The Angel of Death took Margaret to a rickety cottage in the middle of a forest, where he blindfolded and bound her before moving her again. Wherever she was now, it felt warm, and the soft velvet seat was comfortable. She decided not to panic just yet. It didn't seem like Samael meant to hurt her. If that was his intent, he would've done so already. Not to mention, there were worse places he could've taken her.

"You foolish boy!" Margaret stiffened when she suddenly heard an angry male voice nearby. "What in God's name were you thinking? Kidnapping her from the Vale, bringing her here, of all places?"

"I couldn't leave her with those bastards one minute longer!"

Samael! And that other voice... I know that voice.

"Besides," continued Samael, "Gabriël already knew I had something to do with Michael's disappearance; he's not an idiot. They've never trusted me up there. And now we have a decent midwife for the Fallen Angel, so stop pretending my actions don't benefit us."

Midwife for the — oh dear God, Joan!

Margaret heard the door open and footfalls entering the room. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Someone came closer, but she didn't know who it was. Not until she felt a hand against her cheek, gently caressing her.

"Ssh, it's all right. You don't have to be afraid," Samael spoke softly. "No one will harm you."

"Samael, please. Why did you take me away? What have you done to Michael? And Joan, where is Joan?"

"I will explain everything, I promise. But there's someone you need to meet first."

Samael untied Margaret. Her hands immediately went to lower the blindfold, and she looked straight at the Angel of Death. He gave her a warm smile and nodded encouragingly. Margaret's eyes then fell on the other man, whose voice had sounded so familiar. Her breath caught.
He was so very handsome. Raven-black hair to his shoulders, dark, intense eyes, fair features, and strong cheekbones. His black clothes made him look like a king or an emperor and fit him perfectly, accentuating his muscles. 
The man held back. Margaret noticed his expression. That gaze, filled with a certain yearning... It was the look someone might give a long-lost love.

"I... I know you, don't I?" She hesitantly stepped forward.

"Yes... From long ago. Samael... please leave us."

"What? No!" exclaimed Samael.

"I will not ask again." The man gave him a sharp glare.

Samael threw a pleading look at Margaret, but her sole focus was on the black-haired man. Getting no response from her, the Angel of Death eventually walked out the door, angrily slamming it shut behind him.
Margaret carefully closed the distance between her and the man. She raised her hand to caress his cheek. He gasped and flinched at her touch, but didn't draw away from her. Gradually, the tension left his shoulders. Margaret took in every single facet of his fair face. She knew him; she was sure of it. And his name was...

"Morning Star."

He gripped her wrist at the mention of the name. His eyes stood wide in shock.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice low in a haunting whisper.

"I... Forgive me, I just... I don't remember everything from my past, but I believe you were there, and I called you —"

"Morning Star. You called me your Morning Star." He smiled weakly at her. "I haven't heard that name in such a long time. I go by many names now, but none as flattering as that one. It's good to hear it again. Especially from your lips, my darling."

"Darling? No, I-I'm not..."

She fell silent, realising this was the man Michael had told her about. The one who had used her and made her a vessel for something unholy and dark.

"You stay away from me!" she exclaimed.

Margaret bolted around the table, creating as much distance as she could between them. The man stood confused for a moment, but then licked his lips and said, "I forgot he took away your memories."

"What? Who? What are you talking about?"

"Marina, what do you know about me?"

"You're the Archangel LightBringer. Or you were, before Michael banished you. He told me everything. How you longed for power and used people in your experiments. How you used me!"

"Of course he did." He scoffed. "Marina, Michael lied to you. My only crime was loving you."

"No, I don't believe you!"

LightBringer sighed. "Can I show you something that will proof my claim? Please?"

Margaret's eyes flashed around the room. She didn't immediately spot any weapons, but a creature such as him probably wouldn't even need any. After she gave him a curt nod, LightBringer walked to the nightstand at the bed and unlocked the first drawer. He turned back around and held out an item for her to see. Margaret gasped as she recognised the gold cuff bracelet with turquoise gemstones. She brought her arm up. His was an exact match to the one she wore. It had never occurred to her that... that he was the one who had...

"I loved you, Marina," said LightBringer softly. "I did my best to protect you from Michael, but he did things I never imagined him capable of out of spite and jealousy. He couldn't accept what we had and poisoned you against me."

"No, Michael wouldn't do that." Margaret shook her head at him.

"When you think about your past, do the memories come clearly, or does it hurt to remember? Do you feel an emptiness inside you? Like something is missing?"

She looked into his dark eyes. How could he possibly know about that?

"The... The amnesia is a side-effect," she said, not wanting to give in to whatever game LightBringer insisted on playing. "Michael had to undo what you did to me."

"No, Marina. Michael knew exactly what that poison would do. It was designed to kill everything you had of me. Memories, feelings... our child."

Margaret turned away from him. She didn't want to hear it. It couldn't be true. Gabriël and Raphael couldn't have been right about Michael. He saved her from the dragon and gifted her the pendant she still wore today, hidden under her dress and close to her heart. He was... her saviour. 
She recalled that day in the Villa when she'd offered herself to Michael, overwhelmed by an inexplicable desire. He had turned her away. Had he done so because...?

