#staticspear

Since the moment she watched the light leave Adam’s eyes those many months ago, Lute had found herself in a constant cycle of suppression and rage. The frustration and anger she held close to her chest threatened to bubble to the surface almost every time she interacted with Heaven’s leadership. It was as if her world had turned upside down, and everything she thought she knew and understood about her purpose was deemed wrong. 

As if Lute had been deemed wrong. 

Dirty. 

Outdated. 

Useless.

Even when Heaven’s worst fears had been realized, a Sinner managing to somehow attack Heaven and blow a hole into the Gates that guarded their precious sanctuary, Lute had been told to stand back. 

When Adam’s worst fears had been realized, Heaven hesitated. 

Heaven called her back and commanded that she stand down. Abel, the fucking pussy that he was, commanded her to fall back. 

And for Emily and Sera to continue this ongoing communication and support of Heaven, even after Hell had fired the first shot, was treasonous behavior. Lute was the only one who understood that. The only one who had truly understood the absolute need for the Exterminations. 

The only one who seemed to give a shit that, due to the reckless actions of Emily and the Princess, Heaven was under the constant threat of a continued onslaught. Constant vigilance was of the essence. 

Lute was the only exorcist who seemed to realize this.

Once she and Abel had returned to Heaven, he had commanded the Exorcists she had mobilized (all eager to spill blood in the name of their fallen leader, or so Lute had thought) to stand down. All mandatory training was to be paused. All meetings between the commander, the Lieutenant, and soldiers were cancelled. 

Lute’s keycard access to the Exorcist Training Center was revoked. 

“We don’t want Hell to think we’re planning to attack, Lute. Besides, I think they could all use some time to relax. I know my dad never let you guys go on vacation.”

“The whole point of the Exorcist Army is to be on standby to protect Heaven from attack, Abel.”

Abel looked at her awkwardly. He cleared his throat. She tried not to notice the way his expression mirrored that of his father in certain lights. “It was actually for the Exterminations, which don’t exist anymore. Lute, we just don’t need a standing army right now. It’s a show of bad faith if Hell and Charlie were to find out. This could be a great opportunity for you to take a little bit of time for yourself. A vacation!”

Lute clenched her jaw. The fingers of her prosthetic arm were clenched into a fist. Abel glanced down at her hand and wiped sweat from his brow. He glanced towards the exit. 

“I don’t need a fucking vacation, Abel.”

“Vacation? Did I say vacation? I meant vocation. Yeah, vocation.”

Lute narrowed her eyes. Abel squirmed under her gaze. 

“Like watching Vincent!” He breathed out quickly, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. 

“Who the fuck is Vincent?” She spat, searching her mind for a missed profile or mission. 

“Oh. Oh yeah. Um, Vox. The TV sinner,” Abel said, taking a step back. “That’s part of the reason you were denied access to the Training Center. That’s where we have him being held before his trial.”

“What fucking trial? Why wasn’t I informed of this sooner? I am second in command.” Lute sneered, looming over Abel. Abel gulped but met her stare head-on.  

“Of a non-existent army. “ Abel replied, sighing. He reached out a hand to place on her arm, though he immediately pulled it away as though he’d been burned as she backed away from him.  “It was on a need-to-know basis, Lute.”

You didn’t need to know, Lute.

Her conversation with Abel replayed in her mind, filling her with further frustration and rage. She glanced through the viewing glass into the main training gallery and took in sight of the Sinner, bound to a chair with his back to the viewing room. Despite the chains made of angelic steel, he looked completely relaxed with his legs splayed out in front of him.

Lute took in a deep breath and sighed. She held her trusted sword in her prosthetic left hand, gripping the hilt tightly. She had practiced for hours on end after the Extermination, relearning the familiar moves with an unfamiliar hand. It was one of the only things that had kept her sane when the fog of grief clouded her mind. 

That, and the idea of retaliation against Hell. 

What a fucking joke. 

She entered the room, keeping a wide berth between her and the Sinner as she crept across the floor. She could see his stupid fucking television head twitch towards the sound of her footsteps.

“Oh, company! Fantastic,” Vox announced, his voice echoing through the empty room. It seemed that Abel had made sure to remove all training weapons, leaving the room Lute had spent so much time dripping blood, sweat, and tears a shell of its former self. 

Vox peered at her with a curious look in his eyes. He was significantly more expressive with body language than she originally assumed he would be capable of, given his non-human features. She could feel electricity pulsating around him; it sent a chilling tingle up her prosthetic arm that made her hair stand on end. 

“Lute, wasn’t it?” He asked, pulling against the chains to lean forward and cross his legs, as if she had just entered his office for a business deal. Lute didn’t answer, instead keeping her eyes trained on his screen. Looking for any sign of weakness or imperfection or—

There.

