#acedia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainforestakiie · 3 months ago

Note

Sinner Adam is a trope that i love and I know you would handle it AMAZING, so what do You thing???

hi!

i struggled a lot with this because i didn't know what to write! ahhh! i also wanted to try something new that hasn't been done before, though i did use one known trope. but i hope it's not too bad!

i tried to write something different with sinner adam.

i really hope you like it, and thank you so much for the wonderful request! it was so fun to write!

also, for the full experience, please listen to 'the ballad of the witches' road' from agatha all along! i was listening to this while writing, and it made it so chilling!

The Acedia of Hell

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The first thing Adam heard as he drifted toward consciousness was a faint crackling, like a thousand whispered secrets swirling just above his head. He flinched, instinctively recoiling from the sound, but it only grew louder, wrapping itself around him until it became a relentless drumming in his ears.

An ache began to creep along his back, first a subtle tingle, then swelling into a searing, acid-like burn. It started between his shoulder blades, coiling down his spine in a twisted agony that made his entire body tremble. His chest constricted, as though his heart had been crushed and was now struggling to inflate, each beat an effort, each breath a torment. His skin twitched, and a chill raced through him, sharp enough to raise every hair on his body, as if some unseen force was raking icy fingers across his flesh.

Inside him, something stirred—an eerie, swelling pressure, like a bubble forming deep within his chest. It started small, like the delicate bubbles children blow in the wind, then grew, expanding into the size of a birthday balloon, then larger still, as though a hot air balloon were inflating inside him, until it became a blimp of overwhelming pressure, straining to escape. And finally, with a violent eruption, his throat opened, and Adam gasped sharply, his eyes, swollen and raw, wrenching open. A torrent of hacking coughs tore from his chest, each one sending fresh pain rippling through him.

His body convulsed, and with a grimace, Adam spat out thick, blue liquid. He collapsed onto his elbows, his back blazing with even fiercer agony, as though his spine were splitting apart. He wheezed, vision blurring, trembling hands pressing against the slick, waxy surface of the red stones beneath him. His lips parted in a desperate attempt to scream, but instead, a sudden gush of the brilliant blue fluid burst forth, staining the crimson ground beneath him in striking shades of despair—a beautiful, sorrowful blue, spreading like an ethereal bloom.

More of the thick, otherworldly liquid streamed down his face as Adam continued to cough and choke, his chest aflame. The golden essence of his blood, once radiant and divine, began to glow with an unnatural hue, shifting to match the eerie, silver-blue shade he was vomiting. It pulsed beneath his skin, transforming, until the ethereal silver - blue coursed through his veins, as if his very soul had been overtaken by the same haunting colour he was now expelling.

Adam sucked in a ragged breath, the crackling still weaving through the thick, oppressive air, a relentless whisper just beyond his senses. His mind teetered on the edge of darkness, desperate for the release of unconsciousness, but each time it began to drift, the sharp stab of pain wrenched him back into this torturous reality.

He squinted through the haze, trying and failing to clear his vision, his hands trembling uncontrollably. His back arched, and with a gasp of agony, he could feel it—his spine, as if it were trying to tear free from his skin. His mouth opened in a desperate cry, but his body was already curling in on itself, shaking violently as he pressed his forehead to the slick, waxy ground beneath him. The crackling grew louder, and behind him, a new sound emerged—horrific snapping and tearing—but Adam couldn��t bring himself to look. Fear rooted him in place, afraid of what he might find if he dared to turn his head.

With a trembling breath, Adam stretched out a weak, shaking arm, fingers barely able to grasp at the air as his vision swam, the world blurring with blinding streaks of silver and blue. “H-help…” he tried to call out, but his voice was broken, twisted into something unrecognizable. He wasn’t even sure if he had spoken at all.

Through the haze, a faint glimmer of golden light caught his eye—a figure, bathed in white, stepping toward him, with another taller, draped in deep crimson, following close behind. Adam’s heart leaped in fragile hope—someone had heard him. Someone was coming to help. But even that thought was quickly drowned out by the relentless cracking that now roared in his ears, and exhaustion crushed down upon him like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t fair.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as he began to let his arm fall, surrendering to the pull of oblivion. But before it could hit the ground, warm hands wrapped around his trembling fingers, catching him. The touch burned, searing against his skin, yet Adam couldn’t summon the strength to pull away. It stung, this connection—more than he could bear—but his body refused to obey his silent cries to escape.

Voices murmured above him, too distant, too distorted to comprehend. He thought he heard his name, thought someone was calling for him, but the pain, the exhaustion, drowned out everything else. He sobbed weakly, shaking his head as if to dislodge the agony, before sinking toward the ground again, surrendering to the waxy surface beneath him, craving nothing but the embrace of sleep.

"Why..." he whispered, or at least he thought he did. His voice was so faint, so lost. "I wish I were dead. I don’t want this anymore... I’m so tired..."

Suddenly, arms wrapped around him, strong and unyielding, lifting him before he could collapse back down. His face was pressed against a chest, and the sting of their touch flared through his nerves. He tried to resist, weakly pushing against them, but their hold was too tight, too firm. There was no escape.

And yet, as the warmth of their embrace held him fast, Adam felt something strange—an unspoken promise, a tether keeping him from falling into the darkness. But even in that moment, all he could think of was the unbearable weight of it all.

The pain. The exhaustion. And the whispered wish that it would just... end.

“I want to be dead.”

~#~

The next time Adam drifted into consciousness, the world around him felt strange, unfamiliar—like something from a dream that still clung to the edges of his mind. He was so tired, so utterly exhausted, and his entire body was wrapped in a deep, aching soreness that refused to fade. Every muscle, every inch of skin felt foreign to him, as though it didn’t quite belong.

Slowly, he forced his heavy eyes open, blinking as he stared up at the draped curtains hanging above him. He didn’t move, feeling as if he were both too heavy and too light at once, trapped in a body that no longer obeyed him. The soft, purple folds of fabric gathered between the four towering posts of a massive bed.

A bed. He was lying in a bed—one so vast, it made him feel small, which shouldn’t have been possible. Adam was over ten feet tall, yet here, he felt dwarfed.

