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Chapter Text

The night air was deathly still, the eerie silence only broken by the distant crackling of ice as it encased Stolas’s mansion. Blitzø stood at the front gates, gripping the enchanted sword tightly. His breath came in frosty puffs, a stark contrast to the infernal heat he was used to. The sword’s blade glowed faintly, casting a soft light on the ground beneath him.

Blitzø’s mind raced as he surveyed the frozen battlefield. He had been fighting Andrealphus for what felt like hours, and the mansion was almost entirely covered in ice. Stolas, who had been lured into a trap upon hearing that Octavia was in danger, found himself depowered on the ground, not far from Blitzø.

Andrealphus circled Blitzø, his eyes cold and calculating. “You’re out of your league, imp,” he sneered, conjuring shards of ice in his hands. Each one glinted menacingly in the moonlight, promising pain and death.

Blitzø tightened his grip on the sword, feeling its magic thrumming through his veins. “I’ve faced worse than you, bitch!” he retorted, though the tremble in his voice betrayed his fear.

Andrealphus’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Let’s see how long you can last.” With a flick of his wrist, he sent a barrage of ice spikes hurtling towards Blitzø.

Blitzø dodged and deflected as best he could, the enchanted sword slicing through the air with a whistle. Each movement sent jolts of pain through his muscles, already fatigued from the intense cold. A spike grazed his arm, drawing a line of blood, but he pressed on, his eyes locked on Andrealphus.

The icy spikes crashed around him, splintering against the ground and walls, leaving a trail of frost wherever they touched. Blitzø's heart pounded in his chest as he pressed forward, each step a battle against the biting cold and his own exhaustion. The air was thick with the tension of impending death.

Suddenly, Andrealphus conjured a massive spear of ice and hurled it directly at Stolas. Without a second thought, Blitzø sprang into action. "Fuck!" he shouted, throwing himself in the spear's path and deflecting it with the enchanted sword. The impact sent him staggering back, pain radiating through his body.

Stolas, who had been frozen in fear, watched in horror as Blitzø saved him. Blitzø turned, grabbing Stolas by the shoulders. “Get the fuck back!” he ordered, pushing Stolas away with all his remaining strength. The prince stumbled backward, landing hard on the icy ground, but out of immediate danger.

Blitzø turned back to face Andrealphus, his resolve hardening. He could see Loona, Moxxie, and Millie trapped behind a wall of ice, their expressions a mix of fear and helplessness. They pounded against the ice, their cries muffled but desperate.

“Blitzø!” Moxxie yelled, his voice barely audible. “Don’t do this!”

Blitzø’s eyes flicked to his friends, their faces etched with worry and fear. Millie stood poised, her fists clenched and eyes blazing with determination. Moxxie, though shaking, had his weapon ready, prepared to fight despite the odds. Loona, usually aloof, looked anxious, her ears flattened against her head. Blitzø’s gaze returned to Andrealphus, a towering figure of ice and power.

“I have to,” Blitzø murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper. “I have to protect all of you... That’s the only thing I’m good for.” He felt a deep, painful resolve settle in his chest, knowing this might be his only chance to truly make a difference for those he loved.

With a deep breath, Blitzø gave a small, bittersweet smile, a flicker of determination in his eyes. He believed this would be his moment of redemption. His heart pounded in his chest as he gripped the sword tighter, his knuckles white from the pressure.

He launched himself at Andrealphus with a primal scream, pouring every ounce of his strength into the attack. The sword clashed violently against Andrealphus’s icy defenses, sending sparks of magic and shards of ice flying in all directions. The force of the collision reverberated through Blitzø’s body, but he pushed forward, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his arms.

Andrealphus responded with a blast of freezing wind, a brutal force that cut through Blitzø’s resolve like a knife. The icy gale seared his skin and numbed his limbs, but he pressed on, driven by a desperate need to protect his friends. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones, but he refused to yield.

The fight raged on, each clash of the sword against ice sending shockwaves through the ground. Blitzø’s movements became slower, his body gradually succumbing to the relentless cold that encased him. Andrealphus’s expression shifted from amusement to frustration, a scowl forming on his otherwise calm features as Blitzø continued to defy him.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” Andrealphus growled, his voice a low rumble. He summoned another wave of ice, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “But persistence won’t save you.” Blitzø raised the sword to block the attack, his arms trembling with the effort, but the force was too much. The wave of ice crashed into him, knocking the sword from his hands and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Blitzø lay there for a moment, the world spinning around him. Pain radiated through his body, but he forced himself to move, to fight. He tried to reach for his sword, but Andrealphus was faster. The demon conjured a sharp, deadly icicle and hurled it at Blitzø with precision.

The icicle pierced Blitzø’s abdomen with brutal force. He gasped, the pain blinding, and fell to his knees. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the icy ground beneath him a dark liquid. He clutched at the icicle, but it was embedded too deeply.

Stolas, who had managed to rise, let out a scream of pure horror. “No, no! Blitzø!” His voice was raw with anguish, his eyes wide with terror. He stumbled forward, but his legs gave out, and he fell to the ground, reaching out desperately.

Blitzø’s vision blurred, but he turned his head to look at Stolas. Tears streamed down Stolas’s face, his expression a mask of despair. Blitzø’s heart ached at the sight, a mixture of regret and longing flooding his senses. “Stolas... I do care about you,” Blitzø gasped, his voice weak and strained. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

Suddenly, amidst the chaos of their grief, a faint cracking sound echoed through the icy field. Moxxie, his hands trembling with adrenaline and desperation, had managed to find a weak spot in the wall of ice imprisoning them. With Millie’s help, they pried and chipped away at the frozen barrier, their muscles straining against the cold and the weight of impending loss.

Loona, her eyes red-rimmed but determined, joined them in their frantic efforts. Together, they pushed and pulled, their movements fueled by a desperate need to reach Blitzø before it was too late. Chunks of ice splintered and fell away, revealing a path toward their fallen comrade.

Finally, with one last mighty heave, Moxxie and Millie broke through. They stumbled forward, gasping for breath, their bodies numb with cold and exhaustion. Loona followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as she rushed to Blitzø’s side.

Blitzø lay there, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment. His gaze flickered weakly as he struggled to stay conscious. With a final, desperate effort, Blitzø turned his gaze to Loona, Moxxie, and Millie. They stood frozen, horror and sorrow etched into their faces. His eyes lingered on Loona, her usually defiant expression softened by tears.

“Loonie,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. She leaned closer, her ears perked in anticipation. “I'm sorry for leaving you,” he murmured, his words a fragile thread of regret. “But I know you’ll be okay on your own. You’re strong, independent, and determined.” A faint smile touched his lips. “I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Loona’s eyes widened, tears streaming down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but one only word came out. "...Dad". She whispered through a sob.

Blitzø’s gaze shifted to Moxxie and Millie, his expression filled with love and gratitude. “You guys are incredible individually, but together... you're fucking invincible. Take care of each other,” he whispered, his voice filled with finality. “I'm sorry for everything, I love you all.”

As the cold closed in around him, Blitzø felt a sense of peace wash over him. His friends’ faces blurred into the darkness, their grief and anguish fading into the background. With a last, ragged breath, he closed his eyes, a small, serene smile lingering on his lips. He only regrets not being able to say goodbye to Fizz, ask Barbie for forgiveness once again and thank Verosika for helping him face his problems. 

As the cold closed in around him, Blitzø felt his life slipping away. His body grew heavy, and his vision darkened. The last thing he saw was Stolas’s anguished face, the image burning into his mind as he was swallowed by darkness. His thoughts drifted to the moments he had shared with his friends, the laughter, the fights, the love. He hoped they would forgive him, that they would find happiness and peace. Without him.

Stolas crawled to Blitzø’s side, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch him. “Blitzø, please... don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He cradled Blitzø’s head in his lap, tears falling onto Blitzø’s still face. “I'm sorry! I need you...”

Blitzø’s body went limp, his last breath escaping in a shuddering sigh. The battlefield fell silent, the echoes of the fight fading away. Stolas’s cries of sorrow pierced the stillness, a heart-wrenching sound that reverberated through the icy landscape.

In the midst of Stolas’s grief, Andrealphus stepped forward with an air of arrogance, his form surrounded by swirling mist as he effortlessly melted some of the ice spikes encasing the palace walls and floor. His icy blue eyes glinted with mockery as he surveyed the scene before him, particularly focusing on Stolas’s anguish.

“Well, well,” Andrealphus sneered, his voice carrying across the frozen courtyard. “Look at you, mourning over a mere imp. I must say, Stolas, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you to care so deeply about a plaything.”

Stolas’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury and sorrow. “Blitzø was more than that to me,” he spat, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “And you will pay for what you’ve done.”

Andrealphus chuckled darkly, the mist swirling around him in mocking amusement. “Oh, spare me your sentimentalities,” he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. “So weak of you to have these attachments. It’s laughable.”

Ignoring Andrealphus’s mockery, Stolas gently cradled Blitzø’s lifeless form, whispering words of lament and love amidst his tears.

In the eerie silence that followed, the air shimmered and a bright light appeared. Vassago appeared, passing through a portal. His benevolent yet stern presence commanded attention. “I have been sent to investigate the conflict between two Goetias,” he declared, his voice echoing through the frozen night. As he looks around the once Stolas palace, now a battlefield. His gaze falls on Blitzø's lifeless body surrounded by his friends and family.

Andrealphus’s face twisted in irritation. “This is none of your concern, Vassago.” The demon lord’s icy glare bore into Vassago, challenging his interference.

Vassago remained unruffled, his gaze unwavering. “An imp who could have been a key witness in the trial of your sister’s divorce has been killed,” he continued, his voice carrying a weight of authority. “Therefore, Andrealphus, you will be investigated for trying to disrupt the trial. By the decree of the Viceroy, both you and Stolas are hereby stripped of your powers and titles until the investigation is concluded.”