A glitch that passed over his screen like a ripple of water. He maintained that same haughty smile, but she could see the way his eyes attempted to betray him. Only for a moment before that air of confidence returned to his face. 

He looked exhausted, even with his mask of bravado. He wore a blue suit that was tattered from his battle with the Radio Demon. The sleeves of the suit were worn down, with red blood coating the white button-down underneath, where his wrists were shackled to the chair by the chains. As if he had been trying to escape.

She supposed this was the most logical place for Abel and Sera to hold the prisoner. Heaven had no prisons or areas for captives (for why would it? Crime did not exist in Heaven). Heaven was ill-equipped to take prisoners if war had broken out. Not that Lute found that to be a problem; no need for prisoners if you didn’t take anyone alive. 

The training center was best suited to hold the Sinner. It was off the beaten path, and a place Winners did not venture to; he was far from the general public and out of view. It was not common knowledge that Heaven had taken Vox prisoner, and it would likely stay that way if Sera had anything to say about it. 

“I’ve been tasked to guard while we wait for your trial.” Lute finally said, voice low with a tone of warning. 

“What an honor!” He replied, voice loud as if he were in front of an audience. Lute was used to loud voices (she’d been glued to Adam’s hip for Heaven’s sakes), but there was something about the way that Vox presented himself that set her teeth on edge.  He attempted to lean even farther forward, straining against the chains that glowed at his resistance. “Me, being guarded by the Commander of the Exorcist army. A little ole Sinner like myself.”

Lute could feel her already limited patience wearing thin. She knew this Sinner was attempting to play her, reel her in like a shark sniffing blood in the water. 

“Except, that’s not you, is it, Lute? It’s Adam’s spawn with the head trauma, right?” Vox continued. 

She would say this was the closest she had been to the Sinner who dared to try and attack Heaven, but that would be a lie. She had spat in the Sinner’s face, sword brandished in her hand and ready to swing as she called him demonic filth. He’d looked less pathetic then, standing in front of a crowd screaming his name as Emily managed to make a mockery of Heaven with those fucking gift baskets. 

Lute killed your neighbor? Sorry. Have a taffy. 

Her prosthetic arm moved faster than her brain did; she always did have an impulsivity problem. One moment, the sword was at her side; the next, it was mere inches from Vox’s neck, threatening to slice clean through. 

“What, hit a nerve?” Vox asked, unflinching in a way that unnerved her. No, he wore that same shark-like smile that had pissed her off during the gift basket fiasco. 

“One more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.” She gritted out between her teeth, the words filled with venom. 

“Then kill me already,” He goaded, left eye wide as he maintained eye contact with her despite the sword breathing against his neck. Even with his limited power in heaven, electricity still seemed to course through his body. He leaned forward against the restraints, offering his neck closer to Lute.  “Or did your little manchild master say ‘down girl’?”

Vox laughed, a haughty sound that made her want to scratch at her ears and punch a hole right through his fucking TV head. 

She breathed heavily, her muscles aching as she held the sword in place. Just a few more centimeters, and she would separate his head from his body in a clean sweep. She’d done it to numerous sinners throughout her existence. She could practically feel Adam breathing in her ear, goading her on. 

“Do it, bitch.” 

Adam would want her to, right?

But Adam wasn’t here. He was dead and buried, leaving her to struggle through the aftermath. Fucking leaving her alone. 

Lute shook her head and pulled the sword away from its precarious position. 

“You’re not worth the stain I’d have to clean,” She spat, turning from the Sinner. Vox smirked and leaned back in the chair, looking too satisfied with himself. 

“How fucking considerate,” He laughed, his eyes looking her up and down in a way that left her feeling over exposed. He crossed his legs in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable given the shackles, but Lute did not give one shit about this abomination’s comfort level. Leave that to fucking Emily. 

She turned from him and retreated to the safety of the viewing gallery, out of view of the stupid fucking television. 

Had she died and gone to Hell? Was this her punishment for protecting Heaven? 

Fuck Abel. Fuck Charlie. Fuck Emily. Fuck Sera. 

She had taken to sleeping at the Training Center. It felt more welcoming than her empty apartment. Her apartment, where she had no purpose but to rot on the couch (or in the bed or in the bathtub). Here, she had all the exercise equipment she could ever want. She had all the cozy memories of training and Adam, and a time before the beginning of the end that haunted the halls of the center. Here, she had a purpose: guard Vox. 

Her task, as given by Abel, was definitely an afterthought he had planned during their conversation. Vox truly did not need guarding. The Angelic steel chains kept him secure enough; his powers had been muzzled by the chains, and there was no equipment in the Center that he could attempt to teleport through. There was no way for him to possibly escape; Lute had realized this after her first hour of guard duty. 

