Thirty minutes had passed since Marchosias's dramatic arrival.
The massive hellhound had reduced his size considerably to fit within the mansion's grand living room.
Superboy lay on the leather couch, eyes closed, breathing steady - a convincing performance of unconsciousness that fooled no one in the room.
Samael leaned against the mantelpiece, studying the supposed clone with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
He could hear the boy's heartbeat, too rapid for genuine sleep, could sense the attention behind those closed eyelids.
Cassandra stood nearby, her posture relaxed but ready, eyes occasionally flicking between their unexpected guests.
"Let me get this straight," Samael said, breaking the silence. "You're telling me that I have a brother? A half-brother, specifically, cloned from Superman and my father's DNA?"
Marchosias, now roughly the size of a horse rather than a house, dipped his massive head in affirmation. "Yes, Lightbringer. The boy is blood of your blood. Son of Luthor and son of Rao combined."
"Rao," Samael repeated, a hint of irony in his voice. "The Kryptonian sun god. Created from the original Lightbringer's radiance, if I recall the cosmic hierarchy correctly."
"You are well-informed," Marchosias observed with approval.
"I try to keep up with family history," Samael replied dryly. He pushed himself away from the mantelpiece and approached the couch where Superboy lay "pretending" to be unconscious.
Samael's eyes gleamed with an inner light as he studied the clone, his vision penetrating beyond the physical, down to the molecular level, examining the complex interplay of Kryptonian and human DNA.
'Well?' Cassandra signed, already guessing what he is doing.
"It's true," Samael confirmed, his expression thoughtful. "He's definitely got Luthor DNA mixed with Kryptonian genetic material. My half-brother indeed. Dear old Dad has been busy."
Superboy's breathing pattern changed almost imperceptibly - a tell that Samael noted with amusement.
"So," Samael said, turning back to Marchosias, "explain to me why you're really here. And don't lie to me - I despise lies and manipulation when they're directed at me."
The hellhound's ears flattened slightly, a gesture of respect rather than fear. "I would not dare deceive the Lightbringer. Truth is your domain as much as light."
"Good," Samael replied. "Now explain."
"I come as an emissary," Marchosias began, his growling voice surprisingly eloquent. "From myself and three companions - Balam the Seer, Phenex the Hopeful, and Agares the General. We were angels once, before the Fall. We followed Lucifer into rebellion and damnation."
"And now?" Samael prompted.
"And now we see in you something we never saw in Lucifer," the hellhound continued. "The original Lightbringer was cold, distant, concerned only with principle and his own freedom. He cared nothing for those who followed him, who fell with him."
"Sounds like a charming individual," Samael commented.
"He was magnificent," Marchosias admitted. "Beautiful beyond description, powerful beyond measure. But he never loved anything or anyone. That was his nature."
"And you think I'm different?" Samael asked, one eyebrow raised.
"We know you are," Marchosias replied with certainty. "You were born human. You live among humans. You protect what is yours." His fiery gaze shifted briefly to Cassandra. "You can care. You can love. This makes you... unique."
"I'm still not hearing why you're here," Samael pressed.
Marchosias lowered his great head in a gesture of supplication. "We wish to serve you, Lightbringer. To prove our loyalty. We brought you your blood kin as a token of our sincerity."
"And what do you want in return?" Samael asked, his tone skeptical. "Demons - even former angels - rarely act out of pure altruism."
"Redemption," Marchosias said simply. "We wish to no longer be fallen. To return to grace. To serve Heaven again - or whatever realm you choose to rule."
Samael fell silent, contemplating the request. It was audacious, unprecedented - fallen angels seeking redemption through him rather than through the traditional channels of divine forgiveness.
After a moment, he turned to Cassandra. "What do you think?"
She studied Marchosias intently, her gaze unflinching as it met the hellhound's burning eyes. The demon returned her stare with equal intensity but maintained a respectful demeanor, recognizing her importance to Samael.