Andrealphus scoffed, but Vassago’s proclamation hung heavy in the air, its implications sinking in among the gathered demons. Stolas looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of grief and anger. “Where were you, Vassago?” he demanded, his voice laced with accusation. “You could have saved him!”

Vassago’s expression softened slightly, regret flickering in his eyes. “I arrived too late,” he admitted solemnly. “I am sorry for your loss, Stolas. His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

"I will take the information to the Viceroy.” He turns his face to Stolas. “I am truly sorry Stolas." As Vassago’s words settled, the atmosphere shifted. Andrealphus retreats as quickly and unnoticed as possible. In that moment he realizes that Blitzø’s death will set in motion a chain of events that would ripple through Hell, reshaping alliances and testing loyalties.

Millie, Moxxie, Loona, and Stolas remained huddled together around Blitzø’s body, their grief palpable in the cold, still air. Millie’s voice broke the silence, filled with determination. “We will avenge him,” she vowed, her fists clenched. “Andrealphus and Stella will pay for what they’ve done.”

Loona, usually stoic, spoke next, her voice wavering slightly. “He always believed in us, no matter what”, she whispered, her eyes flickering with unshed tears.

Moxxie nodded solemnly, his eyes blazing with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. “Blitzø didn’t deserve this,” he muttered, his voice tight with emotion. “We’ll make them regret it.”

Stolas, his grief etched deep into every line of his face, clenched his fists. “I swear on Blitzø’s memory,” he declared, his voice a quiet, steely promise. “I will bring justice for him.”

Together, they stood united in their grief and their determination, a silent vow binding them to their quest for vengeance. As they looked upon Blitzø’s still form in Stolas's lap, a fierce determination burned within them—a resolve to honor his memory and to ensure that his death would not be forgotten in the Hell’s turbulent history.

Blitzø’s consciousness drifted in and out, the pain of his wounds mingling with the cold that seemed to envelop his very soul. He was vaguely aware of being lifted, of the voices of his friends and loved ones, but everything was slipping away into darkness.

And then, there was nothing. No pain, no cold, no fear. Just a vast, empty whiteness that stretched in every direction. Blitzø blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. There were no walls, no sky, just an infinite expanse of pure white.

He stood up slowly, his body feeling strangely weightless. The wounds that had tormented him moments before were gone, and he felt an unfamiliar sense of peace. He took a few tentative steps, the white floor beneath him solid and smooth.

“Where am I?” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the emptiness.

Blitzø tried to call out again, but the vast emptiness seemed to swallow his words. He took another step forward, and then another, each one took him nowhere. There was an eerie calmness to the place, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence he had just endured. As he moved, he felt a sense of purpose welling up inside him, a determination to understand this new realm and what it meant for him.

Chapter Text

Blitzø still found himself standing in a vast expanse of white. The feeling of weightlessness and the eerie calmness were unsettling, a stark contrast to the chaos he had just left behind. He took a few hesitant steps, his mind racing with questions and emotions.

“Where the hell am I?” he muttered again, his voice echoing slightly in the emptiness.

As if in response, a figure appeared before him, materializing out of the whiteness. Blitzø blinked, trying to focus on the form. It was a tall, radiant figure, but with a dark, somber aura. Shadows seemed to dance around her, despite the soft, golden light emanating from her being. Her wings were grand, spanning out behind her like a dark shroud, and her eyes, though kind, held a piercing intensity that seemed to see through his very soul.

“Blitzø,” the figure spoke, her voice a soothing, yet haunting melody. “Welcome to the Interstice. I am Azrael and I am here to guide you.”

Blitzø’s initial awe quickly turned into confusion and frustration. “The fuck? Guide me? Why? I died, right? Shouldn’t I be... I don’t know, gone?”

Azrael’s expression remained gentle, but there was an unyielding firmness in her eyes. “You have indeed died, but your journey is not over. You have been chosen you for an important and grand future.”

Blitzø shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no. You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not worthy of any grand future. I’ve only ever brought destruction and pain to everyone around me.”

Azrael stepped closer, her presence casting a calming shadow over him, yet it was insistent. “Blitzø, the path ahead is not one you can see clearly now, but it is a path that holds redemption and purpose. When demons die, they go to the Void, a place of endless emptiness. But you... you're not done yet. You have a great purpose yet to fulfill.”

Blitzø scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Redemption? Purpose? Bitch, I’m a piece of shit! I failed everyone I cared about. Just let me end this.”

Azrael’s gaze softened even more, understanding his pain. “You see yourself through the lens of your failures, but there is so much more to you.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her touch like a whisper of warmth amidst the cold. “You have shown immense strength, Blitzø. Despite all the suffering, loss, and rejection, you continued to try. That takes a kind of strength few possess, especially in hell.”

Blitzø’s eyes welled up with tears, but he quickly wiped them away, not wanting to show his vulnerability. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m tired of fighting, of screwing things up.”

Azrael’s presence was almost hypnotic, her dark wings enveloping him in a comforting embrace, soothing his troubled mind just enough to quell his resistance. “Blitzø, you are not alone in this. There are those who believe in you, who see the good within you." She looks into his eyes and can see the disbelief at her words. "Come with me, there is someone you must meet.”

The somberness of Azrael’s presence, combined with her soothing words, created a strange comfort within Blitzø. He felt a faint glimmer of hope, a flicker of belief that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than his failures. With a reluctant nod, he allowed Azrael to lead him, stepping forward into the unknown, carrying with him the weight of his past and the faint promise of a future yet to be written.

They walked in silence, the white expanse around them stretching endlessly, the emptiness punctuated only by the sound of their footsteps. Blitzø's thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of relief, anger, and confusion. The serenity of the place seemed to mock his inner turmoil.

After what felt like an eternity, another figure emerged from the brightness. This figure was even more imposing than Azrael, with an aura of power and authority that seemed to command the very air around him. His wings shimmered with a brilliant light, and his eyes held the weight of the cosmos. He greeted Blitzø with a nod, his expression both stern and compassionate.

“Blitzø, I am Michael, the one who echoes the voice of the Creator,” he said, his voice resonating with an undeniable power. “You have been chosen for a second chance, an opportunity to bring light to the darkness you once lived in.”

Blitzø crossed his arms, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Bring light? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t bring light to anything unless I’m burning it to ashes. I’ve done nothing but screw up my whole life.”

Michael stepped closer, his gaze piercing into Blitzø’s soul. “It is precisely because of your struggles and your willingness to sacrifice for others that you have been chosen. The process you are about to undergo is not without pain, but it will give you the power and the opportunity to make amends.”

Blitzø shook his head, his self-loathing bubbling to the surface. “You don’t get it. I’m a piece of shit. I hurt everyone I care about. I pushed away the only people who ever gave a damn about me. Why the hell would you think I could bring light to anything?”

Azrael, standing by his side, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her touch was both comforting and insistent. “Blitzø, you have faced unimaginable pain and loss, but you didn't give up, you kept fighting. This requires more strength and resilience than you can imagine. You are more than your failures.”

Blitzø’s eyes filled with tears of frustration and self-hatred. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m tired of fighting, of fucking things up. Every time I try to do something right, it all goes to shit. I don't have a big purpose. I’m just a broken, fucked-up imp.”

Michael’s expression softened, though his voice remained firm. “Blitzø, the greatest strength lies not in never falling, but in rising every time you fall. Your journey has been one of hardship and error, but it has also been one of perseverance and resilience. You have the capacity for great good, even if you cannot see it now.”

Blitzø clenched his fists, the weight of his failures pressing down on him. “I’ve hurt so many people... Stolas, Loona, M&M, Fizz, my family... They’d be better off without me.”

Michael’s presence was almost hypnotic, her wings casting a comforting shadow over him. “They care for you deeply, Blitzø. They see the good in you, even when you can’t see it yourself. This is your chance to make things right, to become the person they believe you can be.”

Blitzø’s voice cracked with emotion. “What if I screw it up again? What if I hurt them even more?”

Michael’s eyes held a depth of understanding that seemed to transcend time. “You will not be alone in this journey. You have the strength within you, and you will have guidance and support. Trust in yourself, Blitzø. Trust in the potential for redemption.”

Blitzø looked between Azrael and Michael, a storm of emotions raging within him. Despite his doubts and fears, a small flicker of hope began to ignite in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make amends.

Blitzø took a deep breath, his resolve slowly solidifying despite his lingering doubts. He looked up at Michael and Azrael, their calm and encouraging presence giving him the strength to ask the question that burned in his mind.

“What the fuck do you need me to?” Blitzø’s voice was steadier now, though still tinged with uncertainty.

Michael’s eyes shone with an intensity that conveyed the gravity of the situation. “The Heaven is on the brink of making dangerous decisions, ones that threaten the delicate balance between Heaven and Hell. The Creator is displeased with the path some in the Celestial Realm are taking. It is your task, among others, to prevent these decisions from plunging both realms into chaos and tragedy.”

Blitzø furrowed his brow, trying to wrap his mind around the enormity of what was being asked of him. “Wait, you’re telling me Heaven’s about to fuck things up so badly it could mess with Hell too? What the hell kind of decisions are we talking about?”

Michael held up a hand, forestalling further questions. “It stems from the recent battle between Princess Charlie and Adam’s exorcists. The death of Adam has sparked turmoil in Heaven, leading to these dangerous decisions. The balance is at risk, and we need you to help prevent a catastrophe.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened in recognition. “Yeah, I saw that shit on TV. That was one hell of a fight. It makes sense that heaven wouldn't let it go when hell decides to defend itself for the first time. Those dicks"

Michael nodded solemnly. “Indeed. The repercussions of that battle are far-reaching. The specifics are complex, and there are many layers to this situation. But before you can understand the full scope of what lies ahead, we need to return your soul to a new body. With a hard transformation process, you be prepare for the trials and responsibilities you will face.”

Blitzø’s skepticism flared again, but he found himself oddly compelled by Michael’s words. “A transformation process? Sounds like some bullshit to me. What if I don’t make it? What if this is just another way to fuck things up?”

