Ian looked at Lucifer's hand.
"What are you doing?"
He asked despite knowing full well.
"Power. Didn't you say you were going to give me the rank of Archangel?" The corner of Lucifer's mouth crooked, carrying a trace of disdain, but he still said it.
"All right, of course. My Archangel Lucifer." Ian stood and looked at him. He raised his right hand, palm facing up.
Golden light surged from his palm—not the gold of the power of time, not the gold of Chaos Power, but another kind, purer, warmer, like light that could only exist in the depths of Heaven.
The light fell over Lucifer.
Lucifer's body went rigid. Golden light poured from Ian's palm and enveloped his entire body. It was bright, illuminating the whole room.
The curtains were lifted by the wind, and the light spilled out, shining over the lawn outside the window.
"Heh. This feeling again." Lucifer tilted his head back, his golden eyes closing, his lips parting slightly as if he were breathing, or tasting something. His body trembled within that light—not from fear, but from some more instinctive, uncontrollable reaction.
The light seeped into his skin, into his muscles, into his bones. The scars left from more than ten years of imprisonment healed. The meridians that had withered after his power was drained filled again. The roots of the wings that had been torn apart sprouted new flesh. His spine was glowing.
Golden light spread from his cervical vertebrae all the way down to his tailbone, then surged outward from his shoulder blades.
The light condensed into wings.
They were not solid, but formed from pure light—translucent, golden, every feather trembling softly.
The wings unfurled, extending from his shoulder blades to either side until they nearly touched both walls. Feathers drifted in the