His Grace.

The moment his Father moved his hand, Lucifer pressed his own palm to Serah's chest. Please don't be too late. He channeled it, pushing it out of himself and into her. Her wounds mended, her body glowing radiantly as Lucifer healed her with his Grace.

Picking her up, he carried Serah inside the house, taking her back to the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, her body limp, unconscious, but she'd wake up soon, feeling brand new.

"Forgive me," he whispered, "but you have to forget all this ever happened. You have to live this life not remembering me."

He kissed her forehead, standing up to leave, when the images flooded him, striking him so hard he stumbled. Serah. A long, happy life, full of love and friends, living just next door to her angelic brother, watching him grow, before succumbing to a peaceful death down the road. He stalled in the doorway, a smile forming on his lips.

Now that she deserved.

When he stepped outside, his Father still lingered.

"Thank you," Lucifer said, the words catching in his throat. He wasn't sure if he even managed to speak them out loud, but his Father heard.

"You're welcome." He turned as if He planned to leave but hesitated, motioning toward Lucifer. "Before you come home, consider doing something about your clothing."

Lucifer laughed. "Unless you call Moses back up and make 'thou shalt wear white' a commandment, there's not a chance in Hell you're going to get me back in that white suit."

Abaddon was on his knees, his head held high with pride, not an ounce of remorse inside of him. The end of Michael's blade of fire was pointed at the Guardian's chest, yet the angel showed no fear at all.

Michael was close to thrusting the sword in, close to taking Abaddon's wings, when the air behind him shifted, another angel appearing. The powerful familiarity struck Michael right away, without even looking. He knew that Grace. He knew it, because he shared it. Impossible.

Turning his head, he watched, stunned, as Lucifer strolled a few steps toward them. Definitely impossible, but yet it was so. His skin glowed, his body healed, the sins that had tainted him dulled to a minimum. They weren't completely wiped away, and they probably never would be, but he had his Grace again. He was keeping his wings.

"Michael," Lucifer said casually in greeting.

Satan was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. He couldn't call him that. Satan didn't have Grace. Satan didn't have the same configuration as him.

He nodded after a moment. "Lucifer."

"Call me Luce."

Michael smiled at the way in which he said that. He had been the one to give him that nickname in the first place. "Luce."

"Touching," Abaddon grumbled. "If you two are finished, I'd like to get on with this. Do what you came to do, Prince."

Before Michael could make a move, Luce grasped him, his palm against his chest, pushing him away. "Allow me."

Michael retreated, lowering his sword. Lucifer had certainly earned the right to be the one to deliver Abaddon's punishment, but it concerned Michael heeding to him. It had been too long since he'd had to, too long since Lucifer held power anywhere but below the soil.

Michael pulled out the gold knife he'd found on Abaddon and tossed it to Lucifer. Catching the Heavenly blade, Lucifer stared at it in silence, a sudden smile overcoming his face that alarmed Michael.

Lucifer turned his focus on Abaddon, twirling the knife in his hand as he closed the distance between them.

Still, Abaddon showed no fear.

"How's your mortal?" Abaddon taunted.

Michael expected Lucifer to explode at the question, but he barely reacted. "She's alive."

"Interesting. She didn't look so well last I saw her." Abaddon's eyes shifted to Michael. "I'm curious how that happened."

Michael didn't respond. It hadn't been him.

"You always seem to be curious about something, Abaddon."

Abaddon shrugged casually. "Guilty."

"Guilty," Lucifer echoed. "That you certainly are… guilty as sin."

The tip of Lucifer's knife pressed against Abaddon's chest. The Guardian screamed as the blade dug in, burrowing through his skin.

"You're one to talk," Abaddon growled through clenched teeth. "Where do you think I learned it all, huh? Who do you think taught me all my tricks?"

"You learned nothing from me," Lucifer said. "What I tried to teach you was strength, and respect, and loyalty… I tried to teach you to stand up for yourself, to fight for what was just, and fair… but all you know, Don, is cowardice. All you know is evil. You stood up for self-interest, not for justice, and that's not the lesson I aspired to teach."

Abaddon glared at Lucifer, his dark eyes burning redder as he howled again when Lucifer twisted the blade of his knife, digging it in a little deeper. Michael considered stopping him, to put a halt to what Lucifer was doing. They weren't in the business of torture. This was supposed to be about punishment. But Lucifer's calm expression kept him from intervening. This wasn't done with sinister intent. This was just the Archangel's brand of penance. His eyes were pure, as bright blue as the afternoon sky had been before the reapers had surrounded the area, blanketing the sky in the sort of darkness usually only brought upon by night.

"You are an enemy to humanity," Lucifer said, his voice quieter than Michael had ever heard it before. "You show no remorse for anything. Repent, Don, before it's too late. Ask for mercy, and I'll show you it."