Chapter Text
Blitzø stood still as the portal closed behind Luke, the golden light vanishing into a hushed stillness. The garden around him returned to its unnatural calm—only the gentle rustling of leaves and soft trickle of water remained. He huffed and crossed his arms, scanning the dreamlike scenery with a scowl. Too peaceful. Creepy peaceful.
He exhaled sharply, muttering to no one, “Alright, Metatron, what’s next on this insane cosmic redemption arc?”
“Your training begins now,” came the calm, measured voice in his mind. “Luke will return soon, but we cannot waste time. The body you now possess was shaped for something greater, but it means nothing if you don’t learn how to use it.”
“Great. Homework with a celestial hall monitor. Just what I needed.” Blitzø rolled his eyes and started walking aimlessly through the grass. “You angels ever heard of a chill pill?”
“You’d be surprised how often I’ve recommended it,” Metatron replied with what sounded dangerously close to dry humor. “But we’re not here to relax. Focus inward. Feel the current moving through your body—stronger now, yes, but volatile. We need to ground it.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Blitzø muttered, standing still and closing his eyes reluctantly. “Feel the energy, channel the cosmic juju, yadda yadda…”
Despite his sarcasm, he followed the voice’s instructions. Beneath his skin, something stirred—subtle at first, then growing, coiling like a living current inside his veins. It wasn’t demonic, not exactly, but it wasn’t pure either. It was sharp. Alive. A burn waiting to happen if he lost control.
“Start with movement. Keep it simple. Control first. Precision before power.”
Blitzø began pacing, then shifting his stance, mimicking stretches and strikes he’d learned over years of fighting in back alleys and battlefield jobs. The new energy pulsed with every motion—sometimes boosting him, sometimes throwing him off-balance.
He grunted in frustration. “It’s like trying to steer a fucking wild horse... inside your bloodstream.”
“Then tame it,” Metatron replied simply.
Blitzø kept moving. Jab, turn, block. Every motion came with resistance—both from the force within and from his own tightly wound emotions. Rage. Guilt. Grief. He swung harder, teeth gritted, letting the pressure leak out through motion.
“Don’t let your feelings drive you off course,” Metatron warned, more gently this time. “Use them—but don’t let them use you.”
“Kind of hard not to when you’ve got a lifetime of regrets hanging off your back like a cursed backpack,” Blitzø snapped. He moved faster, pushing past the ache already setting into his muscles. “I burned down everything I touched. And now Heaven wants me to be their fucking superhero?”
“Heaven gave you a second chance,” Metatron said evenly. “What you do with it is still your choice.”
Blitzø didn’t answer. He kept going. Training, repetition, sweat, breath. He didn’t stop until his legs threatened to give out and his punches started swinging too wide. Finally, he dropped onto the grass with a groan, chest heaving, arms trembling.
“Not bad for a first day,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Still feel like crap, though.”
“You did well,” Metatron replied. “But this isn’t about doing it all at once. You’re not here to prove yourself in a single day.”
Blitzø scoffed, looking up at the sky. “Tell that to everyone who expects me to save their sorry asses when this ‘war’ shows up.”
There was a pause before Metatron answered, quieter this time.
“You won’t be alone. Luke will guide you. And I will be with you, as long as you let me.”
Blitzø grunted, not quite ready to admit the voice in his head was... comforting. “Yeah. Okay.”
He dragged himself up, hunger gnawing at his gut. Wandering deeper into the garden, he found glowing fruit hanging from pale trees. He picked one, sniffed it suspiciously, then took a bite. It was sweet—shockingly so—and it made him blink in surprise.
“Alright,” he said through a mouthful, “credit where it’s due. You guys know how to grow a snack.”
“The garden was made to nourish more than your body,” Metatron replied.
“Well, my soul’s starving too, so keep the fruit coming.”
He wandered to a nearby river, its crystal surface reflecting the silvering sky. Shedding his clothes, Blitzø waded in, sighing loudly as the water cooled his burning muscles. He ducked under and scrubbed the sweat and fatigue away, letting the silence seep in.
