As Samael backed away slightly from Cassandra and turned toward the Spectre, something primal and terrifying swept through the room.
The temperature plummeted further, frost crystallizing on the windows in intricate, unnatural patterns.
The green-cloaked figure seemed to draw all light into himself, his presence a void that threatened to consume everything.
Cassandra felt her knees weaken, threatening to buckle beneath her.
Every instinct - honed through years of brutal training - screamed at her to fall prostrate, to submit, to beg for mercy.
The presence before her radiated a feeling that made her just know she was powerless. That she could do nothing. That her fate was sealed.
Death. Death. Death. Death.
The word pulsed through her mind like a drumbeat, her body's warning system pushed into overdrive.
Her training had prepared her for assassins, for terrorists, for the darkest humanity had to offer - not for this- this thing that stood in their room.
The moment stretched, and in it, Cassandra's mind flashed back to her childhood - to the isolation cell where her father had kept her between training sessions.
A small, dark space where she could neither stand fully upright nor lie fully extended.
A place designed to break her will, to ensure she formed no attachments that might distract from her purpose: to become the perfect killing machine.
She remembered the first time she'd killed. How she'd read the victim's body language, understood his fear, his desperate desire to live.
How that understanding had broken something inside her. How she'd run, blood still warm on her hands, until she couldn't run anymore.
And then Lex Luthor had found her. Or rather, his agents had. She'd been brought to him, expecting death - hoping for it, even. Instead, he'd offered her purpose. Protection instead of murder.
A new isolation, but one with better accommodations, better treatment. Still, the goal had been the same: to prevent attachments, to ensure her focus remained singular.
Female teachers who rotated frequently, never the same face for more than a few weeks. Limited contact with Luthor himself, always formal, always professional.
And monthly updates on the boy she would one day protect - Samael Luthor, who lay in his coma, unaware of the guardian being shaped for him.
Luthor had attempted to indoctrinate her, of course. Loyalty conditioning, psychological techniques designed to ensure her obedience. But he had underestimated her.
After breaking free from her father's control, she had developed defenses against such manipulation.
She remained loyal to Luthor not because of his techniques, but because he had offered her something her father never had: basic humanity.
He didn't force her to kill. He didn't subject her to physical torture.
He provided for her needs, respected her abilities, and gave her a purpose that didn't require her to extinguish life.
For that, she was grateful. He didn't have to show even that much kindness. She knew people in his position could have been far worse.
And then she had met Samael.
After a decade of preparation, of studying photographs and medical reports, of training specifically to protect this one person, the reality of him had been... unexpected.
Not the helpless patient she'd imagined, nor the entitled heir she'd feared having to accomodate to properly protect. Instead, she'd found someone who looked at her and saw a person, not a tool.
He'd learned sign language for her comfort, not his convenience. He'd engaged her in conversation, sought her opinions, shared jokes with her.
He'd invited her to dine with him, to experience the world alongside him rather than merely observe from a protective distance.
Without her realizing it, he had become the first person she had ever truly cared for. The first person who had made her feel like more than a weapon, more than a shield. The first person who had made her feel... human.
And now, this entity - this thing, whatever it was, she instinctively knew - threatened him.
The realization cut through her fear like a blade.
Her trembling stopped. Her vision cleared. With a supreme effort of will, she forced her body to move, stepping in front of Samael, placing herself between him and the Spectre.
Her assassin's knife appeared in her hand, its edge gleaming in the ghostly green light.
She knew, on some level, that the blade would be useless against such a being. But it didn't matter. She would fight. She would die if necessary. For him.
Samael's eyes widened, the hellfire in them momentarily eclipsed by surprise. Then his expression softened, something like wonder passing across his features.
He placed a hand on her shoulder - his touch startlingly cold against her heated, adrenaline-flushed skin.
A sensation followed, like cool water flowing over her, through her. The fear receded, her racing heart slowed, her mind cleared.
It was as if a protective bubble had formed around her, shielding her from the Spectre's overwhelming presence.
"Rest easy, Cassandra," Samael said, his voice gentle but carrying an authority of its own. He stepped forward, gently moving her behind him. "I'll take care of this."