His eyes fluttered closed again as he took a shaky breath, his chest trembling with the effort. It hurt, a searing pain that ran through his lungs as though he wasn’t meant to breathe like this anymore. He focused on the rhythm of his breathing, hoping the sensation would pass, but instead, it worsened. A sharp throb flared at the top of his skull, a maddening itch that grew with every beat of his heart. Panic flickered through him like a match struck in the darkness.

What was happening to him? Why was everything wrong? Where was he? Why did everything burn with such unbearable intensity?

His thoughts spiraled, and flashes of memory crashed over him like waves. The war. He had led an army—against Hell. No, not just Hell, but the Princess of Hell herself. The spoiled, naive fool who had no idea of the devastation she was courting. He had wanted to stop her, to make her see the consequences of what she was about to unleash on Heaven, on the Winners. The survivors.

Adam’s pulse quickened. Did no one truly understand what the Winners of Heaven were? They weren't just the righteous, the pure, the souls who followed God’s plan. No, the Winners were the survivors of unspeakable torment—humans who had endured hell on Earth and deserved peace. That was the essence of Heaven, the sanctuary for those who had suffered beyond reason. And the Princess of Hell, in her misguided quest for redemption, was threatening to undo it all. If she succeeded in redeeming a Sinner, what would happen? How would the Winners react?

Adam shuddered at the thought. The Winners weren’t just passive souls—they were warriors, survivors of the darkest trials. They had a power unlike anything even Heaven fully understood. And if they unleashed that power, it wouldn’t just be Hell that suffered. Heaven itself would be torn apart.

Lucifer.

Adam’s jaw clenched at the thought of that arrogant demon. The Morningstar had no idea what was truly at stake, what Heaven truly represented. He had humiliated Adam, beaten him, all because Adam had dared to protect the survivors—those who had suffered at the hands of their abusers. If the Princess succeeded, her reckless actions would incite a chaos neither Hell nor Heaven was prepared for.

And yet... Adam had failed. He had been defeated. During battle, someone—he couldn’t remember who—had snuck up behind him and struck the final blow. But it wasn’t just that. Lucifer had already broken him, leaving him weakened, humiliated. His death, when it came, had been almost a relief.

He had welcomed it.

Adam’s eyes snapped open. His vision was blurry, the world around him swimming in shades of red and purple. He blinked hard, trying to make sense of the shapes and shadows, but his heart sank as realization dawned. Those colours—those curtains—he knew where he was. And the truth was unbearable.

No... no, this can’t be. ��He couldn’t accept it.

Panic surged through him, and with a desperate grunt, Adam began to wriggle beneath the heavy quilts that pinned him down like chains. Every movement sent searing pain through his body, his muscles protesting as if they had been stripped raw. His chest heaved with the effort, and it felt like he was dragging something impossibly heavy along with him, a weight that wasn’t his but clung to his very soul.

With trembling arms, he forced himself up, biting back a scream as his body burned with every inch he moved. It felt like a monumental struggle just to sit upright, the heavy air pressing down on him as though the room itself conspired to keep him immobile. His hands clutched at the silken sheets, knuckles white as the realization clawed at his mind.

He was back in Hell.

And it was only the beginning of something far worse.

Dragging himself to the edge of the colossal bed, Adam twisted awkwardly, his body giving out before he could brace himself, collapsing heavily onto the cold floor. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and something inside him wrenched, unfamiliar and raw. Panic flooded his chest. He had to move—now. He had to escape before someone found him, before they came to see if he was still broken, still helpless.

How long had he been unconscious?

It didn’t matter. He had to get away before something else was taken from him, before he was humiliated again. The shame was already too much, a suffocating weight on his soul. He couldn’t bear it. Not again. It was always him—always Adam who crumbled under the boots of others. Always the one who was stepped on, laughed at, torn apart.

But not this time.

Not yet. Not so soon after... his death. Why was he still here? Why was he still trapped in this existence when he should have been freed? It wasn’t fair.

Adam’s limbs trembled violently as he struggled to move, but his body refused to obey. His arms and legs felt distant, alien—completely unresponsive. His feet wouldn’t lift him; his hands collapsed beneath his weight. The dark mist crept at the corners of his vision, curling like smoke around his consciousness.

Why?

His body had betrayed him. His strength had deserted him, leaving him defenseless, pathetic, like prey waiting for the predator’s strike. He couldn’t be here—not like this, not when he was so weak. The moment they found him, they would break him again, humiliate him, tear him apart.

Why? Why? Why?

"Adam!" A voice, frantic and sharp, called out from behind him, cutting through the fog clouding his mind. It came from the other side of the bed, filled with panic.

Adam’s chest felt as though it was about to shatter. His head spun wildly as he turned toward the voice, his blurred vision struggling to focus on the figure rushing toward him. His eyes widened in shock, his jaw slack. His arms shook violently as they tried to hold him upright, but he must have looked pathetic—a trembling, broken creature hunched awkwardly on the floor, freezing and disoriented.

The figure in white drew closer, their movements rapid and purposeful, but Adam barely registered them. All he could feel was the cold consuming him, seeping into his bones. Another figure lingered at the doorway, and a third stood on the other side of the bed, watching him intently.

His mouth opened, but the scream that ripped from his throat didn’t sound like his own. It was a raw, primal sound, something more beast than man—an unearthly shriek that echoed through the room, leaving Adam stunned. The others recoiled, their hands flying to their ears as the sound shattered the stillness. The figure in white froze mid-step, shocked by the inhuman scream.

But Adam wasn’t finished. Something was unfurling behind him, stretching out on either side of his trembling body. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t care. All he could see was the familiar shimmer of silver and blue, lightning-bright streaks zipping through the air as the energy expanded from him. It spread from his knees, seeping into the ground beneath him, forming a perfect, glowing pentagram.

"Adam!" the one in white yelled again, reaching out desperately. "Stop!"

But Adam could barely hear them over the roar in his mind, his own voice breaking through the madness as another scream tore from his throat.

"Why am I still alive?!"

The words echoed in the room, a question as desperate as it was furious, and then the world around him erupted in a blinding storm of silver and blue. Light filled every corner, obliterating the darkness, until finally, everything collapsed.

Silence descended.