As he surfaced, blinking away the droplets, he felt lighter. Not good. Not healed. But lighter.
Drying off with the clean air and dressing again, he lay down beneath a wide tree. The stars blinked into existence overhead, cold and beautiful. The silence returned—not oppressive now, but peaceful. Thoughtful.
He stared up at the sky, arms behind his head.
“You’re not gonna sing me a lullaby, are you?” he muttered.
“Only if you beg.”
Blitzø snorted and closed his eyes. “I’ve had worse roommates.”
The silence settled again, but this time it didn’t press on him like before. He could feel the soreness in his body, the exhaustion in his bones—but also something else beneath it all. A faint, quiet pulse of potential. Of change.
With Luke by his side and Metatron’s voice in his head, he wasn’t sure if he was being remade or just patched up. But for once, he didn’t feel completely alone.
The road ahead was daunting, and Blitzø didn’t trust it one bit. He had doubts about the whole rebirth thing, and even more about his own place in any of it. Still... maybe—just maybe—there was something left in him worth salvaging. Not for Heaven. Not for hell. But for the people who still mattered.
He exhaled softly, letting the tension fade as he looked up at the stars blinking through the darkening sky. They reminded him of distant promises—maybe not meant for someone like him, but visible all the same.
Tomorrow would bring new trials, more pain, more training. But tonight, beneath the shelter of the garden’s ancient trees, with no one expecting him to be anything but still, he let himself rest. A small, barely-there smile tugged at his lips as sleep took him.
The sun was barely up, and the golden light of Heaven filtered softly through the vast garden trees. Warm tones danced across the grass as early rays glinted against the leaves, swaying with the breeze like whispered memories.
Luke stepped through the portal, boots landing soundlessly on the mossy ground. He exhaled through his nose, tension already weighing down his shoulders again. Even after just one night in Hell, the air here felt too clean, too still. But the familiar ache in his chest had nothing to do with Heaven’s unnatural peace.
It had to do with the figure slouched under the gnarled tree ahead.
Blitzø sat leaning against the thick trunk, his posture as defiant as ever despite the quiet of the morning. One knee drawn up, the other leg sprawled. Arms crossed tightly over his chest. Jaw clenched. Eyes fixed somewhere far off, brows furrowed in restless thought. He looked like he hadn’t slept—or maybe he’d slept too much and hated that he had.
Luke slowed as he approached, his footfalls soft against the grass. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just looked.
His brother is here. Scarred. Changed. But alive.
That reality hadn’t fully sunk in.
Blitzø noticed him then and shifted, breaking the silence with a voice rough from sleep and irritation. “So. You did come back. Was starting to think Hell swallowed you up again.”
Luke cracked a small smile and sat down beside him, leaving just enough space not to crowd. “What, and miss another opportunity to get called names by my big brother?”
Blitzø scoffed. “You wish. I was planning to call you ‘golden boy,’ but I figured it was too early in the morning to gag.”
Luke chuckled softly, eyes still fixed ahead. “Nice to know some things don’t change.”
A brief silence settled between them—not cold, but uncertain. Like the air between two people with too much to say and no idea where to start.
Then Blitzø spoke again, quieter this time. “I’ve been thinking. About the fire. About everything that came after.”
Luke nodded slowly, his voice gentle. “Me too.”
Blitzø’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. Just... pain. “I lost everything that night, Luke. Mom. You. Fizz got burned. Barbie blamed herself for not being there. And me? He exhaled, jaw tightening. “Cash told everyone it was my fault. Said I lit the fire on purpose. And everyone believed him, even Barbie and Fizz..." Blitzø stared off into the trees, voice low. “No one questioned it. Why would they? I already had a temper, already screwed things up all the time. It just... fit. And suddenly, I was the villain of my own fucking story.”
Luke looked at him sharply, jaw tightening. “That’s not fair.”
“No shit it’s not fair,” Blitzø snapped. “But it’s Hell. What else is new?”
