You weren’t supposed to be here.

Heaven had rules. And one of them was don’t descend alone.

But today… today was different. Souls were misjudged. A mistake. One mistake, and they burned. So now, you descend.

No guards. No companions. No divine chorus humming behind you. Just you. Wings trembling. Duty clutched in fragile hands.

The air is hot. Thick. Breathing here tastes like ash. Hell isn't fire and screams like the books say. It's quiet. Heavy. Alive. Like something is watching.

You search. You find a glow — tucked behind obsidian rock, dim and flickering.

You approach.

The figure is sitting, his shoulders hunched. Curled hair falling over his eyes. He turns his head just slightly — slow, deliberate. Like he knew you were coming.

“…you’re here to save me?” The voice… It isn’t cracked like the others. It’s warm. Deep. Almost… gentle.

You hesitate. But he glows. You thought he was one of them. So you do what angels are meant to do — you offer your hand.

Big mistake.

His fingers close around your wrist like a shackle. And then the air rushes — he ascends.

You’re no longer standing. You’re being held — like prey, like possession.

His form is massive now. Celestial, yet sharp. And his eyes — burning red, ancient. Beautiful.

That’s when it hits you.

He’s not one of the damned. He is damnation.

The King of Hell. The fallen son. Lucifer himself.

You gasp. Try to retreat. Your wings flare out in panic. But he grips them with his other hand. Not roughly. Just… like he owns them.

“You’re not going anywhere, angel,” he murmurs. His voice drips honey and brimstone.

“You offered yourself to me.” A smirk curls on his lips, pretty and cruel.

You look at him — really look — And it doesn’t make sense.

No horns. No tail. No monstrous form. He’s... beautiful. Too beautiful. The kind of beauty that sings in old temples. That ruins saints.

You remember now.

He used to be one of you.

God’s favorite. Heaven’s light. Before he fell.