Adam crumpled to the ground outside, his body curling tightly as the last of his strength drained away. His mind drifted toward the edges of consciousness, a peaceful emptiness overtaking the pain.

At least it was quiet here, in the stillness of oblivion.

Maybe now, at last... he could die.

~#~

Waking once more, Adam’s eyes bled silver and blue, the ethereal liquid streaking down his face like tears from another realm. Death had eluded him again, cruel and mocking, leaving him tethered to the world he so desperately wished to leave behind. He was alive—still breathing, still suffering. His soul ached for release, for the finality that would never come. Exhaustion clung to him like a shroud, each heartbeat a reminder of the torment he could not escape. All he wanted was for it to be over. To step off the ride, to finally find peace.

With a sharp, burning gasp, Adam stirred. His body shifted, finding itself curled tightly between the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, its pulse faintly humming beneath him. His skin prickled with unease as he tilted his head back, gazing upward through bleary, stinging eyes. Above, the branches stretched high, their once vibrant leaves now brittle and decaying, drifting down in slow spirals as if mourning their own demise. The bark, though alien to him—unlike any tree from Heaven or Earth—had a strange, almost alive texture. He squirmed, dislodging himself from the roots’ tight embrace, crawling slowly from his resting place.

As he glanced back, he saw the imprint his body had left on the bark, as though he had tried to meld with the tree itself. The bark appeared to have absorbed part of him, as if it had become a part of his essence. An impulse to reach out, to touch it again, gripped him, but he resisted. Something was terribly wrong. His instincts screamed in warning, a whisper of dread curling around his thoughts.

Slowly, Adam’s gaze drifted across the grass beneath him, noticing the withering of the once-lush greenery. The vibrant blades had become dry and brittle, curling in on themselves, as though the life had been drained from them. They crumbled at his touch, turning to dust between his fingers. A creeping sense of decay hung in the air, growing heavier with every breath he took.

Groaning as his knees cracked and snapped, Adam ignored the sharp sounds of his bones as they protested the movement. He crawled forward slightly and sat amidst the ruin, surveying the place he found himself in—a place that felt like a park, with trees and grass, but distorted. Wrong. He was still in Hell; he could feel it. The telltale red mist swirled through the air, thick and heavy, and the sky above held the familiar sinful hue of dusty crimson, broken only by the stark white orb of Heaven shining faintly in the distance.

But something was terribly amiss. The garden around him, once filled with life, was decaying before his eyes. Colours drained from the world, turning to muted browns and greys, the vibrancy crumbling into lifeless ash. It was as if something was devouring the very essence of this place, siphoning its vitality away.

Adam’s chest tightened with dread. What was happening?

Adam dragged himself through Hell's garden, the once lush and vibrant world wilting under his very touch. His fingers dug into the crumbling earth, pulling his exhausted body forward as he felt something—something heavy—attached to his back, dragging along the ground behind him. He didn’t dare look at it, too weak to confront whatever grotesque thing clung to him. Instead, he kept his gaze ahead, watching the grass around him slowly die, the green blades blackening and withering to ash.

Above, the trees groaned as their branches trembled, fruit falling from their limbs. Adam’s eyes caught a flash of orange as one tumbled to the earth. He paused, staring at it as it rolled to a stop just within reach. It was an orange—once bright and plump—but even as he watched, it shrivelled, darkening as mold crept across its surface, turning it black and rotten. The putrid smell hit him like a wave, but still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Life here was slipping into death, drained of its essence before his very eyes.

He kept crawling, his hands the only means to move his broken body. His fingers sank into the brittle grass, which disintegrated beneath his touch. With each pull, it felt as though he was dragging the weight of a thousand souls behind him, an unseen burden shackled to his spine. His feet wouldn’t support him—he knew that much. They were useless, numb. All he had were his hands, and they were trembling.

At last, he reached the edge of a pond—a small, still body of water framed by red roses and carnations that lined its banks. Adam paused, staring. The scene was hauntingly familiar. He had seen this place before. He had been here. He recognized the way the water shimmered, the way the flowers bloomed, the pair of ducks that glided across the surface without a care. He could almost hear the memory whispering to him, as if from a life long forgotten.

But even here, in this last vestige of beauty, death was encroaching. He watched as the roses began to droop, their petals browning, curling inward before falling away into dust. The carnations followed suit, their vibrant hues turning a dull, lifeless grey as they crumbled into the earth. Adam’s breath hitched, the garden around him collapsing into decay, the blackened grass creeping ever closer to the pond.

Panic seized him as he turned his gaze back to the ducks, still swimming, unaware of the dying world around them. He tried to cry out, to warn them, but his voice failed him—nothing but a strangled whine escaped his throat. Desperate, he reached out a trembling hand, as if he could stop the inevitable, but it was too late.

The ducks froze. Their feathers darkened and their forms withered, collapsing in on themselves as though time had cruelly fast-forwarded their lives. In mere moments, they had turned to skeletal remains, their bones sinking beneath the murky surface of the pond. The water rippled briefly, then stilled, as if nothing had ever lived there at all.

A horrified cry escaped Adam’s lips, his chest tightening in anguish. His tears—those strange silver and blue droplets—fell freely now, sliding down his cheeks and staining the ground below him. He wheezed, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as panic gripped his chest. The world around him was unravelling, and he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t understand what was happening, why everything he touched seemed to rot and die.

His vision blurred, the edges of his mind fraying, until something caught his eye. The pond. Even in its stillness, the water remained reflective, its surface like a dark mirror. For a moment, Adam hesitated, but the pull was too strong to resist. Slowly, with shaking hands, he dragged himself to the edge of the pond, his long fingers curling around the damp earth at its banks.

Leaning forward, he gazed into the water.

There, in the blackened reflection, was a face he barely recognized.

It was him—but not him. His eyes glowed faintly with silver and blue, the same colours that bled from his tears.

Adam gazed into the still surface of the pond, his breath catching in his throat as the reflection staring back at him took form. He blinked, refusing to believe the grotesque figure he saw was him, but no amount of denial could erase the haunting image. What looked back was a twisted mockery of what he once had been—a shadow of the Archangel he was.