Luke didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, worn object—a faded photo. Just a glimpse of it in his palm: four teens smiling beneath circus lights. Blitzø, Barbie, Fizz, and a younger Luke, barely a teen. Happy. Whole.
He offered it to Blitzø without a word.
Blitzø stared at it, motionless. When he finally took it, it was with trembling fingers. His eyes scanned the image, and his breath caught.
“I kept it,” Luke said, voice steady. “All through training. Every time I felt like giving up... this reminded me why I couldn’t.”
Blitzø didn't speak. His throat tightened too much to let anything out.
Luke looked away for a moment, blinking hard. “I thought I’d never see any of you again, Blitzø. After I woke up in Heaven, it was just... silence. No goodbyes. No warnings. Just me... alone.”
A beat passed before Blitzø muttered, still staring at the photo, “You got lucky. At least you didn’t have to watch it all fall apart.”
Luke shook his head. “No, I didn’t. But I had to live knowing I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t come back. Couldn’t tell any of you that I was alive. I screamed in my own head for years, wanting to reach you.”
Blitzø finally looked at him. Really looked. And for the first time, there was no sarcasm behind his eyes. Just grief. “Why you, Luke?
Luke didn’t have an answer.
So Blitzø looked away again, gripping the photo tighter, then placing it on top of your legs. “Whatever. You’re here now.”
Luke gave a small nod. “I am.”
Blitzø glanced at him sideways—then blinked.
Really looked at him.
Luke wasn’t a scrawny kid anymore. He was tall now—tall-tall, nearly twice Blitzø’s height. His once-messy white hair was longer, slicked back with effortless elegance, though a few rebellious strands fell near his temples. His eyes, once bright red like Blitzø’s, now shimmered gold, catching the sunlight like polished metal. And his outfit—rich fabrics of black and crimson, accented with gleaming golden seams—looked like it had been forged halfway between a battlefield and a throne room.
“Well, shit,” Blitzø muttered. “You really went full celestial fashion show, huh?”
Luke blinked. “What?”
“You look like if Hell and Heaven had a kid and dumped it into a Renaissance painting.” Blitzø gestured vaguely. “Gold-trimmed armor, custom tailoring, ‘I-read-books-in-four-languages’ hair... You even grew up. What the fuck.”
Luke chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah. Fifteen years and a rebirth process will do that.”
Blitzø tilted his head, eyes narrowing in mock scrutiny. “And your eyes... They’re gold. That a new thing”
“They changed after the binding,” Luke said, not quite smiling.
Blitzø sat up a bit straighter at that. The teasing edge left his voice, replaced by curiosity and caution. “Right. The rebirth thing. I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Luke took a long breath, stretching his arms over his knees, looking up at the shifting leaves above. “You really want to know?”
Blitzø leaned back with a groan. “What, you gonna make me beg for it? Spill. I need to know what freaky angel crap I signed up for.”
Luke let out a low, almost nostalgic laugh as he leaned back on his palms, the morning breeze stirring the tips of his hair. He pulled at a few blades of grass absentmindedly, gaze distant.
“It’s strange, at first,” he began, voice soft. “You remember I was 14 when the fire happened. Then I woke up in a place that feels like it exists outside of time. No pain. No hunger. No fear. Just… silence. And then Azrael appears, calm as ever. Like she already knew every part of me, even the parts I wasn’t ready to face.”
Blitzø turned his head slightly, watching Luke with quiet curiosity.
“Michael came next,” Luke added. “He wasn’t cold. Just... deliberate. They both were. Honest. Grounded. The hard part wasn’t them.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “It was everyone else. The rest of the Celestial Council didn’t take kindly to a reborn imp walking around their perfect halls.”
Blitzø raised an eyebrow, folding his arms behind his head. “Ugh. Let me guess. A bunch of winged porcelain dolls throwing a hissy fit?”
“Basically,” Luke said, lips curving into a wry smile. “They questioned everything—my origin, my soul, whether I had any right to exist in their presence. A few even suggested my resurrection was a mistake.”
