It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting the devil.

If they would only expend the same amount of energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own tracks of ennui.

-Helen Keller

-Ω-

"My Lord, there have been fallen angels detected in our general vicinity."

"New recruits? Excellent. Have them brought to me," the young man replied smoothly, grinning. His hair was a sandy blond, neatly combed and styled to perfection, and his eyes were bluer than arctic ice, only colder. He was lounging on a throne that was beautifully carved, however it was almost as gruesome as the gleam in the man's eyes. Angels opened their mouths in silent screams, tears streaming down their faces as they struggled to hold the throne up. It was a work of art, nonetheless, and even though he was sitting rather casually, there was no mistake that he was the one in charge here.

He wore a white suit, much like the formalwear of other angels, however this one had been through hell and back, and quite literally. Its cuffs were torn and frayed, and the material had darkened into a grungy grey color, like ashes had been smeared all over it. Jagged rips scoured the sleeves and pant legs, and his tie had been sliced to ribbons. He still wore it despite this, and that gave him an even more sinister air, not to mention the skeletal wings that splayed behind him, with feathers clinging to the bone structure and ragged flesh for dear life. He hadn't yet dismissed the woman who'd brought the news, and it was quite plain to see that she was shaking where she stood, yet she dared not leave his presence without his say-so. He gave her another once-over and gave his wrist a dismissive flick, and she scurried out of sight with a hurried, "Thank you, Lord Lucifer."

"Demons. Filthy things, really, isn't that right honey?" Lucifer asked in a silky voice, the words directed to a teenaged boy that was sitting on the considerably smaller throne next to him. It was plain and simple, much unlike the work of art that was Lucifer's throne, but there was clearly an aspect to it that made well assure that the person sitting on it was held in high esteem.

"Of course. Whatever you say," the boy's voice was monotone, and to the casual observer he was quite stunning. His black hair was neatly trimmed and styled in a way that was nearly identical to Lucifer's, and rather than him wearing a white suit like the other angel, he was wearing a neat, charcoal black suit that had two slits on the back to accommodate his equally black wings. From afar, he was lounging on his throne like how Lucifer was doing, but upon closer inspection it was revealed that he was actually slumped in the seat, seeming exhausted more mentally than physically. When one got over the beauty of his face and looked past that, they would most certainly be horrified. His eyes were dead, like a dead body's. Though a stunning sea green, there was absolutely no life contained within them, a dullness replacing the sheen that was normally associated with a person's eyes. His face was neutral and calm, but after seeing his eyes one would associate that with the serenity of a corpse in a casket. His skin was healthy, a very beautiful tan gracing it, but his mind was clearly not.

"Oh, Percy, sweetie, you don't have to agree with everything I say," Lucifer crooned, beginning to card his fingers through the young man's feathers affectionately.

"I apologize. I'll try harder next time."

Lucifer frowned at this and paused with the stroking, muttering a small, "It needs work in the social division," but then gave a little shrug and continued. It was an intimate thing, grooming an angel's feathers, but Percy seemed fine with it, eventually leaning into the touch and purring, but not in the way most would think; he was actually purring, a low rumble filling his chest as he eagerly pushed his wing against Lucifer's fingers. It was eerie, though, because despite his displays of enjoyment, Percy's face was still blank, his eyes still so very empty. Lucifer checked his watch and halted his movements, despite the black-winged angel's indignant cry, and rose from his seat, brushing his tattered suit off.

"I have to go to a meeting, and I want you to stay right here until I come back. Got it, sweetheart?" Lucifer asked gently.

"Okay," Percy huffed, reluctantly withdrawing his wings and folding them behind his back, "But be back soon."

"Cross my heart," Lucifer replied as a grin broke out across his face, giving the angel a peck on the nose and turning to leave, but not before Percy captured his lips with his own in a shy, chaste kiss. The fallen angel cast a glance back as he rounded the corner out of the throne room and found Percy reclining and getting comfortable. He wished he could stay with him, but business was business, and even Hell had order to maintain. The Fallen King traveled down the hallway with a pep in his step, greeting everyone who passed him despite their wide, frightened eyes, and his footsteps were muffled by the long, red Oriental rug that cushioned the floor. The walls stretched high over his head and tapered, making dazzling arches like that of a cathedral, crisscrossed with wooden beams. Nearly blindingly white pillars supported the lower parts of the ceiling, and the marble was chiseled to look as if pythons were wrapped around the lengths of them, their thick bodies constricting and their cold, milky white eyes watching intently.