The Spectre's gaze shifted, taking in this interaction with cold assessment. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from everywhere, echoing with the weight of cosmic law.
"Samael Luthor," the Spectre intoned, the name carrying strange resonance in his voice. "Or should I address the power that dwells within you?"
Samael smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression that held no warmth. "You may address me as Samael. And you are the Spectre, I presume? Spirit of Vengeance, Heaven's executioner. To what do I owe the pleasure of this... dramatic entrance?"
"I come to assess," the Spectre replied, his cloak swirling around him like living shadow. "To judge. The presence of Lightbringer power on Earth has not gone unnoticed."
"Evidently not," Samael said dryly. "Though I question your jurisdiction here. I've broken no divine laws. Harmed no innocents. My existence alone is hardly cause for... whatever this is." He gestured vaguely at the Spectre's manifestation.
"Your existence," the Spectre said, "is an anomaly. A disruption in the cosmic order. The Lightbringer's power was not meant to walk the Earth, to dwell in mortal flesh."
"And yet, here I am," Samael replied, spreading his arms slightly. "Which suggests that perhaps your understanding of what is 'meant to be' might be incomplete."
The Spectre's eyes narrowed, the green glow intensifying. "You speak with the arrogance of the Morningstar."
"I speak with the confidence of one who knows his own capabilities," Samael countered. "Now, state your purpose clearly. Are you here to threaten? To warn? Or merely to satisfy your curiosity?"
The Spectre regarded him for a long moment. "I come to determine your nature. Your intentions. The last being to wield the power you possess brought war to Heaven and corruption to Earth."
"I am not Lucifer," Samael said firmly. "I may carry the same light, but I am my own being, with my own choices to make."
"And what choices will you make, Samael Luthor?" the Spectre asked, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the room. "Will you follow the path of rebellion? Will you bring chaos to the divine order?"
"I haven't decided yet," Samael replied with a slight smile. "I'm still exploring my options. Though I must say, uninvited visitors making vague threats doesn't incline me toward cooperation with Heaven."
The Spectre's form seemed to grow, shadows stretching across the walls. "This is not a matter for jest. The power you wield could unmake reality itself."
"I'm well aware of my capabilities," Samael said, his own voice taking on a harder edge. "And I'm equally aware that I haven't used them to harm anyone. Which makes your presence here... premature, at best. Provocative, at worst."
The tension in the room built, power gathering around both figures. Cassandra, still protected by Samael's grace, watched the confrontation with clear eyes. She could feel the energies building, could sense the danger escalating with each exchange.
"You harbor resentment," the Spectre observed. "Anger. Pride. The same seeds that corrupted Lucifer."
"I harbor humanity," Samael corrected. "A full spectrum of emotions that you, in your cold judgment, might have forgotten.
And speaking of judgment - you still haven't clarified whether you're here to threaten me or merely to issue dire warnings."
The Spectre's expression remained impassive. "I am here to evaluate. To determine if action is required."
"And if you decide action is required?" Samael asked, his voice deceptively casual. "What then?"
"Then justice will be served," the Spectre replied simply.
Samael laughed, a sound that held genuine amusement. "You believe you could enforce your justice upon me? That's... optimistic."
For the first time, uncertainty flickered across the Spectre's features. Something in Samael's confidence gave him pause.
"You underestimate your opponent," the Spectre warned.
As a silent stare down stretched between them, it was interrupted by the sudden sound of thunder breaking across the sky.
The ceiling of the mansion seemed to dissolve, revealing not the expected storm clouds but a vast expanse of impossibly deep gold - the color of Heaven's sky.
Through this celestial rift descended three figures, their forms wreathed in light so pure it hurt to look upon them.
Two large wings unfurled from each of their backs - covering their faces, covering their feet, while descending.
Armor gleamed on their forms, seeming to shift between solid matter and pure energy with each movement.
"HALT!" a command echoed from above.
The first angel to touch down was tall and lithe, her armor golden with accents of deep crimson.
Her wings seemed to catch fire at the edges when she moved while a mane of golden hair framed a face full of beauty.
