Rain fell in heavy, relentless sheets, turning the empty expanse of the People's Park in Valenzuela City into a blurred, grey landscape. Two figures stood in the downpour, no umbrella between them, their clothes plastered to their skin.
Amelia looked up at him, her dark hair clinging to her face. Tears welled in her eyes, indistinguishable from the rain on her cheeks. She waited, her expression a mix of heartbreak and desperate hope, for him to say something, anything.
Cain gazed back at her, at the pain he had caused. He gathered every scrap of his courage, forced the corners of his mouth into a weak, trembling smile, and spoke the words he thought would set them both free.
"I wish I never met you, Amelia."
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The memory shattered like glass. The cold rain was gone, replaced by the cool, still air of night.
In the modest, fenced-in backyard of Cain's house, Lucifer stood facing him. The agreed-upon training was about to begin. A single outdoor light cast long, stark shadows across the grass.
"So," Cain said, shifting his weight nervously. "What's the first step?"
Lucifer regarded him with a placid expression. "Strike me. Give me your most powerful punch."
Cain immediately shook his head, taking a step back. "No. I can't hit a woman. It's not right."
"I am not a woman," Lucifer stated, her voice flat and factual. "I am an angel. Perceive me as your adversary. Attack with the intent to end my existence." In her mind, she added a tactical note: If my recollection is accurate, the Mark's power resonates with lethal intent.
"I really can't," Cain insisted, offering an awkward, strained chuckle. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit of discomfort.
Lucifer simply nodded, her arms still crossed. Then she blinked.
In the space of that blink, a new person stood between them. He was a middle-aged man with a confused, alarmed expression, dressed in pajamas and holding a half-eaten sandwich. He looked wildly around the unfamiliar backyard.
"Wha… where am I? This isn't Cardiff!" the man sputtered in a thick British accent.
Lucifer reached out and gave him a gentle push. The man stumbled back a step… and froze. Completely still, as if time itself had stopped for him.
Cain stared, his jaw slack. "What did you do? Why did you bring a random person here?"
Lucifer let out a small sigh, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "You require motivation. You will now fight for this man's life. If you refuse to strike me, I will terminate him."
"You're joking," Cain said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Every person in that park today perished because of your proximity," Lucifer said, her golden eyes locking onto his. There was no malice in her tone, only cold, brutal logic. "More will follow. Because you are weak. Because you are indecisive. If Amelia were alive today, she too would likely be dead. Because of you."
Cain flinched as if struck. He said nothing. But on his forearm, the strange Mark began to glow with a soft, internal light.
A raw, guttural sound escaped his throat. He charged. He threw a wild, desperate punch straight at Lucifer's face.
His fist stopped a foot from her, as if it had slammed into an invisible, unyielding wall. A shock of pain jolted up his arm. He gasped, shaking his hand, staring at the empty space where the barrier had been.
Lucifer gave a dismissive wave of her hand. The frozen British man vanished, presumably returned to his kitchen in Cardiff. "There was a barrier," she confirmed. "I have now lowered my defenses to the level of an average human female. Strike me again."
Cain, his heart pounding from the adrenaline and her cruel words, threw another punch. This time, there was no wall. Lucifer simply tilted her head a fraction, and his fist passed through empty air.
"Attack with the intent to kill," she instructed, her voice a calm counterpoint to his ragged breathing. "Visualize your enemy. Aim for a vital point."
He swung again. She dodged again. The cycle repeated. Cain, fueled by a rising tide of frustration, fear, and a strange new energy, began to move faster. His punches came quicker, his footwork grew less clumsy. He was moving at speeds that edged beyond human normalcy.
Lucifer watched, analyzing. She could see it now—a faint, nascent glow beginning to emanate from him. He was generating his own Divine Energy, a trickle from the awakened Mark.
In a moment of pure, instinctual combat, Cain lunged. As he did, a short, gleaming sword of shimmering white light materialized in his hand. He didn't will it; it simply appeared as an extension of his intent. He swung, his eyes widening in panic as he realized the blade was arcing toward her neck.
Lucifer raised her index finger.
The divine blade connected with her fingertip with a sound like a ringing bell. It held for a split second, then shattered into a thousand motes of fading light.
"Interesting," Lucifer said, a hint of genuine appraisal in her voice. She clapped her hands together twice, softly.
Cain stood panting, staring at his empty hand. "How… how did I do that?"
"The Mark is providing you with a nascent energy source," she explained. "Divine Energy. All celestial beings possess the ability to shape it. It is called a Divine Construct. You manifest a weapon whose form and function you comprehend."
"Any weapon?" Cain asked, his mind racing.
Lucifer nodded.
He frowned, concentrating. He thought of a gun. Specifically, the image of a sleek pistol with a silencer from a movie. He focused the strange, warm energy coiling in his chest into his palm.
A moment later, the exact pistol materialized in his hand. It felt cool and solid. He looked at it, then pointed it at a patch of dirt and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing happened. He tried again. Click. Click.
"It's not working?" he muttered, confused. Then understanding dawned. Oh. Right. I don't actually know how a gun works. I just know what it looks like.
The pistol dissolved into light. In its place, a katana formed. It was lighter than he expected, perfectly balanced. He gave it an experimental swing, the blade cutting the air with a soft whoosh.
"Divine constructs possess no true weight," Lucifer explained, watching him. "They have a pseudo-mass, allowing them to interact with physical objects, but they will not burden you."
She gestured for him to resume. "Attack me again. Use the weapon. Always aim for a lethal strike. Let the intent fuel the action."
Cain nodded, his earlier reluctance burned away. He gripped the katana, its hilt feeling strangely natural in his hand. He charged.
This time, his movements were different. He wasn't just throwing punches. He was swinging the blade with purpose, each strike aimed with a focused, lethal precision he didn't know he possessed. He moved faster, the sword becoming a blur of pale light in the dark backyard. He wasn't thinking about technique. He was thinking about the people in the park. About proving Lucifer wrong. About protecting the next person, and the next, from the doom his Mark seemed to attract.
They trained through the rest of the night, the only sounds the soft swish of the divine blade, the scuff of feet on grass, and Lucifer's occasional, monosyllabic corrections.