She supposed Abel had tried to be considerate of her and the bullshit task that he made up; he had sent Lyre to “relieve her of her duties” once the hour grew late. Lyre had always been one of the kinder exorcists (and likely the only one Abel felt comfortable approaching).

Lute had promptly told her to fuck off. 

Lyre had looked at her with what Lute interpreted as pity (though the author wants it to be noted that it was a look of concern from Lyre; however, Lute suffers from emotional constipation) and let her be.

She didn’t think Vox knew she had been sleeping there. The Training Center was large enough that when she went “off duty,” she could just slink away into the breakroom and settle for the evening.

She wasn’t sure she had truly settled. 

Especially not with an annoying fucking prisoner. 

“Lute!” The Sinner yelled, his voice taking on a musical quality as he stretched out the letters in her name. The angel in question ground her teeth and rubbed a hand over her face. Vox had been calling her name for the past half hour, all in various musical tones. 

Lute pulled the door of Vox’s holding room open, her eyes narrowed, and her sword gripped in her hands. “Don’t you ever shut up!?”

Even though she couldn’t see his expression, she could see the way his stupid TV head twitched towards the sound of her voice that all she had done was give in to his attempts at annoying her to no end. 

“I love to hear the sound of my own voice,” Vox replied, sounding absolutely delighted that his yelling had worked. He said it with such a note of seriousness that Lute knew he had to be telling the truth.

“I believe that,” Lute muttered under her breath, walking toward him with her sword at her hip.

“What’s that, Doll?” He asked as he took in the sight of her, eying her up and down as though she were an acquaintance he was meeting for lunch (instead of the person tasked with guarding him).

She could kill him if she wanted.

(No, she couldn't. He knew that fact all too well.)

Lute flinched as though she had been slapped. “Don’t call me that.”

Vox’s grin grew wider. “What? Doll?”

Lute didn’t answer, grabbing her familiar chair and taking a seat in front of the Sinner, sword held in front of her. 

She leaned forward in the chair. “What the fuck do you want, Vox?”

“You know, for an angel, you're a terrible Heavenly Host.” He said, leaning forward to meet her head on. The color on his screen had faded, leaving the glow a muted and weak thing. Even his blue skin appeared ashen. That glitch that Lute had primed herself to look for occurred more frequently than it had when she was first assigned to him a few days earlier. She frowned, not taking in the meaning of his words. 

Vox rolled his eyes, his screen glitching as he did so. “Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? I'm fucking starving.”

“What?”

“I've literally not been fed or given any kind of water in days. Do you not fucking eat in Heaven?” 

Lute was so taken aback by Vox’s request (or demand) that she felt her composure drop from her face like dripping water. She looked at him with wide eyes and the realization that she hadn't eaten or drunk in days, either. 

(Was that why she felt like shit? Apart from all the other reasons, she felt like absolute shit.)

“We do.” She said slowly. 

He shot her back with a look that said, “I'm waiting”. Had he not been chained to the chair, she was certain he would have thrown his hands back in exasperation. 

She stood from her chair and practically fled the room. Vox had the audacity to be annoyed. 

No one had even considered the fact that Vox needed to eat. Had Abel not given her this bullshit task, it's likely the Sinner would simply continue starving until he died. Would he regenerate here or in Hell? Would he regenerate at all?

She found her way down to the break room and grabbed a bottle of water. She practically ripped the top off the bottle and finished the water in a few gulps. The water soothed a need that she hadn’t realized her body had been screaming for. How many more days would she have forgotten to eat or drink if Vox had not said something? She panted hard, still feeling completely famished but unwilling to drink more and make herself sick. 

Her stomach moved and growled in a way that it hadn’t in years, folding in on itself as it demanded food. She opened the freezer of the break room and found frozen pizza that Adam had always made sure was stocked (or was it her? Would the freezer have actually stayed stocked if she hadn’t done her weekly inventory?). 

Lute downed another bottle of water against her better judgment while she waited for the pizza to warm up in the microwave. Vox would likely talk shit about her choice of sustenance, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was just lucky she would bring him anything at all. 

She piled the pizza on a plate and shoved a bottle of water under her arms and walked quickly back to the makeshift prison. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Vox asked,  hands open, unable to move his wrists farther than an inch off the arms of the chair. She had barely gotten back to his holding area, food and drink in hand, staring down at him expectantly. 

Lute narrowed her eyes. “Was this your ploy to get me to release you from your chains?”

Vox deadpanned at her. “No bitch, this was a ploy so I didn't fuck starve or dehydrate to death.”

Could Sinners die from dehydration or starvation? She would never know: they didn't live long enough in her presence to find out.

“Could you at least grant me the decency to eat and drink with my fucking hands?”

“No.”

Vox leaned his head back and opened his mouth, his eyes looking more desperate than she had seen in her time knowing him. She tipped the bottle to his lips and watched as the Sinner closed his eyes and had a look resembling relief on his features. He looked closer to something resembling a human. He gulped like a dying man, uncaring of the vulnerability of his position. If he weren't a sinner, she might have felt bad for him.

