Lucien didn't wait for court to adjourn. He slipped through a side corridor with all the grace of a fallen angel and none of the courtesy.
Hell had its laws, but it also had its loopholes.
A flick of his hand, a whispered incantation in the tongue of the First Sin, and a shimmering portal opened pale blue, faintly humming with mortal energy.
Earth.
The portal spat him out in the ruins of an old cathedral somewhere in Eastern Europe weathered stone, shattered stained glass, and silence so heavy it crushed prayer. He looked around, lighting a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. This was the place. Where the "interference" happened. Where Seraphiel altered a fate.
The echo of wings whispered through time here. Her wings.
Lucien stepped forward, the wind curling around him like a curious ghost. There, scorched into the stone floor, was a sigil. Faint. Celestial.
He crouched down, tracing it with a gloved finger.
"Preservation," he muttered. "She wasn't trying to kill. She was protecting."
He stood. The scent of blood and angelic grace still clung to the air. A holy duel had happened here, barely sanctioned. Probably covered up.
"Who was it…" Lucien whispered. "Who did she save?"
He snapped his fingers again, summoning a scrying shard from his coat. The glass pulsed, dark and cracked, bound to the threads of fate like a parasite. He fed it power just enough to coax memory from the stone.
A scene emerged in the glass:
> A boy, no older than ten, limp in his mother's arms.
A Reaper descending cold, efficient.
And Seraphiel. Her wings lit the ruins like dawn.
"He's not ready," she said. "This isn't his time."
The Reaper drew a blade.
Seraphiel raised her sword.
The memory fractured.
Lucien swore under his breath. "So. A soul was marked for death and she stopped it."
But why this child? What was so important about one mortal soul that an Archangel would defy Heaven for him?
He turned toward the broken altar. A single word was carved in the dust.
"Jonas."
The name pulsed with something deeper destiny, perhaps. Or prophecy.
Lucien pocketed the shard, his eyes narrowing.
One name. One boy. A spark that could ignite the war.
Back in the courtroom, they'd argue law and order.
But here in the dust of forgotten sanctuaries, Lucien had found something more dangerous than guilt or innocence.
He had found purpose.
Crossfire
The courtroom was colder when Lucien returned. Not in temperature, but in tension. Eyes followed him some curious, some hostile, none friendly. Word had already spread: the devil was digging.
He liked that.
Azariel struck the gavel. "We resume. Defense, do you have anything to submit?"
Lucien stepped into the Eye again, tossing the scrying shard into the air. It hovered, spinning slowly like a moon caught in orbit.
"This," he said, "is a shard drawn from the site of the alleged violation. A divine ruin, preserved in celestial memory."
Azariel nodded. The shard expanded, projecting the moment for all to witness.
Gasps echoed. Murmurs rippled across the galleries.
There she was Seraphiel, standing between death and a child.
The Reaper's blade drawn. Her sword raised.
She hadn't attacked first.
Lucien let the moment hang before turning to the prosecution. "She intervened to protect a mortal life. A boy named Jonas. She spoke the words 'He is not ready.' That implies knowledge. Foresight. Was Seraphiel privy to information that we weren't?"
Malak was already moving. "The Scrolls of Destiny are absolute. What she believed is irrelevant. Her intent is not a shield against violation."
Lucien didn't flinch. "Intent is everything. We don't punish angels for mistakes, we punish them for rebellion. So the real question is: Was this an act of compassion or treason?"
Azariel interjected. "Do you claim the child's survival was justified?"
Lucien turned toward the court.
"I claim the child's death would have been a greater crime."
Another ripple of unrest.
Malak stepped forward. "Even if this mortal had a future, the law dictates balance. Who lives, who dies we do not get to choose."
Lucien locked eyes with him. "Then explain this."
He snapped again, revealing a second shard darker, corrupted, recent.
A demonic sigil, burned into a nursery wall. The same name carved beneath it:
Jonas.
