Author's notes:

Here we go !

It's been a long time since my last publication. I didn't plan to post this today, but I'm feeling blue this evening. I can't publish anything in french for now so I thought publish something for you and me to enlighten the rest of the day.

This story in two chapters has been written for a challenge from the "Collectif Noname" : Last moments.
I instantly thought about Lucifer and the Rebellion.
This chapter hasn't been checked yet by ma dear Beta Kittendealer who's actually writing a wonderful story for my birthday "Anything For You" (go read it !). Love you Kitten ! :)
So, sorry for the many mistakes in it ^^'

Enjoy !

ONE LAST TIME

Unity is an overestimated value.

United… Together whatever happens, whatever might happen. A perfect perspective that wasn't that perfect. He knows this, he has even already seen this long before this moment. Unity is not something natural, it forces itself, bends the common laws of the world around them. Being its Maker's children doesn't mean they will escape from these laws. They all end up bending the knee under the yoke of this universal law.

Survival of the fittest.

Sacrifice the weakest link for everybody else's salvation.

This law applies to every creature He has created and to Himself as well, whether He admits it or not.

Samael admits it for his part.

He has already seen this phenomenon. These animals, these primitive packs that progressively separate – even brutally sometimes – one creature from all the others for a simple reason, for a simplistic fear. Do not be slowed down by this weakened, wounded or dying being. Do not let themselves dragged into its fall. It is this law, its proper application, that matters before anything else.

The pack before anything else, anyone else.

That's the way it is.

Beasts, superior beings… There's no real difference between them. They all harbor this same primitive instinct of self-preservation.

Samael admits this, he can't do otherwise. This is what's happening here. At the moment. His pack, his family… that is rejecting him like a wounded, dangerous animal and, thus, also becoming a danger for the perfect unity that binds their equally perfect community. But he well might think about this over and over again; as far as he knows, he doesn't feel that way. Oh, the shackles that squeeze his wrists in a very uncomfortable angle bring some change in his bodily integrity, for sure. These ties holding his hands in his back and constantly pulling on the joint of his shoulders; this restriction is not really pleasant. The cold iron biting the skin of his wrists isn't better, of course, but he remains the same anyway.

Doesn't he?

But that's just the difference.

He didn't know that kind of physical suffering until this day. He knows the pain, a tiny part of it; fleeting and accidental. An unfortunate consequence from distraction, from predictable mistakes or hasty moves during his training, vital for the achievement of their mission – his and his other siblings. Non-serious wounds quickly forgotten under Raphael's touch or their Mother's sweet palms once the training was over.

This thick blood that soaks his ripped clothes, which drops on the ground and spreads into a twisty form where his body – previously mauled by this strong community – is dragged without real concern about his well-being. It looks like one of those dusky red rivers with the sunset all over this new world below… Beautiful, strange, captivating. And different. This red smear here is not a scratch.

The reason isn't the same. It's different.

He changes everything.

He changed everything.

It's him, Samael, who is the one here only responsible for this change, for this unusual pain. And it's probably because he dared to bring it and inflict it to the others as well as himself that he is now rejected from the rest of the divine pack.

Samael can't take his eyes off this fleeting red line that follows him, that escorts him and marks for a time his presence in this place. At least, it will remain a trace of his passing, of his life in this City… He stares at it and can't help thinking about this almost identical streak, bigger though, which had followed him and Baraquiel under the crown of trees, far away from the battlefield. That streak that had largely spread under his dying brother… It had almost mesmerized him; how was it possible that a such frail, young body contain so much blood that was flooding endlessly around their both bodies – one supported by the other? He had tried to hold it back by pressing his hands on the gaping wound, his wings hadn't helped him either. Nothing had been able to stop this endless runoff, the flow of his own fault on that muddy ground. Samael can still see that weary smile on his brother's lips; blue-stained and almost motionless on his pale face. He can see his lips moving, whispering his last words before freezing, still smiling and surrounded by this red stretch.

What did he say?

He tries hard but can't remember clearly. His entire mind remains obsessed by this streak in front of him just as the previous one. He only sees that line which marked the earth, which completely pervaded it; former possession of the angels lying on it, all unable to keep it inside them, to breathe, to smile again.

So many of them lying on this wild land and only a few still standing. Only a few on his side, but still so many on His.

His side…

Samael has intentionally broken with his family, hasn't he? No one forced him to do so. How wonderful switch roles is this. Now his family accepts this separation when he fears it.

He who feared absolutely nothing and no one.