She pulled the bottle back from his lips (?) and watched as he breathed in deeply. He looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, glancing between her and the bottle in her hands. “Like what you see, Doll?”

The words had significantly less bite in them than normal. Less confidence or swagger than Lute would have expected. 

“You're so depraved,” Lute scoffed, taking a seat in the chair across from him, plate of pizza in hand. “I'm sure you enjoyed that.”

“Listen, Doll, I had a lot of people in Hell who would've paid good money for that. Fortunately for you, I’m not one of them,” He replied, trying to keep her gaze, but she could see the way his eyes followed the plate of pizza in her hand.

“You're fucking disgusting.” Lute spat. “All you Sinners are the same.”

“I do so love your empty taunts, Lute. It's like watching a muzzled purse dog try and bite me. It's honestly adorable.” Vox laughed, eyes moving from the pizza to her golden stare. He narrowed his eyes, a glow coming back to his face after drinking the water. His skin seemed almost brighter than it had a few moments earlier. He leaned forward in that way he did when he wanted to irritate her. 

“You know what's disgusting, Lute? The fact that you wear the same gross uniform every day. Do they not have a dry cleaner in Heaven? Or is Heaven too cheap to give you extra uniforms for work? I'm stuck in this fucking suit because of you people; you choose to wear that uniform every day.”

Lute took the rest of the bottled water that Vox hadn’t drunk and poured it on the ground. 

“You fucking bitch!” Vox yelled, trying and failing desperately to scoot the chair he was confined in across the floor to the few remaining drops of water in the bottle. A task that was borderline impossible with the way he was shackled to the chair.

The words rolled off her back easily. She was no stranger to being called a bitch. 

She threw the bottle on the ground and watched it roll farther and farther away from Vox. She placed the pizza box on her chair (after grabbing two slices for herself) and pushed the chair to the far end of the room, the terrible scrape of the wood against the floor not fazing her one bit.  Vox continued to yell expletives at her, but she paid him no mind, taking a bite of pizza and slamming the training room door. 

Fuck Vox. She hoped he choked on the pizza if he was even able to figure out how to eat it. Hadn’t he learned better than to bite the hand that feeds? 

She chewed the pizza, though it tasted like ash in her mouth. It had been a few days since she’d eaten. And while she (and the fucking television) were more resilient than humans, hunger and thirst would eventually catch up with them both. 

(Most of her self-care habits had gone to the back burner after the last extermination. Vox didn’t need to know that.)

She walked back to the office that she had claimed as her room and looked down at her uniform. A familiar golden stain was etched deep in the fabric of her uniform over her right hip. It was her blood, probably. Maybe it was Adam’s. She didn’t really remember. The details were beginning to grow fuzzy. 

She had always worn bloody uniforms in her daily life; she felt it gave her an aura of danger. Adam had certainly seemed to like it. You look fucking insane bitch, He’d said in his vulgar way, which was something close to approval. 

But Adam wasn’t here anymore. 

And Lute hadn’t actually changed out of this uniform since the extermination. She’d showered, of course. Freshened up to be somewhat socially presentable. Washed the golden and red blood from her hair. Stared at a fresh uniform she could put on after her shower. Yet she always found herself going back to the familiar fabric that clung to her body on the worst day of her life. 

Lute wrinkled her nose. 

It was disgusting. 

(And not because that fucking TV had said as much). 

Vox had the good sense not to say anything when she showed up the next day in a clean uniform, not a blood stain in sight. 

They settled into a weird routine after that: Vox pestering her for his own entertainment. Lute was attempting to be stoic, calm, and collected until he said something that made her just snap. It felt oddly comfortable. Prior to Vox’s imprisonment, she wasn’t regularly seeing people on the  daily, not that she would classify Vox as a person, but the company was something. 

It wasn’t until Abel sent her a message about Vox’s trial that her fragile routine was broken in a matter of sentences. To his credit, Vox didn’t seem fazed by the idea of the trial. Instead, he seemed almost excited. 

Lute was excited. (Disappointed, truthfully. If he were executed, what would she do then?)

Those were the thoughts that filled her mind as she glanced down at Vox, wrists shackled to the podium that the Snake Sinner had stood at only a few months earlier. 

Lute peered at the images of Vox that projected through the celestial orb. He looked almost unrecognizable (having a normal head would do that to a person) from the Sinner form he had taken at the time of his death. As she examined his human form closer, however, she could see the glimmers of similarities in the way his teeth glimmered like those of a shark when he smiled and the way his eyes, mismatched in the way they also were as a Sinner, could soften in such a way that caused the receiver of his attention to drop their defenses. 