Portraits hung on the walls, all of them being classic Christian and Jewish paintings only…darker. Adam being devoured by a two headed dog, his eyes wide as its two mouths ripped into his flesh, his hand reaching out desperately towards the God that was only a hairbreadth away. The Last Supper was overrun by demons, stabbing and hacking at the Apostles, and a stone-faced Lucifer watched from the side as a hellhound leapt for Jesus' throat. The candles on the menorah had all gone out, and all of the huddled masses of Jews were slaughtered by the things that went bump in the night, unable to see them coming as smoke trailed from the charred wicks. Moses and all of the others escaping Egypt, as well as their pack animals, were dragged under the churning waves of the Red Sea as reptilian scales and glowing yellow eyes flashed under the surface.

Lucifer didn't even bat an eye at them as he passed, though when he saw the twisted Michelangelo he whistled, a high-pitched shrill that echoed throughout the giant building. Almost immediately a two-headed dog leaped from the shadow that a column had been casting, two snarling Rottweiler heads leering at him, though his glowing red eyes showed clear respect for his owner.

"Good boy, Cerberus," he said and the two heads barked in unison, creating two eerie and clashing pitches that would send the hairs standing up on the back of any normal person's neck. Cerberus trailed behind Lucifer now, his heads swaying back and forth in search of threats that he could devour. The two didn't linger in the main corridor for long, veering into another passage that branched off of it. The hellhound balked at the end of the hallway when he saw the large, arched golden door that awaited him at the end, their surfaces inlaid with sharp, jagged obsidian shards that created the haunting mosaic of a nine-headed dragon. Lucifer clucked for him and he let out a low whimper, slinking after his master while keeping all four eyes trained on the dragon, as if it would leap out of the door and tear both he and Lucifer to shreds. Nine sets of ruby eyes glared down at them as Lucifer threw the doors open with much bravado, swaggering inside as the doors swung shut behind them, startling Cerberus and leaving his scrabbling to catch up.

This chamber was gigantic, nearly rivaling the size of the throne room. A long table extended from one end to the other, and within the seats sat an array of Lucifer's most trusted advisors. That was only a title for them, really, for if you were smart you didn't trust anyone but yourself, and Lucifer was quite aware of that. These "advisors" didn't know half of Lucifer's plans, for if those sorry excuses for angels managed to capture them, they wouldn't be able to torture everything out of them. That was how every villain fell in the…rather entertaining…mortal movies, and Lucifer was keen on making sure that that wasn't the case with his operation, which was much more foolproof. All eyes of varying colors and degrees of demonic appeal turned to him, and he grinned coldly as he sat at the head of the table, on a high-backed wooden chair that was almost as intricately carved as his throne. Cerberus curled up at his feet, though it was more out of want for any table scraps that fell than out of loyalty, for there were refreshments being passed around by quivering servants who were trying to hide their fear. Lucifer found them amusing.

"Down to business," he announced, steepling his hands under his chin. "Can I have a status report on the recruiting front? I was informed that new ones were sensed by our scouts earlier."

A yellow-eyed, hawk-nosed man rose from his seat, his posture erect and his expression wicked. "Indeed, my Lord. In fact, the group was so tremendous that it could be the key to defeating Heaven once and for all," he replied in a cool, collected voice. He was Lucifer's greatest commander, a fallen death angel named Kronos, and if Lucifer was somehow captured or destroyed, Kronos would take his place and would fulfill the position nearly flawlessly. He was a little overconfident, though, for he underestimated Heaven far too much and too often; Heavens army was by far the most powerful in the three planes of reality, and Kronos thought that they could win with head-on attacks. No, they had to be sneaky about it. Corrupt them from the inside; Kronos had been a part of the Watchers, the original angels that fell from Heaven after the Great War, and he knew just how powerful a group of angels could be if they still had God's gifts.

"Oh? Tell me more." Kronos looked happy to oblige.

"There are about three hundred fallen angels as of now, all led by a redhead named…Rachel."

"Rachel," Lucifer repeated, rolling the name off of his tongue. It didn't really sound like the name of a fallen angel who was strong-minded enough to control countless other fallen angels, though the name was angelic. "Have our scouts confronted her yet?"

"No, my Lord; her group is approaching from the east and will arrive in Los Angeles in approximately seventeen point thirty-three hours. The scouts are trailing them, my Lord, and will alert us if they suddenly change course. As of now their trajectory is strictly towards Los Angeles, with no signs of them straying from the path."

"Excellent, you may be seated." Kronos sat, his face glowing as he wallowed in his own pride. Another weakness of his. Pride was what caused Lucifer and the Watchers to fall in the first place, which is why it's called the root of all sin, and the fallen angel was keen on making sure that they didn't repeat the same mistake twice. "Medusa, how are our…guests doing?"

