What time his pride had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host of rebel Angels.
—John Milton, Paradise Lost
"How you have fallen from heaven, Morning Star, Son of the Dawn!"
"Favorite son no more!"
"No longer will you shine!"
The taunts from his brother angels filled his head as he fell through the clouds. Light and darkness consumed him in flashing turns as he passed through the stars, into the clouds, and toward the earth. The air cut him, and the wind roared around him so deafening that his eardrums burst. Dawn was on the horizon, and he would die before he saw it fully claim the skies.
"You, my brightest star, my favorite among the angels, how you have disappointed me." Father's voice was the hardest to bear.
Lucifer closed his eyes, welcoming the end, the death of light, the death of life.
"You were to bring light into the world, inspire my creations, not corrupt them with your jealousies. Now you will rule the corrupted who follow you and become the king of hell."
The earth rose up to meet him, and he embraced the pain. His angelic heart shattered at the same moment his body broke upon impact. Everything went dark around him. Then bit by bit he became aware of himself, feeling every muscle, every bone, every atom that made up his body, screaming with pain. He hadn't died?
Lucifer gazed up at the endless clouds above him. The rift in the sky that would have let him back into the heavens was closed. He drew in a breath, the air like knives in his lungs. Something was different. He felt…empty. White feathers floated around him, their heavenly luminescence glinting in the sun.
My grace…it's gone.
It seemed like a millennium passed before he realized he lay upon the broken, cracked ground of the earth. His body hurt all over, but the pain was greatest along his shoulder blades. He was glad he could not see his back. There would be two terrible wounds replacing his snow—white wings. He reached out and grasped one of the remaining feathers that floated along the ground close to him and slipped it into the folds of the white tunic he wore. He needed that one bit of heaven, that one bit of home, or else he might go mad with grief.
The light inside him—the glowing essence that had once brought him only joy—was gone. There was nothing left inside him, nothing but darkness. He was in a crater in a desert land. Lucifer struggled to roll onto his stomach, his body too weak to stand.
He lifted his head, hearing the distant sounds of birds. Beyond the wasteland he'd fallen to, a beautiful Eden lay ahead, a land of green, full of beautiful beasts and flowers. Father had spoken so often about the world below the clouds.
Rage flooded through his body, giving him new energy and strength. Somewhere in that Eden were his father's favorite beings—humans. A vile word for vile beings who were no comparison to angels. But he was no longer an angel. He was fallen. A being without wings, without grace.
What am I now?
The question had no ready answer, and he cringed. For the first time in his existence, he didn't know what he really was.
He dug his hands into the arid dirt, clawing his way toward the garden ahead of him. At the center of the beautiful world, a single tree stood tall among the rest. Amidst its branches hung gleaming red apples. Father had spoken of this tree, the one that bore knowledge for the ages. Humans had free will, which angels did not, and if those humans dared break their promise to stay away from the tree, Lucifer would have his revenge and watch his father's favorite creations fall from grace.
Lucifer's lips twitched. He would not have long to wait to get his revenge. He could see the weakness and frailty in humanity. Bringing down the humans, one by one, would break his father's celestial heart, just as he had broken Lucifer's.
The wind carried away the feathers of his once angelic wings. He was glad he had caught one and tucked it safely near his heart. Paradise was lost to him, and he would make sure those damned humans would never reach it either.