She glanced between the images and Vox, finding herself in a whiplash as she tried to keep the two straight. Vox, in his human form was rather handsome in an artificial way; curated and thoughtful as though he were always ready to strike at an opportunity at any given moment. His Sinner form, while still attempting to hold a semblance of composure (even with his tattered suit and shackled limbs), still showed glimmers of his volatile nature brewing just beneath the surface. 

Lute glanced around at the other angelic beings who were watching the scenes presented before them with repulsion. Some of them even looked sick as they watched the brutal methods Vox had employed during his life to kill those who stood in the way of his ambition.  

They were rather benign deaths in Lute’s opinion. 

Merciful, even. 

(If she stood trial for the Sinners she had killed, would they look at her with the same look of horror and disgust?)

Lute glanced back down at Vox and found him staring at her with an expression that she couldn’t read. She sneered back at him, an action that seemed to amuse the fucking TV. 

The celestial projection flashed through scenes of him as a Sinner and subsequent rise into an Overlord. His deals and manipulations and torture stood to remind Lute that he was nothing more than an abomination and an unworthy Sinner. 

She was grateful for the reminder. Heaven was growing soft. She was growing soft. No training for the Exterminations; no Adam in her ear reminding her of the filth she was tasked with destroying in the name of Heaven. 

Nothing more than guarding Vox day in and day out. 

The projection flashed once again to Vox standing upon the weapon that would have destroyed Heaven had he succeeded. He wore the same suit she had grown accustomed to seeing him in, albeit with rips and tears. He seemed to radiate power, electricity wrapping around his body like water. 

“You know what?! Fuck Hell, Fuck Heaven, and Fuck All of You. As long as I wipe that smile off Alastor’s fucking face, I don’t care what happens.”

Lute could picture a crude recollection of the Radio Demon in her mind. Snippets of him cackling and goading Adam while she fought against Vaggie during the last Extermination. She had truthfully not paid much attention to Hell’s politics in the time between then and now, apart from the understanding that Hell was attempting to rise up against Heaven. That Vox held a grudge against the demon deep enough that he would burn the world around him if it meant destroying Alastor was news to her. (A gaping wound of his she could exploit if need be.)

Lute felt familiarity in his rage and desperation. 

“Everybody dies if we don’t do this.”

“So Be It.”

Her own words echoed back at her the way that Vox’s echoed on the screen. The only difference is that his words and desire for mutual destruction were on display for all of Heaven. And judging by the hurried whispers that filled the chamber, the other angels did not think too kindly of such thoughts and actions. Vox appeared unfazed, even as the projection showed him getting body slammed by one of his business partners. 

The projection stopped, leaving Sera staring down at Vox with a neutral expression. Emily and Abel stood at her sides, both with a similar stupid expression on their faces that filled Lute with premature rage. A glance at the audience showed the fucking snake was in attendance, eyeing Vox was something akin to caution. 

“What do you have to say for yourself, Vincent Whitman? How do you speak in your own defense?” Sera spoke, her voice even and firm. It echoed through the chamber, effectively silencing the chatter that had been steadily rising. 

Vox moved to raise his hands, but was stopped by the angelic steel shackles that bound him. 

“Great Seraphim,” He started, emphasizing Great as he spoke in an ingratiating manner that made Lute roll her eyes. He spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable in a way that would lower the guard of the average person.  “I apologize, I speak with my hands. Could these not be removed to allow me the best chance to defend myself in this trial?”

He held his palms open to Sera, who gave him a wary look. She glanced at Emily, who nodded, and sighed. 

“Granted,” Sera replied, snapping her fingers, causing the shackles to disappear from Vox’s body. Vox’s eyes flashed with satisfaction. He alternated rubbing his wrists; Lute had seen up close the way the shackles had rubbed against his wrists, leaving them raw and angry. 

“I come before you a penitent man.”

Bullshit, Lute thought.

Of course, it only took Vox’s bullshit fifteen minutes to convince Sera, Emily, and Abel that he was a repentant man who was hell bent on redeeming his name. Lute noticed immediately during his farce of a trial that he took great care in not mentioning redemption of his soul.  

(She seemed to be the only one who made the connection.)

Fucking idiots. Every one of them. 

All it took was a suave man with a goddamn television set for a head and compelling story for the bleeding hearts to practically eat from his hands. 

To rub further salt in Lute’s chronically unhealing wound, she was assigned as his guard indefinitely. Oh no, he’s too dangerous to be sent back to Hell just yet; we don’t want him around Heaven’s general population.  What about we let Lute continue to babysit? It keeps them both too preoccupied to start a war. 

So, Vox got to return to the Training Center with far more freedom than Lute would have dared give the Sinner (the freedom of life, for one). He was no longer bound to the chair that kept some illusion of control; thankfully, Sera wasn’t as much of an idiot as Lute feared. She had snapped her finger and re-shackled his wrists the moment the trial concluded. 