A fallen angel of nature, formerly known as Leviathan, rose from her seat. In her true form she was a seventy foot-long emerald green serpent, with blazing yellow eyes and a ferocious howl, but her human form was no less intimidating. Her hair was a mass of hissing and writhing snakes, their slit eyes darting back and forth as their tongues flicked in and out, tasting the air. Those blazing yellow eyes that Lucifer admired while fighting the War in Heaven had transferred to her human form, capable of turning any human to stone. She was the respected documenter and "handler" of all of the prisoners, including the five special guests that lay locked away within the depths of the castle. She was a higher-up and didn't do meager tasks of keeping watch over them; that was her assistant Kampê's job. She merely hosted little "sessions" that the prisoners loved, considering the fact that their bloodcurdling screams, of joy most likely, could sometimes be heard from the upper floors.

"Marvelous, my Lord," she replied, and even though she didn't have the classic snakelike dialect of holding out her 's' sounds, her cold and calculating way of speaking was much worse, and the hissing of her hair was enough compensation for it. "Their last meals were before they were taken and it's a joy when Kampê informs me that one of them has died yet again from starvation! It's a vicious cycle, and it's glorious."

"I'll have to go down and witness one of their deaths myself. Thank you, Medusa." The snake woman sat back down, a chilling content creeping over her face. "Have anything to add, Porphyrion?" He was Kronos' second in command, technically making him the heir to the throne if Kronos perishes, even though he was Nephilim. The son of a fallen angel of nature and the long since locked away demon, Chaos. He and his brothers were the offspring of angels and demons, and were more powerful than if one of their parents had been human; Nephilim were always born twisted. Always born evil. Unlike demons, Porphyrion was wickedly intelligent as well as brawny and broad-shouldered. He'd crawled out of Hell seeking revenge for the death of his mother, Gaea, at the hands of the heavenly host, for she'd been capturing angels of nature and sapping their powers over the elements, turning herself into the next Mother Earth. Uriel had struck her down personally, and that's probably the reason why Medusa lets them "have fun" together most of the time rather than wasting her own energy on the Archangel.

"Nothing, sire, everyone is doing fantastic within the ranks, and with Rachel's army soon joining ours we will have nothing short of a heavenly host of our own. Hellish host, if you may," the burly giant grunted brusquely. Lucifer nodded, stroking Cerberus' ears with one hand while cradling his head in the other. It would be entertaining to most, but for Lucifer these meeting were always so dull; why only talk about torturing people when you could be out doing the torturing?

"Does anyone have something else to add?" The fallen angel felt his interest tear itself into even tinier shreds as one small demon raised his hand. He had a scar down one side of his face, however the most gruesome part was that he looked like a blond-haired, blue-eyed Frankenstein, jagged paths of stitches zigzagging round his body. The number 666 was burned into his chest.

"Please excuse me for my opinion, my Lord, but I think I have an idea that's better than not feeding the Archangels at all," Luke Castellan said.

-Ω-

He was cold. So very cold. And numb. But how could he be cold if he was numb? He was also in a lot of pain but at the same time he was numb. How could that be possible? He could move slightly but that was it. He was hungry. And thirsty. He'd been obsessing over the last thing he'd eaten so much that he could remember every single torturous detail about that Caesar salad. When had he eaten that Caesar salad? He didn't know but it must've been a long way away because he was hungry. And cold. And numb.

-Ω-

"Honeybun, I was wondering if you could do something for me," Lucifer crooned as he combed Perseus' greasy black hair to perfection.

"Anything for you," Percy replied as he gazed into the mirror blankly. A black-haired, green-eyed angel who was sobbing blood and forming words that were unheard to Lucifer stared back. The devil did, however, take notice, and he placed his hands on either of Percy's shoulder's smiling at him in the mirror and watching as his reflection sobbed and begged without sound. Mirrors were always said to reflect the soul of the onlooker back at them. This was Perseus at the moment, however that was only on the inside. It would be most inconvenient is he had that bloody, blubbering mess following him around everywhere. So Lucifer had improvised, made the absolute perfect Percy and discarding all of the other things that were unnecessary. These things included but were not limited to: his habit of badmouthing authority, his rebelliousness, his cocky comebacks and corny humor, his good humor (because Lucifer really didn't want the angel cracking jokes while he was in the process of executing a nonbeliever), and most of all, his flight. The messenger angel's wings had been clipped, and even though the feathers would soon grow back, Lucifer was glad that his perfect little Percy wasn't flying around unchecked, for he couldn't fly after him with the damaged wings that he had.

What Lucifer left behind was his good nature, his politeness, the loyalty that was so hardwired into his brain that Lucifer couldn't've removed it if he tried, his compassion, his affection, and every other ability that assisted him in normal everyday functions. This left Perseus completely and totally cowed, a tame and mellow version of the wild beast that the fallen angels had dragged in three weeks ago. It gave Lucifer pride knowing that he had hobbled and broken in such a free-spirited angel, even though that same angel was raging underneath the surface, as the mirror showed.

