The Devil was the last person Gabriël expected to come to his aid. Lucifer stepped out from the shadows with his sword drawn, fully armoured in a black leather suit with dragon scale details. His raven hair was hastily pulled back, but he still looked imposing. A true warrior who was not to be underestimated.

"How the hell did you find me?" Gabriël strained to keep the water shield up.

"The amulet I gave you," answered Lucifer. "I reached out because I needed to discuss something and sensed you were in trouble."

"Do you expect a thank you?"

"I expect us to fight now and to talk later."

Lucifer instantly moved to attack Death head-on as Gabriël dropped to his knee, unable to hold on any longer. He looked up and witnessed Lucifer's blade pierce through Famine's mangled body as the Horseman took the blow meant for Death. The ghoul collapsed on the wet ground, sinking into the mud.
The Red Knight fought Lucifer next, but centuries of imprisonment had slowed him, and the Devil took advantage of it. He parried every strike and drove War back, forcing him into defence. Pestilence fired arrow after arrow as he attempted to assist his brother, but it was no use. Lucifer dodged them easily, never taking his eye off the swordsman in front of him. The blood dripping from War's armour mixed with the rainwater and streamed down the mountain in crimson currents. 

Whilst the other Horsemen struggled against the Prince of Hell, Death did nothing. The skeleton in the ashen cloak watched them with empty eye sockets — only them. The ones fighting. Not the Archangel who snuck behind a tree and once more used his powers to control the water.
Instead of creating another shield, Gabriël made the water bend to his will to hold Famine's haggard corpse grounded. A chain of water wrapped around his leg, sucking him deeper into the bloody mud, making escape impossible. Gabriël then focussed on trapping Death. But holding down a skeleton was easier said than done.
The Archangel's arms were up to his elbows in mud. Bloody water spattered his face. He let his wings grow, drawing from their power, and mixed the water with the earth to create a chain strong and long enough to wind around the skeleton's bones.

A sudden loud splash made Gabriël look up to see what was going on. Lucifer had disarmed War, throwing his opponent's sword to the far side of their arena, where it sank in the rainwater. He then launched himself in the air, twisting his agile body over the Red Knight, and stabbed the Horseman in the back as soon as he landed on his feet. As War fell to his knees, Gabriël formed a smaller chain from the one he already made. It shot out of the ground, wrapped around the defeated foe's throat, and pulled him headfirst into the mud.
Lucifer drew his sword from War's back and turned to face Pestilence. The White Archer had paused, eyes wide with shock at seeing two of his brothers defeated. But with the Devil threatening to strike, he quickly regained his senses and shot every arrow he had left. Lucifer's laugh echoed each time he fended off a shaft. And with every arrow shot, he stepped closer to his last opponent.

Upon seeing what was happening to the other Horsemen, Death finally looked around, finding one missing from the battle. Yet the skeleton was too late. A muddy chain shot up from the ground and wrapped tightly around Death's ashen cloak as if it were a ribbon on a Christmas present. Gabriël revealed himself, panting, his arms smeared with dirt and blood. The tip of his wings dragged in the deep-scarlet waters, red splashes tainting his ivory feathers.
Death fell apart. The many bones sticking out of the cloak attempted to inch away. Gabriël grinned. The Archangel had expected the skeleton to try something like this. He sent a wave of water underneath the leader of the Horsemen and rose to the air, arms and wings stretched out. A box-like shape of water, blood, and mud emerged to compress Death's bones as it carried them up, away from the ground.
Two hollow sockets settled on Gabriël as a screech reverberated across the battlefield. The box almost fully enclosed Death, but there was still a small opening — enough for a skeletal hand to fit through. Gabriël flew higher to avoid Death's grasp as the hand catapulted from the opening. But he was too late. A sharp pain pierced through Gabriël's shoulder as the bones clutched the tip of his left wing. The toxic infection spread like wildfire, and the feathers of his wing changed colour from their shining ivory to brownish-grey. He plummeted to the ground.

"Gabriël! Hold on!"