Two small horns jutted out from the sides of his head, emerging through his thick, dark hair. Between them floated small fragments of bones, like a fractured halo suspended in a macabre orbit around his head. His face was part flesh, part bone, his eyes deeply sunken into skeletal sockets. But it was the colors of his eyes that truly chilled him: light blue sclera encased piercing green pupils, a reversed and unnatural reflection of the angelic light he once knew. His hair was a deep, ink-black cascade streaked with pale blue, as if frost had kissed the darkest night, the strands shimmering with faint highlights, both ethereal and eerie.

Adam’s arms stretched before him, thin and skeletal, his fingers bruised and pale, almost translucent as they hovered above the pond. They weren’t claws, nor did he have sharp teeth or monstrous fangs—no, what unnerved him was the hollow, fragile appearance of his limbs. He looked as though he had been drained of life, a mere shell of the vibrant creature he once was.

But what truly paralyzed him—what left him trembling, breathless—were the things attached to his back. His gaze, hesitant and terrified, shifted slowly, his heart pounding in a ghostly echo that seemed to drop into the pit of his stomach. His body shook as, ever so slowly, six enormous wings rose and stretched on either side of him. They were not the radiant, feathered wings of an angel. They were made entirely of bone, skeletal, devoid of life or warmth. They stretched wide, casting shadows over the withered garden as if they themselves consumed the light.

He swallowed hard as the truth struck him like a blade to the heart—he was the one draining the life from the garden. It was his presence that withered the trees, sucked the life from the grass, and rotted the fruit. His very existence seemed to poison everything around him. He froze in place, trembling, unable to tear his eyes away from the devastation spreading across the landscape. The vibrant flowers wilted, crumbling into brittle, lifeless husks, the trees withered and bore no more fruit, and the air itself seemed to grow colder and darker in his wake.

With this horrifying revelation, Adam found himself able to stand. His legs were shaky, barely able to support his weight, but he forced himself up. He was dressed in nothing but an oversized black t-shirt that hung down to his mid-thigh, loose and ill-fitting as if mocking the frailty of his new form. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as he took a step forward, his feet shuffling through the dying grass. Each step he took seemed to leech the life from the earth beneath him. The trees bowed, their branches heavy with rot, and the air grew thick with decay as he unconsciously fed off the energy around him.

Adam’s gaze fell upon the ducks—the innocent creatures that had once swum peacefully in the pond. Now, their skeletal remains rested on the water's surface, sunken and lifeless. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as the weight of his existence pressed down on him.

What had he become?

What kind of monster was he now? Why had he been twisted into this grotesque parody of an Archangel?

Suddenly, his chest burned. A sharp pain shot through him, and he winced, glancing down. The star-shaped scar on his chest—the wound that was supposed to have killed him—began to glow, flickering with an eerie blend of silver and blue light. It pulsed in time with his breathing, as though the very scar itself was alive, tethered to whatever dark magic had transformed him.

Stumbling backward, Adam tripped over a root and fell to the ground with a thud. He scrambled to his feet, turning sharply—only to find himself facing a looming pillar. A shrine. It stood tall and imposing, bathed in a strange, pulsing glow. And resting atop the shrine, shining with an ethereal golden light, was a single apple.

The moment his eyes fell upon it, Adam knew what it was. The Apple of Knowledge. The very fruit that had torn apart his life, had brought the first sin into the world. Two distinct bite marks marred its surface—the marks of Lilith and Eve. A shiver ran down his spine, colder than anything he had ever felt before. The magic radiating from the apple was intoxicating, vibrant, filled with life and light. It pulsed with an energy that was the antithesis of everything he had become.

Adam reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered closer to the cursed fruit. He could feel the warmth of its magic, the life it offered, but something inside him—deep, dark, and instinctive—reached back toward it. His hand extended, fingers trembling as he stretched toward the apple, drawn by some unseen force.

The thing that had ruined him, the thing that had caused everything to spiral into chaos, was now within his reach. Yet as his fingers neared the glowing apple, the darkness inside him stirred, awakening something ancient and hungry.

Adam’s breath quickened. He hesitated, the weight of eternity bearing down on his fragile soul as his hand hovered inches from the fruit of knowledge.

"Adam!" a familiar voice tore through the air, sharp and desperate, snapping him from his trance as if yanking him back from the edge of oblivion.

Adam flinched, his skeletal feet trembling as he stumbled away from the pillar. His wide eyes, dark and hollow, were unfocused, as if his mind wasn’t fully present. Slowly, his gaze drifted toward the figure standing before him—the one responsible for all his ruin, the one who had torn him apart and left him shattered time and again.

Lucifer.

He stood there, flustered and breathless, his usually composed face flushed with a rosy hue, his striking red pupils wide with fear and disbelief. His skin, pale and immaculate, glowed with the warmth of life, his cheeks tinted a delicate shade of pink. His hair, golden blonde with soft coral streaks woven through the pale strands, cascaded down his shoulders like sunlight caught in a gentle breeze. Dressed in a pristine white suit, Lucifer looked every bit the angel he once was, but his expression betrayed him—too many emotions flickered across his face in rapid succession, as though he couldn’t quite grasp what he was witnessing.

Lucifer’s enormous wings, a breathtaking blend of white feathers tinged with red, stretched out behind him, trembling slightly as if mirroring the chaos in his soul. He looked upon Adam, not with anger, but with a raw, anxious desperation, his heart visibly torn. He couldn't believe it—couldn’t fathom that it was Adam wreaking such havoc.

“Adam, you have to stop!” Lucifer’s voice broke with urgency, his words almost pleading. “You need to stop before it’s too late!”

But Adam just stared at him, unblinking, as if Lucifer’s words were an alien language he could no longer understand. A hollow laugh bubbled up inside him, though it never left his lips. Instead, all he felt was emptiness—an overwhelming void that left him cold, shivering, and numb.

“Please, Adam,” Lucifer’s voice softened, cracking at the edges. “You’ll kill everyone... you’ll hurt Charlie if you don’t stop.”

Golden sparks of magic began to shimmer around Lucifer, swirling in the air like embers of light, but Adam was blind to it. His body trembled, not from fear, but from something far deeper—a profound emptiness that gnawed at his soul, threatening to consume him whole.