"Spectre," she spoke, "You overstep. This judgment was not sanctioned by the Heavenly Host."
The second angel landed with the grace of sunlight falling through leaves. His armor shimmered with the colors of dawn, and his wings cast prismatic patterns across the walls.
His face was serene yet radiant, eyes that contained galaxies regarding the Spectre with calm disapproval.
"Most presumptuous," he said, "To approach the Lightbringer without consensus. Without proper protocol. Without... invitation."
The third angel descended last, his armor the purest white, adorned with symbols that seemed to shift and change when viewed directly.
His wings were the most substantial of the three, each feather etched with what appeared to be living text in a language no mortal could comprehend. His face was stern, his posture formal.
"By what authority do you act, Spirit of Vengeance?" he demanded, "The Host has made no determination regarding Samael Luthor. Your presence here constitutes a breach of celestial protocol."
The Spectre's form seemed to condense, becoming more solid, more defined in the presence of these angels. "I answer to divine justice, not to the politics of the Silver City," he replied, his voice cold. "The appearance of Lightbringer power warrants investigation."
"Investigation, perhaps," the female angel conceded, stepping forward. "Intimidation, no." Her gaze shifted to Samael, and her expression softened fractionally. "I am Ariel, Lioness of God. These are my brothers, Shamsiel, the Sun of God, and Yahoel, Voice of the Divine."
"Charmed," Samael replied dryly, though his eyes remained fixed on the Spectre. "I assume you've come to call off your attack dog?"
Ariel's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "We've come to ensure proper procedure is followed. The Presence has not authorized action against you, Samael Luthor."
"The Presence has been silent on this matter," the Spectre countered.
"Precisely," Shamsiel interjected, his voice melodious even in disagreement. "Silence is not sanction, grim one. Silence is... contemplation. Observation. The space between notes that gives music meaning."
He moved, positioning himself slightly between the Spectre and Samael. "We must not mistake absence for permission."
"The Fifth Heaven stands empty," Yahoel stated, his tone formal but his eyes intense. "Its throne awaits its rightful ruler. The Lightbringer's return is not a threat to order but the fulfillment of it."
Cassandra, still protected by Samael's grace, watched this exchange with wide eyes.
Though the angels' presence was overwhelming, Samael's protection allowed her to observe without the crushing fear she had experienced when the Spectre first appeared.
The Spectre's green energy swirled more intensely. "You speak of welcoming him to Heaven? When he has not been tested? When his nature remains unproven?"
"His nature is clear to those with eyes to see," Ariel replied, her voice taking on a fiercer edge. "The Lightbringer walks again. The Morning Star shines once more. Heaven has been diminished in his absence, and now the Presence has provided a path for restoration."
"You presume to know the mind of God," the Spectre accused.
"And you do not?" Shamsiel countered, his voice still musical but sharper now. "Curious, how we all interpret silence to suit our purposes. I hear in it... patience. You hear... suspicion. Perhaps we are both projecting our own natures onto the divine canvas."
"Enough," Yahoel interjected, his commanding tone silencing both parties. "The matter is simple. The Spectre has no mandate to act against Samael Luthor. Without such mandate, his presence here is unauthorized."
He turned to the Spirit of Vengeance. "You will withdraw and await proper instruction."
The Spectre's form seemed to pulse with frustration, but after a moment of tense silence, he nodded. There being no justice in slaughtering the soldiers of the Lord. "I will withdraw. For now." He turned, his cloak swirling around him as he prepared to depart.
"Where do you think you're going?" Samael's voice cut through the room, sharp as a blade.
All eyes turned to him. The hellfire in his gaze had not diminished; if anything, it burned more intensely now, casting his face in demonic light.
"You come into my home," Samael continued, "You terrify my woman. You threaten me with your 'justice.' And now you think to simply leave, as if nothing happened?"
The Spectre paused, turning back to face him. "I have been instructed to withdraw."
"And I haven't given you permission to go," Samael replied, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Not without proper... restitution."
The three angels exchanged glances, their composure momentarily shaken by this turn of events.
