Saturn was cut in half.
Horizontally.
A perfect, impossibly smooth line had been drawn through the gas giant's equatorial bulge. For a moment, the two halves remained in place, a celestial object defying its own nature. Where Dumah and Raziel had been, only their armored feet remained, severed cleanly at the ankles, floating in the void before tumbling away.
Lucifer hovered in the silent aftermath, observing the cataclysm she had authored. The very fabric of a planet had been destabilized. Steam rose from her entire body, and her pristine white wings were wreathed in flickering, dying flames. This was the true measure of a Fallen Angel's might, unrestrained.
She descended slowly onto the shattered surface of a nearby moon fragment. Her gaze lifted, piercing the cosmic distance, and locked directly onto Gabriel and Raphael. She waited, a silent challenge hanging in the void.
They stared back, the shock of what they had just witnessed still evident in their stillness.
Across the impossible distance, Lucifer and Gabriel's eyes met. A silent conversation passed between them, one of recognition, assessment, and cold intent.
Then, the inevitable physics of the atrocity caught up. The two colossal halves of Saturn, no longer held together by gravity, began to collapse inward. They slammed into each other with a force that released a titanic wave of heat and radiation. The symmetry of the rings was obliterated instantly, hurling billions of tons of ice and rock in every direction like a shotgun blast across the solar system.
A wave of superheated plasma washed over the moon fragment where Lucifer stood. It blew her hair back in a silver-gold stream, but she did not move. She remained a statue, her eyes still fixed on the distant point where Gabriel watched.
Gabriel began to clap. Slow, deliberate, silent applause in the vacuum. A smirk touched her lips.
Fwip.
In the next instant, she and Raphael were gone. Vanished from their observation point, leaving Lucifer alone amidst the cosmic wreckage she had created.
With the immediate threat gone, the immense tension bled from Lucifer's form. She deactivated her Authority. Her magnificent white wings dissolved into motes of light that faded into the surrounding darkness. The effort of maintaining such a state finally hit her. She dropped to a sitting position on the broken moon-rock, her body wracked with tremors. Steam billowed from her skin in great clouds. Above her head, the twin halos flickered wildly, then shattered like panes of glass, dissolving into nothingness.
She gasped, drawing in ragged, unnecessary breaths, trying to steady the divine energy raging within her.
If their attack pattern had been less predictable, she thought, the words labored even in her mind, I would not have needed to engage so directly. I would not have been forced to expend so much.
She stretched her arms, groaning at the deep, aching fatigue in every fiber of her being. Then she turned her head, looking through the chaotic debris field toward the distant, unseen speck of blue that was Earth.
Cain. Are you safe?
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On Earth, Cain was walking. After the explosion at the Manila Ocean Park, he had run until his lungs burned, putting as much distance between himself and the epicenter as he could. His car was forgotten. All that mattered was making himself hard to find.
When exhaustion finally crippled him, he slowed to a fast walk, blending into the flow of pedestrians in the historic district of Intramuros. The wail of sirens from fire trucks and ambulances formed a constant, mournful backdrop, drawing curious looks from everyone but him. He walked with his head down, his mind a numb buzz.
His feet carried him, almost of their own accord, through the heavy wooden doors of the Manila Cathedral. The relative quiet inside was a physical relief. He stumbled to a pew near the back and collapsed onto the hard wood, his chest heaving. He could feel a crushing pressure in his lungs, a phantom weight from the terror and the running. He focused on slowing his breathing, on the familiar scent of old wood and incense.
He sat there for a long time, long after the soft murmur of an afternoon service concluded and the other worshippers filed out. He looked down at his forearm, at the mark. The memory of the people in the park flooded back—the families, the couples, the children pointing at the fish. They were all gone. Vaporized in an instant because of what he carried. Because of him. He rubbed at the mark furiously, scrubbing the skin until it was raw and red, but the symbol remained, an indelible brand of guilt.
The faces of the dead flashed behind his eyes. He froze, staring at the mark as if it were a venomous creature latched to his skin.
A gentle touch on his shoulder broke the spiral.
He jolted, a survival instinct taking over. He whirled, his fist coming up in a wild, defensive swing.
He stopped just in time.
A priest stood before him, an elderly man with kind eyes and a patient smile. Cain slowly lowered his fist, aware of the few remaining people in the cathedral now staring at him. Heat flooded his cheeks.
"I… I'm so sorry, Father," he stammered, his voice rough.
The priest's smile didn't waver. "It is alright, my son. I can see you are carrying a great burden. If there is no one else to listen, we can step into the confessional. Let our Lord hear your story. There is no judgment there."
Inside the dim, enclosed space of the confessional, Cain sat on the hard bench. He felt exposed, vulnerable. His eyes were fixed on the mark glowing faintly on his arm.
The soft sound of someone settling onto the seat on the other side of the latticed screen echoed in the small space.
"What troubles you, my son?" The priest's voice was calm, inviting.
Cain hesitated, wrestling with the sheer absurdity of what he needed to say. He took a few steadying breaths. "Father… you have to promise me. What I say here… it can't leave this room."
"The seal of confession is absolute," the priest assured him, his voice gentle but firm. "You may speak freely. Unburden your heart."
The words loosened something inside Cain. He let out a long, shaky breath.
"A few days ago," he began, the words tumbling out in a low rush, "I met a real angel. I'm not lying. She has wings. She can teleport. She can… do things." He swallowed. "And this morning, she told me I have this mark. She said it's a sign. That it means the end of the world is starting."
He heard a soft, surprised intake of breath from the other side. The priest remained silent, urging him to continue.
"Then, today, two other angels found us. At the Ocean Park. They attacked. The angel I know… she saved me. But when she did…" His voice broke. "Everyone inside… they all died. It exploded. Because of me. And I feel like… I feel like their blood is on my hands."
He stared at the mark, which pulsed once, as if in agreement.
On the other side of the screen, the priest was quiet for a long moment. Cain braced for disbelief, for dismissal, for a platitude.
Instead, the priest's voice came again, still calm, still understanding. "Perhaps, my son, this mark is not a curse, but a crossroads. A light entering a life of despair, chaos intruding upon peace, so that you might find the strength to fight your way toward a better self. To change your trajectory."
The words were meant to comfort, to offer a spiritual interpretation. They were kind.
But Cain did not see the priest's face. He did not see the man's eyes, which had shifted from warm brown to a deep, glowing crimson. He did not see the serene, knowing smile that had settled on the priest's lips as he stared through the lattice at the marked young man pouring out his soul.