Oh, dear God...

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she suppressed the urge to scream. LightBringer's footsteps resounded as he walked around the table. Margaret stiffened when his hands came around her waist. She looked down and saw the bracelet on LightBringer's wrist. Her hand moved on top of his, causing the jewels to clink together. His touch felt so... familiar. Reassuring. Amazing, even.

"Samael shouldn't have brought you down here," he said, "but I cannot blame him. He has yearned to be with his mother for so long."

Her heart stopped.

His mother? I can't be...

But Margaret knew it was true. That connection she felt with the Angel of Death, the bond she couldn't explain. It couldn't be anything else.

Michael... How could you?

"He found us, Marina. Our boy brought us together again. Perhaps now we can have what you always wanted. What you spoke of every day of our marriage until we learned you were carrying him. We can have our family."

He nudged her, making Margaret face him. Her tears fell, but LightBringer hurriedly wiped them away with a stroke of his thumb as he then cupped her face. He brought her chin up and his soft, warm lips met hers.
A jolt went through her. It shook every fibre of her being, and she closed her eyes as memories rushed through her mind like a rapid river. Meeting a dark-haired stranger at the beach. Seeing that same man near her home. Those first timid conversations. That first kiss. Their wedding and the night they first lay together. Every single passionate time after that.
Margaret felt LightBringer pull away. She opened her eyes and gazed into his. A name fell from her lips in a whisper — his name.

"Lucifer."

***

Grigori stood in the shadows, awaiting the Impaler's arrival. Anastasia waited anxiously beside him, her cloak pulled far over her face. He gave the girl an encouraging smile, hiding his own nerves from her.
After the celebration feast, Grigori had informed the Romanov Grand Duchess of his intention to help her escape the Circles. Anastasia was reluctant to go at first, not wanting to leave her family behind, but had eventually grasped this was her only chance. It hadn't been long after that Vlad Tepes contacted Grigori, asking him to stand ready an hour after dusk at one of the lower levels of the palace. The strike team was to go on an assignment, with the Borgia Bastard (once again in the Master's good graces) as the leader and Tepes as a scout. He would use the opportunity to take Anastasia to the Castel Sant'Angelo and deliver her to the Nephilim.
But the hour of their meeting had already passed, and there was still no sign of Tepes. Grigori began to worry something had gone amiss. He contemplated taking Anastasia to the Nephilim himself, but the risk for both himself and her was too great. Fortunately, Tepes appeared on the other side of the corridor at that moment.

"There you are," said Grigori. "You had us worried."

"Forgive me," he said as he approached. "I had to make sure I wasn't followed. Are you ready?"

"Yes, of course. Prince Vlad Tepes, allow me to present the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolayevna Romanova."

Tepes bowed deeply and took Anastasia's hand, planting a kiss on top.

"Your Highness, an honour," he greeted.

"The honour is mine." Anastasia dipped into a curtsey. 

"I swear I shall l protect you with my life until you arrive safely in the Vale. Now, take a moment to say goodbye. We mustn't linger too long."

Tepes stepped away, giving Anastasia and Grigori some privacy. The girl turned to her saviour and took his hands in hers. A tear fell from her eye.

"No tears for me, my dear," said Grigori. "God knows I'm not worthy of them."

"Will I ever see you again?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"I fear you may not. So, considering that, I ask you a last favour. If you find your brother, please tell Alexei I'm sorry I was not there for him."

"But you were there!"

"Not when it mattered."

Tepes returned to Anastasia's side.

"We must leave now before we are discovered."

"Wait, take this as well." Grigori pulled a bundle of papers out of his robes. "It may yet prove to be of use to the new Lord Protector."

"The Dream Realm?" Tepes furrowed his brow as he looked the documents over.

"Gabriël will understand."

The Prince of Wallachia nodded at Grigori's reply. He motioned for Anastasia to follow, but she flung herself at her deliverer, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Thank you," she sobbed.

Grigori gave her a gentle push, allowing Tepes to put his arm around the girl and spirit her away into the darkness. Their footsteps died, and Grigori was left alone. Or at least he thought he was.
A rustling noise attracted his attention. He scanned his surroundings but saw nothing. Cautiously, he made his way back to the upper levels of the palace. An eerie feeling crept up on him. Something, or someone, was stalking him.
Grigori conjured up a flame that levitated in front of him. A dark feather twirled to the ground. Wings fluttered behind him. The fire was snuffed out by a gust of wind, and the darkness delivered the prey to the prowling predator. 

***

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Grigori Rasputin always looked for ways to make the Romanovs' afterlife a little more comfortable. The food and drink he gave whenever they were sent to him, the games he played with the girls, the books he stashed away for them... Lucifer had always known. And he had allowed it. Grigori was, after all, his most trusted and valued servant. Dare he say it, a friend even. Perhaps that was the mistake he made.

