Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE

"Lad, you should head back home. There’s a storm coming, and it looks like a big one."

Alastor tilted his head toward the sky. The horizon stretched bright and clear, not a storm cloud in sight, only birds, their dark shapes cutting inland. But he didn’t doubt the warning. Four years on this island had taught him that when the fishermen predicted a storm, they were always right.

"By the way, there’s a letter for you from the mainland."

Alastor accepted the sealed envelope. Somnus Isle had no internet, no cell service, only physical letters, delivered every three weeks when the lone postman arrived from the mainland of the Sloth Ring. It felt as though the island was frozen in the 19th century, and that suited him just fine.

"I saw Anthony and a few other men heading out with a number of boats earlier," Alastor remarked.

The fisherman nodded. "A supply ship carrying hospital equipment and medicine for the mainland is stuck a few kilometers from here. The town chief was ordered to dispatch relief goods and aid kits while they wait for the main rescue team to arrive."

"Do you think they’ll make it in time? Before the storm sets in?"

The fisherman hummed in affirmation as he secured his boat. "They will. It’s not too far. Plus, I heard a big team from the mainland is leading the rescue. We might even get to see Lady Belphegor."

Alastor went still at that name but quickly masked his reaction with a nod. He murmured a farewell and made his way back to where he had roped his horse. On this island, horses were the primary mode of transport. His was named Baku, a blue water horse demon with a peculiar taste for seagull carcasses.

Swinging onto Baku’s back, Alastor guided him through the streets of Vasiyas and onto the forest path. Even after Four years, caution ruled his every step. He always wore a hood in public, kept an eye out for unwanted attention, and avoided predictable routes. This path led to the narrow bridge spanning the mighty Agusan, a river so vast and deep that most islanders opted for the longer, safer route around.

When he crossed the bridge, it was only a few more steps to his home, a small cottage with a sloped roof, its moss-covered shingles blending seamlessly with the forest around it. Modest, isolated, and private. Just the way he liked it.

As he dismounted, the cottage door swung open, revealing a small child with golden eyes, red-slit pupils, and blond hair tipped in crimson. The moment it spotted him, a delighted squeal filled the air.

"Mwammy!"

The child wobbled toward him, excitement buzzing in its tiny frame. Alastor knelt, catching the little one in his arms. It gazed up at him with unfiltered adoration, its apple-red cheek markings a clear testament to its lineage. There was no mistaking who had sired this child.

Four years ago…

Alastor seethed, humiliation burning through him. His pride, his ego, bruised beyond measure. After everything he had done for the hotel and its residents, that pompous, self-important dwarf they called their king had the audacity to call him useless, a good-for-nothing hotelier.

He wanted to rip that insufferable man’s head from his tiny body, to make him regret ever speaking such words. But how could he? He was injured, far worse than he had initially thought. His power was unstable, every attempt to use it stirring the heavenly essence within him, eating away at his flesh. And even at full strength, he knew he was no match for a fallen archangel.

Now he was holed up in a dingy motel room, licking his wounds after a disastrous meeting with Rosie. She hadn’t taken the news of his resignation from the hotel well. Not at all. And now, after making such a dramatic exit this morning, he had no choice but to crawl back to that damned hotel. Oh, the king would love that, wouldn’t he?

Normally, he would have taken his usual route back, but a sudden, searing pain in his chest had left him staggering. He couldn’t afford to show weakness in public. So, with no other option, he had ducked into the nearest motel, hoping to recover his bearings before facing the inevitable.

Now, staring at himself in the mirror, he carefully smeared ointment over his wounds, the temporary relief barely masking the greater problem. There was no real solution. No way to heal, no way to escape, no way to do anything but play his part in everyone else’s game. It was suffocating, to be cornered like this, to feel like nothing more than a pawn.

And then, just as that thought settled in, the protective runes he had placed around the room shattered.

He rushed out of the restroom just in time to see the last remnants of his barrier flicker and dissolve, shattered under the weight of an intruder who barely seemed to try. Only one person could’ve done that.

“Well, well, fancy finding you here. All cooped up like a wounded little animal. What’s the matter, Bambi?”

Lucifer lounged in the doorway, a grin plastered across his face. He leaned lazily against the frame, as if tearing through Alastor’s carefully crafted ward had been nothing more than a passing amusement.

Alastor stiffened, hastily buttoning his shirt to conceal his injury. But it was pointless. The scattered bandages, the bloodied rags, the open aid kit, all of it betrayed his condition.

“Get out.”

Lucifer clicked his tongue. “Not even a hello? Tsk, tsk. Manners, my deer.”

“You’re the one who barged in unannounced and uninvited. I put up a barrier for a reason.”

With a leisurely step, Lucifer crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. His eyes lazily roved over the cramped room, unimpressed. “A barrier? Oh, that’s adorable.” His smile deepened. “You actually thought that flimsy little thing could keep me out?”

He strolled forward, eyes flicking down to the crimson-stained fabric clinging to Alastor’s side. “You’ll have to do better than that, bellhop.”

Alastor clenched his jaw. “What do you want?”

Lucifer ignored the question, his gaze settling on the wound hidden beneath Alastor’s trembling grip. He let out a low whistle.

“Yikes. That’s gotta hurt like a bitch.”

Alastor’s fingers tightened over his shirt, his knuckles going white. Lucifer took a playful step back, tilting his head in mock sympathy.

“And judging by your sad little attempt at patching yourself up, I’d say you’re only making it worse.”

Alastor exhaled sharply, barely keeping his irritation in check. “Then by all means, humor me. How exactly should I heal this?”

In the blink of an eye, Lucifer was suddenly behind him. Warm breath ghosted over the nape of Alastor’s neck.

“Wounds like that? Only a seraphim can fix ‘em. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s only one seraphim in Hell.”

It took all of Alastor’s self-control not to flinch, to keep from reacting like startled prey. Instead, he stepped away, already despising how easily Lucifer toyed with him. If the king thought he’d ever accept his help, then he clearly didn’t know him at all. Alastor wasn’t about to strike another deal, especially not with someone he despised. Someone who, if given the chance, would undoubtedly turn the bargain against him.

“No, thank you. Now leave.”

Lucifer raised his hands in mock surrender, his laughter light. But his eyes—those told a different story.

“You really are stubborn, aren’t you?”

Alastor took another careful step back. Something was wrong. His deer instincts, the ones he got from when he became what he was now, was telling him to run. That a predator animal was near. And if he didn’t move, he’d be devoured.

Subtly, he called on his power, readying an exit.

Nothing.

His shadows didn’t respond.

His fingers curled, his palm damp with sweat. A cold prickle ran down his spine.

