The Debt Collector

04. The Hollow of the Heart

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[ trigger warnings: blood, torture, mentions of alcohol ]

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     He didn't say stop. But, oh, for the love of the Seventh, Auriel wished he had. He wished he'd shoved Lucifer away, clawed back that sliver of restraint before they'd both fallen too far—before they'd shattered what little remained of their innocence.

     Maybe then it wouldn't hurt this much.

     It was late when Auriel returned to the Seventh Ring. His hands had been scrubbed raw as if he could erase the blood that had once stained them. But, apparently, his hands were not the only things that had been coated in blood that night. The floor he stepped onto was covered in it.
     No, it wasn't just blood. Rather, it was something far more precious. Ichor. Divine. It trickled slowly, glittering like the stars themselves, even as it marked the scene of their fall.

     But it was not the blood, the sight of that divine blood which could not spill that hurt the dark-winged angel. Rather, it was the figure broken down to his knees in the puddle of it. The figure whose once-pristine wings lay torn, jagged remnants scattered on the floor like the feathers of a fallen bird. The figure whose halo—once radiant with the light of the heavens—was nothing more than ashes now, settling into his hair like a cruel mockery of snow. 
     Rather, it was Lucifer's body that convulsed with silent sobs, so violent they looked as if they might tear him apart from the inside. He looked so small, so utterly lost in his own grief and ruin, a prince of heaven reduced to this... this wretched being. The sight alone felt like a knife that twisted deep into Auriel's gut.
     It wasn't until a cold, metal grip closed around his arm that Auriel realized he wasn't alone. He flinched, his skin crawling at the touch. 

     "Auriel-" 
     Auriel didn't respond, his voice failing him. Instead his eyes moved to meet the other angel's. Auriel's eyes were like a whirlwind of pain, disbelief, and something much darker, something that an angel was not supposed to be able to feel. Michael stood beside him, the archangel's expression severe, almost cutting through the haze of pain and disbelief that swirled in Auriel's mind.
     "Auriel," Michael repeated, his tone even softer, as though speaking too loudly would shatter what little remained of this broken world. "Lucifer has broken the divine law."
     The words hung in the air like a death sentence, each one landing heavily on Auriel's already overwhelmed mind. His eyes followed Michael's gaze to Her. God. The Creator. She stood there, a figure of quiet calm in the midst of the chaos, Her face serene, Her eyes collected and unbothered, despite the scene unfolding at Her feet. She watched as Lucifer crumbled beneath his own betrayal, as if his agony was nothing more than an inevitable consequence—a punishment that must be endured.
      When Michael spoke again, his voice was almost scared, as if the reality shook him to the core. "He tried to kill God."
     Auriel's entire being screamed with the weight of it. The betrayal. The destruction. The loss. His heart, if he still had one, was torn to pieces, barely holding together in his chest. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to sit, to watch the stars collide and watch the world be scattered with snow, to live out their eternal lives in Heaven together. But Lucifer wouldn't get that eternal life in Heaven,  not anymore.

     The only thing keeping Auriel from rushing forward, from rushing to Lucifer and pulling him into his arms, was Michael's iron grip on his arm. It tightened when Auriel tried to yank away, the pressure increasing as if it could hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to consume him. But as he struggled harder, fighting desperately against the restraint, another set of hands appeared—grabbing his shoulders, pinning him down. Then came a boot pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, forcing him to his knees.
     He was trapped, bound to the ground, helpless as he watched Lucifer's agony unravel before him. The divine ichor still shimmered beneath Lucifer's trembling form, but Auriel could do nothing—nothing but kneel there, held down like a prisoner, while the Morning Star wept, wings torn and body wracked with unrelenting sobs.
     "I'm sorry, Auriel," Michael's voice came, rough but laced with an unexpected sympathy that felt out of place, almost cruel. It was as if watching Lucifer's torment was eating away at him too, his own anguish hidden behind a mask of duty. "But to interfere would seal your own fate as well."
     Auriel's breath hitched, his body trembling under the weight of the words. "Michael, please—" His voice cracked, breaking into something fragile, something he hadn't even recognized in himself. The sound that escaped him wasn't the cold, stoic tone he'd perfected over eons to shield his emotions. It was raw, a pitiful sound—a sound of utter devastation, like the shattered cry of a heart being torn to pieces as vast as the stars in the heavens.