All who had been ordered to gather in the darkest, foulest of cells in the bowels of the palace anxiously awaited their Master's judgment, their backs pressed against the wall. Only the Angel of Death stood closest to the pair in the middle of the room. The little light shining from the torches made him appear even more grotesque, as his angelic half remained hidden in shadow.
Lucifer paced under the hovering figure, once the advisor to the last Tzar of Imperial Russia. Grigori seemed suspended by invisible threads, pulling at his limbs, but it was Lucifer's magic that kept him in place. He was only a toy to a puppeteer. Blood still dripped from Grigori's open wounds, forming a pool underneath him. Part of Lucifer hurt at seeing him like this, but the betrayal far outweighed any other feeling he yet held for the man.
Lucifer halted when Borgia entered the cell. He'd been pleasantly surprised when the Italian approached him with suspicions about who the traitor in their midst was. It seemed Kitty and Lucrezia had given him the proper incentive to behave. So much so that Lucifer was prepared to give Borgia a full pardon if he survived the coming night.

"Tepes and the girl have crossed to the Mortal Realm," said Borgia. "What are your orders, my Lord?"

"Are they going to the Castel Sant'Angelo?" inquired Lucifer, his eyes never leaving the mess that was Grigori's face.

"Yes, they seem to be headed straight toward the Nephilim, as you predicted."

"Keep following them. Make them believe they are safe and then strike. Take as many creatures as you want. Lower demons, beasts, warriors from the palace... I don't care. Just get it done."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And General, I want Tepes alive."

Borgia nodded and took his place beside Samael, a victorious grin gracing his smug expression. Lucifer returned to the more pressing matter at hand. He grabbed Grigori by his hair to lift his head. The Russian groaned in pain.

"Tell me why," he whispered. "Make me understand."

"H-how could... you... understand? L-Look at what... you are doing. Killing t-the Nephilim... Y-Your mind games with... Gabriël... Manipulating him... and Joan... W-will you deprive them o-of their child... as y-you were... of yours? Your revenge... Michael... I-It's so clear." Grigori gasped for breath and struggled to continue. "If... I can only... s-save one of them... it w-will be enough."

Lucifer released his hold on him, and Grigori fell to the ground. His body splashed in his own blood. He tried to raise his head, but it was impossible. His back was completely torn open.
An ominous growl suddenly resonated through the room. Those who were pressed against the wall attempted to sink into it completely. Even the oh-so-brave Cesare Borgia looked around nervously for any sign of the hideous creatures that were the source of the growl. They all knew what was coming.

"I have gathered all of you here to teach you one important lesson," said Lucifer menacingly as he let his eyes wander over the other demons in the cell. "I raised you to your... elite position. But you seem to have forgotten that you are nothing. Lower than vermin even. What I give, what the darkness gives, I can take back. And that includes your worthless, miserable existence."

A bloodcurdling howl broke the tense silence in the cell. A woman screamed and jumped back. At first, only the puffs of hot breath were visible. Then the footprints in the dirt and blood and unholy sanguineous eyes. One pair. Two. Three.
Slowly, the Devil's creatures took shape as they closed in on Grigori's bleeding, broken figure. Black rugged fur, rows of sharp teeth with saliva dripping from the mouth, and claws that could disembowel a grown man with a single slash — Hellhounds.
The biggest and most ferocious of them halted at Lucifer's side. He looked down at the hound, remembering Messalina as the angel and saint she once was. If only he could reverse the curse she placed upon herself after following him to the Circles. Sadly, he was forced to keep her in this state for eternity. As a Hellhound, Messalina thrived on fresh blood and the urge to kill. If she returned to her angelic form... the guilt would kill her.

Forgive me for making you do this, my darling friend. Forgive me for everything.

With a wave of his hand over his former servant, Lucifer flipped Grigori over. He yelped as his open back scratched over the harsh stone floor. His wide eyes searched for Lucifer, who came to kneel beside him.

"Know that I will show the Romanovs mercy for the years you were loyal to me," he whispered. "Their final deaths will be quicker than yours."

"I-If only one of them..." Grigori coughed up blood and met the Devil's gaze. "God... has seen... your tears. H-He will... answer."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. God had never answered before. Why would He bother now? The Devil rose to his feet and stepped away. He raised his hand, lips pressing into thin lines, and then snapped his fingers. It took less than a second for the Hellhounds to jump Grigori. His screams were drowned out by the horrid sounds the beasts made as they clawed and snapped at his body. They mauled their way to the organs and devoured them whole. Bones cracked under their weight. Limbs were torn off and ripped apart. 
Many of the bystanders averted and covered their ears. Lucifer took in every reaction. He was amused to find Borgia turning his head as well (though his eyes couldn't quite leave the scene of utter carnage). But the reaction that most intrigued Lucifer was his son's. 
Samael did not look away. He did not have the same aghast, horrified expression about him as many of the others did. No, the Angel of Death was smiling. He revelled in the scene before him. A sinister sensation of apprehension coursed through Lucifer then. Could...? No, he shouldn't even consider that. And yet... Could Michael have been right?