“What are you really doing here?”

The king’s smile was almost predatory as he strolled toward the bed, idly pressing a hand against the mattress as if testing its quality.

“Charlie wants her hotelier back. And since I’m such a wonderful father, I’ve decided to indulge her request.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “You wanted me out.”

Lucifer hummed, unconcerned. “Mmm, true. But you see, my mind is a fickle little thing. It simply adores change.”

Before Alastor could so much as twitch, Lucifer snapped his fingers.

A cold sensation locked around his throat.

Alastor’s hands flew to his neck, fingers scraping against smooth metal—a collar. A golden chain connected it to Lucifer’s own grasp, the links gleaming like fire in the dim light.

Then, with a sharp tug, Lucifer yanked.

Alastor barely had time to react before he was dragged forward, a surprised yelp escaping his throat as he stumbled, legs buckling, until he was kneeling before the king.

Lucifer sighed, shaking his head. “Tsk. That won’t do.”

Another snap of his fingers, and suddenly Alastor’s shirt was gone. The cool air bit at his exposed skin, his wound now fully visible. Lucifer crouched slightly, peering down at him with faux sympathy.

“Now, this might sting just a teeny bit.”

"I draw picture! I draw picture!" Nathaniel, his son, squealed, flinging his tiny arms around Alastor’s neck with all the force of a miniature hurricane. His excitement was infectious, demanding every ounce of Alastor’s attention, and he was more than happy to give it.

Alastor chuckled, effortlessly scooping the boy into his arms. "Oh? And what masterpiece have you created this time, my little fawn?"

Nathaniel beamed, his red-tipped tail flicking eagerly, a clear sign of his excitement. "It’s you and horse-y! On big mountain! Mwammy and horse-y go run run!"

Alastor’s smile softened as he listened to his son’s excited ramblings. Nathaniel chattered on, describing every detail. The towering trees, the fluffy bunnies he’d seen hopping around outside, the way the wind made the grass dance.

With each word, the tightness in Alastor’s chest eased, the weight of the day slowly lifting. "That sounds absolutely delightful," he said, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s temple. "I can’t wait to see it."

"Welcome home, Alastor."

Marie’s voice carried the familiar warmth of home. She held out a cup of coffee, her milky eyes seeming to see right through him despite her blindness.

Marie was an elderly hellborn imp that Alastor had met when he first came to the island. She lived alone, her children already grown and gone, her husband long passed. Despite her blindness, she moved with the confidence of someone who saw far more than most. She always knew where everything was, her sense of hearing sharper than anyone he’d ever met. And during his difficult pregnancy, it was Marie who had helped him. An experienced midwife who’d guided him through the hardest parts.

Alastor set his son down, and the boy immediately ran off to fetch his drawings. He accepted the cup with a grateful nod. "Much appreciated."

Marie smiled, the lines on her face deepening with warmth. "It’s chicory coffee. Darwin gave it to me when I visited last week. Chicory’s hard to come by around here, but I remembered you mentioning how much you missed it."

"That I did. Perhaps I ought to pay him a visit and return the favor."

Alastor sank into the chair, taking his first sip of the coffee. The taste was earthy, slightly bitter, yet rich. It was like a taste of heaven. It almost reminded him of Louisiana. The mist rolling over the bayous at dawn, the creak of rocking chairs on old porches, pots of red geraniums swaying in the humid air. The scent of beignets mingling with the deep, savory aroma of gumbo. The rhythm of jazz drifting through the streets, the wail of a trumpet intertwining with the laughter of the locals. Nostalgia settled over him like a warm blanket.

Before he could get lost in it, Nathaniel came bounding back into the room, a piece of paper clutched tightly in his tiny hands.

"Mwammy! Mwammy! Look, look! I draw you, me, and maw-maw!"

Alastor took the drawing, his heart swelling with affection. "Well, would you look at that! A little artist in the making. This is incredible, sweetheart."

His son climbed onto his lap, tugging insistently at his lapel, clearly eager for more praise. Alastor chuckled, indulging him with an extra dose of admiration, tracing a finger over the bold, colorful scribbles that filled the page. He glanced toward Marie, who was busy cleaning the dishes. "Hear that, ma’am? You’re officially a grandma now."

Marie laughed. "Nathan’s been calling me that all day. I think I quite like the sound of it."

Alastor smiled. Meeting Marie had been a blessing. She reminded him so much of his own mother. The way she carried herself, the way she always seemed to know exactly what to say or do to put him at ease.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if, in another life, this could have been his reality. A quiet existence, just him, his child, and his mother, living in peace outside the city. A simple house nestled near the fields.

But that thought was quickly overshadowed by another, the weight of the letter he had received earlier. His only link to whatever was unfolding in Pride Ring. A sigh escaped him. He gently lifted Nathaniel down from his lap, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

"Baby, go to your maw-maw for a moment. Mommy just needs to write a letter real quick."

Nathaniel pouted, ready to throw a tantrum for his mother’s attention. But before he could, Marie gestured him over with a knowing smile. “Come now, sweetheart. The cookies are fresh out of the oven.”

The promise of warm, sweet treats was enough to distract him. The moment the scent hit his nose, Nathaniel abandoned his protest and bolted toward the kitchen.

Alastor exhaled softly, rising from his chair and making his way to his room. Once inside, he locked the door behind him. He placed his coffee mug on the study table, then reached into his coat, pulling out the letter. The envelope was plain and unmarked, yet the weight of it felt like a stone in his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, turning it over in his hands, fingers brushing over the familiar seal.

His shadow loomed over his shoulder, stretching long and nosy across the wall to sneak a peek at the envelop in his hand. Alastor sighed and gave it a dismissive wave. “Shoo. This isn’t for you.”

The silhouette hesitated, somehow managing to look offended—if a smear of darkness could pout, it was certainly doing its best impression. With a dramatic sway of its head, it slid along the floor and slipped out the door, leaving behind the distinct feeling of a sulky glare on his back. Alastor rolled his eyes and looked back at the object in hand.

A deep breath. Then another.

Finally, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The ink was smudged in places, the writing hurried, like it had been scrawled in a rush. But the handwriting was unmistakable.

It was from Husk.

Boss,

Shit’s getting worse in Pentagram City since that whole rebellion went to hell. Just today, the court finally gave their decision on your case. Unanimous. They’re calling you a traitor to Hell and the crown.

The lawyer they stuck you with was garbage. Didn’t even put up a fight, even with Nifty and me trying to help. Not that it would have mattered. This whole thing was rigged from the start. The hearings? Just for show. Lucifer made up his mind a long time ago. And right now, no one’s dumb enough to cross him. Not after what happened to Lilith and Charlie.