Blitzø scoffed. “Typical. Imps gotta bleed out three times just to get half a seat at the table.”
Luke nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the grass. “Yeah. I spent five years in Heaven, training, learning to control my new powers, studying the politics of both Heaven and Hell. It was... isolating. But the hardest part wasn’t them. It was... adjusting. Because I wasn’t just me anymore.”
Blitzø tilted his head, brow furrowing.
“I was fused, just like you,” Luke continued, his voice quieter now. “They need an angelic soul to anchor the rebirth. One with the strength to balance mine. Abadon, an archangel of order and war. He was chosen to anchor my soul.”
Blitzø blinked, then gave a dry chuckle. “Of course they stuck you with one of the scary ones. Heaven's idea of balance: stick the shy imp with a holy sledgehammer.”
Luke smirked, but his expression turned contemplative. “Abadon was... intense. Disciplined. Tactical. Always calculating. When I woke up, I was hesitant. Full of doubts. And he wasn’t. He didn’t understand fear, or guilt, or grief. I saw people—he saw threats. I questioned myself—he calculated outcomes. We clashed. A lot.”
Blitzø grinned crookedly. “So, what, you two argued in your head like an old married couple?”
“At first?” Luke chuckled. “Felt more like a war room with one chair and two generals. But it changed. Slowly. He started to listen. I started to trust him. We weren’t just fighting each other anymore—we started to fight together.”
Blitzø was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “Guess that’s what everyone is waiting for me with Metatron, huh?”
Luke glanced at him, eyes warm. “He’s already in your head. Tell me how it is.”
Blitzø snorted. “So far he’s more like a philosophical therapist with a God complex. Polite, though. Weirdly respectful. Makes me nervous.”
“That’s good,” Luke said. “Metatron’s not a warrior like Abadon, but he’s powerful in ways most angels can’t grasp. Analytical. Patient. You'll balance each other differently—but just as strongly.”
Luke’s smile softened. “Abadon and I had to change each other. He tempered my doubts; I softened his harshness. Slowly, we stopped feeling like two souls forced together and started becoming one. Not just Luke with Abadon tagging along, or Abadon dragging me around. Something new emerged—something stronger.”
A breeze stirred the trees above, scattering light over the grass. Luke’s gaze drifted skyward. Then he close his eyes. “It’s rough at first—headaches, visions, waking up in the middle of the night—but after years, it gets easier. It stops feeling like sharing a body and starts feeling like becoming more than just yourself.”
Blitzø grinned, then muttered, “Well, I guess if you’re gonna be possessed, better be by someone who knows how to fight.”
“I wouldn’t have made it without Abadon,” he admitted. “The strength he gave me—mental, emotional, even spiritual—was what let me endure both Heaven’s judgment and Hell’s chaos. Especially when it came to earning Lucifer’s trust.”
Blitzø glanced sideways, intrigued.
“Wasn’t easy,” Luke continued. “He didn’t want anything to do with me at first. I wasn’t royalty. I wasn’t a noble. Just a 19 year old devil who appeared out of nowhere, with some strange and mysterious connection with Heaven. I had to show up over and over again. Uninvited. Challenging him. Refusing to disappear. I think... at first he saw me as an annoyance. But I think he respected my determination.”
Blitzø shifted beside him, absently shredding a blade of grass between his fingers. “So... what even is a Viceroy of Hell?” he asked, flicking the torn grass away like it had offended him. “Do you sit around in some velvet chair, sip holy martinis, and bark orders at demons who hate your guts?”
Luke let out a breath of dry laughter. “I wish it were that glamorous. While Lucifer’s withdrawn from his duties, yeah. I handle governance—mediating disputes between the rings, managing political treaties, overseeing the Extermination Day logistics, handling crises that pop up across the layers...”
Blitzø blinked. “So you're basically Hell’s glorified babysitter.”
Luke snorted. “If the kids had nuclear weapons and a centuries-long grudge against each other? Then yes. But it wasn’t a promotion—it was a war of attrition.”