And then, almost as if a dam had broken inside him, Adam’s voice tore through the air, his scream ragged and inhuman.

“Why...” His voice was barely a whisper at first, choked and broken. “Why didn’t you kill me?!”

The words erupted from him with such force that it felt like his very soul had split open. His throat burned as the screech reverberated through the air, twisted and raw, sending shockwaves of agony through his body. The darkness inside him, the festering void that had grown and coiled in his chest, flared violently, crashing against his ribcage like a beast seeking to break free.

And then, with a sudden roar, silver and blue magic exploded from him, crackling like furious lightning. It surged outward, chaotic and destructive, colliding with Lucifer’s golden-red magic that spiralled toward him in a desperate attempt to contain the storm. Their powers met with a deafening clash, sending shockwaves ripping through the garden like a hurricane unleashed from the very depths of Hell.

The once-beautiful garden, Lucifer’s sanctuary, was torn apart in seconds. Trees that had stood for centuries were uprooted and thrown across the desolate landscape. Flowers, once vibrant and fragrant, withered instantly, their petals crumbling to dust in the raging wind. The earth itself seemed to split open, groaning beneath the weight of their combined magic.

Everything Lucifer had spent years creating…gone.

Lucifer, for all his strength and grace, struggled to keep his footing. His boots skidded across the soil—the same soil he had lovingly tended to for countless hours, the soil of his sanctuary that now lay in ruin. But he had no time to grieve the loss of his beloved garden. His wings flared out behind him, struggling to shield him from the brutal force of Adam’s magic. His arms rose instinctively to cover his face, but even that seemed barely enough to hold back the searing heat of the silver and blue flames that crackled before him.

“Adam!” he screamed again, his voice raw with desperation, but the storm between them swallowed his cry.

The chaotic swirl of magic grew hotter, more violent, each pulse of energy warping the very air around them. It was as if the magic was feeding off the destruction, growing wilder, hungrier with every passing second.

The world around them blurred, torn apart by the force of their powers clashing together. Lucifer’s heart ached as he fought against the tide of devastation, his soul pleading for Adam to stop, to see reason, but all he could feel was the suffocating weight of Adam’s sorrow and rage.

And beneath it all, the same question echoed in his mind, over and over—Why didn’t I kill him?

Why didn’t I kill him when I found him alive again?

But no answer came. Only the howling wind and the crackling of their deadly magic filled the air as the remnants of the garden continued to fall apart around them.

Horror clawed its way into Adam's very soul as the full weight of the truth settled in like a stone in his chest. He was the opposite of Lucifer in every imaginable way. Lucifer, with his golden magic that breathed life and creation into the world, stood as a beacon of beauty and celestial grace. Adam’s magic, by contrast, was a force of destruction—silver, corrosive, and cold. Where Lucifer’s halo shone with light, Adam’s was a ghastly ring of darkness, fragments of bone that hovered in a grotesque parody of divinity. Lucifer embodied radiance, but Adam... Adam was a twisted figure of decay, a living effigy of death.

And then, in a heartbeat, everything stopped. The chaos that had spiraled around them moments before stilled, as if the world itself had drawn a sharp breath and held it. Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.

Adam staggered backward, horror flooding his veins like ice. His mismatched eyes—green and blue, so wide they hurt—were clouded with disbelief. He felt as though he were drowning in the weight of his own being. A dizzying pulse throbbed at his temples, his head swimming as he arched his back, his skeletal wings trembling on either side of him, quivering under the weight of his agony.

And then he saw it—his shadow, misshapen and grotesque, stretching out beneath him like a harrowing specter. A sob tore from his throat at the sight, a raw, anguished sound.

His hands shot up before him, his fingers bruised and skeletal, trembling with the weight of his disgust.

“What am I?” he gasped, voice cracking as tears of silver and blue welled in his sunken eyes. “What have I become?”

Lucifer, mere feet away, was barely able to stand. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for rest. His own magic, golden and warm, had shrunken inward, drained and depleted from the effort of containing the chaos of Adam’s power. It had been too much—too young, too volatile. If Lucifer had faltered for even a moment, Adam’s destructive magic could have consumed Hell and Heaven alike. The weight of this realization pressed heavily on Lucifer’s chest, his heart pounding in the aftermath of the storm. His claws dug into his knees as he fought for breath, his whole body aching as though it had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.

He blinked through the haze of exhaustion, lifting his gaze to where Adam had collapsed onto his skeletal knees, the wings of bone and dark feathers draped limply around him. Adam’s figure was so broken, so full of anguish, that Lucifer’s heart ached in a way it hadn’t for millennia.

“Adam...” Lucifer began, his voice barely more than a whisper, soft and deliberate, as though he were approaching a wounded, dangerous creature. Each step he took was cautious, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, but he pressed forward.

Adam’s head snapped up, his eyes wild and frantic as they locked onto Lucifer’s. And before Lucifer could react, Adam lunged forward. His skeletal fingers latched onto Lucifer’s pristine white jacket, clutching it with a desperation so raw it sent a tremor through Lucifer’s core.

“Kill me!” Adam’s voice broke, the words tumbling from his lips in ragged sobs. “Please, kill me!”

The tears flowed freely now silver and blue streaks painting his gaunt cheeks. His voice trembled, each word a struggle as his throat throbbed with the strain of his pleading. His hands tightened their grip on Lucifer’s jacket, tugging helplessly as he begged for release.

“You need to kill me! I can’t live like this!” Adam’s voice cracked again; each word laced with despair. “I want to die! Please... kill me.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock, his body jolting as Adam’s weight tugged on him, pulling him forward and backward with each desperate plea. His hands instinctively rose, hovering in the air, unsure whether to push Adam away or hold him closer. His lips parted, but the words caught in his throat, tangled in the raw emotion that had suddenly consumed them both.

“A-Adam, I...” Lucifer stammered, his voice thick with uncertainty, his chest aching as he struggled to find words. But what could he say to this broken, haunted creature before him? He, too, was lost in the swirling chaos of their shared past—of wounds too deep to heal, of choices that had led them to this desolate place.

