Cain jolted upright in bed, a hand flying to his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm that felt entirely wrong. He fumbled for the lamp on his nightstand, flooding the dark room with a harsh yellow light. He took several long, deep breaths, trying to force calm into his panicked body, and wiped the cold sweat from his brow with the shirt he'd discarded earlier.
He swung his legs out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and opened his bedroom door. He blinked in surprise. Morning light streamed through the hallway window. He shook his head, confused. It felt like only minutes had passed. He closed the door and hurried downstairs.
The living room was empty. The television was off. "Lucifer?" he called out, his voice echoing in the quiet house. There was no answer. He spotted his phone on the couch and picked it up, but the screen remained black and unresponsive. Dead battery.
Then the doorbell rang.
A wave of relief washed over him. Is that her? I thought she could just teleport inside. He rushed to the front door and yanked it open.
"What are you doing out—" The words died in his throat.
"—side?" he finished in a whisper.
It was not Lucifer.
Standing on his doorstep, smiling up at him, was Amelia. She wore one of her old, baggy t-shirts, and in her hand she held a plastic convenience store bag with the tops of two cup noodles visible. His mind reeled. This had happened before. Years ago. Had he somehow slipped back in time?
Amelia broke the tense silence. "Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stand there looking stupid?"
His thoughts were thick and slow. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear a stubborn fog from his vision. He shook his head.
She sighed, an exaggerated, familiar sound. "You're such an idiot in the morning. Can I come in now? I'm melting out here."
Acting purely on muscle memory and instinct, he stepped aside. "Oh. Sorry. Come in." He gestured weakly into the house.
Amelia nodded and walked past him, heading straight for the kitchen counter. She pulled out the two cup noodles and set them down.
"Don't you have a key?" he asked, slowly closing the door and following her.
"Forgot where I put it," she said with a casual shrug.
He watched, his confusion deepening, as she began preparing both noodles. "Why are you making two?" he asked.
"For your hangover," she said without looking up. "We drank way too much last night. You passed out cold."
He furrowed his brow. "So… you're not going to pinch my hand?"
She finally glanced at him, a look of genuine puzzlement on her face. "For what?"
A cold, sharp spike of wrongness shot through his brain. Maybe she's hungover too, he reasoned desperately. Maybe she just forgot.
"I'll finish these," he said, moving to take over. "Can you grab the salt from the cupboard? And there's a lemon in the fridge. And a glass of water."
The feeling of wrongness intensified.
"What weird corner of the internet did you get that from?" Amelia asked, laughing lightly. She was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You always want coffee first thing. Let me just make you a coffee."
Cain's eyes widened. Amelia never let him drink coffee before he had at least one full glass of water. She was militant about it. A sudden, searing pain lanced across his forearm. He hissed, looking down to see a strange, fresh burn mark etched into his skin. He ignored it, his focus snapping back to the woman at his counter.
"Stop," he said, his voice low. He held up a hand. "Just stop."
She paused, the smile freezing on her face. "What's wrong? Why are you yelling?"
He shook his head slowly, the pieces clicking into a horrifying picture. "Who are you?"
Amelia started to laugh, but the sound was off, tinged with a strange hollowness. "What are you talking about? Look at me. It's me, Amelia."
He took a step forward, his earlier confusion burning away into cold, clear anger. "Ame never calls herself 'Amelia.' You're fake."
The smile vanished from her face. She began to hurl insults at him, calling him an idiot, a fool. She leaned closer, her expression twisting. "Do I not look real to you? Tell me to my face."
Cain didn't flinch. He took another step, glaring directly into her eyes, the eyes of his dead friend. The insult of this mimicry fueled him.
"Just because you're wearing her face," he said, his voice tight with fury, "doesn't mean you can fool me by trying to be her."
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The focus shifted, briefly, to a lonely asteroid drifting in the deep black, billions of light years away from Earth.
A shimmering projection of Gabriel stood before her sister, Michael. The projection relayed the events of the failed negotiation, the declaration of war made in the sky over the city.
"I will consider her offer," Michael said, her massive arms crossed over her chestplate as she sat upon a rocky outcrop. "If you wish to kill her, that is your prerogative. But understand this: Cain is now your primary concern."
Gabriel's projected form flickered with frustration. "What is his significance? You keep diverting the objective. Lucifer murdered Samael. My focus should be on retribution. Are you not returning to Earth to end her?"
Michael stood, her twelve magnificent wings of pure, blazing light unfolding to their full, impossible span. "I am returning to Earth to imprison her in Heaven. She possesses knowledge of how to open the gate to the Beyond. She could doom all of Creation. And Cain…" Michael's voice dropped, heavy with dire implication. "…Cain is the key to that same gate. You must ensure the Beyond does not claim him before I arrive."
As Michael prepared to launch herself back into the void between stars, Gabriel's voice stopped her. "Why did Lucifer say she 'had to' kill Samael?"
Michael turned her head, a deep, melancholic smile touching her stern features. "You idolized Samael more than any of us. I cannot tell you what happened. Because you are my little sister."
Then, in a span of time shorter than Gabriel's next thought, Michael was gone. The asteroid was empty, leaving only Gabriel's swirling, tempestuous thoughts in her wake.
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The scene snapped back to Cain's kitchen.
"I know I'm in a dream."
The woman wearing Amelia's face stopped her tirade. She looked down at the floor and began to laugh. It started as a soft chuckle, then escalated into a full, manic cackle that filled the small room.
"You are perceptive, human. I commend you." When she looked up, her eyes were no longer warm brown. They were pools of solid, endless black.
Her neck twisted with an audible crack. A hand that was no longer entirely human shot out, closing around Cain's throat with crushing force. It lifted him off his feet. He struggled, clawing at the vise-like grip, but it was useless. She threw him bodily across the room. He crashed into the front door and crumpled to the floor, the impact driving the air from his lungs. His vision swam.
Through the blur, he saw it. Amelia's form was distorting, melting, and reforming. The baggy t-shirt split as a grotesque, vertical maw lined with jagged teeth erupted from the center of its torso. Saliva, thick and acidic, dripped onto the linoleum floor with a sizzle. It was a Malignant, and it was now crawling toward him on limbs that bent in all the wrong places.
"Do I look fake to you now, Cain?" the monster gurgled, its voice a wet distortion of Amelia's.
Oh shit, was all Cain could think, scrambling backwards on his elbows, his back pressed against the unyielding wood of the door.