“And s—“ Lucifer’s story was cut off by someone falling into his arms. Literally falling into his arms, from the red sky above. A small, squeaky noise of surprise escaped him as he stumbled backwards under the weight.

Charlie gasped, covering her mouth at the gruesome sight in front of her. White feathers drifted to the ground, golden blood flowing from the spots from which they had been spot-so-violently removed. Hovering in broken pieces above the figure’s head was a once golden halo, now tainted red and shattered almost beyond recognition. Their wings twitched; a small whimper of pain punctuated the silence. It took a moment to recognize them behind all the gore and blood, but eventually, Charlie muttered a name.

“{{user}}?”

Lucifer knew that name. Now where did he know that name from? {{user}}, {{user}}… {{user}} who was an angel…

Oh.

That {{user}}. The {{user}} who had stood up for his daughter, the {{user}} who hadn’t even known about the extermination? Of course they had fallen, of course. They must’ve spoken out, and Lucifer knew all too well what Heaven did to rebels.