sense of dread creeping into my chest. “What is it?”

When he didn’t answer, I rose on my knees and turned to face him. I couldn’t take the silence, and I needed to see his eyes. His gaze was distant and his face pale.

“Rathiel,” I pressed, my voice rising. “What’s wrong?”

He finally exhaled a slow breath and pulled his hand away from hair. His eyes met mine and he offered a wan smile, but I could see right through it. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and calm, exactly like how one spoke to a frightened animal. “That’s one of the memories I took from you. You shouldn’t remember that.”

I stared at him, unsure I understood him correctly. That hellish scene had been a nightmare and nothing more, right?

“Your dream,” Rathiel continued quietly. “The way you described it, that’s exactly how it happened. How he—” his expression shuttered—“punished you. It took all our resources to free you from him before he killed you. Few made it out alive. But that’s exactly how it happened.”

A chill ran down my spine and all the little hairs stood up on the back of my neck. “How…how is that possible? Those memories are gone. I’ve never had a dream like that before.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe the artifact is weakening? It’s been ten years, after all. Or maybe…”

“What?” I pressed when he fell silent.

Rathiel sighed and brushed his fingertips across my cheek. “It could be Calyx.”

My pulse skittered at the sound of his name. “What about him?”

“He’s a nightmare demon, and one of the fallen. This could be his doing. A psychological way of tormenting you. Forcing you to relive— remember —your worst memories.”

“But I don’t have a headache,” I countered.

“I don’t know,” Rathiel said. “I’m only speculating. He has the power to torment people in their dreams, though. Maybe because you’re not actively trying to recall it, you’re not experiencing the side effects?”

Excitement—and dread—bubbled within me. I wanted nothing more than to remember what happened before I arrived here, but a part of me also feared that. If these were the types of memories Rathiel scrubbed, what other horrors awaited me?

“What does this mean?” I asked. “Could he possibly unlock the rest of my memories?”

“Calyx was there that day. I suspect that’s the only reason he could do this— if he’s even the one responsible. It could be the artifact, for all we know.” Rathiel glanced away from me, his expression perplexed. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to make sense of this. “Calyx is the only one with this kind of power. The only one who can access people’s minds.”

I shuddered, loathing the idea of a fallen angel mucking around in my already mucked-up head.

“It fits his personality,” Rathiel continued. “He would want to hurt you. To remind you of all the pain you’ve suffered. This is a game to Calyx, to all of them. Lucifer delights in causing pain and torturing people. His soldiers are no different.”

“You are,” I stated unequivocally. “You’re different. You’ve never been like them.”

His face twisted into a harsh expression. “As you so kindly pointed out tonight, you barely know me. You know what I’ve shown you. I’ve lived eons before you were born, Lily. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

A spark of defiance flared in me, chasing away the lingering dread. I thought back to Gremory and the way I’d brought him to his knees, searing him with hellfire, showing him that I wasn’t some helpless pawn in their twisted game. I’d stood my ground, refused to cower in the face of my father’s forces.

I lifted my chin, meeting Rathiel’s intense gaze. “Maybe I don’t know what you’re capable of, Rathiel. But they don’t know what I’m capable of either.”

A glimmer of pride lit Rathiel’s eyes. His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “No, they don’t,” he murmured, his voice warm. “But they’re about to find out.”

I gave a feral grin. “Yes, they are.”