The sound of a sword cutting the air followed the horrified male voice, and then there was a touch of steel against his deteriorating wing.

"In Dei nomine, ego voco super Ignem Caeli!"

Gabriël screamed as blue and white flames rapidly engulfed him. They burned and devoured him, making him wish for death's sweet release. Anything to make this torture stop. And then, suddenly, it did. Gabriël pushed himself up, staring at the last of the flames licking his wing with watering eyes. Heaven's Fire... But the only one who could wield that was... Michael?
He looked around him, searching for the Lord Protector. The Horsemen were defeated. Pestilence lay motionless against a tree, like a rag doll thrown aside. War and Famine were stuck in the mud, unable to move, and Death was boxed up. The only one left standing was Lucifer. The Devil knelt as soon as the fire dissipated and put his hand on Gabriël's wing. It hurt, but not as much as before. 

"You need medical attention," he said whilst examining the damage.

"T-The Vale. I need to... get back."

Gabriël pushed Lucifer back and tried to stand, but nearly collapsed. Lucifer caught him and quickly draped Gabriël's arm around his shoulders.

"You're in no condition to fly. Come on, I'll take you somewhere safe."

Did he imagine it, or did the Devil actually sound worried? Only then did Gabriël notice the sword in Lucifer's hand — Michael's sword. The heat still radiated from it, but it didn't affect either of them. Had Lucifer...?

"You've trapped Death," said Lucifer, "but that mud prison won't hold without your powers keeping it up. The others will regain their strength as soon as Death gets out. We need to get out of here right now."

"I have to... return to the Vale." Gabriël winced as he once again tried to push Lucifer away. "Let... go."

"Don't be stubborn, Gabriël! I'm trying to help you."

Lucifer would not let him leave; that much was clear. And Gabriël didn't have the strength to fight him. He could try to escape with only one wing, but he knew he would never make it to the Vale. Raphael must have made it up with Uriël by now, but he couldn't wait for reinforcements. His wing had to be attended to as soon as possible. He had no choice.

"Fine, let's go." 

***

A chilly morning dew hit Gabriël's person as he stepped through the shadow portal with Lucifer. It had already been close to midday on Adam's Peak, so they must've travelled to a place in a different time zone. Gabriël had feared Lucifer would've taken him down to the Circles, and silently sighed in relief to see he hadn't. Instead, they were making their way toward a burned-out cabin. 
The Archangel looked around, wondering why the Devil would bring him here, of all places. There was nothing but rocks and trees and perhaps a small river, judging by the sound of rushing water. The cabin appeared to have been abandoned years, if not decades ago, but a faint smell of charred wood yet lingered.

"Where are we?" asked Gabriël. 

Lucifer didn't reply and merely pushed the door open. As soon as they set foot inside, the cabin's interior seemed to come alive. The wooden beams picked themselves up, the blackened walls returned to their natural warm colour, and paintings, animal heads, antlers, and weapons graced the walls and space above the fireplace. 
Gabriël groaned as Lucifer helped him sit at the table, turning the chair around so he could lean forward against the back without restraining his wings. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the damage his left wing had sustained. It hung at his side like a paralysed limb, and the brownish-grey feathers were fading to black.

"What the hell did you do?" Gabriël's head snapped up to Lucifer as the latter rummaged through the cupboards.

"The only thing I could do before Death's hand did more damage. Heaven's Fire stopped the infection from spreading further, but it doesn't heal your wing. I need to find—aha, here it is."

"But how? You're a Fallen Angel; you're not supposed to have these powers anymore. And even so, only Michael can use Heaven's Fire."

"That's... not entirely true." 

Gabriël waited for a further explanation whilst Lucifer prepared an ointment from several bottles and powders he had taken out of the cupboard. 

"Michael's powers have always been bound to my own," said Lucifer. "I suppose that's why we were so attracted to each other. We were — to make a cliché out of it — always meant to be together. As long as one of us has his wings, the other never really loses his power. Hold still now."

"That makes no—argh." Gabriël winced as Lucifer applied the balm to his wing.