Their weird routine continued, apart from his ability to move and stand and move around the room in a way she was not accustomed to; yet, it was in his right as a prisoner at this point in time. 

He also seemed emboldened by the decision of his trial, high off his victory (if it could even be called that, he was still stuck with her, after all). 

“They’re fucking idiots. All of them.” He said one day, soon after the trial. He was pacing. His fuckign televison head was glitching. She was sure that if he had hair, he would have pulled it out by now. She didn’t necessarily disagree with his statement. It was harder and harder to disagree with such ideals the longer she was around him; he was smart, smarter than Heaven gave him credit for. He was better off dead than the threat he continued to pose to Heaven.

“You know what I am, don’t you, Lute? And I know you agree with me.” He said, his voice erratic. He was likely in one of those ‘moods’ he found himself in that Lute didn’t tolerate one bit. 

(Not because they made sense to her. Absolutely not.)

“Shut the fuck up, Vox.”  She responded, leaned back in her familiar chair in a comfortable manner. She had come to terms with the fact that Vox wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t that stupid. He also knew she would murder him quickly if given the chance. 

“Mmm, that’s a weaker bite than normal.” His voice dropped low. He continued to pace around the room. She paid him no mind. 

It was his normal ranting until it wasn’t. She felt him get closer, closer than he dared in moments past. Closer than she would allow him normally to get. But this time felt different. Was she different? Was he? His ranting and pacing had made her complacent, she feared. Heaven was making her complacent and lazy.  He leaned down, his warm breath tickling her ear. She could feel her breath catch in her throat.  “Tell me what you really think of that trial?

Lute turned quickly and faced him head-on, wings fluttering behind her so that when she faced him, she towered over him the way she had done only a few weeks earlier during their failed peace offering. This time, there was no Emily to hold her back. 

How dare you, fucking demonic filth.

 She could feel the warmth of his breath and the way his electricity made her hair stand on end as he stared up at her with something between a smirk and a grin. A challenge, as he stood tall despite being dwarfed by the magnificence of her full form. “You want to know what I really think, hm, Vincent?”

He flinched at the use of his given name but didn’t back down from his predatory stance. “Tell me.”

“I think instead of you getting off easy in the name of fucking redemption,  I should be leading you to your execution.”

Vox opened his mouth to speak, but Lute continued, spitting vitriol at his screen. “I should be the one swinging the Executioner’s sword down your neck, listening to your fucking screams and begs for mercy.”

Her voice was low and dangerous, a growl escaping her throat.  Vox nodded, his captivated stare pushing her forward. 

“Keep going,” He urged.

“I should be cutting down every Sinner in my path, first being the fucking Princess Charlie Morningstar and her fucking girlfriend. She’s the reason everything has gone to shit and the reason Heaven is at risk of total decimation.” Lute continued, her voice loud and echoing throughout the training room. She could feel her wings fluttering a mile a minute as she lived in her anger.  That fucking princess was the root of all of her woes and sorrows and turmoil. Oh, to be the one to wipe that fucking smile off of Charlie Morningstar’s face.

Unbeknownst to Lute, she had muttered the last part out loud to the prying ear of Vox. Her unlikely audience to her rage and vitriol and anger. He grinned at her words, nodding as it pushed her further on. She could feel her breath deepening. She could still feel the ghost of his motherfucking breath in her ear. She could still feel him lingering all around her. Was it Adam lingering? Vox? She didn’t know any more. 

She was quiet for a few moments, taking deep breaths and staring at an unassuming spot on the ground, eyes ablaze. 

“You’ve been betrayed, Lute,” Vox said after a few moments. 

Lute paused in her anger, the fire dissipating off her skin like steam. She blinked and fell back, the words hitting her like a train. Her feet hit the ground, but the world around her felt unsteady.  She felt nauseous; the emotion she had been experiencing since the moment Adam took his last breath had been given a name. Betrayal.

Their positions switched, Vox now looking down at her with something close to concern. If Lute didn’t know the Sinner better, she would swear it was genuine. But she had learned very quickly, there were very few genuine things Vincent Whitman would let show through the cracks. 

He held out his clawed hands, the shackles limiting his range of motion. His eyes were soft. Fake. 

“You’ve been betrayed, Lute,” He repeated. She felt her mind running miles a minute. She couldn’t focus on anything but the ringing in her ears that was pounding against her skull like a freight train. She looked down at her hands; the gold of the left prosthetic glittered under the light of Vox’s screen. It was just another reminder of what she had lost. She’d given her body to protect Heaven. Adam had given his life. 

For nothing. 

“Shut up,” She finally said after a few moments. Her voice felt small with no hint of bite. “Just shut up, Vox.” 