But Adam’s trembling form clinging to him, begging for death... Lucifer had no words for this. No way to undo the pain. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Kill me, Luci! You need to kill me!” Adam’s sobs tore through the quiet, his voice breaking as blue and silver tears spilled down his gaunt cheeks. His skeletal wings drooped lifelessly to the ground, the bones scraping softly against the cracked earth on either side of him. His whole body trembled with the weight of his anguish, his hollow cries echoing like the lament of a lost soul.

“I was supposed to die, Luci. I shouldn’t be here! I don’t want to be here!”

At the sound of that name—Luci—a shudder ran through Lucifer’s entire body, freezing him in place. Adam hadn’t called him that since Eden, since before the fall, before he had left with Lilith and turned his back on Heaven. It was a name laced with the memory of something far simpler, far more innocent. Lucifer's chest constricted painfully, a burn spreading through him that hadn’t surfaced in centuries. The name clawed at old wounds, ripping them open in ways Lucifer hadn’t expected.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he struggled to catch his breath, his heart hammering in his chest as though it might shatter beneath the weight of Adam's plea. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Lucifer raised his trembling hands, jerking slightly before finally resting them on Adam’s shoulders. The touch was tentative, unsure. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and almost broken.

“I can’t...” The words barely made it past his lips, fragile and uncertain.

Adam’s response was immediate, shaking his head as he cried harder, his body wracked with sobs that tore from the depths of his soul.

“Why not?!” His voice was laced with desperation, the agony of someone who had already lost everything.

“I-I just can’t, Adam…” Lucifer stammered, his own wings beginning to mirror Adam’s, drooping low and heavy as if they shared the same unbearable weight. The once-majestic feathers, streaked with white and red, now seemed dulled in the shadow of his anguish.

“I can’t kill you. I-I... I won’t.”

Lucifer’s voice trembled as he spoke, his chest tightening with every word, with every refusal to grant Adam the one thing he begged for. It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t cruelty. It was something else—something Lucifer didn’t have the strength to name. His hands tightened their hold on Adam’s shoulders, as if grounding himself in the fragile moment between them, unwilling to let go. His breath hitched again, the agony of their shared past and broken present pressing down on him like a weight he could no longer carry.

Adam’s cries continued, his body collapsing beneath the weight of his despair, but Lucifer stood frozen, his heart torn between an impossible decision. How could he grant Adam’s wish? How could he be the one to end it all, when every piece of him screamed to protect what little remained?

“Please, please, kill me. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He hiccupped pitifully.

“I-I just can’t, Adam…” Lucifer gasped, shaking himself. “I can’t kill you. I-I… I won’t.”

At those words, something inside Adam snapped. His sobbing morphed into a cry of rage, his blue and silver magic crackling violently in the air around them.

“I hate you!” he screamed, the words ripping from his throat like a curse. “You ruined my life! You took everything from me!”

His fists clenched, and he pounded them weakly against Lucifer’s chest, though it wasn’t the physical blows that hurt—it was the weight of Adam’s words. “I have never asked you for anything, Luci! Not once! But this… I ask you for this, and you can’t even do it!”

Lucifer stood still, his expression softening, though his heart broke with every word. He didn’t flinch as Adam’s magic lashed out, the chaotic tendrils of blue and silver sparking in the air. He simply listened, his heart aching, guilt weighing heavy in his chest.

“You were my Archangel! My best friend!” Adam continued, his voice cracking under the strain of emotion. “I adored you more than anyone. But you—you betrayed me in the worst possible way! You left me… you hurt me… and I’ve never recovered from that. The pain is still there, festering inside me! And it wasn’t because Lilith left me, that she chose someone else. I could’ve survived that. But what destroyed me was that it was you!”

Adam’s voice broke as he cried out in anguish. “You, Lucifer! The person I trusted more than anyone else. The one I cared about the most! And you—you took her from me. I could never heal from that betrayal! It tore me apart, and it’s never stopped hurting.”

Lucifer’s eyes glistened, his face still, but the pain of Adam’s words cut deeper than any wound. He stood in silence, absorbing every accusation, every ounce of hatred. He deserved it all.

Adam’s magic flared again, wild and uncontrollable.

“You took everything!” he screamed, the rage and sorrow blending into something raw, primal. “You took Lilith! Fine, I could live with that. But then you took Eve! What the hell was I supposed to do?! Did you want me to be alone for my entire life? You took them both! Both! All I ever wanted was to be loved! To belong! But you—you cast me aside, left me in the cold, just like everyone else!”

Adam’s tears streamed down, his voice cracking as he screamed, “I hate you, Lucifer! You’ve always hurt me!”

Lucifer’s knees buckled under the weight of Adam’s words, and slowly, he sank to the ground. Adam weakly hit him on the chest, fists thudding against the fabric of his white suit, but the blows quickly gave way to broken sobs. Without hesitation, Lucifer wrapped his arms around Adam, pulling him close, hugging him tightly. His voice was soft, trembling with regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am a terrible Archangel. A terrible friend. I never wanted to hurt you… I never meant for any of this…”

“But you did!” Adam sobbed. “You’re always hurting me! Every choice you make, every decision—it always ends with me suffering!”

Lucifer squeezed him tighter, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… I thought you’d come around eventually, that—”

“Come around to what?!” Adam interrupted, his voice hollow with disbelief. “You took my only friends! Left me all alone! If Eve hadn’t bitten that apple, I would’ve been in Eden for centuries, alone, because I couldn’t handle someone leaving me again. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you thought would happen?”

“No…” Lucifer whispered, shaking his head, but the words faltered on his tongue. “No, Adam, I wasn’t thinking like that. I just… I wanted everyone to be free. To make their own choices.”

“You were being selfish!” Adam screamed, his voice rising with the chaos of his magic, silver and blue lightning sparking and crackling around them. “You’ve always been selfish, Luci! Every decision you’ve ever made has led to me suffering!”

Lucifer flinched, the truth of Adam’s words hitting him hard. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

But Adam wasn’t finished. His eyes blazed with fury, his magic lashing out in uncontrolled arcs. “You’re still selfish! You don’t even know why Heaven does what it does, why it’s so important to protect the Winners! Do you even understand what it would mean if Charlie managed to redeem a Sinner? Why the Exterminations are so critical?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock, confusion clouding his features.