Blitzø’s skepticism remained. “What’s this process you’re talking about?”

Michael gestured for Blitzø to follow him. “Come, let me explain.”

They walked a short distance, the vast whiteness slowly giving way to a scene that seemed almost surreal. As they approached, the blinding expanse began to reveal a majestic landscape of ethereal beauty. The ground beneath their feet shifted from the stark, unbroken white to a luminous, pearlescent surface that seemed to glow with an inner light. Soft, golden hues rippled through the landscape, giving it a warm and welcoming aura.

In the center of this radiant domain lay the Pool of Rebirth, an exquisite, otherworldly feature that shimmered with an almost hypnotic allure. The pool itself was a large, circular basin of crystalline water, its surface utterly still and mirror-like, reflecting the celestial sky above. The light it emitted was warm and inviting, yet held an intensity that hinted at immense, almost unfathomable power.

Surrounding the pool were tall, slender pillars of white marble, intricately carved with celestial symbols and ancient runes that seemed to pulse with a gentle, rhythmic glow. Between these pillars, delicate vines of shimmering silver wove around, blooming with flowers that radiated soft pastel lights, casting a gentle illumination that danced across the surface of the pool.

Above the pool, the sky was a canvas of soft, swirling colors – shades of gold, pink, and lavender blending seamlessly into one another. Stars glittered like diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth, their light casting a serene glow over the entire scene. Gentle, ethereal music filled the air, a harmonious blend of angelic voices and the soft, melodic hum of an unseen choir, creating an atmosphere of peace and tranquility.

“This is the Pool of Rebirth,” Michael explained, stopping at its edge. “To bind your soul to a new purpose and a new body, you must undergo the process of renascence. Your soul will be anchored to that of an angel, granting you powers beyond your current understanding. It is a painful process, one that few can endure, but it is necessary for your transformation.”

Blitzø looked at the pool, his trepidation evident. “Why me? Out of all the souls, why did you pick me?”

"The choice was made jointly, by me, Azrael and the Creator himself." Michael’s gaze softened. “Because despite your past, you have shown an unyielding spirit and a capacity for great sacrifice. You love deeply and your spirit of resilience shows that you are capable of surviving and adapting to any situation. You've been through a lot in life and you've always managed to move forward.”

Blitzø’s thoughts churned. He had never seen himself as anything more than a failure, a bringer of chaos. But here he was, being offered a chance to change, to be something more.

“Will this... really make a difference?” Blitzø asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Azrael stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Blitzø. You have the potential to be a beacon of hope and change. This is your chance to forge a new path, to protect and to heal.”

Blitzø took a deep breath, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He still had doubts, but the thought of finding redemption, of being able to protect those he cared about, stirred something deep within him.

Michael’s expression grew more serious, but there was a glimmer of empathy in his eyes. “Blitzø, the process of rebirth is not without risk. It is painful, and it will force you to confront your past, to relive your darkest moments. But it is necessary for your transformation. Only one other soul has survived this process before.”

Blitzø’s eyes narrowed. “Only one? Who the hell would be crazy enough to go through something like that?”

Michael met his gaze evenly. “You know him as the current Viceroy of Hell, the King of the Imps. Luke.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened in recognition, his breath catching in his throat. “That guy... He went through this?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, he endured the pain, relived his past, and emerged stronger. He was chosen for the same reasons you have been. Despite the suffering, loss, and rejection, he continued to fight. You have that same strength within you, Blitzø. That is why you were chosen.”

Blitzø clenched his fists, his resolve wavering but the thought of his loved ones in danger strengthening his determination. “Alright,” he said finally, though his voice was still laced with reluctance. “I’ll do it. I’ll go through with the process, but only because I don’t want o my family to suffer.”

Michael nodded approvingly. “Very well. The path ahead will be difficult, but you will not walk it alone. You will have powerful allies here in heaven and hell to help you.”

Blitzø stepped closer to the pool, his resolve strengthening despite his reluctance. “What happens now?”

Michael and Azrael exchanged a glance before turning back to him. “Now, you submerge in the Pool of Rebirth,” Azrael said softly. “Embrace the pain and the transformation. When you emerge, you will be reborn, ready to fulfill the destiny that awaits you.”

Michael’s voice echoed through the light. “To anchor your soul in your new body, it must bind with an angel. This bond will give you the strength and power needed to face the trials ahead. But it also means you will never be alone again, you will become a new being. Your personality, thoughts and ideals will be intertwined."

With one last deep breath, Blitzø submerged into the radiant pool. The light enveloped him, and he felt a searing pain unlike anything he had ever experienced. It coursed through every fiber of his being, reshaping him, forging him anew. He clenched his teeth, enduring the agony, his mind focused on the promise of redemption and the hope of a new beginning. 

He hears Michael's voice, as if it were coming from inside his mind. "Don't focus on what you could have done differently, face your choices and understand the consequences of what you experienced. Confront the pain and mistakes that have shaped you.”

As the pain intensified, Blitzø felt a presence intertwining with his own, a powerful, calming force that began to soothe the torment. He understood that this was the angel’s soul binding with his, granting him strength and purpose.

He found himself in his childhood room, a small but warm space filled with love and laughter. His mother, Tilla, appeared before him, her gentle smile bringing warmth to his heart. She was the light of his life, always encouraging, protecting, and loving him unconditionally.

He watched as she embraced him, her voice soothing and reassuring. "Blitzø, my dear, you have such potential. You are capable of greatness," she said, her words echoing through his soul. Tilla's presence filled him with a sense of belonging and strength, reminding him of the love that had always surrounded him.

Next, Blitzø found himself in another memory, this time with his younger brother, Lukene. Despite the hardships they faced, Tilla had welcomed Lukene into their family with open arms when he was just a child. His brother's playful and resilient spirit brought joy to their home, a stark contrast to the challenges they endured. He sees his brother carrying the two horse figures with which they played and created great adventures.

Blitzø remembered how Tilla had fiercely protected Luke from their father's rejection, her unwavering love binding the siblings together as a family. So many times Blitzø had to protect his brother from his father's cruelty. In this moment, he felt a surge of gratitude for his mother's unconditional love and acceptance.

Blitzø closed his eyes and relived the fire at the circus. The intense heat, the acrid smell of smoke, and the haunting memory of accidentally causing the fire that took his mother and brother’s lives, that mutilated his best friend. The flames danced before him, and he felt the weight of guilt in his chest.

Then Loona’s image appeared. Their early relationship was rocky—nights of tears, moments of disappointment—but also glimpses of shared laughter and tenderness. Being able to witness her growing trust in him, even though deep down he knew he would disappoint her one day.

Blitzø watches situations in which he put Moxxie and Millie in danger. He dragged them into his messes, ignoring the risks. Their worried eyes, their anger when he acted impulsively—it all haunted him. Yet there were moments of camaraderie, shared laughter, and he wondered if those could outweigh his mistakes.

He then sees Barbie, the sister who despised him. She never forgave Blitzø for the fire. He tried to mend their relationship, but the wounds ran deep. Could they ever bridge the gap?

Fizz’s memories were complex. The fight, the separation, the harsh words exchanged. Recently, they’d started understanding each other again. Blitzø recalled conversations, shared laughter, he hoped their friendship could fully heal.

Verosika, the desire burning between them. But Blitzø struggled to let himself be loved. He pushed her away, and their painful breakup still haunted him. But at that fucked up Halloween party, she was still the one who had the courage to tell him the truth. Did that shitty apology ease some of the pain he caused her?

Stolas, the last face he saw before he died. A demon prince who swears to care about him, but then what was all that condescending treatment? The passionate nights, tender moments, but also anger and insecurities. Blitzø hurt Stolas, even though he cared deeply for him. Blitzø know that Stolas has a good heart, he is so beautiful and full of light. He deserve better than Blitzø. But why then did that night at Verosika's party hurt him so much? That song...

Blitzø screamed, the pain of reliving his past almost unbearable. He saw the faces of his friends, the people he cared about, and the moments he had let them down. The weight of his guilt and regret threatened to crush him, but he pushed through, driven by the desire to protect them, to make things right.

As the process continued, Blitzø felt the presence of the angel growing stronger, merging with his own soul. The pain began to subside, replaced by a sense of calm and strength. He could feel the angel’s power coursing through him, healing his wounds, and reshaping him.

The process seemed to last an eternity, but finally, the pain began to stop. The light around him dimmed, and Blitzø felt himself being lifted, transformed. He emerged from the pool, gasping for breath, but feeling a new power coursing through him.

Azrael and Michael stood before him, their expressions proud and encouraging. “Welcome back, Blitzø.” Michael said. “Your journey has just begun.”

Chapter Text

Blitzø looked down at himself, feeling the changes within and around him. He was no longer the same imp who had fallen in battle. He was something more, something new. His transformation wasn’t just internal; his very essence seemed to have been reshaped. Even if he couldn't point out the changes.

Michael stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Blitzø, you are no longer just an imp of Hell. You are a bridge between two worlds, a symbol of hope and resilience. Remember, your strength lies not in never falling, but in rising every time. The trials ahead will be many, but you have the power within you to overcome them.”

Blitzø looked at Michael, determination mixed with lingering doubt. “That's great, we're all glad I survived. But you said that I would become a new being, that I would have my soul linked to an angel. I still feel like myself and I'm not seeing any angels.”

“Well, allow me to introduce your new companion.” Michael gestured to a figure that began to emerge from the light. The figure was tall and imposing, with an aura of immense power and wisdom. His three pairs of wings were vast and gleaming, and his eyes held a depth of understanding that seemed to span eternity.

“This is Metatron,” Michael said. “Once the chief of the seraphim, he was stripped of his title and imprisoned for opposing the harsh decisions made against Hell. He will be your guide and your strength in this journey.”

Metatron stepped forward, his presence both commanding and reassuring. “Blitzø,I'm glad that you survived the process. You and I share a common goal. I was cast out for standing against decisions I believed were unjust. Together, we will fight for balance, for the light within the darkness.”

