Lucifer watched the Vigael burn along with Abomidon and with him. They stood in silence as they were engulfed by the energy that emanated from their bodies. They neither cursed the three heavens as he had done, nor did they thrash about in the inferno. They only stood there like sentinels and recorded the events as they unfolded like they have since the birth of time.
As the moments between the living and the final death slipped away, something stirred deep within his body. A foulness filled his innards, yet it fought against the fires that licked away his flesh with tongues as sharp as blades. He closed his eyes, the first step in the finality of his being. The heat subsided as he felt himself floating. A breath became a breeze, which soon became a rushing wind. He wasn’t floating, but instead flying. Judging by the wind whipping past and showering kisses across his face, he was moving swiftly. The air was cool against seared flesh. He knew the charred flesh would slowly repair itself and heal. He forced his eyes open. The black-gray color of smoke mixed with the orange glow of the flames below him. His eyes burned, but the flesh inside already began to heal. As his vision slowly cleared, he looked into eyes as black as obsidian and empty as his own.
“Sa … Sam … Samael,” Lucifer reached a fleshless hand to touch the face of Death before slipping into unconsciousness. Before the darkness completely devoured him, a thought crept into his mind.
Somewhere below him, on the battlefields of Vareth, Ares, High Lord of the three heavens lay dead.