"Samael," Ariel began cautiously, "the Spectre has agreed to depart. Perhaps it would be wise to-"
"To what?" Samael interrupted, his eyes never leaving the Spectre. "To let him leave without consequence? To show that anyone can threaten me, threaten those under my protection, without repercussion?" He took a step forward. "I think not."
In the spiritual plane, unseen by Cassandra but clearly visible to the celestial beings present, six massive wings unfurled from Samael's back - wings of pure, cold light that seemed to draw illumination from every corner of the room.
They spread wide, an intimidating display of power that caused even the three angels to take an instinctive step back.
"Kneel," Samael commanded the Spectre, his voice letting a bit of its angelic nature slip, "Apologize for your presumption. For the fear you caused. That is the price of your departure."
The Spectre's form bristled with indignation. "I kneel only before divine justice. Not before you, Lightbringer."
"Then you shall not leave," Samael replied simply. "At least, not whole."
The angels, who moments before had been advocating for de-escalation, now watched with fascination.
Their earlier intervention forgotten as they observed this display of the Lightbringer's nature - a glimpse of the power and presence they had missed for eons.
"We should intercede," Yahoel murmured, though he made no move to do so.
"Should we?" Ariel questioned softly. "Perhaps this is... appropriate. The Spectre overstepped. The Lightbringer responds."
"A test," Shamsiel agreed, his voice barely audible. "Of wisdom. Of might. Of right. Let us observe what he is truly capable of."
The Spectre, sensing that his former allies would not intervene, gathered his power. "You make a grave error, challenging me," he warned.
Samael's smile was terrible to behold. "Cassandra," he said still without looking away from the Spectre, "close your eyes and take care of my body. This won't take long."
Cassandra, though confused by his words, found herself obeying without question. She closed her eyes tightly, trusting him completely despite the strangeness of his request.
The moment her eyes shut, the room exploded with light - light so intense it would have blinded mortal eyes, light that poured from every pore of Samael's body, from the spaces between the atoms making him up.
His human form crumpled, suddenly emptied of the heavenly presence that had inhabited it.
Ariel moved, catching his falling body before it hit the floor. She lowered it gently to the ground, her expression one of reverence.
The Spectre and Samael's true form - a being of pure light and terrifying beauty - crashed into each other, as Samael slammed himself into the Spectre,
the impact sending them both hurtling through the veil between worlds, away from the physical plane and toward the burning depths of Hell.
The three angels stood in silent witness, their sight allowing them to observe the battle as it began.
Their expressions shifted between awe and concern as the two mighty beings clashed in the infernal realm.
"Should we follow?" Yahoel asked, his formal demeanor cracking slightly.
"No," Ariel replied, her gaze still fixed on the place where Samael and the Spectre had vanished from. "This is his battle. His statement of intent."
"A declaration," Shamsiel agreed, his voice for once lacking its musical quality. "To Heaven. To Hell. To all who would challenge him. Most... eloquent."
Cassandra, eyes still tightly shut, felt instinctively the sudden absence of Samael's presence, as the gentle cold around her weakened a bit. "What's happening?" she asked, her voice small in the vast silence that had fallen.
The angels exchanged glances, but none answered her.
In the depths of Hell, light and vengeance clashed, their conflict sending shockwaves through the infernal planes.
And in a mansion in Gotham, three angels of Heaven stood vigil over an empty vessel and a woman loved by the Star of Dawn they were waiting the victorious return of.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
So yeah, Samael and the Spectre will fight. What?
You didn't think I would end it on such an anticlimactic note as them not fighting did you? Samael would appear like a doormat if he did, and he is anything but, since he is quite prideful.
Though, don't think this leaving of the body is without repricussions - nothing significant, just that he can't do this a lot, bad for the body, probably leaves a slight scar,
that and this situation is unique, as the Spectre enhanced the universe's stability since he took into account probably fighting Samael - something Samael knew as he checked before doing so.
Otherwise, the universe would've probably imploded from the instant where Samael was in his true form within it, since he is a demiurgic archangel, and DC Lucifer's true presence destroyed an entire multiverse.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)