Blitzø felt a surge of connection with Metatron, a sense of shared purpose and understanding. “So, we’re both outcasts, huh? Guess that makes us a good team.”

Metatron smiled, a glint of humor and determination in his eyes. “Indeed. We are bound by a purpose greater than ourselves. Together, we will face the trials ahead and strive for the balance that must be restored.”

Blitzø snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, save the world and all that. Just tell me I get to punch some assholes along the way.”

Metatron’s smile widened. “There will be many challenges, and yes, you will have the opportunity to fight.”

Blitzø grinned. “Good. Because I’ve got a lot of pent-up aggression, and I’m ready to let loose.

Michael nodded approvingly. “Very well. The path ahead will be difficult, but you will not walk it alone. The bond you will form with Metatron will guide and support you. However, there is more you must understand.”

Blitzø raised an eyebrow. “I don't know why I'm even surprised, but there's fucking more? What is it now?”

Michael’s expression grew serious. “You and Metatron will share the same body. His presence will give you strength, but it also means you must learn to work together. This bond is deep and will require time to master.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened. “Wait, we’re sharing a body? You mean I’ll have an angel living in my head?”

Metatron nodded. “Yes, Blitzø. Our souls are intertwined now. My power will flow through you, but you must also learn to control it. This is why you must stay in Heaven for a time, to train and prepare for the challenges ahead.”

Blitzø sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “So, I’m stuck here for a while, huh? Fucking great.”

Azrael takes a step forward, in an attempt to appease. “It is necessary, Blitzø. You must learn to harness your new abilities, and you cannot do that in Hell. There is too much at stake.”

Blitzø nodded reluctantly and impatiently. “Alright, so what’s the plan? How do I start this training?”

“You will be trained by someone who understands the trials you face. But before we begin, Metatron will explain his story. It is important you understand who he is and why he is bound to you.” Michael steps aside, as if to take Blitz's attention completely to the other angel.

Blitzø crossed his arms, looking at Metatron with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “Alright, spill it, Divine Feathers. What’s your deal?”

Metatron raised an eyebrow at the nickname, then let out a sigh and shook his head slowly. When he looked down at Blitz again, his expression grew somber, his eyes reflecting a deep, ancient pain. “I was once the chief of the seraphim, the highest-ranking angels in Heaven. My role was to oversee the divine order, to ensure the balance between Heaven, Hell, and the Living World. However, as time passed, I began to see the injustices in the decisions made by the Celestial Council, particularly the annual extermination in Hell.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened. “Those fuckers that come down and wipe out a bunch of demons every year? I thought everyone in Heaven was happy with the death of disgusting and fucked up demons.”

Metatron sighed. “There are those who disagree. Unfortunately, most angels fear what Hell could be capable of if they tried to rebel, so they close their eyes to the cruelty of the extermination.”

Metatron's eyes gained a gleam of determination and fierceness. “I spoke out against it, believing that there had to be a better way to maintain balance. But my dissent was not welcomed. The council deemed me a traitor, and I was stripped of my title and imprisoned for my defiance. Another seraphim was appointed to my position. Someone they knew supported extermination.”

Blitzø felt a surge of anger on Metatron’s behalf. “So, they threw you in angel jail for trying to do the right thing? That’s bullshit! Fucking hypocrites.”

A few seconds pass and Blitzø raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his face. “So, you’re a fugitive now, huh? How’d you even get out? Broke some heavenly chains with your bare hands?”

Metatron shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Not quite. My physical body remains imprisoned. It was my consciousness that Michael managed to free through the ritual of rebirth. He brought me here, into you, to guide and aid you.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Damn, that’s some serious power. Michael’s got some real tricks up his sleeve if he can pull off shit like that.”

Blitzø felt a newfound respect for Metatron. “Alright, I get it. You’ve been through the wringer too. So, what do we do now?”

Michael’s voice was calm but firm. “Now, you will stay in Heaven to train and prepare. Your mentor will guide you in mastering your new abilities and understanding the bond you share with Metatron.”

Blitzø looked around, feeling a mixture of frustration and determination. “Fine, let’s get this over with. Who’s this mysterious mentor, anyway?” He asked, crossing his arms. "Another rebel angel willing to betray his own people?" Blitzø sees and somehow feels Metratron's disapproval for his words, so he quickly completes it. "For good reasons of course."

Michael's expression turned more serious. “In a way, yes. Your mentor is the only other being who has survived the process of rebirth.”

Blitzø's eyes widened. “Luke? The fucking Viceroy? Seriously, will he leave Hell to come train me here?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, he will guide you through your training. However, we still need to contact him and bring him to Heaven.”

Azrael walks and stops in front of Blitzø, her presence calming yet tinged with sorrow. “Blitzø, it has been an honor to guide you. I hope we meet again under better circumstances than me collecting your soul.” She finished the sentence with a small laugh.

Blitzø smirked, despite the weight of the situation. “Yeah, let’s hope so, Azrael. Thanks for everything.”

Azrael gave him a warm, lingering look before she faded into the light. Michael continued, his tone firm. “Now you will be taken to a different location for your training. If you need to speak with me, ask Luke to contact me. But remember, Blitzø, the most important thing is to keep this mission a secret. We are on enemy ground, and any leak could jeopardize everything.”

Blitzø nodded, understanding the gravity of Michael's words. “Got it. Keep my big mouth shut. I can do that.”

Michael gave a small smile. “Good. Trust in your bond with Metatron and in the guidance of your mentor. Together, you will be able to face the trials ahead.”

Blitzø stood quietly for a moment, absorbing the weight of his new reality. The serene beauty of Heaven felt like a mockery compared to the harsh existence he knew in Hell. But he was determined to make the most of this second chance.

“Alright, Michael,” Blitzø said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. “I’ll do what I have to. For them.”

Michael placed a hand on Blitzø’s shoulder, his touch firm and reassuring. “You have the strength within you, Blitzø. Remember that. And when the time comes, you will rise to the challenge.”

Blitzø nodded, his look a mix of determination and uncertainty. “I just hope you're right about choosing me.”

Michael’s eyes softened. “You are a demon Blitzø, we don't expect you to see or do things the way we would. We just want the people of hell to have a chance to survive this war and you are the one who can give them and us this hope.” Michael bends down in front of blitz and holds his shoulders. “Take this time to prepare yourself. Your journey is just beginning, and the path ahead will not be easy. But you are not alone. Together, you will find the strength to face whatever comes.”

Blitzø took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

As Michael stepped back, a portal began to form, glowing with an ethereal light. “This portal will take you to a place where you can begin your preparation. Your mentor will join you there once we’ve contacted him.”

Blitzø glanced at the portal, then back at Michael. “Alright, guess I’ll see you around then.”

Michael gave a final nod. “Stay strong, Blitzø. You may not see me often, but know that I will be following every step of your journey.

Blitz turns his gaze to Metratron, who made no move to go to the portal. "You ain't coming?"

Metatron smiles humorously. "In fact, my consciousness is already within you. This vision of mine is a mere projection of the Intertice. Can you not feel my presence?"

Come to think of it, Blitz had actually noticed something strange. It was like the feeling of always being accompanied, when you know you're with someone even in a crowd. That calming presence of someone you know, but at the same time mixed with a feeling of being watched. Having sensed Metatron's disapproval at that moment should also have raised a red flag. 

Blitz looks at his chest, as if the feeling was coming from there, or maybe it was coming from his head? "Now that you say it, I think I can feel it." It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, more like a distant vibration. Maybe like a thread, which if he tried hard, he could reach.

Lifting his head again he sees Metatron's soft gaze. "You'll get used to it, it'll just take some time."

Nodding slightly, Blitz turns back to the Portal and he steps through, feeling a surge of determination. As he emerged on the other side, Blitzø found himself in a serene valley surrounded by towering mountains and shimmering waterfalls. The tranquility of the place was a stark contrast to the turmoil within him, but it was the perfect setting for his transformation.

Blitzø took a moment to look around, his eyes narrowing. "Great, Heaven’s version of a spa retreat. I guess they didn’t get the memo that I’m not here for a fucking vacation."

He took a few steps forward, feeling the soft grass under his hooves. "At least the scenery’s nice. It beats Hell with its smell of smoke and gunpowder. At least it'll be a good place to be stuck for who the fuck knows how long until this fucking training is over."

Blitzø sits with his back against the trunk of a large tree as he contemplates everything he's been through in the last few hours... Was it just a few hours? It seemed like an eternity…

What will happen from now on? How is everyone? Have they moved on yet? Did anyone miss him? What is he thinking... Why would they feel? It was better this way. He just hopes they won't be too disappointed when he has to come back, he didn't mean to... but he also won't let anyone hurt them, ever. Whatever it takes, he will protect them.

Chapter Text

Luke sat at his ornate desk, surrounded by the grandeur of his palace. The room was adorned with regal decorations, a testament to his position as the Viceroy of Hell. He was an imposing figure, his appearance a blend of demonic and angelic traits. Though he had the form of an imp, he was nearly double their typical height, with a slender yet broad-shouldered build that exuded authority. His white hair was slicked back, framing a face marked by intense yellow eyes with golden pupils that shimmered with a hint of his angelic heritage.

The door opened to reveal Vassago, a trusted ally and fellow demon prince. Vassago's expression was serious as he approached Luke's desk, his steps heavy with the gravity of the news he carried. Their both  held a deep friendship with Stolas, and the weight of the news he carried was heavy on his heart.

"Vassago, what news do you bring?" Luke asked, setting the papers aside and leaning forward, his expression one of growing concern.

Vassago bowed slightly before speaking, his face lined with worry. "I come bearing news of the recent conflict between Andrealphus and Stolas, as you requested."

Luke's brows furrowed in concern, his eyes narrowing. "So, what happened?"

Vassago took a deep breath before continuing, his voice tinged with sorrow. "There was a fierce battle. I believe Andrealphus attempted to kill Stolas using his niece, Octavia, as bait. Stolas was nearly killed, but his lover intervened, sacrificing his life to save him."