I tried to get a meeting with him, but it’s not as easy as before. Everything’s a goddamn mess, and the king’s decided an iron fist is the way to fix it. You’ve got wanted posters up all over Pride. Your face is plastered on half the buildings in Pentagram City. They’re offering a huge bounty. Dead or alive.

Wherever you are and your son, stay put. Stay hidden. I don’t think you can come back, not anytime soon. And even when things settle down… I don’t know if you ever can.

Nifty and I are looking for a private lawyer, someone who actually knows what the hell they’re doing. There’s still time to push for an appeal, but it won’t be easy. We’re being watched.

I’ll keep you posted, but it might take a while. Stay safe, boss.

—Husk

For a long moment, Alastor just sat there, staring at the words as if willing them to change. Four years had passed since he ran away, since that night with Lucifer. So much had happened in what felt like such a short time.

Lilith had returned.

Not long after his departure, she emerged from hiding and sought out Lucifer, stepping into the hotel to reconcile with him. But that reconciliation was nothing more than a prelude to betrayal. She had spent years quietly laying the groundwork for another rebellion against Heaven. One that Alastor himself had helped orchestrate.

Lilith still held the love and loyalty of many sinners, and when she called for an uprising, the response was overwhelming. Sinners, overlords, and countless others rose in support, ready to fight. Lucifer hadn’t been there when it all began. By the time he returned, it was too late.

The rebellion failed. Spectacularly.

Lilith had acted too soon, without consulting all the key players, Alastor included. His role had been crucial for the plan’s success, and he hadn't been there to fulfill it.

In the end, it cost Lilith her life.

And not just hers.

Charlie had been caught in the chaos, sustaining severe injuries during the battle in Pentagram City.

Husk’s letters, sent in the aftermath, told him what had become of her. She had been alive but unresponsive, placed in a coma at St. An’s Hospital in the Sloth Ring under the care of Lady Belphegor. But the most recent update had been far more concerning. 

Charlie had been moved. To Heaven. For treatment. It had to be serious for Lucifer to allow that.

Lucifer…

Alastor wasn’t sure what he would do if they ever came face to face again. He had no long-term plan, no strategy to clear his name or return to the life he once knew. Right now, he was simply living day by day.

For his son.

For now, that was enough.

The palace hall was silent as Lucifer entered, his heels striking sharply against the polished marble floor. The sound echoed, filling the vast corridor like a warning. Guards and maids lining the halls bowed deeply as he passed, their faces pale, their gazes averted. Even the air itself seemed to tense beneath the weight of his presence.

At the far end of the corridor, just outside his private chambers, Roo waited. Unlike the others, she neither flinched nor bowed. Instead, she leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy smile tugging at her lips as she watched him approach.

"You look like you've had quite the morning."

"If you're here to waste my time, save it. I have no patience for games today."

"Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. But I have nothing better to do, so I thought, why not pay my dear creator a visit?"

The two continued toward Lucifer’s chambers, their steps slow but unbroken. The guards at the doors moved swiftly, bowing low as they pushed them open. As the doors shut behind them, the hushed murmurs of the palace staff filled the corridor.

"She’s been here for a while, and I still don’t know what she is to the king."
"I heard she’s his lover. Some say she’s been seen leaving his chambers the morning after."
"Could she be our future queen?"
"Don’t be ridiculous. The king has had lovers before, but he’s never taken a concubine."
"Well, the queen is dead now, and—"

The gossip died in an instant when the head maid shot them a sharp glare. "Enough. If the king hears of this, you’ll be joining the rest of the poor souls who’ve met their end these past four years."

Silence fell. No one wanted to take that risk.

Inside the chamber, Lucifer strode to his desk, setting down a stack of official documents, his movements stiff. Roo noted the tension in his shoulders as she drifted to the desk’s edge, peering down at the papers with mild interest.

"Official statements, I assume? From the execution?" she mused, tilting her head.

"Yes," Lucifer replied curtly, turning his back to her as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. "The court’s formal declaration. The traitors who conspired with the late queen to orchestrate this rebellion are dead. I executed them myself."

Roo hummed, watching him closely. "And how do you feel about that?"

Lucifer finally turned, his amber eyes cold. "Glad," he said. "Those wretched sinners deserved worse than a swift death. It was their poison that tainted my wife’s mind, led her down this path."

Lucifer stood motionless, yet the air around him crackled with barely contained fury. Wrath bled from him in waves, thick and suffocating. Roo could feel it, taste it. The grief, the anger, the festering wound of betrayal. It was intoxicating, and she drank it in with quiet satisfaction.

"So, they’ve all been executed, then?" she asked. Roo drifted toward the window, gazing out over the city as if admiring the view. Humming a soft tune, she tilted her head slightly, her crimson eyes gleaming.

"Except one."

She let the words hang, savoring the weight of them before finally turning to glance at him.

"The Radio Demon. Alastor."

Lucifer stiffened. His mind reeled back to the execution chamber, to the scent of sweat and fear, to the sight of bound hands trembling before him. The traitors knelt, their voices raw from pleading, begging for mercy. But then, one of them, a man with hollowed cheeks and fever-bright eyes, changed his tune.

"Your Majesty, we were misled! We were fools, yes, but we were not the masterminds. It was Alastor! That Radio Demon is the one you want. He planned it all!"

The others seized upon the claim in a frenzy, their desperate voices colliding.

"Yes, it was him! He manipulated us!"
"He’s the real traitor, not us!"
"It’s the truth, your Majesty! He’s cunning, deceitful. We were just pawns!"
"He poisoned the Queen’s mind, whispered rebellion into her ears!"
"It should be Alastor who suffers, not us!"

Lucifer had remained silent, his face impassive, as their words scraped against the walls of his mind. But it changed nothing. Their fate had been sealed long before they uttered his name. With a flick of his wrist, he had ordered the guards to drag them to the execution square. Their screams faded into the halls as he followed, sentencing them to burn beneath the searing agony of his infernal fire.

And yet, their accusations lingered, too deep to remove.

"I’ve seen his face plastered all over Pentagram City," Roo’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He blinked, and she was suddenly in front of him, closer than he realized. Smirking, she plucked the whiskey glass from his grip and took a slow sip before sauntering back toward the window.  "Heard he skipped town before the rebellion even began. But I did some digging. Ran my own investigation." 

She finished the drink, tilting her head back to gaze at the reddish sky. "Last confirmed sighting? A cheap little motel. Walked out in broad daylight."