Fearing his Father? Never. Or just very occasionally, which may be "never". Fearing the harsh looks of his oldest brothers when he dared to directly clash with them? No, of course not. Fear doesn't fit with his temperament. It doesn't before, not before his decision, not before this separation and this… tragedy a few thousand meters below.

Samael tries to turn his head as much as possible; the strong arm that crushes his throat doesn't help a lot. He turns his head and tries to see Michael's face who doesn't seem to care if he strangles him or not in the process. That would be a shame, killing him so foolishly. Even unfortunate when you know what awaits him further. And especially when you know how much Michael cares about their Father's will.

He can't see his blue eyes. He can only see those wet traces along his cheeks, his last tears for the brother he was, and who he wouldn't be soon; his tears for all those destroyed by his hands. The print of sorrow sacrificed to divine duty. A duty that Samael couldn't, didn't want to follow.

It doesn't matter that much now who's the most responsible between them both for the situation.

The final result remains the same.

They both lost.

And despites that, Samael is still crying when Michael had stopped for a while. Maybe he should be ashamed of it, but he's not. There is no shame in crying; not for the good reasons. And there is a really good reason here. But what a show it must be for all the others; him, the proud archangel Samael, who shows his fear and his grief to the victors… It certainly worth's the shot. He can see all those faces, all those looks on him, on his quiet tears. Those who perished were also looking at him. He thinks about their face, those proud looks, sometimes scared or even filled with hope. Eyes, faces that he never would see again for most of them.

What is He going to do with their remains?

Death was so far away from their existence before all this. No one thought of being bring face to face with it so directly one day; they were all so powerful, immortal; why should they have feared such a thing? It should never have touched them that close.

Baraquiel, Asael, Liliael, Suriel… What will happen to their bodies? What will He do with them?

Samael cares more about their fate than that of the few survivors following him in his disgrace. Or that rather get in ahead of him. He can hear their screams of terror, of rage and despair – sometimes the three at one time – at some distance before him. That is where Michael leads him unceremoniously, helped by other Father's believers and Samael's objectors. He can't see but he can hear them. They who scream their helplessness, thrown towards that void, that terrible place below; a place even lower than the moor devastated by the rebellion.

This rebellion screamed one last time because it is the only thing to do.

Samael should have fallen first, he wouldn't have discussed this decision.

First to rebel, first to fall.

But God's word is law. And God says that the renegades blinded by his selfish ambition would be the firsts to fall, so that he understands the full extent of his fault towards Him, towards all of them. Let them fall before he does, and let him hear his mistake rip the skies up, those skies he dared to reject; which is rejecting him as a fair return.

"Sweet revenge, Dad."

Samael couldn't have been that smart and sneaky.

Oh yes, hearing these screams is terrible, as much as this battle was, the cries of pain and death all around him. But these looks are even more terrible, the reaction of all the others, those who chose the side of victors, who preferred their Father to him. This hatred pointed at him; that deformed lips formerly smiling at him as a sign of affection, for one of his jokes, a lovely chat or a quiet moment to look a bright star falling for the rise of another – discreet but just as beautiful to see. Those lips shouting terrible things, supporting Michael to throw him towards that void, following the others… These are his brothers, sisters. His family.

When did they become that hateful against him?

And those who don't react are worse. These few members of the pack who don't look at him even for a moment when Samael desperately want to met their eyes. He won't beg them; his fate is sealed, he knows that. That's how it is.

He just wants to see their eyes one last time.

Amenadiel refuses to turn his head towards him, he's staring without blinking – and with an impressive obstinacy – the columns in front of him. A few inches lower and he would certainly meet his younger brother's eyes. But he isn't moving. He's standing still, his arms crossed on his muscular chest – as he usually does when he heartily reprimands the rest of the siblings, Samael on the top of the list. Samael notices the tension in his hands resting on his prominent forearms; he sees his fingers tense and fade the skin underneath, his fingers that are shaking from intense emotion. It must be the anger.

Amenadiel stands there, not moving, not looking.

Azrael doesn't move further. She's looking at him, though. Her clear eyes blurred by an equally intense emotion – it's not anger, it's something else; he can't tell what exactly – but they stay on him. Her so fine hands, her hands that he used to squeeze affectionately in his before going on patrol without her because too young and too untested, are hiding her mouth. She's shaking too, but isn't doing the slightest move.

Yes, his Father knows what He's doing here.