Luke's heart sank at the news. He leaned back in his chair, a hand running through his white hair. "His lover... this complicates things further. The situation between Andrealphus and Stolas is becoming increasingly volatile. Trying to keep control over the Goetias is hard enough without them openly trying to kill each other. The entire political landscape of Hell is already a powder keg."

Vassago nodded, his expression grim. "Indeed, my lord. Stolas is deeply affected by the loss, and the tension between these two has escalated. I think this conflict is a direct consequence of the divorce trial between Stolas and Stella. With Stolas's lover dead, it initially favors Stella and Andrealphus's side, as he can no longer testify. It’s a significant blow to Stolas’s credibility and strength."

Luke clenched his fists in frustration, the veins in his hands bulging. "This is inadmissible. It not only complicates Stolas's situation but also undermines the integrity of the entire trial." He stood up, pacing back and forth in his office, his tail flicking in agitation. "The Goetia family’s constant infighting and drama are tearing at the seams of Hell’s already fragile order. Maintaining control in this volatile environment is near impossible."

Vassago's eyes followed Luke, his own worry etched in his features, while Luke continued his speech driven by frustration and concern. "The political ramifications are severe. Lucifer’s neglect of his responsibilities, now focusing entirely on Charlie's hotel and the fallout from Adam's death, has left a power vacuum. The Goetias’ chaos is just one symptom of a broader instability. And the Seven Deadly Sins, each holed up in their own rings, refuse to intervene or offer any support beyond their territories."

Luke let out a sigh, his anger evident in his eyes as he stopped and leaned heavily on his desk. "Stolas is my friend, and it pains me to see him suffer like this. But this should be Lucifer's responsibility, not mine. His lack of intervention is exacerbating the instability. The Goetias’ actions have far-reaching consequences, threatening to unravel the little order we have."

Vassago nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Luke’s frustration. "Lucifer’s neglect has left you with the unenviable task of mediation. If we don't address this issue, it could spark wider conflicts within Hell, further destabilizing an already precarious situation. Stolas needs your support now more than ever."

Luke sighed deeply, the weight of his role pressing down on him. He straightened up, his resolve hardening. "Very well. We should visit Stolas together. He needs both of us now. And we must consider how to proceed with the investigation of Andrealphus and Stella. If we can uncover proof of their involvement, it might shift the balance back in Stolas’s favor."

Vassago nodded, a determined look in his eyes. "Of course, my lord. Let's go."

As Vassago left the office, Luke stood and straightened his jacket, preparing himself for the emotional visit. He made his way to Stolas's mansion, his mind racing with thoughts of how to support his friend in this difficult time while managing the complex political implications.

Stolas was in his study, preparing for the funeral of one of the most important people in his life. The room was filled with a somber atmosphere, the weight of grief palpable. The walls, adorned with maps and ancient tomes, seemed to close in around him. He was lost in thought, his eyes red and puffy from crying, when Luke and Vassago entered.

"Stolas," Luke said gently, his voice breaking the heavy silence that filled the room.

Stolas looked up, startled by the unexpected visitors. He had expected Vassago, but seeing Luke standing there brought a fleeting moment of relief. His eyes widened momentarily in surprise and his posture straightened slightly. "My lord, you're here. Thank you both for coming."

“You don't need to call me that, we are friends, Stolas. And I'm here as your friend.” Luke crossed the room quickly, closing the distance between them, and embraced his friend tightly. “I'm so sorry, Stolas. I heard about your loss. This is... devastating."

Stolas nodded, his emotions raw and close to the surface. He clung to Luke for a moment, finding some solace in his presence. "Blitzø saved my life, Luke. And now he's gone. I can't believe it."

Luke's heart ached for his friend, but the mention of Blitzø's name sent a jolt of surprise and suspicion through him. He forced himself to stay composed, carefully choosing his words. "Stolas, it's... it's sad that I never got to know Blitzø. I would love to hear about it. What was he like?"

Stolas took a deep breath, trying to gather his emotions. He looked down, his hands trembling slightly. "He was... incredible. He was brave, strong, and despite his prickly exterior, I know he had a good heart. He made me feel alive again, even with all the chaos around us."

Luke listened intently, his mind racing. Each word Stolas spoke seemed to align with his suspicions. "Did you know him for a long time?"

Stolas sighed, his eyes glistening with fresh tears. "We first met when we were children; he was my playmate at my birthday. He was... different back then. We crossed paths again last year. My life was so dull and lonely before Blitzø came along. He brought light into my world. I wanted so desperately to keep him with me, but holding onto Blitzø was like trying to hold onto a flame. You get burned if you get too close.” Stolas clasped his hands on his chest, as if trying to hold onto something precious. “But I wanted to, so badly..."

Luke felt a surge of empathy and sadness for Stolas. The emotions in the room were almost overwhelming. "He sounds like someone very special." Luke hesitated, then asked carefully, "Did he ever mention his family, where he came from?" He met Vassago's gaze, who had a furrowed brow, silently questioning the line of inquiry. But Luke quickly looked back at Stolas, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Stolas shook his head, his sorrow deepening. "He and his family were in the circus, but that's all I know. He didn't talk much about his past. I wish I had the opportunity to get to know him better, that he wanted to open up to me.” Stolas's voice trembled, thick with emotion. “He meant so much to me, Luke. And now, he's gone because of me. Because I couldn't protect him."

Luke felt his own emotions bubbling to the surface. He stepped forward and embraced Stolas again, holding him tightly. The weight of his suspicions and grief intertwined. The more Stolas talked about Blitzø, the more convinced Luke became. But he knew he had to tread carefully, unable to reveal too much. 

Vassago stepped closer, his expression filled with empathy. "Stolas, you can't blame yourself for what happened. His sacrifice was a testament to his dedication and bravery."

Luke nodded, his heart heavy with the unspoken truth. "That's right, this isn't your fault. Blitzø made his choice to protect you because he believed in you. You can't blame yourself for his sacrifice."

Stolas shook his head, tears falling freely. "I can't help it. I feel so helpless. I've lost so much already, and now... now Blitzø..."

Luke placed a comforting hand on Stolas's shoulder, trying to ground him in the present. "I know it hurts, but you have to remember that Blitzø wouldn't want you to give up. He gave his life for you so you could carry on. Honor his memory by staying strong."

Vassago stepped closer, his expression filled with empathy and resolve. "We're here for you, Stolas. We'll get through this together."

Stolas looked at both of them, his eyes brimming with pain and gratitude. "Thank you, both of you. I don't know what I would do without your support. It's good to remember that besides Octavia, there are people in the Goetia family and in the hierarchy that I can trust."

Luke swallowed hard, the weight of his own grief pressing down on him. The possibility that he had lost his brother without ever having the chance to reconnect was almost unbearable. But he knew he had to stay strong for Stolas. He steeled himself for the truth he hoped to uncover.

As they continued their preparations, Luke silently vowed to find out more about Blitzø and their possible connection. Blitzo or Blitzø— dropping one or more letters did not erase the past. Luke knew this better than anyone.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. An imp butler stepped in, bowing slightly, his presence an unwelcome intrusion into the somber atmosphere.

"Excuse me, my lords. There is a message for Lord Luke," the butler announced, his voice barely above a whisper.

Luke exchanged a glance with Vassago and Stolas, the tension in the room momentarily giving way to curiosity and apprehension. He excused himself and stepped out of the room, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. The butler handed him a glowing envelope, the seal indicating it was a magical message. Luke recognized the mark immediately and broke the seal with a sense of urgency, his hands trembling slightly as he unfolded the letter.

His eyes widened as he saw the sender's name: Michael, the Archangel. It was a summons from Heaven, and not just any summons, but one from Michael himself. Luke's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of surprise and apprehension coursing through him. A summons from Michael was not something to be taken lightly. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before returning to the room.

"Luke, what is it?" Vassago asked, immediately noticing the change in Luke's expression. Concern etched across his face.

"It's a summons from Michael," Luke replied, his voice steady but laced with underlying tension. "I must go to Heaven immediately."

Stolas and Vassago exchanged worried glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "What could he want?" Stolas asked, his voice tinged with anxiety.

"I don't know," Luke admitted, a frown creasing his brow. "But whatever it is, it must be important. Vassago, in my absence, I need you to take over the investigation into the incident with Andrealphus and oversee the situation with the divorce trial. Ensure everything is handled with the utmost care."

Vassago nodded firmly, his resolve evident. "Of course, Luke. You have my word. I'll make sure the investigation proceeds smoothly and that Stolas receives the support he needs." He then added, "Given the recent events and the high tensions, do you think this summons could be related to the Adam's death? It seems like more than just a coincidence."

Luke considered Vassago's words, his brow furrowing deeper in thought. "It's possible. The timing is certainly suspicious. I'll find out what I can and report back." He turned to Stolas, his expression earnest, his eyes softening with empathy. "Stolas, I know this is a difficult time, but I'll return as soon as I can. In the meantime, trust in Vassago. He will handle things here."

Stolas nodded, though the worry was clear in his eyes, his grief momentarily overshadowed by concern for his friend. "Be careful, Luke. And thank you, for everything."

Luke gave a reassuring nod, trying to infuse confidence into his gaze before turning to leave. As he made his way out of the mansion, his mind raced with thoughts of what awaited him in Heaven. The pain from the possibility of losing his brother was still fresh in his heart, a constant ache that refused to fade. Each step he took felt heavier, the weight of his responsibilities and the looming uncertainty pressing down on him.

As he stepped into the portal that would take him to Heaven, Luke couldn't help but feel a profound sense of foreboding. The path ahead was shrouded in mystery, and the stakes had never felt higher. But amidst the turmoil, one thing remained clear in his mind: he had to find the truth, no matter the cost.

Luke stood before the pearly gates of Heaven, a place he had seen countless times but still found awe-inspiring. The grandiose beauty of the celestial realm never ceased to amaze him, and today was no different. The gates shimmered with an iridescent glow, casting a soft light on the pathway that led into the heart of the celestial kingdom.