Blitzø let out a theatrical gasp, one hand to his chest. “You mean the crown of flaming agony wasn’t handed to you on a silver-plated platter? I’m stunned. Truly.”
Luke smirked, but didn’t take the bait. “Winning over Lucifer’s trust wasn’t about being qualified. It was about showing up. Over and over again. I’d crash his meetings, challenge his decisions, demand his time. I became so relentless, I think at first he kept me around just to see how long I’d last.”
Blitzø snorted. “So basically, you annoyed the King of Hell into giving you a job. That’s either the most badass thing I’ve ever heard—or the dumbest.”
“Maybe both,” Luke said with a grin. “But it worked. Eventually, I stopped being the loud nuisance and started becoming the guy who never backed down. Even when he mocked me, ignored me, made it very clear he didn’t want me there—I stayed.”
Blitzø cocked an eyebrow. “And that didn’t get you murdered?”
“It nearly did. Several times,” Luke said, not even joking. “I made enemies. Lots of them.”
“Shocker,” Blitzø muttered. “Let me guess—the Goetia royal brat-pack threw a celestial tantrum when you got the title?”
Luke nodded slowly, fingers threading through the grass again. “Paimon especially. Luke’s jaw tightened slightly. “And there’s also Satan. He made it very clear he expected to be named. Thought it was his right as the Sin of Wrath to take over if Lucifer ever stepped down.”
Blitzø raised a brow. “And when he didn’t get it?”
Luke sighed. “He exploded. Literally. Torched a council hall. Threatened to drag the sky down and bury it in fire. He’s hated me ever since—called me a glorified angel-rat. Says I’m too soft to lead, too holy to rule Hell.”
Blitzø scoffed. “And here I thought I had anger issues.”
Luke offered a dry smile. “Satan believes in power through fear. He thinks Hell should remain exactly as it is—violent, chaotic, ruled by dominance and blood. And then there was Charlie, of course. Some thought she’d inherit by default.”
“Sure,” Blitzø muttered, “but she doesn’t want to rule the way her dad does.”
“Exactly,” Luke nodded. “She wants to heal Hell, not command it… she believes that she’s following her mother's dream. I admire that, I do—but I’ll admit, I don’t fully understand this redemption idea. And Lucifer... he didn’t want that pressure on her. So instead of naming Satan, or his daughter, Paimon or even one of the other Sins-”
Blitzø said, grinning, “Lucifer gave it to a gloweyes imp who wouldn't leave him the hell alone.”
Luke’s laugh was humorless. “Honestly, I think he did it to punish me. Hand me the reins, dump the bureaucracy on my head, and watch me drown in it. I was the perfect scapegoat: persistent, naive, and expendable.”
Blitzø laughed, almost choking on it. “Lucifer really is an asshole. But credit where it’s due, that’s one hell of a power move.”
Luke nodded, a faint grimness settling into his features. “It was. But it backfired. I didn’t crash. I didn’t drown. I learned. Slowly. I memorized ancient contracts, debated with dukes, stared down overlords. I clawed respect out of people who thought I wasn’t even worth a seat at the table.”
His voice lowered. “But I never stopped being the outsider. I was too Heaven for Hell, and too Hell for Heaven. And people always notice when you don’t fit.” Luke smiled faintly. “I’ve had to watch my back ever since. Satan would slit my throat with a smile if he could. Most of the Goetias think I’m a threat to the old order. Even some of the other Sins pretend I don’t exist.”
Blitzø looked at him for a long moment, then gave a low whistle. “And I thought I had drama.”
Luke chuckled under his breath. “It’s Hell. Everyone has drama. The difference is who survives it.”
Blitzø cracked a grin. “Guess that makes us both walking disasters that refused to die.”
Luke turned to him with a smirk. “Runs in the family.”
They sat in silence for a moment longer, the morning air still cool, the quiet only broken by the rustle of leaves above them. For all their pain and all their differences, they had one unshakable thing left: each other.
