Author's Note: VERY short chapter for me. This was tagged on to the last one, but it made it ridiculously long, and I felt like it really dampened Chloe's reaction to Michael and Gabriel. I really wanted you, as readers, to see and feel the impact separately from Samael's full intro because...as much as I love writing Michael, I LOVE writing Samael. So, seriously, this is what the story has been gearing towards - and I would really, really like to know if I pulled it off. So...read and review? Preeetty please?
Also - unrelated, but I have to say it: SweetChi wrote me my fabulous request fic of the reason why his mother was locked up in Hell was because his mother tried to kill him and it is AMAZING. I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT IT. All should read it. It's on this site, titled "In the Beginning, There Was Betrayal." And this is also really delayed (because I am a bad person) but thank you to everyone who gave me well wishes after my accident, for my birthday, and good luck for my midterms. I really do love you all!
Samael allowed the woman to lead him through the dark, rotting innards of the church, stepping much too close to her heels so that she almost had to run to keep from being trod on.
He cared little for the 'others' she was prattling on about – worshipers, fans, whatever she wanted to call them. Nuisances was a much more appropriate description.
She was right about one thing, though, and as much as he was loathe to give her credit for anything, he had to hand it to her. She wasn't lying when she said that this church's history was tragic.
He dragged his fingers along the charred and ruined walls, leaving long lines in the ash and soot, listening to the horrors that took place here so many years ago. It was a massacre. Not once, but three times, on three separate occasions, decades apart. The Tongva people against the Spanish started it all…he could hear the echo of their bones beneath the earth.
The most recent deaths cried the loudest – resonating within the very walls themselves as the nuns and their Spanish flu patients were burned alive to ward off the sickness that threatened the rest of the village.
And now he could hear the heavy beating hearts of those who came to worship at the altar of Death itself, uncomprehending of what forces they were dealing with.
Oh, how he loved people…
Or was it loathed?
Little difference.
Delilah almost tripped over herself in order to open the door for him and he didn't bother to even look at her as he passed.
The stairs exited at the transept, just to the left of the altar and Samael immediately looked up, pausing for a moment as he stared at the night sky through the burned out hole of the roof. He half expected a bolt of lightning, but the skies remained clear and dark – the moonlight trickling through the gaps in the rafters as though the church was meant to be without a roof. Nothing between the Earth and Heaven except a breath of air.
It was beautiful.
"Is that him?" someone whispered in the darkened nave.
"It must be him," came the hissed reply as more voices rose from the shadows, overlapping and growing louder as they clamored over one another, fingers scraping in the dirt beneath their feet, pulling at each other's skin as they pushed one another aside.
"My brothers and sisters," Delilah called, voice surprisingly steady as she forced it above the others. "Our mission is complete! Before you stands Samael, Ruler of the Fifth Heaven…God's most favored Son and Lord of the Dead."
The wave of people that filled the nave fell to their knees, hands clasped together as if their prayers had been answered, the occasional 'praise be to Him!' and other praises floating up from the crowd.
Samael rolled his eyes and fought the urge to vomit. Always with the theatrics, people. They didn't hold his attention for more than a moment, however, because in the middle of the apse where the altar stood was the object of his desire.
His beloved wings, mounted on the wall with all the care a hunter showed a prized trophy. The white of them seemed to glow in the dimmed candlelight of the church, illuminated by the moon and their own divinity.
How could he have ever thought to sever them? When did he decide suffering was the path to spite his Father?
In three quick strides, he stood before them, fingers splayed out towards the downy white, almost afraid to touch them and find out they were a lie – just like before.
"We took them from the auctioneer," Delilah said quietly. "He begged us not to. Told us he couldn't live without them." She paused for a moment. "We made sure he didn't have to."
Samael traced one of the long secondary feathers with a finger.
"They have that effect on people," he said. He cast a sidelong look at the woman, who stood staring at the wings, a familiar light of madness starting to flicker in her dead eyes. "But obviously you know that."
"I would have returned them sooner," she said, "had you only accepted my invitations. But I needed to make sure you weren't a fraud like the others."