As he made his way through the halls of Heaven, the air hummed with a peaceful energy that seemed to calm his nerves, if only slightly. The halls were adorned with grand tapestries and intricate mosaics, each depicting scenes of divine grace and celestial harmony. 

Angelic beings moved gracefully through the corridors, their wings whispering softly as they passed, and the sound of distant, harmonious music filled the air, adding to the sense of tranquility. Normally, the sight of a demon in this location would draw attention, perhaps even cause panic. But those angels wouldn't even give Luke a second glance. They already knew his role and were used to his presence.

Approaching Michael's chambers, Luke felt anticipation and anxiety. The massive doors, carved with intricate patterns of light and shadow, swung open effortlessly, revealing the archangel standing at a grand, golden desk. Michael's presence was commanding, his wings radiating an ethereal light that seemed to illuminate the entire room. The chamber itself was vast, with high ceilings that seemed to touch the heavens and walls adorned with divine symbols and sacred texts.

Michael looked up from his work and smiled warmly at Luke. "Luke, it is good to see you," Michael greeted, his voice resonant and soothing. "Please, come in."

Luke entered the room, bowing slightly. "Thank you, Michael. Your summons seemed urgent."

Michael nodded, gesturing for Luke to take a seat in the simple yet comfortable chair that exuded an unexpected sense of belonging amidst the solemnity of the room. His expression remained grave as he began to speak, each word carrying the weight of divine authority.

"Indeed, it is. We have much to discuss." He moves his head and looks deeply into Luke's eyes. "Let's get straight to the point. A new soul has been chosen for rebirth, and they have survived the process."

Luke's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing with implications. "A new reborn? It's been fifteen years since I underwent rebirth. No one else has succeeded since then."

Michael's gaze held steady, his tone serious and measured. "Yes, and this time, the chosen soul is linked to Metatron."

Luke's shock deepened, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "Metatron? But he was imprisoned. How could he be chosen to bond with a new soul?"

Michael leaned back, his expression thoughtful yet resolute. "Metatron's punishment was severe, but his power and wisdom remain unparalleled. The Creator has deemed it necessary to link him with this new soul for a purpose that transcends our current understanding. This reborn has a pivotal role to play."

Luke's thoughts raced with questions, the weight of Michael's revelation settling heavily upon him. He knew of Metatron's fall from grace, his once exalted position as chief of the seraphim now marred by millennia of exile. The notion that Metatron was being called upon once more for a divine mission both astonished and intrigued Luke.

"What is this new reborn's purpose? What task are they to fulfill?" Luke inquired, his voice steady yet tinged with a deep curiosity.

Michael met Luke's gaze evenly, his expression unwavering. "They are to serve as a bridge between Heaven and Hell, much like you do. Their mission is to bring balance and aid to those who are marginalized or mistreated, particularly among the lower hierarchies of Hell. They will join you as our voice and presence in Hell."

Luke absorbed the gravity of Michael's words, still grappling with the implications. The thought of another soul undergoing the trials and transformations he had endured stirred a mix of empathy and concern within him. He knew firsthand the challenges that awaited this new reborn.

Michael's demeanor turned more solemn as he leaned forward, his words carrying a weighty warning. "Luke, there is more you must understand. Adam's death has sparked unrest in Heaven. There are factions within our ranks considering a full-scale retaliation. We stand on the brink of what could escalate into a holy war."

Luke's eyes widened in alarm, the severity of the situation sinking in. "I suspected there would be repercussions for Adam's death, but I never imagined it would escalate to this extent."

Michael nodded gravely. "Indeed, the potential for conflict is significant. The role of the new reborn will be crucial. They are tasked with guiding and leading the Hellborn of lower hierarchies, ensuring their resilience and survival amidst the looming turmoil. This is a perilous time, and we must proceed with utmost caution."

A chill settled in Luke's stomach as he processed the implications. "But why do you believe the Hellborn will heed his guidance? It took me years to earn their trust, and even now, I face rejection from much of Hell."

Michael nodded solemnly, his gaze thoughtful as he considered Luke's question. "It is true that earning the trust and respect of the hellborn is no easy task," Michael began, his voice carrying a weight of centuries of wisdom. "You have walked that path yourself and you understand the challenges that lie ahead. The new reborn will face similar trials, but you can count on your guidance"

Luke listened intently, his mind racing with the implications of Michael's words. He had spent years navigating the complexities of Hell's hierarchies, forging alliances and confronting adversaries to secure his position as viceroy. To hear that another soul, linked to Metatron no less, would now undertake a similar journey was both daunting and intriguing.

"Metatron's influence will be crucial," Michael continued, his expression serious. "His knowledge of both Heaven and Hell, coupled with the Creator's purpose for this new reborn, will guide their path. 

Luke felt a knot tighten in his chest. The prospect of a holy war loomed large, casting a shadow over both realms. He had witnessed firsthand the consequences of celestial discord and understood the fragile balance that kept Heaven and Hell from descending into chaos.

"I understand the gravity of the situation," Luke said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "But how can I assist in this endeavor? What role do you see for me in guiding this new reborn and navigating the challenges ahead?"

Michael leaned forward, his eyes piercing as he regarded Luke with a mixture of respect and expectation. "Your role remains pivotal, Luke. You have earned the trust of many in Hell and have proven your dedication to the hellborns. You will mentor the new reborn, offering guidance and support as they navigate their new reality, with a new body, new powers and new responsibilities. He needs to know and understand the political aspects, in addition to being prepared to fight, if the time comes."

Luke nodded in agreement, a sense of determination settling over him. "I will do whatever is necessary to support this mission and prevent a holy war. The hellborn deserve respect, and I will do everything I can to ensure their survival"

Michael nodded in approval. "Your commitment is commendable, Luke. Remember, you are not alone in this endeavor. You can always count on me and Azrael if you need help. But be very careful who you trust other than the two of us."

Luke's mind raced with thoughts of the challenges ahead. The fate of Heaven and Hell hung in the balance, and the weight of responsibility pressed down upon him. But amidst the uncertainty, one thing remained clear: he would honor his duty, protect the hellborns.

Michael's expression softened slightly, a glimmer of reassurance in his eyes. "Your journey was unique, Luke. The new reborn will carry Metatron's wisdom and your's guidance. He will possess a resonance that speaks to the souls of Hell, an echo that even you have come to embody. Trust in their purpose."

Luke nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling upon his shoulders once more. "I will do what I can to support them, to ensure their mission is fulfilled."

Michael nodded in acknowledgment. "Your role remains crucial, Luke. As does your presence here. Now, more than ever, Heaven and Hell need a bridge."

With a sense of determination, Luke rose from his seat, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead. The fate of both realms hung in the balance, and Luke knew the path forward would be fraught with challenges. But he also understood the importance of his mission.

"Before you leave, Luke," Michael said, his voice gentle yet firm, "it is imperative that you inform Lucifer of these developments. Keep him apprised of the situation and ensure he understands the gravity of what is at stake. But the training of the new reborn may take some time. During this period, it would be best for you to remain here in Heaven as much as possible. Limit your visits to Hell to avoid any complications."

Luke met Michael's gaze with resolve. "Understood. I will speak with Lucifer as soon as I can and I will come back immediately."

Michael nodded once more, his gaze unwavering. "Very well. Additionally, I think I better let you know. When you meet the new reborn, it will be a moment of great surprise and revelation. Will mark a new chapter for both of you."

Luke furrowed his brow, curiosity piqued. "Why the surprise?"

Michael's lips curved into a faint smile. "Some things are best experienced firsthand, Luke. You will understand when you meet them."

Despite the confusion, Luke nodded, though his mind was already racing with questions about the mysterious new reborn and their role in the unfolding events.

Michael's expression softened once more, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Luke. Your dedication to this task does not go unnoticed."

With a final nod of acknowledgement, Luke turned and made his way out of the chamber. Thoughts of the upcoming challenges and the mysteries surrounding the new reborn weighed heavily on his mind. He knew the path forward would be fraught with challenges, but he also knew he could not falter. For the sake of both realms, he had to succeed.

Chapter Text

Blitzø found himself waiting in a serene, almost ethereal garden. The environment was unlike anything he had seen in Hell or even in the human world. The lush greenery, vibrant flowers, and the gentle sound of flowing water created an atmosphere of peace and tranquility. It was as if he had stepped into the very heart of the Garden of Eden. Trees with sprawling branches formed a natural canopy, allowing beams of golden sunlight to filter through, casting a warm glow on the ground below.

Despite the serene surroundings, Blitzø was restless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—grief, anger, confusion. He paced back and forth, his thoughts racing. The death, the rebirth, and now the sudden summoning to this heavenly realm—it was all too much to process. Michael had told him he would meet his mentor here, and he couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension.

In the midst of his pacing, Blitzø heard a voice in his head, a voice that wasn't his own. "Blitzø, calm yourself. This place is meant to bring peace, not more turmoil."

Blitzø stopped and glanced around, then shook his head. "Shit, I forgot you're there. Isn't there a way to let me know you're there without talking to me out of the blue and scaring me to death?"

Metatron lets out a light laugh. “Unfortunately not, but you’'ll get used to this eventually."

Blitzø sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, sure. Just another thing to get used to. So, what kind of powers can you grant me, Metatron? Make me fly? Shoot lasers from my eyes?"

"Our connection will enhance your abilities," Metatron explained. "You will find yourself stronger, faster, and more resilient. You will also have access to some of my celestial powers, but they will come with training and understanding."

Blitzø sighed dramatically. "Figures. Nothing comes easy. Alright, let’s see what kind of heavenly tricks you’ve got up your sleeve."

Before Metatron could respond, a brilliant light filled the room, emanating from a portal that suddenly appeared nearby. Blitzø squinted, shielding his eyes from the intense glow. As the light dimmed, a figure stepped through, tall and imposing, with an aura of authority that immediately drew attention.