Adam scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course, you don’t know. You don’t know anything! Hell is filled with abusers, Lucifer! Every Sinner is someone who hurt another soul—who enjoyed hurting them. Every Sinner committed a crime, and every one of them has a victim in Heaven! The Winners are the ones who survived their sins, and now Charlie’s trying to paradise their abusers!”

Lucifer opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He was utterly stunned, caught in the truth of Adam’s words.

Adam’s voice trembled with anger as he continued, “It’s not about second chances. It’s about whether the survivors can live in a paradise knowing their abusers are there too. Every decision Heaven made was to protect the survivors from Hell’s rotten souls.”

Lucifer could only listen in stunned silence as Adam revealed the harsh truth.

“Lilith isn’t trapped in Heaven,” Adam said, his voice quiet but filled with bitter sorrow. “She chose to stay. She saw the survivors, saw what those humans did to them. She’s up there helping them, not because Heaven forced her, but because she wanted to.”

Lucifer's head spun, the world crumbling beneath the weight of this revelation. Everything he had believed, everything he had fought for—it all felt meaningless now. He had been so wrong. So blind.

But the realization brought no comfort to Adam. Seeing Lucifer’s defeated expression didn’t ease his pain. It only made it worse. Adam sobbed harder; his broken heart laid bare.

“Please,” he whispered, the tears choking him. “Just… kill me.”

But once again, Lucifer’s answer was the same.

“No.”

Adam sagged backward, the weight of everything crushing down on him, his head hanging hopelessly, defeat rippling through every inch of his frame. His wings, those macabre skeletal structures draped with trembling blue feathers, drooped even lower, dragging against the ashen ground.

“I hate you so much,” he whispered, his voice hollow and ragged, as if the very words drained the last of his strength.

“I know,” Lucifer responded quietly, his voice thick with a sorrow that mirrored Adam’s despair. He tightened his arms around Adam, pulling him closer as if trying to meld their broken pieces together.

“I hate myself too.”

Neither of them spoke after that. In the silence, the ruins of Lucifer’s Eden replica stretched out around them, the once beautiful imitation of paradise now little more than a graveyard of dreams long dead. Their breaths mingled in the stillness, both clinging to each other, neither wanting to let go, yet neither knowing how to move forward. It was a quiet, desperate embrace, filled with all the things they had never been able to say.

Finally, Adam, voice low and hesitant, broke the silence. “What do you want from me?”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away. His grip tightened slightly, as though afraid that letting go would shatter what fragile connection remained between them. When he finally spoke, he pulled back just enough to meet Adam’s eyes, his gaze filled with a tenderness that was almost painful to behold. His hand reached up to touch the blue circle that was now imprinted on Adam’s cheek, a dark and sad reflection of what once might have been divine grace.

“I loved you,” Lucifer whispered, his fingers tracing the edge of the mark gently. The circle glowed faintly, like a dying ember. “I loved you so much, but my affection—it was too much for you. And for that… for that, I am deeply sorry.”

Adam blinked, confusion crossing his face as he furrowed his brow. He didn’t understand what Lucifer was trying to say, and it only made the ache in his chest throb harder. “What are you talking about?”

Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice a soft breath against Adam’s skin. “I want to make a deal with you.”

The moment the words left Lucifer’s mouth, Adam recoiled violently, yanking himself out of Lucifer’s arms with a sudden surge of anger. He stumbled backward, struggling to his feet, his wings flaring wide in frustration.

“A deal?” he spat, eyes flashing with fury. “You think I’m stupid? You want to bind me to a contract where you own my soul, don’t you? Just like you do with everyone else in Hell!”

His voice was sharp, every syllable dripping with bitter resentment. “I’ll never give you that! You’ve already taken everything from me, Lucifer! The last thing I have is my soul, and I’ll be damned if I ever give that to you.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his hand shooting out to grab Adam by the wrist before he could storm off. “Wait, please—just listen to me.”

Adam growled; his voice dangerously low.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” he hissed, his blue and silver magic beginning to spark dangerously around them again. “For someone who claims to care so much about freedom, about letting humans choose for themselves, you’re awfully eager to take that freedom away. You’re no better than Heaven, Lucifer.”

Lucifer flinched, Adam’s words cutting deep. His grip on Adam’s wrist tightened, but there was no force behind it, only desperation. “I don’t make deals to trap souls, not anymore. That’s not what this is. It’s different. This is different.”

Adam scoffed, pulling his wrist out of Lucifer’s grasp as he glared at him.

“How is it different?” he demanded, the fury in his voice only barely concealing the hurt that still lingered beneath.

Lucifer slowly stood, stepping toward Adam with deliberate caution. He moved close, too close, and looped an arm around Adam’s middle, pulling him back against his chest. His other hand rose once more to touch the sad blue mark on Adam’s cheek.

“Because this time,” Lucifer said, his voice a quiet murmur against the top of Adam’s head, “You’ll own my soul too.”

Adam frowned, the anger giving way to confusion.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “Why would you do that?”

Lucifer’s expression softened; his gaze filled with a rare sincerity that Adam had almost forgotten he was capable of. “Your new power… it’s unstable, dangerous. If what you said is true, that Heaven wants to protect the Winners—if they see you as a threat—they’ll come after you.”

Lucifer’s face darkened at the thought. “And I won’t let that happen.”

Adam scoffed quietly, the bitterness returning as he shook his head. “Why would you stop them? If they kill me, that’s exactly what I want.”

Lucifer growled softly, tightening his hold around Adam, pulling him even closer until their bodies pressed together.

“I’m not letting that happen,” he said firmly, his voice low and warning. “How am I supposed to make up for what I did if I let you die?”

Adam laughed bitterly, a harsh, broken sound. “You seriously think you can make up for all the pain you’ve caused?”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “You’re delusional, Lucifer. I’ll never agree to this.”

Lucifer shrugged, a wide, face splitting grin pulled at the corner of his lips. “Every beginning is born from a bit of insanity.”

Adam rolled his eyes, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he mulled over Lucifer’s words. The weight of the offer hung heavy between them, and the truth of it—the sheer absurdity of it—began to settle in.

