Chapter 5: An Unholy Alliance

The Blackstone Asylum crouched against the night sky like a Gothic nightmare given form. Seven stories of Victorian architecture twisted into impossible angles, its broken windows reflecting streetlights in patterns that hurt to look at directly. The building had been abandoned for three decades, but it wore its emptiness like a shroud—too eager, too complete, as if something had deliberately scoured away all traces of human habitation.

Lucifuge approached from the east, his enhanced senses probing the structure for supernatural signatures. What he found made his blood run cold. The entire building pulsed with accumulated power, layer upon layer of ritual magic that had transformed the asylum into something between a fortress and a battery. The Promethean Circle hadn't just chosen this place for its isolation—they'd been preparing it for years.

He was circling toward the main entrance when the attack came.

The first spell missed him by inches, a lance of pure force that shattered the concrete where he'd been standing. Lucifuge dove behind a rusted ambulance, his hand moving to the silver blade as three figures emerged from the asylum's shadow.

They wore dark robes that seemed to drink light, their faces hidden behind masks of polished obsidian. But it was their hands that marked them as serious threats—fingers that ended in claws of crystallized magic, weapons that could tear through both flesh and soul with equal ease.

"Lucifuge Rofocale Faust," the center figure spoke in a voice like grinding stone. "The prodigal heir returns to play with powers beyond his diminished comprehension."

"Charming," Lucifuge muttered, shadows coiling around him like living armor. "Though I have to admit, the theatrical presentation is top-notch. Very intimidating. Five stars for effort."

The response was another barrage of force magic that turned the ambulance into scrap metal. Lucifuge rolled clear, his own power lashing out in tendrils of infernal darkness. The shadows struck the first mage's protective barriers and recoiled with sounds like reality screaming.

These weren't garden-variety cultists. These were practitioners who'd spent years studying both angelic and demonic magic, learning to counter both with equal expertise. His diminished state put him at a severe disadvantage—three years of retirement meant his power was a fraction of what it had once been, while they'd clearly been preparing for exactly this kind of confrontation.

A crystalline claw raked across his ribs, parting expensive fabric and drawing blood that hissed when it hit the ground. Pain flared through his consciousness, but more concerning was the way the wound felt wrong—infected with something that made his demonic nature recoil.

"The contracts you've destroyed," he gasped, weaving between attacks that left scorch marks on asphalt. "What are you building toward?"

"Evolution," the lead mage replied, her voice carrying harmonics that suggested significant power. "The end of supernatural feudalism. No more princes in Heaven or Hell dictating terms to mortals."

"Admirable goal," Lucifuge admitted, his shadows forming a barrier that held for exactly three seconds before shattering. "Questionable methodology."

The battle was going badly. His power, already diminished by retirement, was being steadily worn down by opponents who'd specifically prepared to face someone like him. Worse, he could sense more mages moving through the asylum—this was just the welcoming committee.

That's when the sky lit up like a falling star.

Seraphina descended from the darkness above, her spear blazing with holy light that turned night into day. She struck the ground between Lucifuge and his attackers with enough force to crack the asphalt, her ice-blue eyes surveying the scene with tactical precision.

"Angel," the lead mage hissed, raising her clawed hands. "Your interference ends here."

"Actually," Seraphina said, her voice carrying divine authority that made the very air stand at attention, "it's just beginning."

The spear moved in a perfect arc, carving through protective barriers like they were made of paper. One of the mages stumbled backward, his obsidian mask cracking to reveal a face twisted by years of exposure to stolen power.

But they adapted quickly. The remaining two mages shifted their stance, their attacks now coordinated to target both angel and demon simultaneously. Force magic lanced toward Seraphina while crystalline claws sought Lucifuge's throat, the assault perfectly timed to prevent either from assisting the other.

"This is new," Lucifuge observed, his shadows barely deflecting a strike that would have opened his jugular. "Usually people pick a side."

"We transcend such primitive dualities," the female mage replied, her voice modulated by magic into something inhuman. "Heaven and Hell are equally obsolete."

Seraphina's spear intercepted a force bolt meant for Lucifuge's head, the impact sending shockwaves through the abandoned lot. "Your philosophy is irrelevant," she declared. "Release the souls you've stolen."

"We haven't stolen anything," the mage laughed. "We've liberated power from an unjust system. The energy released when those contracts dissolved is being put to far better use than lining your uncle's pockets, demon."