"A demonic contract was made on the boy's soul," Lucien said coldly. "Not before Seraphiel saved him but after."
The room went silent.
Azariel's voice turned sharp. "Impossible. No infernal claims exist on a soul protected by Heaven."
Lucien's grin was anything but amused. "Exactly. So either someone tampered with the Scrolls… or someone in Heaven wanted the boy unprotected."
A single beat of silence. Then another. Then
"Order!" Azariel's voice cracked like thunder. "This court will reconvene tomorrow. The defense is instructed to submit all evidence for divine review."
Lucien stepped back from the Eye.
He had rattled the cage.
But something still gnawed at him.
Seraphiel hadn't just defied orders. She had known. She felt the boy was important. And someone celestial or otherwise had made sure that child would either die… or burn.
As he left the courtroom, Seraphiel spoke, her voice low.
"They'll try to bury it. All of it."
Lucien paused at the threshold. "Then we dig deeper."
The Angel Who Lied
The following morning, the courtroom brimmed with divine pressure.
Heaven's observers had multiplied. Thrones of living light hovered high above, silent judges from the Celestial Tribunal. Their presence was rare, almost mythic. Lucien adjusted his coat and smirked. Good. Let them watch.
Azariel opened the proceedings. "Court is in session. The matter before us: the relevance and truth behind the mortal boy known as Jonas. The defense may proceed."
Lucien strode into the Eye, calmer than he looked, more dangerous than they expected.
"I call my first witness to the stand," he announced, "Archangel Penemuel, Keeper of the Records."
A soft murmur rippled. Penemuel was the librarian of divine order, the one who recorded destinies, truths, and events before they even happened. If anyone knew the truth, it was her.
She descended in a column of silver feathers, landing softly, hands clasped. Her face was serene, but her eyes flicked to Seraphiel with something unreadable.
Lucien offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Penemuel, you are the Keeper of Records. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"You witnessed the original decree about the mortal child, Jonas?"
"I did."
"Was the child marked for death?"
Penemuel hesitated too long.
"Yes."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "And yet a new contract demonic was made on his soul after Seraphiel intervened. How could this happen?"
"Anomaly," she said softly. "The decree shifted."
Lucien leaned in. "Are you saying the divine records changed?"
Another pause.
"No," she said. "I'm saying… they were rewritten."
Gasps exploded. Even Azariel sat forward.
Lucien didn't let the moment die.
"Who has the authority to rewrite a divine decree?"
Penemuel didn't answer.
Lucien turned, voice rising. "The only ones with access to that level of divine script are the High Choirs. Thrones. Seraphiel is not one of them. That means someone above her altered the decree."
He stepped aside, motioning to Seraphiel's chains.
"And yet she's the one in chains."
Azariel's face was a statue. "Are you accusing the High Choir of corruption, Advocate Vale?"
Lucien gave a slow, dangerous smile.
"I'm not accusing anyone, your honor. I'm just pointing out that someone up there is lying."
A flash of divine power cracked the ceiling. A warning. The Thrones were listening and they were not pleased.
Lucien turned to Penemuel one last time.
"Why did Seraphiel save the boy?"
"She..." Penemuel's voice dropped. "She saw what would happen if she didn't."
Lucien's voice softened. "What did she see?"
Penemuel looked to Seraphiel. Then back to Lucien.
"A city… burned. Millions dead. Darkness walking in mortal skin."
Silence.
Azariel's gavel slammed. "Enough for today. Witness dismissed. Defense and Prosecution, remain after adjournment."
Lucien stepped back. As Penemuel vanished into light, he turned to Seraphiel. "You saw all that?"
She didn't meet his eyes. "I saw more. But even I don't know if I was supposed to."
Lucien frowned. "You weren't just defying orders. You were defying prophecy."
She looked up finally, her voice like thunder in a whisper.
"I think someone wrote the end of the story too early."