The humiliation was a fire in Lucifer's veins, hotter than any hellfire. To be held, constrained, overpowered like some common brawler—it was an insult that burned deeper than any wound. The cracks in his composure weren't just showing; they were splitting wide open.
"Unhand me," he snarled, his voice a low, vibrating thing that was more beast than angel. "You gutter-born relic!"
Zeus just tightened his grip, the storm-energy making his muscles crackle. "It's over, Lucifer."
A horrible, broken sound escaped Lucifer's lips. It wasn't a scream. It was a laugh, sharp and jagged, like glass grinding on stone. "Over? You think this is my limit?"
His body, held tight against Zeus's, began to grow hot. Not the cold void-like chill of before, but a real, physical, burning heat. The fine robes he wore began to smolder, then blacken.