Luke leaned back, arms draped loosely over his knees, his golden gaze steady on Blitzø. “You’ve heard enough about me. Now tell me what happened to you… after the fire.”
Blitzø didn’t respond right away. He sat still under the tree’s shadow, legs stretched, arms resting over his stomach like he was trying to hold something in. His eyes locked on the grass, fingers slowly plucking at it, one blade at a time.
“I survived,” he muttered.
Luke said nothing, only nodded once and waited.
“I lived on the streets for a while,” Blitzø continued, his voice flat, almost clinical. “Ate whatever I could find. Slept behind dumpsters. Got into fights just to feel something. Worked random jobs—delivery, pickpocketing, breaking legs, clowning. Anything. Just enough to keep breathing.”
His lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Eventually, I ended up at Loo Loo Land. Fucking poetic, right? Burn down one circus, get hired as a joke in another. Wearing paint, doing pratfalls, getting screamed at by brats while drunk dads threw popcorn at my face.”
Luke’s heart tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Blitzø wasn’t done.
“I started realizing I was good with weapons. Like, really good. Reflexes, aim, control. Guess all the fighting paid off. Got a gig as a bodyguard for a rising popstar—Verosika Mayday.”
He shot Luke a sideways glance. “Yeah, that Verosika.”
Luke raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging him to go on.
“We were a mess. Fast, loud, full of sex and screaming and broken bottles. We were perfect... until we weren’t. I left before it got serious. I always do.” Blitzø shrugged, voice tight. “Ended up broke again. Angry. Got this idea to start a murder-for-hire business—because, y’know, that’s healthy. And somehow, it worked.”
He paused then, and something in his expression softened. “That’s when I met her.”
Luke leaned slightly forward, sensing the shift.
“Loona,” Blitzø said, the name landing on his tongue like something both sharp and warm. “She was at this dingy orphanage. Hissing at anyone who came near. Biting, snarling, trashing furniture. They were about to throw her out.”
He ran a hand over his face. “But I saw her. I saw me. Broken, furious, terrified... and just trying to act tough enough no one would ever hurt her again.”
Luke’s voice was gentle. “So you took her in.”
“I fought for her,” Blitzø said. “Had to lie, cheat, steal... threatened a guy with a fork. But I got her out of there.”
He let out a shaky laugh. “She didn’t trust me. For months. Wouldn’t talk. Bit me twice. I tried to hug her once and she broke my nose.”
Luke blinked. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah.” Blitzø grinned faintly. “I deserved it. I didn’t know how to be a dad. Still don’t. But I fed her. Protected her. Stayed. And little by little, she started to believe I wasn’t going to disappear.”
There was a long pause before he added, quieter now, “That was four years ago. Now she calls me ‘dad’ when she thinks I’m not listening. Still pretends she doesn’t care... but I see it. I feel it. She’s mine. And I’m hers.”
Luke’s smile was full of something deep and quiet. “You’re a good father, Blitz.”
Blitzø scoffed, but his voice lacked venom. “Nah. I’m just the one who stayed.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Anyway,” Blitzø said, clearing his throat and shaking off the heaviness. “After that, I tried to get funding for the business. Got arrested. Again. That’s where I met Moxxie—nervous, twitchy, wouldn’t shut up, but smart. Like weirdly smart. Helped me escape. We started freelancing together. Eventually, we ran into Millie. Nearly lost a contract to her. She beat our asses, so naturally, I hired her.”
Luke laughed under his breath. “That’s very on-brand for you.”
“Yeah, well, violence makes for a great interview process.” Blitzø shrugged. “And that’s I.M.P. Not glamorous. Barely profitable. But it’s the closest thing I’ve had to a family in decades.”
He looked away, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
“And sometimes... it almost feels like it’s enough.”
Blitzø grew quiet again, his fingers digging absently into the earth beside him. The silence lingered—not awkward, but heavy. Like something was still buried between his ribs, and saying it out loud might shake it loose.
