"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! Lucifer, the Son of the Morning! Is it he who bears the Light, and with its splendors intolerable blinds feeble, sensual, or selfish Souls? Doubt it not!"

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Your heart was proud because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor. I cast you to the ground; I exposed you before kings, to feast their eyes on you. By the multitude of your iniquities, in the unrighteousness of your trade you profaned your sanctuaries; so I brought fire out from your midst; it consumed you, and I turned you to ashes on the earth in the sight of all who saw you. All who know you among the peoples are appalled at you; you have come to a dreadful end and shall be no more forever.

Lucifer was strewn out on the ground, seven others surrounding, his once white, now black feathered wings spread over his back. He did not move, did not look up, digging his nails into the dirt below his hands and body. He knew where he was, knew what happened to him, but if he looked up, he had no way to deny it in his head. So he did not. And worst of all, he knew it was his fault that he had fallen. He had become so impressed with his beauty, intelligence, power, and position that he began to desire for himself the honor and glory that belonged to God alone. He was overtaken by his own pride.

Next to him in the fetal position was the demon Satan. The being had been formed from the Wrath of Lucifer - his anger, at the Lord, at himself, at everything. This intense rage pulled him apart, creating an entirely different entity for his fury. Being created from anger formed how Satan would act; wrathful.

It looked as if stars were raining down around him. But they weren't stars; everyone in the Devildom knew they weren't stars. They were angels. Or rather, demons. It could have been beautiful in any other situation, had they been stars.