The revelation hit Lucifuge like a physical blow. "You're not collecting the souls. You're destroying them for the energy release."

"Seven premium-grade contracts," she confirmed. "Each one containing decades of accumulated power. When properly harvested, that energy can fuel transformations that would make gods take notice."

Rage flared in Lucifuge's chest—not the cold calculation he'd once wielded as Hell's enforcer, but something hotter and more personal. Those souls hadn't just been assets on a cosmic balance sheet. They'd been people, whatever their flaws, and these mages had snuffed them out like candles to fuel their ambitions.

His shadows erupted with renewed fury, striking the mages with force that sent two of them stumbling. But it was Seraphina's response that truly changed the tide of battle.

Light exploded from her position—not the focused beam of her spear, but a radiance that filled the entire lot. Where it touched the mages' protective barriers, they didn't just crack—they screamed, reality itself protesting the collision of stolen power and divine authority.

"Impossible," the lead mage gasped, her voice losing its inhuman modulation. "You're burning through decades of accumulated defenses!"

"I am a Dominion of the Seventh Choir," Seraphina replied, her wings now fully manifested as constructs of pure light. "Your stolen scraps cannot match the authority I carry."

For a moment, Lucifuge saw her as she truly was—not just an overzealous enforcer, but a warrior who'd spent eternity defending a cosmic order she genuinely believed in. The power radiating from her was beautiful and terrible, like watching a star being born.

Working together without conscious coordination, they pressed their advantage. Seraphina's light carved through defensive barriers while Lucifuge's shadows struck from unexpected angles, their opposing natures somehow complementing rather than canceling each other out.

The mages broke. Not physically—they were too well-trained for that—but their coordinated assault collapsed into desperate individual defense. The female mage conjured a portal of swirling darkness, preparing to retreat.

"This changes nothing," she snarled as the portal stabilized. "The Prometheus Ritual is nearly complete. Soon, the very concepts of Heaven and Hell will be footnotes in a history written by those with the will to seize power."

She vanished into the portal, her companions following a heartbeat later. The sudden absence of their presence left the lot feeling strangely empty, as if something fundamental had been removed from the world.

Seraphina lowered her spear, the divine radiance fading back to more manageable levels. Her armor showed scorch marks from the battle, and her silver hair was disheveled in a way that made her look almost human.

"They're stronger than anticipated," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

"They're harvesting the energy from destroyed contracts," Lucifuge replied, checking his wounds. The crystalline claw marks were already beginning to close, his demonic nature asserting its healing abilities. "Seven souls worth of accumulated power. That's enough to fuel some seriously problematic magic."

"Which is why we need to stop them."

The word 'we' hung in the air between them like a challenge. Lucifuge studied the angel who'd tried to purify him less than twenty-four hours ago, noting the way she held herself—ready for another fight, but not necessarily with him.

"You're proposing an alliance," he said carefully. "Angel and demon, working together."

"I'm proposing we prevent a catastrophe that threatens both our realms," she corrected. "The Promethean Circle represents a clear and present danger to the established order."

"The established order that includes my family's soul-trading business."

Her jaw tightened. "Some compromises are necessary to prevent greater evils."

It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of his moral character, but it was pragmatic. And pragmatism, Lucifuge had learned over three centuries of existence, was often more valuable than ideology.

"Thirty-six hours left on my uncle's ultimatum," he said. "If we're doing this, we need to move fast."

"Agreed." Seraphina's spear collapsed into a more portable form, though it continued to emit a faint glow. "But understand this, demon—once the immediate threat is resolved, I resume my mission to liberate souls from infernal contracts."

"And I'll resume trying to keep my cousin alive," Lucifuge replied. "But for now, we have a common enemy."

They stood in the ruins of their battle, angel and demon bound by necessity rather than trust. Around them, the Blackstone Asylum loomed like a promise of horrors yet to come, its windows reflecting their unlikely partnership in fractured light.

Somewhere inside that twisted architecture, mortal mages were preparing a ritual that could reshape the supernatural world. And despite every instinct screaming that this alliance was doomed to failure, Lucifuge found himself oddly reassured by the cold competence radiating from his angelic partner.

Time to storm the gates of the asylum and find out what the Promethean Circle was really planning.

Time to discover whether an angel and a demon could work together long enough to save both their worlds.