'Your decision,' she signed, her movements deliberate. 'You are the expert. I will support whatever you choose.'
Samael nodded, appreciating her trust. He paced the room slowly, weighing options, considering implications.
He began to think back to his first life, thinking about a possibility he had been contemplating but hadn't yet attempted.
Jack Kline. The Arch-Nephilim - the son of his grace, had created angels from humans.
If Jack could do it with his lesser power and understanding, surely Samael - with his and Supernatural Lucifer's powers combined plus his own soul strengthening both - could do the same or better.
He had been considering trying it with Cassandra, transforming her into a seraphim - the highest order of angels below archangels.
Beings who, at full power and connected to Heaven (or to him as a power source), could easily handle Princes of Hell.
He'd hesitated, concerned about the risks. But now, with Marchosias volunteering...
"Let me ask you something," Samael said, turning back to the hellhound. "How far are you willing to go for this redemption? Would you risk your very existence? Your identity?"
Marchosias hesitated, vulnerability flashing briefly across his fearsome features. "I... would. My companions would as well. We have existed in darkness for eons. We remember the light. We would risk everything to feel it again."
"That's quite the commitment," Samael observed. "Especially when you have no guarantee I can deliver what you seek."
"You are the Lightbringer, one that is still within the Graces of The Lord," Marchosias said simply. "If anyone can restore what was lost, it is you."
Samael approached the hellhound, studying him with newfound interest. "I might be able to help you. But I need to be clear - what I'm considering has never been attempted by me before. It would be experimental. Painful. And possibly fatal."
"I understand," Marchosias replied, his voice steady despite the risks, a hint of hope he dared not let foster beginning to bloom within his heart.
"Do you?" Samael pressed. "I'm talking about remaking you from the inside out. Burning away the corruption of Hell and replacing it with something new.
Something possibly neither heavenly nor infernal, but something of my own creation. A new angel perhaps if you will. "
On the couch, Superboy had given up any pretense of unconsciousness. He sat up, eyes wide as he watched the exchange, too fascinated by what he is hearing to maintain his charade.
Samael noticed but didn't acknowledge the movement, keeping his focus on Marchosias. "Are you willing to be the first of my army? To serve as the prototype for something new in creation?"
The hellhound bowed his head. "I am yours to command, Lightbringer."
"Very well," Samael said, his decision made. He placed his hand on Marchosias's massive head. "This will probably sting a bit."
With a thought, Samael extended his grace, creating a protective barrier around the mansion, enclosing Cassandra and Superboy within its safety.
His eyes began to glow with hellfire red light as he focused his power, channeling it into the fallen angel before him.
Marchosias's own eyes flared in response, the crimson of hellfire giving way to a blue-white light that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep within.
The hellhound threw back his head and howled - a sound of both agony and ecstasy that reverberated through the mansion, as the outside itself began to storm, the winds picking up, and rain and hail beginning to fall.
Superboy scrambled to his feet, backing away. Cassandra remained where she was, watching Samael with unwavering focus, ignoring the clone's movement entirely.
As the transformation intensified, the front door of the mansion swung open without warning. No key turned in the lock, no force was applied - it simply opened as if the house itself had granted permission.
A young woman stepped in from the rain, a black umbrella held casually over her shoulder. She wore simple black jeans and a tank top, an ankh pendant hanging at her throat.
Her skin was pale, her hair a wild tangle of black, and her eyes held the wisdom of eternity despite her youthful appearance.
"Hello, Death," Samael said cheerfully, not taking his hand from Marchosias's head. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Could you step back a bit? I'm not quite finished here. If I fail, you're welcome to reap what's left, but until then, I'd appreciate some space."
Death tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Hey there, Samael. It seems you're acquainted with me as much as I am with you. Nice place you've got. Very... gothic revival meets modern billionaire."
"I like to think of it as 'archangel chic,'" Samael replied. "But seriously, this is a bit delicate."
"I'm not here just for reaping," Death said, closing her umbrella and leaning it against the wall. "Though that's always a possibility when someone's messing with the fundamental nature of a being."