Vox nodded, pulling his hands back and giving her room to breathe. His compliance with her request left her unnerved; his silence echoed through the room louder than his booming voice did. 

She didn't speak to him for a few days after that. 

“You look like shit.”

Those were the first words Vox said to her once she finally showed her face again. He sat leaning back in his familiar chair, long legs propped up on the table that had been added to his makeshift rehabilitation center. He had a magazine in his claws, flipping through lazily, unfazed by his wrist shackles.

He looked entirely too comfortable to technically be a prisoner. 

Make him comfortable, Abel had said over a call to her a day after his trial. 

Look at you, giving a shit after you were content letting him fucking starve, she snapped back. 

Abel didn’t call her again after that; instead, he sent odd pieces of furniture and forms of entertainment to the training center under the guise of “keeping Vox comfortable”. 

Lute didn’t answer. She hadn’t been sleeping. She just stared up at the ceiling, reliving Vox’s words that shot through her head like a bullet wound while trying to force herself to sleep at night. Even Adam’s imaginary presence had stopped visiting her. She was alone with only her thoughts and Vox’s words. 

“I thought about what you said.” Her voice was low. A piece of her hoped he didn’t hear her. 

“Oh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. He seemed almost surprised. He lowered the magazine, giving her his full attention. She felt exposed under his mismatched eyes. She looked for that familiar glitch in his screen, the tell that she was still in control.

“Why did you attack Heaven, Vox?”

He looked at her as if he didn't trust he question. He shrugged his shoulders, as if being asked about the weather. “I wanted to be a god. Simple as that.”

“Why?” She asked, genuinely. His dream was stupid and unattainable. But she would humor him.

Vox stopped for a second and leaned forward, the front legs of the chair hitting the ground as he stood. 

“There was a time, when I was alive, when I felt like I was on the cusp of godhood.” He started, his voice growing and filling the space as if she had asked it to. She hadn’t. 

“When you were the leader of the cult?” She asked, her voice neutral.

“I prefer to call it a movement.” He replied, winking at her. For a Sinner, he had a certain charm to him. After seeing his kind eyes as a human, she could see how the weak would find comfort and safety under his gaze. “I was powerful. Revered. I could have murdered a man in cold blood on television and still had people worship me.” 

Lute was quiet. Vox didn’t seem to notice. She could feel a monologue coming on. He so loved to listen to the sound of his own voice. It was her own fault. She had asked. 

(A stark contrast to her. Her voice had been caged and shushed and neutered to the point that her words didn't even matter.) 

“I killed those who stood in the way of my goal.” 

“I saw you kill them,” Lute responded, echoing back to the footage she had seen at his trial. Vox smirked, no hint of remorse on his face. Lute was grateful for that; otherwise, she might have to feign feeling sympathy for him. 

“Did that bother you?” He asked, his words slow as he tested the waters. 

“No.” She confessed, her words more honest than she was accustomed to hearing. But who was Vox to judge her and her depraved thoughts? She had only echoed such thoughts to one other person, and he was dead. What had he brought her but grief and loneliness? 

Vox was quiet for a while. Digesting her words.

“Why do you kill Sinners, Lute?” He asked, quieter than she thought possible. As if they were acquaintances having a conversation over dinner. In the same way, someone would ask if you’re having the chicken or the fish.  

“To protect Heaven,” She responded quickly. A practiced answer.

Vox shook his head. “Mm, you might believe that, Doll, but that’s not the answer. Try again.”

A piece of her flinched at the way he said “doll”. It felt too intimate. Too familiar. She was not familiar with Vox (even if she spent every waking moment in his presence). 

“To prevent Sinners from rising against Heaven,” She said. Vox tutted at her words, shaking his stupid fucking TV head. 

“So close, but still not what I’m looking for.”

Lute narrowed her eyes, her frustration with the Sinner growing. “You have a fucking point, Vox. Make it.”

Vox simply smirked at her, letting the anticipation build in the room. She could feel her hand twitching to grab the sword at her side. She couldn’t kill him, but she could scar him if she wanted. 

(Though with her luck, the sicko would probably like that.)

Vox walked closer to her, slow and confident in his movement. His voice, normally obnoxious  and all-consuming, was nothing louder than a whisper.“You kill because you fucking like it. You love it, Doll. Am I wrong?” 

He was too close to her. She felt smothered underneath his gaze. Underneath his truth.

“You would have stripped my head from my body with no hesitation. You said so yourself.”

“So?” She knew she sounded like a petulant child. 

“You kill Sinners because it's in your programming. You kill us because it's the only thing you know how to do, and you fucking love it.”

She breathed in deep, a caged animal itching for an escape.

“And you know, we’re not so different, you and I.”

“We are.” The words were biting. Final. A last plea to escape this conversation and the treasonous thoughts it spurred in her mind. She could just leave, could she not? She was in control. He was but a Sinner, hands shackled and not a weapon to be found. 

