The Cage. Of course she would put him here, of all places. Amara wanted Lucifer to suffer, and she knew well of his personal prison - the horrors that had been tailored specifically for the fallen Light Bringer. The archangel knelt upon the cold ground, his entire being filled with a raw and relentless agony. His Aunt had removed him so forcibly from his Earthly vessel, it had nearly torn apart his Grace, leaving him weakened and vulnerable. Not that any of that mattered. After eons in this box of horrors, Lucifer did not need to be at full strength to correctly anticipate the oncoming torture.
As he pushed himself up from the floor, a sickening wave of foreign energy hit the angel like a shot to the chest. He drew his bowed head up quickly, a renewed sense of dread flooding through his tattered form. Something was different - and in The Cage, different did not happen. Not for the Morningstar, not after millennia of experiencing every fathomable torture the place had to offer.
And yet, it was undeniable; something had changed. He could feel the dark tendrils of energy snaking around the Hell Fire his Father had created, working its way slowly toward Lucifer, the shadowy flames licking at his cold, dimly glowing Grace. He backed away quickly, knowing, logically, that his attempts to escape would prove to be futile. Even so, he moved until he felt his great wings pushing against the wall of his Cage, his bright eyes filled with trepidation as he focused on the silky black ribbons of energy.
In the next moment, the smoke was upon him, around him, and within him. A growl of frustration rose up in his throat, followed closely by a strangled gasp of pain. His Grace strained against the opposing force, Light battling Darkness in a contained battle within his very being. The pain grew, escalating from a dull throbbing, to all-out agony, like a million shards of glass raining down upon him.
A Hell-rattling scream tore from the archangel’s throat, and he crashed down to his hands and knees. As he attempted to combat the torrent of pain crashing down around him, Lucifer was hit with a jarring revelation. Whatever Amara had done to his prison, she had done so with sadistic purpose. She wanted to have the Son of the Morning suffer, yes; but more than that, she wanted to strip him of all hope. She wanted to see him despair and be broken, having none of the short reprieves offered by his Father’s design. The torture would be relentless, his Grace whittled away piece by piece, until, at last, the Light Bringer would fall, laid to an agonizing and chaotic rest by The Darkness, itself.