Openly condemn Samael's actions like that, condemn those who dared to listen to him and – worse still – to follow him; condemning them before him moreover… That's the best way, the perfect one, to command respect once and for all after this single mistake in His Big Plans. All those who were already following Him selflessly will work twice as hard to satisfy Him, they will even be strengthened in their previous hatred which is now justified; Uriel seems quite overjoyed to see him being dragged like this on the ground. Samael feels that passion around his throat and wings, in these aggressive vociferations undoubtedly turned against him. And those who were hesitant before will no longer be, they will obey Him without question. It would be better than suffer the same fate as him. And, finally, every one of them will be afraid of being corrupted by his ideas, his ideas of freedom that he had shared with the others without meaning any arm.

That's the truth.

But the truth doesn't concern many people from now on.

"Well-played Dad, really…"

His Father's eyes are the only thing that Samael doesn't want to find in the crowd. He's here, somewhere; proud of Himself and giving rise to His Divine Splendor, galvanizing the pack and driving to despair the others. He just has to move his head a little bit and he will see Him, for sure.

No.

He doesn't want to see Him.

He's trying to find her.

His mother.

Samael looks around him, tries to find her, but doesn't. Where is she?

"Mum…" he whispers, exhausted.

He can't see her, he can't hear her take his defense body and soul as she has always done. Why is that? Running away from a fight with her husband doesn't look like her, especially when it comes to her children. It doesn't look like her. She can't be agreed with his Father; that's impossible.

He wants to see her. Samael turns his head again and again, without being able to find her among all these faces; sometimes hateful, sometimes terrified.

She should be here, preventing him from what's happening. So why isn't she here fiercely fighting for her children that are thrown into the void?

Why doesn't she fight for him?!

He starts laughing; softly first and then more frankly. He laughs, those same emotionally divided looks answering him. Oh no, he doesn't make fun of them, they don't have to worry about that.

He's making fun of him, that's all.

Samael laughs because he realizes he's spending his very last moment in this city that he wished to leave behind.

He laughs because all this, all this deception… This is what he always wanted. He finally gets what his heart has desired for so long. No more missions, no more orders from his elders, his Father and mother. No more. He would never see them again, obviously.

It was over; and that was all he had ever wanted.

His ribs make him suffer and torment him harder, seemingly not been fond of his hysterical laughter. He coughs, loses his voice and struggles to catch his breath, keeping smiling contentedly.

"Throw him into the Flames! May he taste that freedom claimed in his name! May he taste with his lips the blood and shame of my daughters and sons, all damned by this same devious mouth!" shouts All-Mighty God.

His voice echoes all around him, making tremble the walls, columns and angels gathered in the place. It makes tremble the skies and Earth, but not Samael who keeps smiling. He would gladly have applauded for such eloquence if he hadn't been restrained like he was right now.

Is he already arrived at the edge of the abyss?

He hadn't noticed they had moved that fast – or being dragged that fast, to be honest. He can now feel the gust of the skies lashing the back of his neck. It's a pleasant sensation when you stop thinking about the dizzying fall that will follow. He doesn't know for how long he will fall before joining the others where they had been thrown as well. He can't hear them scream for a while now, so the fall must be pretty long. Michael's grip loosens around his throat, as the other's grip around his limbs, and he falls to the ground with a muffled sound.

It's painful… Anyway…

He no more even tries to look at the crowd, to find his mother or beg Michael who is leaning towards him. He turned away from these stupid hopes that no longer mean something at the edge of the abyss. He doesn't pay attention to others; neither theirs screams nor Michael near him. His skinned face is now turned to the skies stretching as far as the eye can see. To the clouds overlapping, joining together and then moving away like they want; and the impulsive whims of the wind. This wind barely touching his face, his weary smile, the blood flowing from his body, running along his cheek. Touching his tears and wiping them off from the rest of the world.

He will miss all this. A lot.

Samael waits for his punishment; unshaken, soothed by the blast of air that hopefully swallowing the weary cries of the community behind him.

Nothing is happening, though.

Curiosity prevails over his will and Samael looks at Michael. He seems reluctant to take the plunge, his fists are tensed against his tights, waiting for… well, Samael has no idea, actually.

Why hesitate?

Michael wasn't that reluctant to act when he killed the others, when he almost killed him. So, why now, when comes the end of his mission always more important than the rest? More important than his brother lying at his feet without resistance and bleeding to death because God asked it so.

Maybe he needs a hand?

Samael smiles at him defiantly, knowing that Michael hates this.

"Want some help, hm?"

He doesn't like this. Even less after this terrible tragedy. Samael knows that. Michael's features instantly change, the hesitation swept away from his tensed face, frozen with new determination. His eyes – the ones he wanted to see before – no longer show the slightest emotion. Samael's smile widens as his brother leans towards him again and grabs his clothes. He smiles and touches with his fingertips the white floor warmed up with sunlight.