Lucifer stiffened. It was subtle, but Roo noticed. Her lips curled into a knowing smile. There it is. Her master’s dirty little secret.

"Curiously," she continued, savoring each word, "the same witness told me another man left later that day. Short. Blonde. White suit."

"Leave,” he growled. "I'm not in the mood for your games."

But Roo pressed on, ignoring the warning. "What could those two possibly have been doing in that motel? Makes you wonder."

The sharp crack of Lucifer’s hands slamming against the desk echoed like a gunshot. "Do you enjoy testing my patience?"

Roo didn’t flinch. If anything, she reveled in the fury radiating from him. She breathed it in like it was lifeblood. "Your wife certainly seemed to," she mused.

The air grew heavy. Shadows thickened along the walls, writhing like living things. The temperature in the room plummeted, and Lucifer’s form began to shift. His horns pushing through his hair, his eyes glowing a furious crimson. 

"You have no idea what you're playing with."

"Don’t I?" Roo taunted, stepping closer, unafraid. "What I see is a broken king. Wrathful, but pathetic. Imagine, being the creation of someone like that. And for what? A dead wife, and a daughter who might as well be dead, too?"

Silence. A suffocating, terrible silence.

Then—

With a roar of fury, Lucifer swept his arm across the desk. Papers, inkwells, books. All sent flying as the desk collapsed into a heap of shattered wood. But it wasn’t enough. His magic surged outward, consuming the room. Shelves toppled, stone cracked, windows shattered, curtains turned to ash. Infernal fire licked at the walls, warping the air with heat.

Lucifer stood in his full demonic form, tail lashing, claws digging into the scorched remains of his office.

And Roo?

She stood amidst the destruction, eyes gleaming in delight. "That’s it," she purred, drinking in the sight of him. "Show me the real monster you are."

Then Lucifer turned, closing the distance between them in a blink.

The slap rang through the ruined room.

Roo crumpled to the floor, one hand touching her cheek, already throbbing where his claws had grazed the skin. She exhaled a shaky laugh, lips curling in amusement despite the pain.

"You're lucky I haven’t killed you where you stand." He hissed. "Don’t think for a second that I won’t."

"You say that like I fear you, Master. But we both know the truth."

His eyes flashed. "If you value your life, you’ll keep my family out of your mouth."

"Or what?" she challenged, tilting her head up to look at him from where she sat. "You’ll kill me?"

Even at this moment, on the ground, blood at the corner of her mouth—Roo didn’t feel like she had lost. No, quite the opposite. She had dragged him into the depths of his rage, forced him into the abyss where his true nature thrived. And she knew, there was no way out.

"We both know you won’t," she whispered. "Because deep down, you need me just as much as I need you."

Lucifer stared at her, breath ragged, muscles tensed.

Then, disgust flickered across his face. He turned away, his demonic form retreating.

"Get out before I change my mind."

Roo stood, brushing the dust from her coat. A smile curled at her lips as she wiped the blood from her mouth.

"As you wish, Master."

She stepped out of the ruined room, past the pale, stiff-backed guards and the wide-eyed maids who had clearly heard the destruction. Whispers followed her as she disappeared down the hall, leaving chaos in her wake.

Inside, Lucifer remained still in the wreckage, his breath uneven. Then slowly, he sank to his knees. The anger hadn’t left. It simmered beneath his skin, clawing to break free. His gaze drifted to the scattered papers, and his fingers curled around one. An annex. A copy of a contract.

The same one he had seen that night.

The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood. The motel room, dimly lit, carried the heavy weight of magic in the air. On the bed, Alastor lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Golden chains, faintly pulsing with divine light, kept him bound. Both to prevent him from thrashing during the healing process and as a necessary precaution. He had tried to sink his teeth into Lucifer an hour ago, after all.

The king sat astride him, hands hovering over the wound. Magic seeped from his fingertips, weaving through torn flesh, knitting it back together while purging the corruption within. The angelic essence had lingered far too long in the sinner’s body, festering like rot. If left untreated, it would have consumed him entirely.

“You’re lucky Charlie cares about you,” Lucifer said.

Alastor was a fool for letting it get this bad, stubborn enough to pretend he was fine even when his body was slowly being eaten from the inside out. The injury was severe, without intervention, he wouldn’t have lasted the week.

Lucifer pushed deeper, his magic probing beyond the wound, tracing through Alastor’s essence, ensuring the healing would hold. That’s when he felt it.

A void.

A hollow space where a soul should have been.

Lucifer’s hands stilled. For a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake. He reached out again, searching, feeling. But there was nothing. No soul. Just an unnatural emptiness.

The realization struck him like a stone to the chest.

Alastor had no soul.

A sinner without a soul could only mean one thing. Lucifer double-checked, focused, searching for any lingering trace of it. What he found instead was a lock. A seal embedded deep within Alastor’s being, at the very place his soul should have resided. A binding.

A contract.

“So,” Lucifer exhaled, voice barely above a whisper, “you bargained your soul away.”

The pieces fell into place.

Alastor’s reluctance to seek help. His constant deflections whenever anyone inquired about his seven-year sabbatical. It wasn’t just the wound he had been hiding. He had been keeping the truth about his soul a secret as well.

And now, Lucifer knew why.

Even if Alastor had wanted to approach him for help, he couldn’t. Because the moment Lucifer laid his hands on him, he would have discovered the truth.

Lucifer’s magic surged as he resumed his work, but this time with a new awareness. Without his soul, Alastor’s recovery would be significantly slower, his body unable to regenerate as a normal demon’s would. Worse, the angelic essence had spread beyond his flesh, creeping into the hollow where his soul had once been.

Lucifer hadn’t wanted to be involved in Alastor’s business. If he had sold his soul, that was his burden to bear. Normally, Lucifer wouldn’t have given a damn about why or to whom. But this was different. If Alastor was to survive this and fully recover so he can go back to the hotel, then he needed his soul back. Which meant Lucifer had no choice but to personally destroy the contract.

Hours passed before the wound was finally closed. The corruption purged. Lucifer exhaled, stepping back, wiping the sweat from his brow as Alastor remained unconscious. The golden chains that had bound him flickered, then faded entirely. There was no longer a need for restraint.

Now came the difficult part.

Taking a steady breath, Lucifer raised his hand. His magic shifted, changing from healing to summoning. The air in the room thickened, crackling with energy as the foundations of Hell’s law and order responded to his call. Darkness gathered at the edges of the room, deep and oppressive, save for the reddish-golden glow of infernal magic swirling above Lucifer’s palm. The weight of it pressed against the walls and the floor.

Slowly, a parchment materialized in the air before him. Its edges shimmered with Hell’s energy, pulsing faintly.