"Sorry. And believe me, I know it doesn't. But since when does the Lord's does and creates make sense? I can only conjure up a small spark on my own, since I am what I am. Michael's sword did the rest."

Heaven's Fire, Heaven's Light... could it be?

Gabriël regarded Lucifer for a moment in quiet contemplation. The Devil was certainly lost to darkness. Was it him? Was he the one Michael was supposed to save? How, though? It seemed impossible after all these centuries.

"Why did you help me?" he asked then.

"I made a vow, Gabriël," answered Lucifer as-a-matter-of-factly. "I always keep my word, you know that."

"Your vow to me? Or to Joan?"

Lucifer chuckled as he put the ointment on the table and sat across from Gabriël. 

"She truly is daring," he said. "She warned me you would feel some rancour against me."

"You're damn right I do. This wasn't our deal, Lucifer. I wanted none of this."

"Our deal was for me to take you to her, which I did. I am keeping her safe from harm, also per our agreement. You still have everything you asked for, Gabriël. I'm the only one who's had to adapt to the new situation."

Gabriël scoffed. "Oh, please. Do you honestly expect me to believe you didn't plan this?"

Lucifer sighed and looked away. He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Gabriël, why would I orchestrate a touching reunion between lovers, only to tear them apart again? I've told you from the very beginning I wanted the two of you together. And besides, you know my history. I understand the ache of being ripped from the person you love better than anyone. Joan's actions were entirely her own, I assure you."

"What did you do with her?" demanded Gabriël, unwilling to just let the matter rest.

"Nothing, I swear. I'm preparing everything so she can deliver peacefully in a secure location on Earth, with you by her side."

"Peacefully? Did you miss the part where the Horsemen roam the Earth? All that's left is chaos and destruction. I can't be at her side as long as they're around."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to imprison them again. You would've succeeded today if Death hadn't grabbed your wing. That was an ingenious plan, by the way."

"Spare me your flattery, Lucifer," Gabriël bit back. "Where did you take Joan?"

"All you need to know is that she's well-guarded. She even has a personal servant to take care of her every need. Don't worry about her."

Gabriël gritted his teeth. He had trusted Lucifer before when there was seemingly no other alternative. Sure, he'd brought him to Joan, but then he had manipulated her into leaving. Lucifer's intentions were too well hidden to trust him blindly. But what else could he do but play along?

"Fine. Do you mind telling me where we are then?" he asked.

"Geographically, the Dublin Mountains," replied Lucifer. "Specifically, the Hell-Fire Club."

"You're joking, right?"

"No, not really." Lucifer's mouth curled up in a smile. "This hunting lodge was used in the eighteenth century as a gathering place for the more prominent public; you know the kind. Back then, people knew how to entertain and conduct a proper summoning ritual. Now, they just play dress-up and read the most outrageous gibberish from the first book or Wiki page they get their hands on."

"Did the entertainment include torture, by any chance?"

Gabriël pointed to the tools nested against the fireplace. One had a rusty colour, but not the kind it would've got from old age.

"Sometimes," admitted Lucifer. "Voluntarily, of course. I just gave them the little nudge they needed to pursue their deepest, darkest desire."

"As if you didn't partake in it yourself."

"Occasionally, maybe. But be honest; haven't you wanted to do the same yourself?"

Gabriël blinked as Lucifer's voice trailed off and the room spun. Burning candles appeared everywhere. The fireplace lit. Spectres of men in fine suits and ladies in ornate dresses with their hair up with pins or ribbons emerged from the walls. Their figures solidified as they danced, talked, ate, and drank around the table. Each of them wore an identical black mask, keeping their identity a mystery.
Gabriël found himself seated in an ornate chaise lounge, dressed similarly. Black trousers, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat with silver feathers. His hair was clean and combed back. Somehow, his wings had retreated as well. When had that happened? 
Lucifer, still seated across from him, wearing a same outfit. Only his waistcoat was different — red and gold flames crept across Lucifer's chest like a roaring fire. A black half-mask, encrusted with shimmering rubies, covered the left side of his face. He was the most mesmerising vision Gabriël had ever laid eyes on. 