Samael felt the familiar well of rage starting to form as he bit out his reply. "Oh yes, quite thoughtful of you. Try to kill me in the name of helping me. Sounds familiar, actually."
The argument was an old one. You only hurt the ones you love.
If ever there was a reason to stab Michael in the heart…
"That's not –"
"Shut up," he snapped, and her mouth immediately clacked shut. "I know perfectly well what you were using them for. Using a gift from my Father as a party trick to amass followers for your ridiculous crusade is almost more insulting than you lying about doing so."
He turned back to the wings and reflexively rolled his shoulders at the memory of their comforting weight. "No matter. I'm taking them back."
"How do you-"
"What did I tell you?" he growled, pulling his lips back in a snarl. "Do not speak again, or I'll remove your lying tongue and feed it to your flock."
Delilah stepped back, her hand going to her mouth at the idea.
"Consider yourself one of the fortunate, human. You get to witness a miracle." Samael waved his hand, etching into the air before him a fiery figure eight, drawing a reverse hook through the middle of it. "Reversus est ad me," he commanded.
There was a gust of wind, and like a mirage in the desert, his wings slowly dissolved into the air like particles of sand and a cry of protest and dismay went up from the crowd.
The feeling of his flesh being restitched and remade, the crunch of bones and squelch of muscle made him stagger – he'd been so long without them he'd forgotten their weight, without their presence, it was almost like being struck by lightning. The surge of power that suddenly flooded through him was electrifying and as the wings reformed in their proper place and for the first time since he awoke he felt alive instead of half smothered under the pretense of humanity.
He felt whole.
He could hear the sharp intake from the crowd as if they were one, and he smiled to himself.
Vanity aside, witnessing the rebirth of an archangel was a miracle for the ages, and so far beyond the grasp of human perception he doubted they truly understood what they were seeing.
Samael shot a glance over to Delilah who was remarkably still standing, though judging by the wobble in her knees, it wouldn't be for long.
"Am I all that you imagined now?" he asked, holding his arms wide as he stretched his wings for the first time in ages.
Delilah nodded mutely.
He stepped forwards, dipping his head so that his lips grazed her ear as he spoke. "Then you have a very poor imagination," he whispered.
Samael stepped forwards, forcing her to step back.
"You thought your vision was beyond the scope of my Father. You had the arrogance to think that you understood the world better than He, better than us."
With every accusation, he forced her back a step until she was against the charred ruin of the wall.
"Had that been your only sin, I might not have cared. Far be it from me to judge against lack of perspective of my Father's creation. But you didn't seek me to right perceived wrongs, did you?" he growled.
Delilah remained silent, unwilling to meet his gaze, or even raise her head to try.
He slammed his fist into the wall next to her head, his entire hand going through the rotted wood and plaster.
"Did you?" he roared.
Delilah's head jerked away from him, but she didn't meet his eyes. He could hardly blame her.
"The moment you laid eyes on these wings, when you first realized that they were real and all that that knowledge entailed, you wanted some of it for yourself, didn't you?" he whispered, soothing. "You knew there were such things in creation deserving of worship, and you wanted to be one of them."
The woman shook, but she finally raised her head, finally meeting his gaze.
Strength of madness in the face of Death.
He almost liked her.
"Your crusade was a foolish one," Samael said, voice just loud enough for her to hear and no one else in the congregation. "It was an act of vanity and personal pride. And worse, you thought you could lie to me about it. Perhaps you repeated it so often you actually believed it but I can see, Delilah. I know what's in your heart. I know how you feel when you command and others obey. I know the way your heart beats at the sight of blood. How powerful you feel watching someone else's life fade away because of you. You thought yourself a god."
He pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and cupping his hands to either side of her face.
"Allow me to show you what happens to false gods," he whispered. He touched his lips to her forehead, his fingers sliding along her neck.
In one quick movement, he pressed his fingers down and snapped her axis vertebrae, severing her spinal cord.
