This chapter contains mild triggering details for people with suicidal tendencies.

Two large sash windows vibrated with each blow of the wind. A storm was fast approaching the horizon.

By this hour, he should already be at Bessie's brothel or some other alehouse, but tonight was different.

Inside this small, well-furnished office, many empty bottles and papers littered the cherry wood floor. The maid wouldn't come until the morning, but Luc was used to this mess. He sat on his favorite oxblood-colored Windsor chair, one of many fine pieces of furniture in the room, and stared out aimlessly into the night.

He thought about life in general and his long, meaningless one. Not a lot had changed. He was still alone. No friends or family. Not one person in this world, even his right-hand man, knew what he thought or felt—if he felt—half the time. It should be that way. After centuries, Luc had learned to welcome solitude.

The people at Bessie's brothel, which he frequented and would probably head to in a few minutes—his favorite 'home away from home'—were not the exception. The brothel's very existence equally enthralled and disgusted Luc. He could choose any fine leisure establishment uptown that fit his wealth and status, but Luc was drawn to this God-forsaken place for some reason. A garden of cursed beauties, filled with sins, the brothel reminded him of fire and clay, of raw materials mixing in the Mold...

After a long minute of reminiscing, Luc finally got on his feet. He had downed the whole month's worth of alcohol in his cellar. Forty-three barrels, to be exact, were all gone within an hour. They were supposed to be there for the hotel's grand opening. Now, he would have to restock again.

Luc groaned, thinking about the inconvenience, but it was the story of his life. A series of inconveniences. Just as now, when he wanted to get drunk, it didn't happen. All Luc experienced was sluggishness coursing through his body. His thoughts slowed down, but his senses heightened, even more than usual. The memories were ignited all at once, eating him alive.

Sometimes, Luc wondered how much it would take to make him completely lose it. Maybe he had already gone insane.

Recently, Luc had bought a pub. A small but full of potential business just as many others under his name. Everything was handled properly, so Luc supposed it could be a cause for celebration. He didn't need more possessions, but it felt good to have more. Never hurt to expand his ever-growing empire. Luc liked it despite the pointless nature of it all.

Life had been peaceful. It had been months since the last time he'd felt the urge. When the old owner of the pub had crawled on the ground, begging for his life, Luc could've done it. It would've been easy and fun, fueling him for days with cheap excitement, but he had refused to give in to it. The comfort of a kill was a drug, a honey trap that would be nearly impossible to shake off, and Luc knew better. He had learned a lot, believe it or not. Self-awareness was his new weapon. If a kill didn't bring anything besides a fleeting joy, why waste time and energy?

Brother, I'm very disappointed. There will be no redemption, no turning back from this. You forced my hand... No, you are no brother of mine...

Sometimes he could still feel the jab of those words. The faint pity in them pierced through his soul, destroying it, and Luc knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Under the Holy Order and the power bestowed upon me, I, Michael the First Born, from this moment cast you out and forbid you from entering the Gate...

There had been a lot of flowery words after that, but Luc couldn't remember most of them. His world had become a blur until the moment Michael's embellished pommel hit him in the chest. It had been the force of a million worlds combined, and Luc's vision had gone blank. His subconscious had screamed throughout the whole ordeal, but he couldn't open an eye or move any part of his body. Luc had felt the pain from the inside out. His ethereal heart had materialized and broken into countless pieces. Its fragments had scattered in the wind before raining down, turning the sky red.

However, that wasn't the thing that had nearly killed Luc. The last image before he fell was.

...

Seemingly boundless sorrow filled Michael's thousand fiery eyes. His massive six wings lowered and draped around his body like heavy armor as if to shield him from the reality he didn't want to witness. His halo dimmed to almost nothing. Luc's brother was the largest and most terrifying creature that he had ever known, but in that moment, Michael looked so miserable that Luc almost forgot about his own pain.

There was nothing but a realization sinking in his chest. That was it, the end of everything he had ever known, loved, and cherished. There was nothing anyone, his all-powerful brother included, could do to change his fate. Luc had done the damage, and now he had to pay the price. This family and brotherhood no longer had a place for him. Luc didn't belong there with them, or anywhere.

Luc had always known what would come when he acted upon his emotions. They were legitimate, but who cared? No one patted him on his shoulder and said he had done the right thing.

Doubt and jealousy were two deadly snakes. Once their fangs sunk into him and the venom was released, it changed Luc. He had spewed lies among his siblings, invoking fear and hatred. He had asked them to pick a side, knowing what would happen if they picked wrong. He was the one who pushed his family down the road of no return.

The seed of treachery bloomed into something Luc couldn't control. In the end, when the deepest, darkest part of everyone had been let loose, the chaos began. His brothers and sisters were confused, scared, and hurt. They had been abandoned by Father and it was almost too easy to manipulate them. Most didn't survive to see the aftermath, and Luc had to carry that for the rest of his worthless existence.