The contract.

Lucifer’s gaze swept over the text, scanning each line, each clause. The wording was meticulous, the conditions airtight. Alastor had bound himself thoroughly.

One clause, in particular, caught his attention.

Alastor was obligated to serve as guide and protector to Princess Charlotte Morningstar. To ensure her safety. And to disrupt her plans for the hotel.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed. “So that’s why you were there. And why you involved yourself with my daughter.”

It made sense. Alastor hadn’t just been meddling out of boredom or amusement. He had been bound by his contract to do so. Then Lucifer’s eyes fell on the name of the contract holder. And his blood ran cold.

He read it once. Then again.

No.

No, that wasn’t possible.

His gaze snapped to the signature at the bottom of the parchment, sealing the deal. The strokes, the unmistakable flourish at the end—he knew them.

There was only one person in Hell with that signature.

Lilith.

The bathroom was thick with steam, the air warm and heavy. Alastor reclined in the bathtub, water lapping gently at his skin as he scrubbed himself clean. After reading the letter’s contents, he figured a hot bath might soothe his nerves. Though no amount of warmth could melt away the weight pressing on his chest.

He had lost.

His case was officially over, the verdict sealed. A convicted felon against both the state and the crown. His punishment? Death. Naturally, he wasn’t thrilled about it. He had no desire to die. He was a man who would do anything to survive. That was, after all, why he had bound his soul to the Queen in the first place.

Back then, he hadn't even known that bastard Vox had an angelic weapon hidden away. He hadn't even felt the blade go in, only the cold and creeping certainty that his time had finally run out. But then, the Queen. She had found him, half-dead and bleeding out. She had made him an offer. A contract. A second chance.

It was almost funny, in a cruel, cosmic way. History had repeated itself. He had no deal with the King, but the child they created together might as well be one.

His movements slowed as his mind drifted, pulled back to a night that felt like a lifetime ago.

Husk and Angel had been drinking at the bar when Alastor arrived to get a drink of his own. Angel was already three glasses deep, chattering away, regaling them with one of his usual outrageous stories. This time, some gossip he had picked up from Cherri.

The conversation jumped from topic to topic, until it landed, quite suddenly, on the royal family.

"You know, I’ve always wondered," Angel started, that familiar glint of mischief in his eye. "Why do the King and Queen only have Charlie? I mean, come on, Lucifer seems like the type who’d want a whole litter of little princes and princesses running around! What’s the deal?"

Husk grumbled, pouring himself another drink. "Maybe the Queen didn’t want more kids. Ain’t really our business to know."

Angel turned to Alastor, swirling his glass. "Well? What do you think, Smiles?"

Alastor rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I think our feline friend has the right idea. It’s none of our concern. Besides, could you imagine another little Lucifer running around? It’d be a disaster! Hell’s already a circus, I certainly don’t need another clown in the ring."

"Ugh, you guys are so boring! No one wants to theorize with me? Lame."

Then, suddenly, Angel’s eyes lit up. He slammed his hand on the table, making the glasses rattle. "Oh my God, you know what would be wild? What if the big guy does have a secret love child? Like, with a sinner! He could totally pull it off, right? With all that power and whatnot? And if that sinner was carrying a royal baby, maybe she’d get a free pass outta the Pride Ring. That’s gotta count for something!"

Husk gave him a flat look. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day."

Angel only grinned, still pleased with his ridiculous theory. "Pfft. Stranger things have happened, ya buzzkill! And think about it, if Lucifer did want more kids, maybe he’d keep it hush-hush. Y’know, real cloak-and-dagger type stuff."

At the time, Alastor had laughed along with them. The idea had been absurd, nothing more than drunken nonsense. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The Pride Ring’s runes existed to keep sinners contained, to prevent them from passing into other Rings. But what if—just what if—a sinner carrying a Morningstar’s child could slip through? Would the runes recognize the child’s royal blood and allow passage?

What had once been a drunken joke was now a reality.

And he was living proof of it.

He sank deeper into the tub, closing his eyes as memories pulled him under. His pregnancy had been harder than he could have ever imagined, more difficult than he had intended it to be. He was never supposed to carry it to term. The plan had been simple: use the fetus as a key to escape the Pride Ring, then get rid of it. He hadn’t cared how. It was never meant to survive.

But every attempt had failed. The baby, protected by the power of its sire, had withstood everything he threw at it. Every kind of abortion pill, every desperate attempt to wrench it from his body, every method he could think of. Nothing worked. It clung to life stubbornly, impossibly.

He leaned back against the edge of the tub, exhaling sharply. He had searched for answers, scoured every book, every record, every whisper of knowledge that might explain what was happening to him. But there was nothing. No guidance, no precedent, except for one.

Queen Lilith. The only known case of a seraphim angel impregnating a sinner.

He had found an old newspaper clipping about her sudden disappearance from the public eye during her pregnancy. It made him wonder, had she suffered as he had? Had she felt the same fear? The same pain?

People often questioned why the royal couple only ever had one child. He had wondered the same before. Now, he thought he understood.

A sinner’s body, no matter how twisted by Hell, was still, at its core, human. It was never meant to carry something like this. A child that was half-angel, half-demon. Two forces that opposed each other at their very essence.

His pregnancy had been agonizing. But the birth—

He shuddered.

The birthing had been a nightmare. Excruciating. Worse than being mauled by hounds, worse than any torment he had ever endured. A pain beyond anything he could have imagined. And yet, he had survived. And so had the child.

"He's healthy," Marie had murmured, cradling the tiny bundle in her arms.

Alastor, weak and dazed, could only watch as she held his baby. It was pale. Its skin paper-white, just like Lucifer and Charlie’s. And on its cheek, an apple-red marking.

Alastor didn’t know what to feel.

"Here," the elderly imp said gently, placing the baby into his arms. "He's been waiting to meet his daddy."

Alastor froze. His breath caught. He looked down at the baby, then back up at her.

"Not daddy," he said quietly. Marie’s brow lifted in question.

"I’d rather be called Mommy."

His fingers ghosted over the baby's tiny hand. "I never had a good example of what a father should be," he admitted. "My father was cruel, selfish. He didn’t know how to love. But my mother…" His voice softened. "She was everything. Strong. Kind. Patient. She was the one who held me when I cried, who taught me how to be brave." He glanced at Marie. "And you, you’ve been more of a parent to me than he ever was."

Marie’s expression warmed as she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured. "You don’t have to explain yourself to me. If Mommy feels right to you, then that’s what you’ll be." She smiled down at the baby. "And this little one? He’s lucky to have you, no matter what you’re called."