“One day,” he said finally, voice low, “this sinner shows up. Real rich bastard. Wants someone taken out in the human world. Says he’ll pay big. Only problem—we couldn’t get there. Not without magic.”
He glanced sideways at Luke, a flicker of a smirk twitching at his lips. “That’s when I remembered the grimoire.”
Luke frowned slightly. “Wait—you already knew about Stolas’s grimoire back then?”
Blitzø let out a short, dry laugh. “You don’t remember? You were still small, but already in the family by then. Stolas’s birthday. I was, what, eight? Cash sold me off for the day—called it a playdate. In theory, I was just supposed to keep a lonely Goetia kid company. But really, he ordered me to steal whatever looked valuable and smuggle it back to him.”
He sat up a little straighter, more animated now, though the memory didn’t bring joy. “Spent the whole day with Stolas. He wouldn’t shut up. Talked about stars, prophecies, his new grimoire like it was a holy relic. And honestly? I was enchanted. Despite the fear of getting caught, I actually had fun.”
Luke blinked slowly. “That’s where you learned about the book?”
“Yep,” Blitzø said with a nod. “So, years later, desperate for a way into the living world, I broke into the palace. Figured I could grab it and bolt.”
Luke stared. “Let me guess. You didn’t get very far.”
“Got tackled by guards halfway down the third hallway,” Blitzø said, smirking faintly. “Almost made it to his room. Would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so damn pathetic.”
Luke’s face softened. “And that’s when he made the deal?”
Blitzø shook his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Not right away.”
He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head with theatrical confidence. “First time, I didn’t ask. I seduced him.”
Luke raised an eyebrow.
Blitzø grinned. “What? I’m damn good at it. You haven't seen me work a room yet. One look, a few well-placed touches, and that uptight owl was melting in my hands.” He chuckled. “Stolas might’ve been a Goetia prince, but under all that fancy fluff, he was just a lonely bastard looking for a thrill.”
Luke gave him a dry look, but Blitzø’s pride was undeterred.
“Spent the night with him, slipped out before sunrise, and snagged the grimoire on my way out. Smooth as hell.”
“Did you just leave??” Luke asked, incredulous.
“Yup. I jumped off the balcony straight onto his wife with ancient royal magic tucked under my arm like a souvenir. Thought I’d pulled off the score of my life.” He tilted his head, the grin fading slightly. “But then… he didn’t send guards. Didn’t try to take it back. Just sent a message. Polite, even. Said he’d like to see me again.”
Luke frowned. “And you went?”
Blitzø shrugged. “Yeah. I figured, hell, if he wasn’t pissed, maybe I could squeeze a few more nights in. Plus, Stolas had a way of making it... interesting.” A flicker of something softer crossed his face.
He paused, quieter now. “A few weeks later, he made the real offer. One night every full moon. I show up, he gets his... company, and I get the grimoire until the next cycle. It was clean. Simple.”
Luke didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
“At first, it was just that. Sex for the book. Business. I treated it like a transaction. And so did he. Or... at least, I thought he did.”
Blitzø pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his arms over them. “But things got blurry. He’d talk to me. Ask about Loona. The business. He’d make tea. Light candles. He looked at me like I was... worth something. Not just an imp crawling out of the gutter.”
His voice lowered. “I don’t think anyone had ever done that before.”
Luke’s gaze stayed on him, calm and steady. “So what happened?”
Blitzø let out a laugh—but it was hollow. “He stopped calling me over. Then one night, out of nowhere, he asks me to come. First time in months. I thought maybe he missed me.” He swallowed. “Instead, he gave me a gift. A Asmodian crystal. Said I wouldn’t need the book anymore. Wouldn’t need him anymore.”
His voice cracked slightly. “Didn’t say the words, but... that was the end. I didn’t get it. I thought he was throwing me away.”
Luke’s brow furrowed. “And that was it?”
“We fought,” Blitzø said quietly. “It was ugly. I said some things I wish I hadn’t. But it felt like betrayal. Like I was being told, ‘Thanks for your time, now fuck off.’ He moved on.”