Luc's opinion stayed the same. The weird, primitive creatures that Father loved so much should take a big part of the blame. They were the root of the problem. Luc remembered countless times Father had locked Himself in The Chamber, trying to finesse those creatures, giving them more features and abilities. Father had created a perfect place for them to thrive, but those creatures weren't good. They were selfish and destructive, only knew to take, take, take until there was nothing left, then cried for more. They were basic and ugly. Nothing meaningful about them, but Father loved them so much. Oh, He loved them before having a clear plan for them. He loved them after knowing all of their flaws and limitations. He clearly loved them more than Luc and his siblings, The First Children.

Michael used to agree with him that it was ridiculously unfair the way Father had put His new toys above their family, but Michael had also changed. He had become less and less vocal about the injustice they all had suffered. One day, Michael had told Luc to shut up and stop questioning, or he would be forced to "do something". At that moment, Luc realized his brother had not been on his side for a long time. Maybe it had been the case from the very start, but Luc had been too naive and stubborn to see.

...

A loud snap from some wet branch outside the window woke Luc up. His pocket watch continued ticking to its sleepy rhythm. Time to go. Luc didn't really want to, but was there anything else better to do?

***

The streets were wet and uneven. Miserable nonstop rains had completely covered the cobblestones with mud. Horse hooves clopped busily everywhere. People tried to get home as quickly as possible, and soon, there was not a soul lingering about besides some beggars.

Every corner Luc had passed reeked of piss and rotten garbage. Why on Earth would he decide to walk through these wretched alleys instead of riding his coach in this weather? He regretted it. Tonight was definitely not the night for this whimsical method of traveling, but Luc's mind was on the verge of exploding. He could not stay home for one more minute, and his coachman had gone for the day.

Luc crossed another street without looking while whistling a joyous tune he had learned some time ago from a Northern tribe. All he could think about was the warmth of a fire, some rum, and a girl's silky skin. The habits he had picked up throughout the years were nothing honorable, but that was all he got.

Luc passed some more painfully slow vehicles that still occupied the road, thinking about how it would feel if one managed to kill or just hurt him a little.

The thought gave him a rush. Luc started walking faster and whistling louder. He craved for it—the finality— but Luc knew that was something he would never have.

Luc's honey-colored hair was messy under his top hat. His outfit was not better. A huge carriage just barely missed him, and Luc laughed like a mad person at the colorful language the coachman threw at him. What an amusing fool.

Luc caught his breath after the laughing fit. His taste buds itched for something strong, and he couldn't care less what. The sign of Bessie's Brothel was right in front of him. It was almost invisible in the rain, but Luc could see it even with his eyes closed.

The suggestive green pinecone next to the cursive 'B' had turned brown over time. It was as obnoxious as the first time he had seen it. The whole building stuck out like a giant flesh-eating flower. Even the paint color was hideous. A sight for sore eyes, but it delivered the message.

The madam, Bessie Bonnococ, was a bold woman. The more money and influence she had acquired, the less she cared about others' opinions, and Luc couldn't hate her for that. It was the way of this world or any world. Be as aggressive and cutthroat as possible. Step on others if necessary. At least, Bessie took care of her workers.

Luc had been to a fair share of pleasure houses to know the girls and boys at Bessie's got it way better compared to their counterparts at any other places. Those poor souls of Bayside, for example, would have to bare their goods out for pennies in all kinds of harsh weather and suffer all kinds of abuse. They experienced true hell on Earth, servicing the worst of the worst: Sailors and workers of the port, passing by travelers, and criminals. A lot of times, it would be the coppers who took advantage of them. The men in uniform were just as bad, if not worse.

Luc looked up at the sky. The clouds had cleared a bit. He could see some stars and constellations, but further than that, it was only the color black. He couldn't see home. Luc knew he was not here to be anyone's savior. The concept had been lost to him a long time ago. Now, he only knew how to use and exploit humans. Tricked them to believe they would get what they desired as long as they were loyal to him.

A large body pushed him hard, cutting his train of thought, but Luc's feet were grounded on the pavement. Even a hurricane could not move him.

"You gibface! You ruined my shoes!" Luc remarked amusedly.

One of his very fine leather shoes had been stained with a big muddy footprint. He looked at it, then at the man who had done the deed. Luc could snap the neck of this burly wasted meat bag like a twig, but blood on his new wool coat would be unfortunate.

"Harry," Luc wrapped his arm around the big man's shoulders. "Next time you don't open your toad eyes and see who is in front of you, I'll gouge them out and make you swallow them, alright?"

Luc patted Harry's shoulder and gave the man a graceful smile as if he had just invited an old friend out for tea. Winking at the clearly spooked and not-very-bright human, Luc pushed past him to enter the building...

Luc

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