This is the last time.

Michael begins to lift him from the floor and Samael enjoys the stretching of the fabric under his brother's hands, the sharp friction against his skin…

This is the last time.

He looks at Michael; his face, his eyes…

This is the last time.

And Samael takes a long, almost relaxed breathing that misleads his brother about his current state of mind when his heart holds the truth, painfully beating in his chest.

This is the last time.

The screams, the tears, the cries of joy… He must listen to them carefully. Mark them in his mind and never forget this very last family reunion. Michael is holding him with one hand, his entire body at the mercy of the skies, the wind rushing into the fabric of his clothes, in his hair and his feathers.

His wings won't save him from that fall. That's a fact.

He lifts his head and watches the sun pierce the thick mantle of clouds. Is it the morning already? Or the evening maybe? That would almost make sense when you know that his end is near. Seeing this star makes sense; Samael is the one who created it, after all. Seeing it one last time makes sense, in a way. He enjoys the shy warmth that touches his cheeks, then his entire face. He let himself being bedazzled by its rays, enjoying its Light, which is also his. Which had been his then.

One last time.

He can feel it, endure it, feed himself with it one last time.

Samael shuts his eyes and stays focus on his beaming memory. He's still smiling, barely feeling that last tear running down his cheek and finish its run on his executioner's hand. He feels Michael shaking, though; a slight tremor coming through his limbs and along his spine. He's wondering why he's shaking like that; does Michael haven't much strength? That would be surprising, knowing the guy. He is more the type to show his entire power on Samael.

He doesn't usually like it, but their situation here is quite different just as his state of mind. Samael doesn't make the slightest move or insult him; he's just waiting.

"Fulfill my will, Michael!"

Well, that was predictable.

Their Father never had a lot of patience; He runs out of it since a long time. Michael shouldn't make Him wait so long, nor the others as well; including Samael, but his desires no longer matter, are they?

"Fulfill, fulfill and keep still."

This short sentence sums up his entire life pretty well.

Samael is waiting for his brother to make up his mind. And he's not the only one. Impatience begins to win the assembly – it has won God long before them -, it wins him, too. It seems to spare Michael, curiously. Is he hoping that he begs for his life like others did? Is he secretly hoping that he begins to struggle and yells insults to him, making him easier to kill him? Well, he will have to wait quite a long time for that. Infinitely, even.

The tension at the level of his chest, where his elder brother's fingers almost tear the fabric, loosens when Samael expects it the least.

Finally.

Although he has sworn to no longer look at Michael and the divine pack – at that life that is no longer his -, Samael looks anyway.

He can't help himself. Resisting the temptation… this is definitely not his thing.

His eyes widen in disbelief as he finds his brother's silhouette; ramrod straight, as proud as he has always been, but with something different. Something that doesn't look like him. Samael stared at him, staring at the doubt in Michael's blurred eyes.

A moment goes; quiet – just for him, the sounds, the screams… he can no longer hear them -, much longer than it should be. A moment that pulls apart this sudden loosening and the gravitational attraction of void beneath him. A moment when his eyes pull up from his and hold on to his outstretched hand. On Michael's wrist wrapped with a hand that isn't his; fine and familiar. Wrapped with fingers that have so often wiped away Samael's tears, healed his wounds, watched his sleep, supported him…

Samael stares at that hand.

He stares at his mother, proud and ramrod straight, too. He watches her standing quietly behind Michael. She is also looking at him, she's not shaking or crying.

She is just looking at him.

And then time returns to normal, fast and brutal.

The wind whistles along his sides as he lets himself fall. His smile is still on his lips, soon engulfed by his bursts of laughter.

Samael is laughing.

He is roaring with laughter, looking her straight as long as he could. He is laughing – one last time – before he feels himself falling for good, finally being pushed aside by the rest of the pack, his eyes finally giving up against the relentless power dragging him down.

He's laughing.

Those hands that carried him into this world are now dropping him to a different place.

And this is it… Hell.

Samael laughs, laughing that he could have been so afraid of what was awaiting him downstairs.

He laughs because he realizes there's nothing to fear from Hell.

He's already there.

And Samael welcomes the ending fall of that terrible truth with a wider smile.

TBC with; "What if…"

Author's notes:

I'm still translating the last chapter. It will come soon (checked or not)
I hope you liked this first one despite the grammatical mistakes. Sorry about that ^^

As usual, let me know what you think about the chapter and the story so far.