“Why would you offer up your own soul?” Adam asked after a long pause, his voice quieter, more hesitant now. “What do you get out of this?”

Lucifer’s grin widened, but it was softer this time, more genuine.

“Because if you own my soul too,” he said, brushing his thumb gently against Adam’s cheek, “You’ll know that I’m not just playing with you. You’ll have power over me, just like I would over you. It wouldn’t be one-sided.”

Adam’s frown deepened, but he couldn’t hide the way his heart raced, the way the offer twisted something inside him. It was tempting. Too tempting.

Lucifer’s eyes never left Adam’s as he whispered, “This way, you’ll never have to doubt my intentions again.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Adam was silent, the weight of Lucifer’s words sinking deep into his soul. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to feel.

Adam stood there, frozen, his heart a mess of conflict and confusion. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn’t want Lucifer to make amends or try to fix the past. He was tired. Bone-deep exhaustion pulled at every part of him. After centuries of existence—living through Eden, Earth, and Heaven—there was nothing left to strive for, no new desires to chase. He had lived a full life, endured countless betrayals, heartbreaks, and wars. Now, all he wanted was rest. He wanted the release of death. Finally. After so long.

As if sensing Adam's inner turmoil, Lucifer leaned in closer, his breath warm against Adam’s lips. It sent a shock through Adam's body, making him stiffen, his eyes widening in confusion.

Lucifer’s voice was a low, intimate whisper, his words caressing the air between them. "You haven’t experienced everything yet, Adam."

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer’s lips curled into a teasing grin, and he ran his claws through Adam’s hair, sending shivers down Adam’s spine. “You once said that I wanted you to be alone, that I took everyone from you. And you’re right. I was selfish. I hurt you, more than I could ever make up for.”

His tone softened, becoming almost mournful. “But that doesn’t mean I never wanted you.”

Adam eyed him suspiciously, the old wounds of betrayal still too raw, too deep.

“Are you only saying that because you want the full set?” he asked bitterly, his voice dripping with resentment.

Lucifer chuckled softly, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes... and no. I loved all three of you back in Eden—Lilith, Eve... and you. But I was blinded by my own pride. I lost sight of you, Adam. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Adam frowned deeply, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. “I’m not into poly,” he muttered.

Lucifer's grin softened, a knowing look in his eyes. “Neither am I. If you’re willing, it would just be the two of us. No one else.”

Adam blinked, the weight of Lucifer’s words sinking in. “In this contract?”

Lucifer shook his head, correcting gently, “No. In a relationship.”

The word sent a sharp pang through Adam’s chest, his breath catching. He couldn’t stop the doubt from creeping into his voice as he asked, “Are you only doing this out of pity? Out of guilt?”

Lucifer didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering as he met Adam’s eyes. “I won’t lie. Maybe guilt plays a part, but my love for you is real. It always has been. Just as much as I loved Lilith and Eve... maybe even more.”

His voice was a tender confession, raw and honest. “My greatest sin wasn’t falling or rebelling. It was not finding you after Eden. I should have come back for you.”

Adam wanted to scoff, to brush Lucifer’s words aside as manipulative lies, but there was something in Lucifer’s eyes—a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in ages.

“I don’t believe you,” Adam whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Lucifer, not missing a beat, reached for Adam’s hand, pressing it firmly against his own chest. Beneath Adam’s palm, Lucifer’s heart pounded erratically, the rapid rhythm betraying the King of Hell’s own unease.

“Feel that?” Lucifer whispered; his voice almost desperate. “I want you, Adam. I want to be with you.”

Adam swallowed thickly, a lump forming in his throat.

“If I agree to this,” he whispered, his voice harsh with emotion, “And you fail—if you hurt me again—you have to kill me.”

Lucifer's face tightened, a frown forming as he instinctively began to protest. “Adam, I—”

But Adam cut him off, covering Lucifer’s mouth with his hand. “That’s the only way I’ll agree to this contract, Lucifer. You have to kill me if you fail.”

Lucifer’s golden eyes darkened with displeasure, his jaw tightening beneath Adam’s palm. He wanted to snarl, to refuse, but Adam was right—he was the King of Lies, the Father of Deception. A sly smirk crept onto Lucifer’s lips, and after a tense moment, he nodded, his eyes gleaming with that familiar wickedness.

“Of course,” he purred, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “If I fail to make you love me in return, I’ll do as you ask.”

But even as he agreed, Lucifer’s fingers crossed behind his back. He had no intention of fulfilling that end of the bargain. After all, failure wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t let it be.

Adam, too weary and conflicted to see through Lucifer’s subtle lie, let his guard down. He sighed, the exhaustion in his soul weighing him down.

“Fine,” he muttered reluctantly. “I agree.”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with triumph, but his expression softened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Adam’s in a kiss that was both gentle and filled with an undercurrent of something far more dangerous. As their lips met, golden and red magic shimmered around them like flames, dancing in the air, while Adam’s silver and blue magic crackled in response, sharp like lightning. Their powers intertwined, a storm of fire and lightning swirling around them as the contract was sealed.

A golden chain appeared around Adam’s throat, gleaming like a collar, while a silver chain coiled around Lucifer’s neck, binding them together, locking them into this shared fate. For a moment, time seemed to still. Their lips remained pressed together, the raw intensity of the magic burning between them, sealing their souls inextricably to one another for all eternity.

When they finally pulled apart, Adam’s eyes were glazed with a mixture of emotions—rage, sorrow, and a flicker of something else he wasn’t ready to name.

Lucifer, his gaze locked on Adam’s, whispered softly, “We’re bound now. For the rest of eternity.”

Adam swallowed hard; his throat tight as he struggled to breathe. The weight of the chains, both literal and metaphorical, settled around him. He was trapped. Bound. But somewhere, in the deepest, darkest part of his heart, a spark of hope flickered, hope that maybe, just maybe, Lucifer wouldn’t fail this time.

But Adam wasn’t naive. He had learned the hard way that love, especially the kind of love Lucifer offered, always came with a price.

“You’ll fail. You’ll kill me.” Adam grumbled.

Lucifer leant in for another kiss, brushing his lips against Adam’s. “I don’t think I will.”

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