Luke emerged from the portal, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief as they landed on Blitzø. His usually composed demeanor faltered, replaced by a mix of surprise and confusion. For a moment, he simply stood there, unable to process what he was seeing.

"Well, if it isn't the fucking Viceroy himself," Blitzø muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration. "Took you long enough."

Blitzø found himself overwhelmed with a tangled mess of emotions as he looked at Luke. Everyone in Hell knew about the imp who had somehow gained Heaven's favor, becoming an ambassador of sorts. The stories were vague, filled with rumors and half-truths, but one thing was clear: Luke had climbed the ranks in a way that no other imp had. Blitzø couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of admiration. Luke had done what seemed impossible, making alliances and gaining power in both Heaven and Hell.

Yet, beneath that admiration, a gnawing sense of betrayal festered. How could Luke, an imp just like him, sell out to those celestial bastards? And if that wasn't enough, he had cozied up to the aristocrats of Hell, living in luxury while others suffered. Blitzø's life had been a constant struggle, just like almost everyone in Hell, filled with pain and loss. Seeing Luke's success, his wealth, his power as Viceroy, All the speeches and promises of a supposed fight for the lower class, only fueled Blitzø's anger. How could Luke turn his back on their kind, And carry the title of king of imps? What a hypocrite.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Blitzø, a turmoil of thoughts were going through Luke's head. He took a few hesitant steps forward, his gaze locked onto Blitzø as if he might disappear at any moment. His mind raced, struggling to reconcile the impossible sight before him with the reality he knew.  "Blitzo, it's really you..." His voice trailed off, a deep sadness settling into his features. "This means you really died saving Stolas."

Blitzø raised an eyebrow, his confusion mixing with his irritation. "It's Blitzø, the o is silent. Did you expect someone more worthy? More important? Well sorry to disappoint." Blitz could feel Metatron in his conscience, disappointed by his words.

Luke stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Blitzø's with sorrow and relief. "I can't believe it's you..."

Blitzø's confusion turned to irritation, his patience wearing thin. "What the fuck are you mumbling about? Yeah, I died saving Stolas. What does he have to do with anything?"

Luke's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information. "I had heard about Stolas's lover dying to protect him, but I didn't know it was you. Blitzo... Blitzø, it means... you're the one who..."

Blitzø's patience snapped, his voice rising with anger. "What the fuck are you talking about? Stop with the cryptic mumbling bullshit and tell me what's going on!"

Luke's face contorted with a mix of shock and anguish, his thoughts spiraling. Blitzo... my brother. After thinking I would never be able to see him again, here he is, chosen by Heaven, just like me. The chances of this happening... it's beyond comprehension. All this time, I've lived with the guilt and pain of our separation, and now, to find him here... it's almost too much to process. What cruel twist of fate brought us both to this point? How can I make him understand that I never wanted to leave him, that all I wanted most was to be able to talk to him, to Barbie, to Fizz again? Luke felt a deep sadness settle into his features as the weight of the revelation sank in.

"Blitzø, it's me," Luke said softly, his voice trembling. "Lukene."

Blitzø's eyes widened, then narrowed with suspicion. "Lukene? like my brother? Don't fuck with me. What kind of twisted manipulation is this?"

Luke stepped closer, desperation in his eyes. "No, I swear, it's really me. I was reborn in Heaven, just like you."

Blitzø shook his head, his anger turning to bitter disbelief. "Bullshit! Look, I already agreed to help, I already went through the fucking process. You don't need these fucking manipulations to control me!"

Luke's eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking. "Blitzø, please, you have to believe me. I wanted to find you, to tell you everything, but the rules are strict. Heaven forbade me from reaching out to anyone from my past life. I was trapped, just like you."

Blitzø's anger begins to morph into confusion and skepticism and he pushes Luke away. "How do you expect me to believe this shit? You look nothing like my brother. Maybe hair color, but it's not like white hair is a very rare color."

"I was 14 when you last saw me. Even without the changes of rebirth, I think I would be very different from what you remember" Then Luke raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement breaking through his sadness. "But... Have you looked at yourself, Blitzø? Your appearance also did change." Luke activates a spell that creates a small cloud with a reflective surface along its length.

Blitzø frowned, glancing down at himself. For the first time, he noticed the significant changes. One horn was white, the other red. His scars, now more pronounced, covered more of his body with white. His eyes, once a fiery red, now glowed with golden pupils. "What the fuck...? How... I didn't even notice..."

Luke nodded. "You've been through a transformation, just like I have. Physical changes are part of this."

Blitzø's frustration flared again. "Prove it, then. Prove you're really my brother."

Luke took a deep breath, his voice trembling with emotion. "Do you remember when we were kids? We used to play with those little horse figures you loved so much. You'd always make sure I had the best one because Cash didn't let me have any toys of my own."

Blitzø's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

"And do you remember how you'd defend me from Dad whenever he got drunk and angry? He'd yell at me, call me a street rat, remind me I wasn't his son, just another waste to feed. But you never let him hurt me."

Blitzø's skepticism began to waver, his eyes searching Luke's face for any sign of deception.

Luke continued, his voice growing more confident. "And the times we, Barbie, and Fizz would sneak out of the circus to explore the streets of the Greed ring? And if we encountered any problems, you and Barbie would never let anything happen to us. You always made sure we stuck together, no matter what kind of trouble we got into."

Blitzø's expression softened, the memories flooding back. "We had some good times back then... before everything went to shit." Blitzø's anger turned inward, his voice trembling with anger and frustration. "So what? You reborn and just move on? Forgot about me?  You were living it up, while I was thinking you were dead. Do you have any idea what that did to me? You fucking coward!"

Luke took a shaky breath, trying to gather his thoughts. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on his shoulders. "Blitzø, I never wanted to leave you. I never forgot about you, not for a single day." His voice wavered with the strain of long-suppressed emotions. "But I couldn't break the rules. They wouldn't let me."

Blitzø's expression darkened further, his self-loathing consuming him like a dark cloud. His fists clenched, and his eyes turned to the ground, unable to meet Luke's gaze. "You know what? I understand... Why would you want to meet your killer again, right?" His voice was laced with bitterness and pain. "You're just another one in the long list of people I've fucked over. I understand why you hate me" Tears welled up in Blitzø's eyes, and he held both hands to his head, as if trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Luke's eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking with regret and sorrow. "Blitzø, I never hated you! Not for a single moment." His hands trembled as he reached out, his face a mask of pain and longing. "I've carried the pain of our separation every day. I never wanted to leave you without knowing. Please, believe me. All those memories are what kept me going all these years. I never forgot you… or them. Not for a single moment. How could I? You were my brother, my protector." Luke's voice quivered, each word laden with the weight of unspoken agony. "It's you who needs to start forgiving yourself."

Luke’s heart ached with the desire to comfort Blitzø, but he didn't knew the depth of his brother's pain. "You're not a killer." His voice was firm but gentle, pleading with Blitzø to see the truth. "The fire was an accident. I've never blamed you for what happened. Not once."

Blitzø's voice cracked, filled with anguish and self-recrimination. "But I do. I blame myself every damn day." His tears flowed freely now, his body trembling with the intensity of his emotions. "I thought I killed you, Luke! That I killed mom! That I destroyed Fizz's life! How was I supposed to live with that?"

Luke stepped closer, reaching out tentatively, his hand hovering just above Blitzø's shoulder. He could feel the raw pain emanating from his brother, and it tore at his soul. "Blitzø, listen to me. You have to let go of this guilt." His voice was soft but insistent, trying to penetrate the thick walls of self-loathing Blitzø had built around himself. "You didn't kill me. You didn't kill anyone. It was an accident, and accidents happen. Please, don't let this consume you."

Blitzø shook his head violently, his tears falling like rain. "You don't get it!" His voice was choked with despair. "Every time I try to care about someone, I end up hurting them. Our family, Fizz, Verosika, Stolas... all of them. I'm a fucking curse."

Luke's heart ached for his brother, his own eyes brimming with tears. He stepped even closer, the distance between them almost nonexistent. "You're not a curse. You're not a monster." His voice was filled with conviction and love. "You care so deeply about others, and that's why it hurts so much. I'm sure you made mistakes, but that doesn't make you vile, mainly in Hell's standards. It makes you someone who loves fiercely, even if you don't always get it right."

Blitzø looked up, his eyes filled with pain and disbelief. His body was tense, every muscle coiled with the weight of his emotions. "How can you say that?" His voice was a whisper, trembling with uncertainty. "After everything I've done, how can you still see any good in me?"

Luke stepped forward, closing the final gap between them, and hugged Blitzø as tightly as he could. His embrace was warm and full of unspoken promises. "Because I know you." His voice was gentle, filled with a deep, unyielding love. "I know your heart. You're my brother, and I love you. No matter what you've done or what you think you've done, that will never change. Love won’t change."

Blitzø's shoulders sagged, the weight of his emotions almost too much to bear. His breath hitched, and his gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet Luke's eyes, but feeling the relief of being able to hug your brother once again. He felt an overwhelming surge of conflicting emotions: anger, guilt, sorrow, and a desperate longing for the brother he once knew. "I don't know if I can do this..." His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with vulnerability.

Luke's voice was soft but firm, filled with a steady determination. "Just take it one step at a time. I'm here with you, every step of the way and I won't leave you again. We can face this together." He took a step closer, his presence a beacon of stability amidst the storm of emotions swirling around them.

Blitzø's eyes filled with tears, his defenses crumbling under the weight of his brother's words. He felt a crack in the wall he had built around himself, a small opening where hope and pain mingled. "I missed you, Luke. I missed you so fucking much." His voice broke, the raw honesty of his confession hanging in the air.

Luke embraced Blitzø, holding him tightly, his own tears mingling with Blitzø's. The embrace was both desperate and comforting, a physical manifestation of the years of longing and regret. "I missed you too, Blitzø. More than you'll ever know." He held his brother as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.