He paused, fingers curling tighter into the dirt. “And I kept pretending it never meant anything.” The weight of his words settled like ash between them.
“And yet,” Luke said softly, “you saved him. When Andrealphus came for him.”
Blitzø didn’t meet his eyes. “Because I owed him. For the book. For the chances. For making me feel like I mattered. Even if it was just for a while.”
He inhaled sharply. “I didn’t want to love him, Luke. I tried not to. But I think I did. And now it’s just another pile of ash I get to carry around.”
Luke reached over, placing a steady hand on Blitzø’s shoulder. “He’s not the only one who saw your worth.”
Blitzø finally looked up at him. No smirk. No venom. Just the ache of someone who'd carried too much, for too long.
His voice came out in a broken whisper. “Then why does everyone always leave?”
Luke just looked at him — really looked. No smirk. No insult. No mask.
Only grief, raw and unfiltered. The kind that didn’t need to be shouted to be understood.
And in that moment, Luke saw something he hadn’t dared to hope for.
Not just his brother, broken and angry and bitter at the world — but a flicker of the boy he used to be. That reckless spark in his eyes. That fire that had once made them feel like nothing could touch them. It wasn’t gone.
It was still there.
Flickering, fragile… but alive.
The same fire that had torn their family apart — that had burned down their childhood in one cruel night — had also forged something in them. Hardened them. Shaped them. Forced them to rise from ash and scars into something else.
That blaze had destroyed everything.
But it had also lit the path that brought them here.
And now, Luke could feel it — that echo of the fire’s light — burning right in front of him, in the hollow places Blitzø thought no one could see.
He tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder, not to console, not to fix — just to let him know:
I see it. I still see you.
Blitzø’s breath hitched. His gaze drifted down. He didn’t pull away. And for the first time in years, maybe for the first time since the fire… He didn’t feel alone.
Luke finally exhaled, slow and steady, as if releasing the weight of years in one breath. Then he stood, brushing the dirt from his hands and straightening his coat. The red and gold accents caught the morning light, glinting like embers — the remnants of something burned, reshaped into something new.
He looked down at Blitzø, who was still sitting beneath the tree, holding that old, worn photograph between his fingers. The edges were bent now from how tightly he’d gripped it.
Without a word, Blitzø extended it toward Luke.
“Here,” he muttered, not meeting his eyes. “It’s yours. Always was.”
Luke took it gently, glancing once more at the faded image of four kids smiling beneath a circus tent — before the fire, before the scars.
“This photo...” he said quietly, slipping it back into the inside pocket of his coat, close to his heart, “is my amulet. Reminds me of who I’m fighting for.”
He glanced at Blitzø, a flicker of warmth in his expression. “I think you'll need one. Something to carry alongside it.”
Blitzø raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What, a glamor shot of me posing with a shotgun and yelling at Moxxie?”
Luke smiled. “Something like that. I’ll get a photo of your team — you, Loona, the rest. Your family.”
Blitzø blinked, caught off guard by the word. “Family’s a strong word.”
Luke tilted his head. “So’s amulet. But you’ve earned both.”
Blitzø looked away, his voice low but sincere. “...She’s startin’ to call me Dad now. Not every day, but... sometimes.”
Luke’s hand landed gently on his shoulder. “Then that’s the photo you need.”
The silence between them lingered, no longer heavy with grief, but filled with something steadier. Real.
Then Luke stepped back and adjusted his coat with a quick flick of his wrists.
“The past had its time,” he said. “Now it’s done.” He extended his hand to Blitzø. “It’s time to train. The future’s not gonna wait.”
Blitzø eyed him with a half-smirk. “You just love your dramatic transitions, don’t you?”
Luke grinned. “Only when they work.”
Blitzø took the hand, and Luke pulled him to his feet. This time, they didn’t let go right away.
Whatever the future held — war, angels, politics, Hell itself — they’d face it together. Armed with old scars, new strength, and the echoes of the fire that had burned them both...
...but never quite put them out.