The air roars past me as I plummet, wind whipping through my hair, the weightlessness of the fall making my stomach flip. The first time I did this, I hesitated. The first time, I wondered if I'd feel guilty.

Not anymore.

My blades hum with heat as I flip midair, aiming straight for the first unlucky angel who catches my eye. Poor thing doesn't even see me coming. One second, he's scanning the streets below, all righteous and superior—then the next, I'm crashing into him like a meteor.

We hit the ground hard, and I hear the crack of something breaking. Him, probably. I roll off him in a smooth motion, blades slicing through his wings before he even registers what's happening. He screams.

Oh. Oh, that's a nice sound.

I sigh, stretching like I just woke up from a nap. "Ugh, you have no idea how much I needed this," I say, flicking blood from my blade.

The angel writhes beneath me, golden ichor spilling onto the pavement. His glowing spear is just out of reach, and he's scrambling for it, breath ragged, panic setting in.

I stomp down on his wrist, pinning it. "No, no, none of that." I grin, crouching so we're face to face. His eyes are wide with horror, and it's almost funny.

They come down here every year. They think we're weak. That we're broken things waiting to be 'saved.' But then they meet us—meet me—and realize that Hell isn't just a place.

It's a promise.

I lean in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you ever wonder why none of you make it back?"

His breath hitches. I can see it in his eyes—the moment the fear really sets in. He's heard the stories. They all have. But they don't believe them. They don't understand.

Not until it's too late.

I run my blade gently under his chin, lifting his head slightly. "Tell the others I said hi."

And then I drag the blade across his throat.

The moment the light leaves his eyes, I exhale, tension draining from my shoulders.

Yeah. Yeah, this is exactly what I needed.

Above me, more angels descend, weapons drawn, fury in their eyes.

Behind me, I hear the slow clap of my father approaching. "Oh, sweetheart, you always know how to make an entrance."

I grin, spinning my blades. "Gotta keep things exciting, Dad."

Lucifer sighs dramatically. "Ah, you remind me of myself in my youth. So full of energy. So delightfully violent." He steps beside me, hands in his pockets, surveying the battlefield. "Shall we, my dear?"

I roll my shoulders, my entire body thrumming with anticipation. "Oh, we shall."

And then we're on them.

Blood and light mix in the air, the screams of angels becoming music to my ears.

For one day a year, I don't have to be the good guy.

For one day, I let go.

And I love every second of it.

The battlefield is alive. The scent of burning feathers and spilled ichor fills the air, thick and cloying.

I move like fire—fast, untouchable, consuming everything in my path. My blades carve through the first angel who dares to get too close, slicing through golden armor like it's paper. His scream is a note in the symphony of chaos, a perfect harmony to the crackling flames and the clash of weapons.

I don't stop to watch him fall. There's always another one.

A spear whistles through the air—I duck, twisting to the side just in time to see the tip of it graze past me. A female angel, her glowing wings flared, sneers at me from above. "Demon filth," she spits.

I grin. "Aww, I was hoping for something more original."

She lunges, and I meet her mid-air, locking blades with her. The force of our clash sends sparks flying. Her eyes burn with hatred, the kind of self-righteous fury only an angel can have. She actually thinks she's winning.

Adorable.

"You think this is your home," she hisses, trying to overpower me.

I push back, forcing her down, our feet skidding against the bloodstained pavement. "Sweetheart," I purr, "I don't think this is my home. I know it is."

I twist, knocking her off balance, and before she can recover, I bring my knee up—hard—into her stomach. She chokes, wings faltering, and that's all the opening I need. I spin my blades in my hands and drive them both straight into her chest.

Her breath catches, her glow flickering, and for a brief second, there's nothing but stunned silence in her eyes. Then the light dies out completely.

I shove her off my blades, and she crumples like a puppet with its strings cut.

I sigh, rolling my shoulders. "That felt good."

Nearby, Dad is laughing—actually laughing—as he tears through another group of angels like he's having the time of his life. He's not even using a weapon. Just his hands. His power.

"You see, my dear," he calls over his shoulder, grabbing one angel by the face and slamming him into the ground so hard the pavement cracks. "This is exactly what I mean when I say that stress relief is important!"

Another angel comes at me from behind. I hear the rustle of his wings before he even swings his sword.

I turn, fast as lightning, catching his blade between my own. "Sneaky, sneaky," I chide.

His expression twists in frustration. "You are an abomination!" he snarls.

I arch a brow. "You guys really need to update your insults."

Then I twist his sword from his grasp, flipping it into the air before catching it smoothly in my free hand. "Ooo, nice craftsmanship," I muse, testing the weight.

The angel stares at me in horror.

I smirk. "Shame you won't be needing it."

One clean strike, and his head rolls.

Dad claps from the sidelines. "Oh, now that was elegant!"

I spin both my stolen sword and my own blade, feeling something deep in me settle. My entire body hums with energy, my pulse racing in the most exhilarating way.

I love this.

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't.

But God, I love this.

One day a year, I get to let go. No expectations. No playing the perfect princess. No worrying about proving I'm better than what everyone thinks I am.

One day a year, I get to be the devil's daughter.

And I cherish every second of it.

The battle rages on, but I don't feel tired. I don't feel weary.

I feel alive.