He found, with a jolt, that he actually enjoyed having Percy around. No longer was the angel just to give Lucifer satisfaction in knowing that he could have something that his brother had always wanted, but rather a constant companion that Lucifer hadn't known he needed until now. He'd resume their pleasant company later, because first he had a job for Percy to do.

"I need you to deliver something for me, but you need to follow these specific directions…"

-Ω-

Hunger. Cold. Agony. Numbness. Hunger. Cold. Agony. Numbness.

Then the door opened and all at once he was thrust back into his own body, jerked into a reality that was far too gruesome to comprehend. He whimpered softly, knowing that Medusa came up with a new form of torture every session, but he didn't hear the hissing of snakes. Perhaps it was under a turban of some sort, but he didn't dare look for fear that he'd simply lost his hearing and direct eye contact would only result in much more suffering. Every limb, from his neck to his arms, legs, and wings, was chained to the floor, with absolutely no leeway. It forced him into an uncomfortable position, and there was a kink in his back that was driving him insane. His wings had pins and needles and his fingers and toes were most likely purple, but the worst part of it all was the unbearable hunger. It clawed at his stomach at first, a mighty monster that demanded sustenance, but after the first time he died of starvation, it began to putter out to become a meek and fragile creature that had lost all hope but was still begging and pleading, still crying softly for food and water.

"Don't hurt me," he rasped, his eyes screwed shut as he prepared for the crack of a whip and for the taunting degrading words that would soon fall from the snake woman's lips. "Please." Instead he found something being pushed against his lips, and as soon as he breathed in the scent all his mind could think of was yesfoodgoodyumneedwantmine. Without even considering the fact that it was most likely poisoned, he wolfed it down, nearly taking the spoon with it. A hand brushed against his cheek and he knew that it wasn't Medusa, because this hand felt warm. This hand felt like home. His eyes flew open and there, in all of his black-winged glory, knelt Perseus.

Light was spilling from the doorway, causing the side facing him to be mostly cloaked in shadow, but he knew. He knew. Hot tears to spilled over his cheeks, this time of joy and not of pain, and he couldn't managed to make his throat work fast enough between mouthfuls of food to tell Perseus how grateful he was and how indebted he was and how when they got back to Heaven he'd promote Perseus to not only be his messenger but to be beloved mate and companion who he would cherish until the day he crumbled to dust. All of these words and thanks and hushed whispers of affection were bouncing around in his head as the small, feeble creature that was his hunger wept happily as his stomach was, for the first time, filled. Throughout the time he was fed, he had been too concentrated on his thoughts to look much, but when the distraction of food was gone and the words were just resting at the tip of his tongue he looked. He actually looked this time, and when he saw how dead Percy's eyes were, he knew that he was doomed.

It was Percy alright, for monsters couldn't replicate the heavenly grace that Michael could sense was curled within Percy's form, but that grace wasn't glowing as brightly and lively as it used to. In fact, instead of bouncing this way and that, like the Archangel was used to seeing, it was pooled low within the angel's chest, lying dimly and bleakly like a beaten horse who'd given up trying to fight its rider.

"Percy?" he whispered.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," the angel replied flatly, in a voice that was so blank that Michael closed his eyes to just take it in. Lucifer had actually done it. He used the trick that he'd used on the countless angels in Heaven, a mind trick older than time; selective free will. The victim still had the freedom to do normal things like eat, go to the bathroom, and hold up conversation, but their mind was completely and totally controlled by the caster of the spell, in this case, Lucifer. Michael could see just how submissive and suggestible his messenger angel was, but that was before he flicked on the lights. Michael didn't even know his cell had lights.

He was dressed in jeans that hugged his hips and calves, to the point where it was a miracle that the angel had been able to kneel beside the Archangel at all. His shirt was a white button down that had three buttons undone, a teasing glimpse of a broad, tan chest peeking out.

"Percy are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Lucifer is treating me nicely. He is a kind and forgiving lover."

Michael felt like his heart had been shredded into a million pieces and he wept silently. He attempted to speak, but words still failed him. He'd been too late. Now Percy was attached to someone else and that someone else just so happened to be the Fallen King. If they ever got out of this, Percy may never want to be with anyone else ever again. Michael could only imagine what the angel was being subjected to, and he felt himself falling into a void.

"Percy?" he tried again, and despite the fact that it was against his orders, the messenger angel turned to look at him, fully attentive. He wet his chapped and peeling lips before asking, "Are you happy?"

"Of course," Percy replied in monotone. He didn't sound happy. He didn't look happy. He looked like a marionette being told to dance for the show, and Michael wouldn't put it past Lucifer to tie strings to the angel's arms and legs.

It made his throat constrict, and before he could say anything else Perseus closed the light and shut the door, plunging the Archangel back into darkness and cold once more. Hunger wouldn't be far behind.

-Ω-

(A/N) Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! It gave me a burst of inspiration so I decided to put off my other stories and write another chapter for this one.