Vox shook his head and laughed. He was entirely too close to her.  His proximity didn’t bother her enough. He was a filthy fucking Sinner. An abomination. A piece of demonic fil—.

He stood directly in front of her, forcing her to look at him. His screen glowed brightly, reeling her into his words against her will. She turned away from him, the blasphemy in his words making her skin crawl

“Look at me, Lute.”

A clawed hand grabbed her face, forcefully turning her head to face him. The movement and audacity caught her by surprise, but not more than Vox cupping her face more tenderly than she ever thought possible from a Sinner. 

“You killed for your own ambition, even if you didn’t realize it. For your glory, or Adam’s, or Heaven’s. It doesn’t fucking matter. You killed to earn your seat at the table.” 

She didn’t answer him. What could she say other than to confirm his words to be true?

“I can understand that.” He continued. He looked at her with a fervor in his eyes she hadn’t seen since she watched Adam yell and rant and rave at the hotel crew only moments before that fucking roach stabbed him in the back. 

“You deserve more,” Vox continued, looking down at her with something akin to kindness. She and he both knew it wasn’t real. They both ignored such a fact.  “We've both been betrayed, Lute. Those meant to stand by us turned their backs when we needed them most.” 

“I don’t want to listen to this anymore.” She said. His words were making too much sense in her mind. They were the kindest words she had heard since Adam died. And they were coming from a filthy fucking Sinner. A Sinner who kept his shackled hands cupping her cheeks, warmth and electricity radiating off his body in a way that made her feel less alone than she had in months. 

Vox shook his head. “Because you know I’m right?”

“Because your words are dangerous.” She pulled away from him. He wasn’t deterred. The static of his skin lingered on her face. 

“Lute, we could rule Heaven and Hell. Strike down everyone who stands in our way. Everyone who thought they could betray us and make us feel like our words didn’t matter. Like we were fucking powerless. ” 

His hands moved rapidly as he spoke, pressing against the bounds of the shackles and digger deeper into his wrists. “I think we could make a powerful team, Lute. Decimate those who stand in our way.”

“I don’t trust you,” She replied after a few moments, the words slow and deliberate. Contemplative. 

He looked at her with a smile. It felt genuine. “The smartest thing you can do is to not trust me.”

Trust me with your weather. Trust me with your news. Trust me with your entertainment. Trust me with your everything. 

Lute had seen it all. 

Don't trust me, he said. 

A fucking asshole. 

But who did Lute have left to trust? Not Heaven. Not Abel. Not Adam. Not even herself. 

She certainly didn’t trust Vox. 

(But was he trusting her not to smite him down as he spoke blasphemy and treason? Trusting her to not run to Sera and Abel and Emily and tell them that Vox was not the penitent man he proclaimed himself to be? Would they even believe her?)

“But, I am loyal to those loyal to me. And, I know you'd never betray me. I would never worry about you stabbing me in the back.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Vox chuckled, a genuine sound that was different from the charismatic mask he normally wore. Lute had been around the Sinner enough to notice the subtle difference in his actions. 

“Because you wouldn't hesitate to stab me so that I could see that it was you holding the sword.” He spoke so earnestly that she felt a bit spooked by his observation of her. In the same way, she had been taking him in and understanding his games; he had done the same.

Lute stared at Vox, the ghost of a smirk threatening to form on her lips. It felt good, being seen. Even Adam would have just deemed her a Crazy Bitch and called it a day. Vox had taken he time to observe and study her. 

“You’re smarter than I thought,” She replied. 

He laughed, a hollow thing. “ Stupidity wouldn’t have gotten me very far.”

He held out his clawed hands, the angelic steel shackles shimmering under the glow of his screen.  “Do we have a deal?”

She stared at his hands a moment, glancing between them and his face. That familiar glitch was there. Subtle as it passed over his features. 

Her soul would be damned. Fallen. Cast from Heaven and all its glory. 

What had Heaven ever done for her, anyway?

She could rule a kingdom of Ash and Dust with Vox at her side, slaughtering those who stood in her way of revenge and total destruction. 

She held out her prosthetic arm, just another reminder of how she had been failed by Heaven ever after giving her body for its interests, and shook his hand. Power flowed through her appendage, static and electricity filling the air in a way that made her hair stand on end. 

Vox laughed, his smile becoming more shark-like than she had seen it. He squeezed her hand before dissipating into a force of electricity. The angelic steel shackles fell to the ground. She felt her mouth run dry as the realization that he could have escaped at any moment crossed her mind. 

(But he didn’t.)

She felt him appear behind her, his claws digging into her shoulders. His head was bent so that his mouth was close to her ear, his warm breath causing gooseflesh to appear on her skin. Her body felt as though it was on fire, a renewed fervor for her revenge.