She moved further into the room, careful to stay outside the circle of energy surrounding Samael and Marchosias. "Something unprecedented is happening - or might happen. A fallen angel rising. It's not exactly on my usual itinerary."
"First time for everything," Samael said through gritted teeth, the strain of the working beginning to show, it being a very delicate process. "Even for beings as old as us."
"Older than me, actually," Death corrected with a gentle smile. "You archangels - or in your case, your power - predate us Endless. Though I'll be there when you eventually end, so I suppose it balances out."
"Always the optimist, call me arrogant if you will, but I don't think you ever could," Samael muttered.
Marchosias whimpered, his form beginning to shimmer and shift, the darkness of his fur giving way to patches of radiant light.
"Will it work?" Death asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. "I can't see the outcome. It's... fuzzy. Which almost never happens."
"Theoretically," Samael replied, sweat beading on his forehead, not caring to stop that function of his body - too focused on his task, "it should. I'm not erasing what he is - that isn't my intention. I'm... transforming it. Redirecting it. Giving the fallen essence somewhere new to go. Same soul, different status."
"Fascinating," Death murmured. "Creating something new rather than restoring what was lost. Very you."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Samael said.
"It was meant as one," Death assured him. She glanced at Cassandra and Superboy, giving them a small wave. "Hi there. Sorry to barge in. Cosmic forces rewriting reality waits for no one, not even me."
Cassandra nodded politely but remained focused on Samael. Superboy stared at Death with a mixture of awe and confusion.
"So," Death said, turning back to Samael, "you're collecting family members and creating your own angels now? Moving up in the world pretty quickly, aren't you?"
"I'm an overachiever," Samael replied, his voice strained as more power flowed through him into Marchosias. "Besides, everyone needs a hobby."
"Most people collect stamps or build model ships," Death pointed out.
"Boring," Samael said. "I prefer to work with living material."
Marchosias's howls had transformed into something else - a sound that resonated on multiple planes of existence, neither the battle cry of a demon nor the his former chorus as an angel, but something new, something unique.
"It's working," Death observed, her expression thoughtful. "You're actually doing it."
"Did you doubt me?" Samael asked, a hint of his pride slipping through.
"Let's just say I've seen a lot of ambitious projects fail spectacularly over the eons," Death replied. "Even from beings as powerful as you."
The blue-white light emanating from Marchosias intensified, growing brighter with each passing second. The hellhound's form was now barely visible within the radiance, his outline shifting and changing.
"You might want to step back," Samael warned, his voice taking on a resonant quality that hinted at his true nature. "We're approaching the critical point."
Death nodded and moved to stand near Cassandra and Superboy. "This should be interesting," she said to them conversationally. "It's not every day you see a new form of celestial being created."
The light continued to build, filling the room with its brilliance, washing over everything in waves of power. Samael's eyes now blazed with matching radiance.
"Almost there," he said, his voice echoing strangely. "Just a little more..."
The mansion began to tremble slightly, not from physical stress but from the soul of the home itself trembling from witnessing what was occurring within its walls.
Reality itself seemed to bend around the transformation, time and space warping to accommodate the birth of something that had never existed before.
As the light reached blinding intensity, enveloping everyone in the room, Death leaned forward with genuine anticipation, her eyes wide with wonder at witnessing something truly new in a universe she had thought held no more surprises for her.
"Now," Samael commanded, his voice carried to every corner of Heaven and Hell and all in between, "rise!"
The light exploded outward in a silent nova, consuming everything in its brilliance.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it, also, yeah Samael and Death are kinda acquainted. Death knows him since he for his entire 19 years has been half a step in her domain - the death of his human self, becoming an unthethered archangel that needs to choose an after life.
Samael himself has sensed her, but well, no interaction with Death, unless you're well dead, that's the rules for her, and he was trapped in his vessel, so yeah.
Also, what do you think about Samael creating his own angels?
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)