The crimson sea stretched endless beneath a bleeding sky.
Blood dripped from Lucifer's fingertips, each drop hitting the water with a hiss, turning the ocean darker, thicker, redder. His black wings were spread wide, feathers sharp as obsidian blades. A lazy, cruel smile played on his lips as he looked up.
Ten meters above the surface, suspended in dead air, an angel hovered.
His white robes were torn and soaked scarlet. One hand gripped a trembling spear. His golden eyes burned with pure, unholy rage.
"You die today, Lucifer," the angel snarled, voice cracking like thunder. "You slaughtered my son. You butchered my wife. You turned Heaven itself into a graveyard."
Lucifer tilted his head, amused.
"Oh, I remember," he said, voice smooth as poisoned honey. "Your pretty little wife was on her knees, begging. Crying. 'Spare my son,' she sobbed. 'I'll do anything. I'll even warm your bed.'"
He licked his lips slowly.
"I made her watch while I carved your boy into pieces. Slow. Screaming. Then I fed her his flesh. Piece by piece. She choked on her own son's heart before I snapped her neck."
A low, demonic chuckle rolled out of him; deep, guttural, dripping with filth.
The air turned ice-cold despite the blood boiling below.
Every surviving angel floating around them flinched. Some bled from missing limbs. Others stared with dead, hateful eyes. Broken halos flickered weakly above their heads. Corpses bobbed gently on the red waves.
The angel above trembled harder, spear shaking in his grip.
"You filthy fucking monster—"