When the God Fell
Madeline
The light of the Savior’s divinity cracked through the air like a whip—white, searing, absolute. It split the shadows, flaring so bright it left halos of burn across the stone. Then he struck, flinging it toward Lucien’s chest with enough force to cleave mountains in half.
And still, Lucien didn’t flinch.
He walked forward like the divine was nothing more than a gentle breeze.
No—he didn’t just endure it.
He drank it in.
The light hit him again—this time harder, crueler. A spear of judgment meant to annihilate. I braced for it, certain I’d watch him shatter. That his body would collapse under the weight of power no mortal—or even angel—could withstand.
But instead, he shone.
Not with light.
But with shadowlight.
It crawled across his skin, coiling like