Even with that certainty, the weeks that followed were… difficult.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the child. What to feel for him. He hadn’t even given the baby a name. Just called him “Baby,” as if keeping him nameless might somehow make it all feel less real.

But then, one morning, he woke to find the child curled up against him. Tiny. Soft. Alive.

Something inside him shifted. A warmth, a weight, an unshakable, overwhelming love.

That was the day he named him Nathaniel.

Gift of God.

Alastor stepped out of the bathtub, water dripping from his body as he reached for a towel. He dried himself slowly, his gaze drifting to the full-body mirror on the wall.

He paused, studying his reflection. His body was a patchwork of contrasts—male and female, human and animal. A testament to the strange way Hell reshapes a soul to its new physical form upon its arrival.

He ran a hand over his chest, his stomach, his hips, remembering the night he had spent with Lucifer.

"Beautiful," Lucifer had called him.

The word had felt strange at the time. Foreign.

Alastor turned away from the mirror, wrapping the towel around himself as he stepped out of the bathroom. There was no reason to linger on the memories of that night.

Alastor’s eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry as he tried to get his bearings. The room was dim, quiet except for the steady hum of the air conditioning. He blinked a few times, his senses slowly sharpening. He was lying on a bed, soft and unfamiliar. The sheets were tangled around him, warm from his own body heat.

Then, memories came rushing back. He had been dragged across the floor. By him. His eyes narrowed. Lucifer. The king had barged into his motel room unannounced and… and…

Alastor flexed his fingers and stilled. Something felt different. His body was lighter, stronger. Like a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had been lifted.

His hand moved to his chest, and he inhaled sharply. The wound, gone. Sealed shut, stitched with thin golden thread. He licked his lips and paused. There was a taste, faint but distinct. Coppery, rich. Blood. But it wasn’t just any blood. It lingered on his tongue, thick and potent, coiling through his senses. A slow warmth spread through his body, settling deep in his stomach, making his skin prickle and his breath unsteady.

His brow furrowed as he concentrated, searching within himself. Could it be?

The door creaked open.

Lucifer stepped inside, his presence filling the space effortlessly. His amber eyes flicked over Alastor, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“You healed me. And… you broke my contract.”

Alastor closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he focused on the strange, unfamiliar sensation of wholeness. For the first time in years, he felt complete. But his relief was short-lived. A lingering thought crept in. Had Lucifer seen the contract before breaking it? Had he read it? Had he seen… her name?

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Yes, yes. Your king can be merciful when the mood strikes, bellhop.”

Alastor waited for the shoe to drop, bracing for the inevitable—some accusation, some demand for an explanation. But Lucifer simply sat at the edge of the bed, watching him. No questions. No anger. Just silent, measured curiosity. The weight of that gaze made Alastor bristle, suddenly itching to fill the silence.

“Does mercy involve chaining me to the bed? Or was that just a personal touch?”

Lucifer chuckled, his crimson eyes twinkling with mischief. “Kinky. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked it.” Then, with a dramatic sigh, “Besides, you were biting me. Had to keep you from thrashing yourself to death mid-healing.”

Alastor rolled his eyes and tugged the blanket higher, suddenly aware of how exposed he was. “Oh, please. It was hardly a bite. Nothing you can’t handle.”

Lucifer clutched his chest in mock offense. “And not even a thank you? Really, Alastor, where are your manners?”

Alastor scoffed but didn’t get the chance to reply. A sudden, searing heat bloomed in his stomach and spread like wildfire. His breath hitched. His fingers clenched the sheets as a wave of dizziness crashed over him.

“Something’s… wrong.”

Lucifer’s teasing vanished in an instant. His eyes scanned Alastor with concern. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

Alastor struggled to focus, his body trembling as another pulse of heat rolled through him. “I don’t know… I feel like I’m burning up.”

The king’s eyes widened in realization, and he reached out to brush a hand against Alastor’s forehead. His skin was scorching to the touch, his body trembling. “Shit. My magic, and my blood. It’s reacting with your body. I should have known this might happen.”

Alastor looked up at him, his vision blurry with tears of frustration and need. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “I didn’t drink your blood.”

Lucifer hesitated, rubbing his temples. “You did. I made you drink it while you were unconscious. It was supposed to help you heal faster, now that your powers are back.” His brows furrowed. “It must have triggered…”

Alastor’s hands clenched. “Triggered what?”

Lucifer sighed, his expression grim. “My blood is powerful. It heals, strengthens… awakens.” He exhaled, looking almost regretful. “The combination of my magic and my blood in your system. it triggered your Estrus. Your body is reacting to my power. To… me.”

Alastor’s breath came in short gasps, his mind reeling as the heat inside him grew unbearable. Lucifer looked at him with guilt. “I’ll portal us back to the hotel. You can ride this out in private.”

But Alastor’s mind was already racing, even as his body burned. He barely registered Lucifer’s words, his thoughts consumed by one thing: escape.

Pentagram City was a ticking time bomb. With his contract broken, Lilith would have felt it. She would be acting by now. The plan, the one he had helped orchestrate, would already be in motion. He couldn’t stay here. He had to get out of the Pride Ring. But how?

What if the big guy does have a secret love child? Like, with a sinner! He could totally pull it off, right? With all that power and whatnot? And if that sinner was carrying a royal baby, maybe she’d get a free pass outta the Pride Ring.

Angel’s words echoed in his mind, a dangerous thought resurfacing at the worst possible time. But it was something, some kind of chance. And with his heat taking hold, it presented an opportunity to test the theory.

“No.” Alastor said. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to be alone.”

The king eyed him warily. “Alastor, you’re not thinking clearly. I’ll get you back to your room, and—”

“I need you,” Alastor interrupted. He looked up at him, his big doe eyes wide and pleading. “Please… help me.”

Lucifer hesitated. His resolve wavered. Alastor was asking for something he could not, should not, give. “This isn’t a good idea, Al.” Lucifer said, clearly conflicted. “Your heat—it’s just my blood reacting with your body. If we… if I…” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. Not like this.”

Alastor’s body was already acting on its own, his biology taking over with a desperate need to be claimed. The last rational thought in his mind was to push harder, to make the king believe this was what he wanted. What he needed. And now, his body clung to that final thought: to have this man, this powerful man, breed him.

His hands shot out, grabbing the front of Lucifer’s shirt and yanking him down. The king landed against his chest, momentarily caught off guard. Before he could react, Alastor’s arms locked around him, holding him close, their bodies flushed together.