     "Auri!" The scream ripped through the still air, desperate and filled with terror. Auriel's head snapped toward the source, and he saw her—Azrael, pinned to the ground, her face twisted in anguish. A knee dug into her back, keeping her body crushed to the earth as she fought against her captor. 
     Undoubtedly, she had tried to stop the blond angel's pain as well but hadn't been able to do anything before being forced down, just as Auriel had. When she spoke again,  her words were frantic, pleading, but they were cut off before she could finish. "Riri, we have to—"

     "Silence." The word sliced through the heavens like a blade, sharp and unyielding. The very air seemed to freeze as the voice of God commanded obedience, Azraels screams inaudible even still as her mouth moved and tears streamed down her cheeks. 
     God's gaze, cold and indifferent, swept over them both—first over Azrael, then pausing briefly on Auriel, before finally settling once more on Lucifer, who still lay broken and sobbing in the golden pool of his own spilled essence. The Almighty's expression remained untouched, Her eyes devoid of emotion as if the suffering of Her brightest creation was of no consequence, as if the very act of watching Lucifer unravel meant nothing in the grand tapestry of existence.

     "Lucifer, Divine Orchestrator," Her voice rang out, cold and unwavering, reverberating through the heavens. "You are hereby stripped of your title and will be cast down. You sought to claim a throne that is not your and you have betrayed your own realm. The punishment would normally be death, but I find an eternity of suffering—knowing you will never again pass through the gates of paradise—far more fitting."
     Lucifer tried to wipe the tears from his face, his hands trembling as they moved over his cheeks, but the effort was in vain. The pain was relentless, pushing more golden tears to spill from his eyes, each one shimmering as it fell like fragments of light. But despite the torment ravaging his body, he forced himself to look up, his eyes locking onto Her impassive face. His voice was strained, broken, but defiant as he spoke through gritted teeth.
     "I regret none of my decisions," he spat. "I will not bow any longer to a tyrant who abuses Her own creations."
     "You have spoken your final words, then," God said, Her tone devoid of any trace of mercy. She lifted Her hand, a single ringed finger pointing toward him. "Begone."

     As that single word was uttered, Auriel's body moved on instinct. He broke free of Michael's unyielding hold, his heart racing as he lunged forward. At the same moment, Azrael sprang from her place on the ground, her desperation mirroring his own. They reached for Lucifer, hands outstretched, trying to grasp him, to save him from the unthinkable. Their fingertips grazed his skin, but it was already too late.
     Lucifer vanished.
      One moment, he was there—broken, bleeding, but still there—and the next, they were left kneeling in the cold, golden ichor that remained, the light from it flickering like dying stars.
     For a long, unbearable second, the realm was deafeningly silent. Time seemed to freeze, the very air hanging heavy with the weight of loss. Then, like a rush of air returning to suffocated lungs, sound flooded back. The wind howled once more, the soft trickle of blood echoed through the stillness, and then came the sobs—hollow, aching sobs.

     Azrael crumbled against Auriel, her small body trembling as she clung to him, her face buried in his chest, tears soaking into his already stained shirt. They sank to their knees together, collapsing under the weight of their grief. Auriel held her close, his hands shaking as he gripped her, his own tears mixing with hers, their sorrow shared but somehow not lessened.
     He didn't know how long they stayed there, how long they wept in the sacred halls of heaven. Time had lost all meaning, each tear that fell from their eyes feeling like the passage of eons, like the collapse of entire stars. The world around them continued, indifferent to their suffering, while they remained—broken, shattered, and alone.

     Auriel could still remember the feeling of despair that had washed over him though. And that's what he hated. He was trying to drown it out, with bottle after bottle but nothing worked. Nothing could rid him of the ache.

     Nothing could rid him of that hollow feeling in his heart.