Her entire body went limp, but he didn't allow her to fall. He kept his bruising grip around her neck, holding her up like a ragdoll.
"I'm not going to kill you," he said pleasantly. "Though perhaps I should – it would be a mercy, gratitude for all that you've done. But you, Delilah Rogers…are deserving of no such consideration. You can live, bound as I was, reminded of the power you once had and are now deprived of. Your lying tongue cannot poison anyone else's mind."
He released her, and she dropped in a boneless heap to the floor, unable to do anything more than blink and breathe.
"I'm going to give you one last gift, Delilah," Samael said, turning his back on her and facing the congregation that stood with bated breath in the shadows.
"I'm going to give you the perspective of God," he said as he paused at the front of the church, moonlight casting onto his beautiful wings and making them shine. "By letting you watch as I make your beloved flock destroy themselves."
And with that, Samael allowed all of his hate, all of his anger and rage and desire to flood the congregation. The roiling black sickness seeped in through their skin, into their bones and into their hearts as their eyes flashed black as night.
"Tell me humans," he shouted above the crowd. "What is it you most desire?"
And the sea of people turned on one another like the animals he knew they were. Nails tore through skin, teeth clamped down on muscle and sinew and bones snapped like brittle twigs as the humans literally consumed one another.
Samael smiled to himself, inhaling deeply and savoring the taste of blood in the air. He supposed he should be grateful that so few mentions of him remained. Eliciting desire was such a bland term for what he did.
He controlled hunger. The darkest part of the human soul was his domain and he knew what to pull and what to push and how to make them bend and snap and tear themselves apart. Death was a mercy he bestowed upon the masses. His ability to take a life was not what earned him a place in the Pit.
It was the ability to make them destroy themselves in their pursuit of desire. He hardly needed to lift a finger – all he had to do was whisper in their ears, and they ripped each other apart.
Desire was a fluid thing. People often confused it with lust. But it was so much more than that. Power. Love. Hate. Hurt. It was the human spirit unconstrained.
It was what he loved about them. They were so eager to destroy each other, they happily destroyed themselves.
He stepped off the crossing, uncaring of the blood that pooled beneath his feet, ignoring the bodies as they fell to the floor.
No one touched him.
No one even noticed him.
With a spin on his heel, he pushed open the doors of the church, stepping out into the cool California desert night.
The skies were clear. Stars twinkled in the velvet darkness, barely visible with the full moon out in all its glory. The entirety of his Father's beloved creation lay before him, bathed in silvery moonlight bright as the sun. He could hear the beat of its corrupted, festering heart beneath his feet, hear the whispers of dark desire on the air.
"So much work to do," he muttered to himself, smiling happily. He stretched his arms, his wings expanding behind him as he unfurled them in their entirety for the first time in what felt like centuries.
He spared a glance skyward. "Dearest Father, have you no words for your beloved Fallen Star? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."
The heavens reverberated in silence. Not a sound from the Silver City.
"That's what I thought," he said. "You and I always did have an understanding."
And with a flap of his magnificent wings, he vanished into the night.
So you made it to the end. Totally freaking out. Not gonna lie. Did you like it? What did you think of Samael's intro? To answer several questions, no, Constantine is not showing up in this (for those of you who want to see him make an appearance, tune in to Cecidit Angelus.) I just needed to make sure everyone knew they were the same universe, which meant magic was possible. Yes, there will be a fight between Michael and Samael. And - dun dun duuuuun...Amenadiel. Because I really dislike his character's lack of foresight in the show (especially if he's supposed to be the older, wiser brother). I think that was all the questions I got from last chapter...
Ah. No. One more, and this is really an interpretation thing: you can picture Lucifer and Samael as split personalities, or as two sides of the same person. The important thing to remember is that Samael IS Lucifer, and the exact explanation of that is actually...possibly next chapter, depending on the detail I work into it.
Also - public apologies must be made not as part of an edit: TooLazyToSignIn - sorry. I'd forgotten there was more than one of the anonymous readers with that name, and I should've looked back through the reviews to realize you weren't the same person. So, apologies for being a jerk.