“Y-you’re not,” Alastor choked out, his breath hot against Lucifer’s skin. “Please,” he whimpered, his fingers dug into Lucifer’s back, clinging as if afraid he’d let go. The king hesitated, looking up at him. Alastor, who gazed back as if he was the only thing that could save him. It was that look that broke Lucifer’s resolve as he growled low in his throat. Then, in a blink, he leaned in and captured Alastor’s lips in a searing kiss.

The moment their mouths met, heat surged between them. Alastor moaned, his hands tangling in Lucifer’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His body trembled, with a rush of slick pooling between his thighs.

Lucifer’s tongue slipped between his lips, tasting him. A firm hand gripped the back of Alastor’s nape, holding him in place. But it wasn’t enough. Alastor rutted against Lucifer’s thigh, desperate, aching, so wet, so needy. This man, this powerful man, he needed him. He needed to be filled by him.

A warning growl rumbled from Lucifer’s chest. Alastor’s ears flattened back against his head, his lashes fluttered, breath hitching as he stilled. For that, Lucifer smoothed a hand through his hair, parting from the kiss with a slow lick of his lips—chasing the taste of him.

“I’ll give you what you want, little fawn.” Lucifer murmured, his fingers brushing against Alastor’s cheek. “Even if you’ll hate me for it later.”

Alastor shook his head, pressing into the touch. “Never,” he whispered. But the lie was bitter on his tongue.

Lucifer’s pupils widened, the red of his irises now just a thin ring around a sea of black. Alastor moaned when he felt the king’s cock twitch and thicken against his body. The deer shivered, his skin burning, his mind fogged with need. His clothes felt unbearable against him, clinging and suffocating, and he knew he needed them off.

With a gentle push of his foot, he nudged Lucifer back. The king allowed it, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Alastor slowly stripped himself, peeling away the damp fabric and tossing it to the floor. Lucifer’s mouth watered at the sight of the sinner’s fat clit that was already engorged. And below it were folds that glistened with its juices.

The king unzipped his own pants, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Finally freeing his cock out in the open, already half hard. Alastor’s breath hitched as he caught sight of him, his stomach twisting with anticipation at seeing the size of Lucifer’s shaft. It looked heavy and big on the king’s hand. Can that thing fit inside me? Alastor doubted. 

Lucifer stroked himself slowly, thumb tracing the thick vein down. Alastor whimpered seeing such a vulgar display, but Alastor didn’t try to hide his own cunt from view as he spread his legs as wide as he could, tilting his hips up to offer himself to the king. “Lucifer, please…” He whimpered.

Lucifer snarled, dropping to his knees in the pool of the sinner’s slick. The king leaned in and licked, broad and wide, over the sinner’s leaking entrance. Alastor shrieked, legs tightening, hands flying on the king’s hair as Lucifer tasted him, growling low and loud, tongue sinking into Alastor and forcing his folds to part.

Alastor ached, head falling against the pillow, gripping Lucifer's hair tightly. It was just for a few minutes but it felt like forever when Alastor’s body jerked as he came, slick gushing out of his cunt, painting the king’s face with his juices. Lucifer made a pleased sound as he continued to taste the sinner, indulging on the delicious buffet presented to him. “Please, inside—” Alastor whined again, helpless and thirsty, he could barely think. 

Lucifer smirked at him, his gaze tracing over the younger man’s disheveled form. Alastor’s flushed skin, his parted plumped lips, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. Lucifer reached out, trailing a teasing touch over Alastor’s hip, his fingers firm yet careful.

“You’re such an insatiable little doe,” he mused, finding much amusement over the sinner’s debauched state. “Present yourself to me.”

Alastor, in a daze, arranged himself on all fours without question. He positioned himself just as Lucifer wanted, his body pliant, an offering to the monarch. His tail twitched, a clear giveaway of his nerves. But his tail was raised upward, indicating that he was ready to be bred. Lucifer chuckled, running a hand over the soft fur. Alastor let out a sharp squeak when the king tugged on his tail, his face flushing as more slick ran down his thighs. Lucifer's smile was almost cruel as he toyed with the deer's tail, squeezing and stroking it. Alastor always projected a fearsome image in public, but beneath it all, his body was soft and delicate. The perfect embodiment of a prey animal. It was no wonder he kept himself covered from head to toe. If others ever saw his true form, every predator in town would be tempted to take a bite.

“Spread your legs sweetheart,” Lucifer purred, a wicked smile playing on his lips as his hand trailed over Alastor’s hip. The younger man obeyed without hesitation, positioning himself as instructed, his legs parting to show off his cunt. 

“That’s my good boy,” Lucifer murmured. “Now, use your hands to spread yourself open for me.”

Alastor let out another whine and reached both hands behind himself to spread his cheeks. As he spread them, the folds of his cunt was spread too, revealing its opening. His pink entrance, tight and wet, framed by beautiful plump lips. His big clit hung just below, a string of slick glistening around it. 

“Pretty,” Lucifer whispered, his hands pressing firmly against Alastor’s tanned, slim thighs. “You’re the most tempting little thing I’ve ever seen.” He traced a feather-light touch across Alastor’s virgin pink cunt. “Has anyone ever fucked you before?”

Alastor whimpered a soft “no,” burying his face deeper into the mattress. Embarrassment burned through him, but beneath that was something worse, an aching emptiness. A need that only the devil could satisfy.

“You poor thing,” Lucifer purred, reaching down to grab the base of his cock. “Let me take care of you.” Lucifer’s fingers tightened on Alastor’s narrow hips as he rubbed his cockhead against the deer’s entrance.

Alastor felt the head of the king’s cock slide along his slick, hot opening. Lucifer pressed the tip to his entrance, teased it in and out. Alastor was already squirming and panting in his arms at the feel of the bulging cockhead breaching him. 

It only took an inch for Lucifer’s shaft to push past Alastor’s walls, and already, he felt overwhelmed. His body tensed as he was stretched wide, his breath hitching, his vision blurred. A choked whimper escaped him as he came again, leaving him to collapse under Lucifer’s steady hold.

But the king kept a firm grip on Alastor’s hip, pressing forward despite how tightly the sinner’s body clamped down on the thick hot flesh barging inside. The heat in the room grew unbearable, the air thick with the scent of brimstone and fire. Alastor turned his head to take a peek, his breath hitching at the sight behind him. Lucifer’s form had changed—his horns had lengthened, his crimson eyes burned bright, and his entire body seemed to have doubled in size. He wasn’t quite the same as the terrifying figure from the battle clips with Adam, but close. Multiple eyes had appeared on his face, all focused intently on Alastor.