In that moment, in their brother’s hold, amidst the turmoil of their emotions, they found a flicker of hope. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with challenges and pain, but they had each other. The bond they shared, though strained, was still strong. Blitzø stood there,enveloped in Luke's embrace, feeling the warmth and sincerity of his brother's words. For the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of something he had thought lost forever: the possibility of redemption and the strength to face whatever lay ahead. His defenses, built up over years of pain and regret, began to crack. In that moment, surrounded by the unconditional love he had longed for, he allowed himself to hope. The path to healing was long and fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long time, Blitzø felt the faint glimmer of redemption, fueled by the unwavering support of the brother who had never stopped believing in him.

Blitzø took a deep breath, his emotions still raw but slightly more controlled. The feeling of Luke's arms around him, the solid, reassuring presence of his brother, gave him a sense of grounding. "Alright. I'll try. But don't expect miracles." His voice was steadier, though still tinged with uncertainty.

Luke smiled softly, his own eyes wet with tears. "I don't need miracles, Blitzø. I just need my brother." His words were simple, yet they carried a profound depth of meaning and love.

Blitzø nodded, a small spark of hope flickering in his heart, but he wasn't about to let it show too easily. "Alright, fine. Let's get this over with. What's the plan?" His voice carried a hint of determination, a promise to himself and to Luke that he would at least try.

Luke looked at Blitzø, his expression a blend of determination and relief. "First things first, you need to get used to your new body and powers. There's a lot you'll need to learn and adapt to. But before we dive into training, I have to make a trip back to Hell. I need to speak with Lucifer and inform him about the current situation."

Blitzø raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "The big boss, huh? Sounds like a fucking blast."

Luke sighed, his expression turning serious. "It's necessary. The balance between Heaven and Hell is fragile, and with the recent events, we need to ensure that Lucifer is aware of the full scope of the situation. His support and understanding are crucial. I just hope that with the improvement in his relationship with his daughter, he will be able to return to the role of king."

Blitzø looked skeptical but nodded. "Alright, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be stuck here, twiddling my thumbs while you’re off playing politics."

Luke chuckled softly, a hint of humor dancing in his eyes. "I promise, I'll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, try to get comfortable with Metatron. We'll have a lot of work to do when I return."

Blitzø rolled his eyes but managed a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t keep me waiting too long, alright? I just got my brother back."

Luke opened a big smile. "I won't. Stay safe, brother."

With that, Luke turned and raised his hand to open a portal back to the embassy. His mind already focused on the next steps.

Blitzø watched his brother, his mind whirling with questions. Before Luke could complete the spell, he called out, "Hey, Luke! What's it like being the viceroy under Lucifer? And what’s the old bastard really like?" He ended up blurting it out, not quite ready to let go of his brother.

Luke paused, turning back with a grin. "Being the viceroy? It's a mix of babysitting of rich eccentrics and herding cats. As for Lucifer, he's... well, he's a charismatic asshole, and he's kind of weird. Actually, he has a bit of an obsession with ducks for some reason. Can be a real pain in the ass, but he’s also got this weird charm that makes you respect him."

Blitzø snorted. "Sounds like my kind of guy. I mean, if I had to deal with him, I'd probably want to punch him in the face at least once a day."

Luke laughed, the sound echoing in the space between them. "Yeah, that's about right. But don't worry, you'll get your turn to deal with him. Just remember, humor goes a long way with that guy. Keep your wits about you and you'll be fine."

Blitzø grinned. "Oh, I've got plenty of that. Now get going before I change my mind and decide to follow you through that damn portal."

Luke nodded, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to reconnect. Just remember, don't blow anything up while I'm gone. And take care of yourself, Blitzø."

Blitzø waved him off, his grin turning into a more genuine smile. "No promises, but I'll try. See you soon."

As Luke disappeared through the portal, Blitzø felt a strange sensation of anticipation. The road ahead was daunting, but with Luke by his side, he was ready to face whatever came next, and maybe, just maybe, find his place in this chaotic existence.

The Hazbin Hotel stood as a grand structure amidst the chaos of Hell, a beacon of hope and redemption in a realm not known for such ideals. Despite its opulent exterior and the tireless efforts of its residents, the hotel struggled to attract a significant number of demons willing to embrace the concept of salvation. The recent battle during Extermination Day had sparked some interest, but skepticism remained deeply rooted in the hearts of Hell's denizens.

Luke arrived at the hotel under a cloudy red sky, the glow of distant fires casting a soft light over the cracked stone streets. His presence was immediately noticed by the few demons loitering near the entrance and in the lobby—most gave him wary glances or stepped aside as he passed. His long coat swayed behind him with each step, boots clicking sharply against the polished black marble.

The interior of the hotel was a surreal mix of gothic luxury and theatrical flair. Crimson carpets stretched down long corridors lit by gold-trimmed chandeliers. The scent of wax and wine lingered faintly in the air, and the walls were adorned with paintings that felt both reverent and unsettling. Faint piano music echoed from somewhere deeper in the structure—slightly off-key, but persistent.

In the lobby, near a sprawling fireplace framed by clawed columns, Lucifer and Charlie stood mid-conversation. Charlie’s gestures were animated, her voice a gentle but fast-paced melody. Lucifer lounged in a velvet armchair, leg crossed, a glass of glowing red wine resting between two fingers. Their expressions shifted from relaxed to attentive as Luke entered the room.

“Luke,” Lucifer said, raising an eyebrow, his voice smooth and polished with a note of genuine curiosity. “Well, this is rare. Dropping by unannounced? What’s the occasion?”

Charlie blinked, then stepped forward with a wide smile. “It’s good to see you! We weren’t expecting you at all today—something wrong?”

Luke offered a small bow of respect. “King Lucifer. Princess Charlie. Thank you for seeing me without notice. I came because… something’s changed. We need to talk about what the Extermination battle has set in motion.”

Lucifer’s amusement faded. He gestured to a nearby armchair. “I’m guessing ‘Heaven’s upset’ doesn’t quite cover it.”

Luke sat, his posture composed but visibly tense. “No, it doesn’t. Michael has informed me that several factions within Heaven—especially the militant ones—are pushing for a full-scale Holy War. They see Adam’s death as an act of rebellion.”

Lucifer sighed, leaning back and lazily swirling the wine in his glass. “A war was always on the table. Adam was their dog on a leash. Losing him was bound to make the kennel bark.”

Luke gave a solemn nod. “Michael asked me to inform you that a new reborn has emerged—and survived. He’s bonded to Metatron.”

Charlie gasped, leaning in with bright, curious eyes. “Wait—what?! A new reborn? Like someone else like you? Where are they? Are they an imp too? How old? Why Metatron? And—why only Hellborns?”

Luke raised a hand gently, halting the flurry of questions. “Yes, he’s an imp. He’s still in training, and his identity needs to remain hidden for now. As for why Hellborns…” He paused, his gaze settling on both of them. “Because no one else is looking out for them.”

He let the silence linger for a moment.

“Michael believes your focus—yours and Lucifer’s—is on sinners. That’s not a criticism. But Hellborns of lower hierarchies are often overlooked, left vulnerable. And we both know we can’t count on all of the Sins to protect their domains—or care about their subjects.”

Lucifer exhaled through his nose and took a slow sip of his wine. “Troubling… but not unexpected. Heaven’s wrath was always coming. Still—war on that scale would scorch the whole board.”

Then his tone shifted—cool, assessing. “I don’t doubt your loyalty, Luke, or your competence. But are you sure this imp is the one? Imps aren’t exactly known for strong leadership qualities. Scattered, submissive, overly sentimental...”

Luke's expression tightened, but he kept his voice even. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, imps are not born submissive. They’re made that way—by a system that grinds them down. What you interpret as weakness is centuries of systemic oppression.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the edge in Luke’s voice. “Careful, Viceroy. You’re walking a fine line.”

Luke inclined his head slightly, eyes steady. “I know. But someone has to say it. This reborn imp isn’t just another servant. He’s going to be a symbol. A leader for those no one else will fight for.”

Charlie stepped forward, resting a hand on Luke’s arm. Her tone was firm but kind. “He’s right. The Hellborns deserve more than just survival. If this reborn can help—then he should have our support.”

Lucifer leaned back in his seat again, letting his smirk return. “You’ve got guts, Luke. That’s one of the reasons I picked you to act in my place. Let’s just hope your little firebrand has some of your spine.”

Luke exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from his frame. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I believe he does. With time and guidance, he can be what we need.”

Lucifer’s expression grew more serious as he tapped the rim of his glass. “Just be aware: putting an imp in that kind of position—openly—will disrupt the power structure here. You’re talking about changing the narrative of Hell itself. Not everyone’s going to be happy about it.”

Luke nodded. “I know. But we have no other choice.”

Charlie’s eyes softened with empathy, but her energy remained undimmed. “We’ll support you however we can, Luke. Whatever’s coming, we face it together.”

Luke stood, gathering his coat. “Thank you. But for now, we must keep this quiet. Heaven hasn’t acted yet. I’d rather be ready without drawing attention.”

Lucifer tilted his head thoughtfully. “Of course. The fewer people know, the fewer we have to smite for leaking it.”

Luke gave them a final respectful bow and turned to leave.

As he crossed the threshold of the lobby, Lucifer took a slow sip of his wine and murmured to Charlie with a faint smirk, “Why is it that whenever someone says ‘with all due respect,’ they really mean ‘kiss my ass’?”

Charlie giggled. “Because they usually do.”

Luke smiled to himself, stepping into the quieter corridor beyond. The faint echoes of their conversation stayed with him. There was still so much to be done—but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone in it.

His thoughts turned to Blitzø—his brother, his burden, his hope. The fire in Blitzø’s soul, if channeled correctly, could become something more than rage. Something powerful. Something righteous.

With each step, Luke’s resolve grew sharper. Heaven and Hell were poised on the edge of disaster. But if there was a chance to change the fate of both realms—he would take it.

They had to succeed.

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.