"How often did I see you at the edge of the Agora?" questioned Lucifer. "Always a spectator but never a participant. Well, here's your chance to join in."

A hand gently touched Gabriël's shoulder. At his side stood a young woman dressed in white. She looked like a bride. Her bodice was smooth, her skirt full and adorned with a lace print of the French Fleur-de-Lys. Around her neck hung a silver necklace with an angel charm. 
Gabriël gasped as he gazed into the woman's amber eyes. Slowly, he rose from the chaise lounge, finding it difficult to breathe as his heart jumped in his chest. He reached behind the woman with a trembling hand and pulled at the string of her white mask. It fell to the floor.

"Joan," Gabriël whispered. "You're here."

She placed one hand over his heart and the other around his neck.

"I'm always here," she spoke alluringly.

Her lips met his. Gabriël felt her tongue prodding. He wanted to kiss her back, but something stopped him. The sensation of her felt... off. Strange. Elusive. He pushed the girl back.

"You're not Joan."

Her eyes glistened as her mouth curled into a grin. 

"I'm whoever you need me to be, darling."

She disappeared into the crowd. Gabriël looked for her but noticed a man dressed entirely in gold walking up to him. He halted a few steps away. The golden mask dropped.

"Michael!" Gabriël reached for him, but Michael quickly recoiled and vanished. "Michael, no! Lucifer! Damn you, what have you done to him?"

Dancers moved about Gabriël in a great circle. He tried to focus on the fast-spinning couples when he finally saw them. White and gold, waltzing to—no, not together. The girl in the white dress pretending to be Joan was the man dressed in gold pretending to be Michael. 

"Such a tough decision, isn't it, Gabriël?" Lucifer's voice echoed around him. "I understand. To love not one but two is a curse. If you could only split your heart so that you could love them both the same. One half for the woman who can bear your children and give you what you believed was out of your reach. The other to the man who has known you since the beginning. I wished for the same thing."

"I'm not you!" spat Gabriël.

The music stopped abruptly. Dozens of pairs of lifeless eyes stared at Gabriël. The blank expressions of the men and women darkened as they receded into the shadows and walls. Gabriël's exquisite suite transformed back into his own wet, dirty clothes. His wings were out (or had they always been out?). All the glamour that had graced the lodge faded as the fires died and the decor evaporated like smoke. Once again, it was nothing more but a burned-out hovel, left to the elements.
Excruciating pain seized hold of Gabriël's body, and he collapsed onto the floor. He screamed in agony. The ache he felt wasn't from the injury, but from healing. The nearly blackened feathers from his injured wing fell out, and shining new ivory ones grew in their place. Lucifer, still in the flaming waistcoat but without the mask, knelt beside him and pulled him close.

"It's almost over," he shushed, stroking Gabriël's hair. 

The Archangel panted heavily, tears rolling from his cheeks onto Lucifer's shoulder as the last feathers fell. He gripped Lucifer's arm tightly, desperate for the support. 

"I cannot bear to see you like this, Gabriël. I've seen you grow so much these past weeks, but I fear it's not enough. You need to become stronger if you ever hope to truly protect the people you love. I know you won't make a new deal with me, but I ask to consider one other option."

Gabriël shook his head, refusing to listen to one more word. He closed his eyes to Lucifer, hoping to shut him away, but then he felt Lucifer's hands cup his face. The Devil lifted his head, and his lips touched Gabriël's cheek. Again, the corner of his mouth now. Then...
Gabriël's eyes shot open as he felt Lucifer's lips on his. A deep, urgent yearning overtook him. His entire being screamed for him to give in. With a shock, he realised this was the same sensation he experienced when he'd kissed Michael. The exact same. 

"No!" He pushed hard against Lucifer's shoulders and recoiled. 

Lucifer's calculating, aphrodisiacal gaze froze Gabriël in place. What the hell was going on? What had Lucifer done to him?

"Think about it, Gabriël," said the Devil, temptingly. "That's all I ask."

Mist swirled around them. When it cleared, Gabriël sat outside, in the middle of the woods — alone.