Alastor let out a sharp squeak as Lucifer’s thick tail coiled around his waist, pressing him down against the mattress while keeping his hips lifted. He whimpered, ears flattening against his head as the king widened his stance, fucking forward another inch inside him. It was already so big. Alastor’s body clenched instinctively, struggling to accommodate the sheer size pressing into him.

Alastor felt a warm breath against his nape and shuddered when Lucifer's tongue licked over the spot where his mole was. "Relax, Bambi. I've got you," Lucifer murmured into his ear. Alastor could feel the king's lips curl into a smile before Lucifer thrust forward in one hard movement, pulling Alastor's body down on his cock.

Alastor cried out, the feeling of his virgin cunt taking the devil’s whole length in one thrust. It was too much, too big. Alastor whined and clenched his eyes shut as pain shocked through him at the massive intrusion. Alastor’s tears spilled from behind his eyelids before he could stop them. He moaned—in pain, in pleasure—as Lucifer forced himself deeper, until there was no more room left to fill.

Lucifer stayed still for a while, letting Alastor adjust to him. But the king’s patience wavered, especially with the deer’s hot, wet heat enveloping him. It felt like heaven to be inside Alastor. It had been several years since Lucifer had spent time with someone in bed. He’d had lovers before, after all, he and Lilith had never limited themselves to seeking pleasure outside their marriage. But even with all the lovers Lucifer had taken, being inside Alastor was different. It was pure bliss, as if Alastor had been made just for him.

When he heard the sob, filtering to him from what seemed like a long tunnel of pleasure. It hit him hard, snapping him back to the moment. Without thinking, he reached for Alastor, gripping his auburn hair and lifting his head. Lucifer forced Alastor to stop hiding in the sheets and look at him.

Alastor’s face was wet, his flushed cheeks streaked with glistening tears.

It was the most beautiful sight Lucifer had ever seen.

Lowering his head, Lucifer brushed his lips over the damp skin, tasting the salt. His pretty doe. His. Lucifer leaned until his own cheek was flushed with Alastor’s, his tears pressed against his own skin. 

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured against Alastor’s ear, his lips brushing the fine fur. Lucifer grazed his teeth along the sensitive edge, making Alastor shudder, his breath sped up.

It was impossible to resist now. Lucifer pulled out of Alastor’s body only to thrust back in, each time just as forceful. The way Alastor panted, his body straining against the king, was intoxicating. "Fuck Al, you're so tight, so perfect." Lucifer's hips moved all on their own, fast and eager. Lucifer knew he was being rough, especially for Alastor’s first time. But it had to be this way. A doe needed to be taken hard during the first mating. To establish dominance, to secure the bond. That was the best way for them to respond, ensuring they would seek out the same mate again.

And if Lucifer wanted this to happen again. If he wanted Alastor to come back to him every time his estrus returned, then he had to make sure their bond took hold. He had to make sure Alastor saw him as—

Lucifer blinked. Why was he thinking like this? He wasn’t supposed to want to be Alastor’s mate. He was just here to help him.

Before Lucifer’s thoughts could spiral, Alastor grabbed his hand and placed it on the younger man’s stomach, where a distinct bulge had formed. Lucifer gasped, fascinated. He pulled back slightly, then thrusted forward again, watching as the shape beneath Alastor’s skin shifted with the movement. Fuck, that's my cock bulging in his stomach, Lucifer thought delirious with lust.

Alastor whimpered, sobbing at how good it felt to be finally full. He trembled, pressing his own hand over the bulge of Lucifer's cockhead against his own palm, to feel it butt up against his own cervix and split the opening wide around the head.

Lucifer let go of Alastor’s stomach and leaned over him with a low growl, pressing him deeper into the bed. He buried his face in Alastor’s wild, sweat-dampened hair, his voice a deep purr. “Your cunt feels amazing,” Lucifer groaned with another thrust. “Your cunt was made for this. Made. For. Me.” The king punctuated every word with another jerk of his hip to bury deeper. Lucifer was fucking him as if he were weightless, his body bending to the king’s will. Alastor clawed at the mattress, his muscles tensed and fluttering around the older man’s cock.

It ached. It burned. Yet, it felt so good. All Alastor could do was sob.

“Please,” Alastor whines, looking over his shoulder. “Put a fawn in me.”

Lucifer froze, his eyes widening as he met Alastor’s gaze—damp, pleading, lips quivering. “Make me yours,” Alastor whimpered, pressing himself back against Lucifer, drawing a shuddered moan from the king. “Breed me until it takes.”

A deep growl rumbled in Lucifer’s chest. He gripped Alastor’s waist, pulling him back, leaving Alastor gaping. Then, he was fucking in again, forcing Alastor to arch beneath him. The younger man’s flat stomach bulged with the size of him.

“If that’s what you want, my sweet,” Lucifer grunts, leaning back as he widened his knees. “Then I’ll give it to you.”

Lucifer’s grip tightened as he set a brutal pace, each violent rutting motion pressing Alastor deeper into the mattress. The bed creaked in protest beneath Alastor as Lucifer used him fiercely. The king moved like a true apex predator, relentless, consuming, as he fucked through Alastor’s slick tender body.

For several minutes, the motel room was filled only with the sounds of skin slapping on skin, a hard cock skewering in and out of a sopping wet pussy, and Alastor’s unsteady cries. As his release neared, Lucifer reached around and pressed his fingers against Alastor’s clit, drawing a sharp gasp from the deer. Alastor shuddered, instinctively starting to thrust his hips, pushing his clit into Lucifer’s slick covered fingers and fucking himself back onto the devil’s cock.

Lucifer buried himself deep, until he was pressed up against Alastor’s cervix. The thought of Alastor with a swollen belly, carrying his child, filled him with immense glee. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences. Right now, nothing else mattered. He had always been secretly drawn to Alastor, but this idea made it feel even more real. The thought of keeping him, of making him his, not just in title but in every way. His wife. The mother of his children. He pictured Alastor heavy with their first child, body softened and full, milk drawn from his doe's tender full breasts. Meeting Lucifer at the door with a gentle smile, sweet and willing. The thought burned into him. He would never let him go. Alastor would always be his. Always carrying his children. Always filled with him. That alone pushed him over the edge. And with one last thrust, he spilled, filling Alastor’s womb with his release. Alastor’s tight walls clenched around him, drawing out every last drop.

When Lucifer was finally spent he became aware that Alastor was shaking and whining desperately against him. He realized he had the sinner’s engorged clit pinched between his fingers. When he let go, Alastor sobbed in relief. The younger man had lost count of how many times he had reached his peak that night.

Lucifer hovered over him, gently brushing damp strands of hair from Alastor’s forehead. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”

Alastor shivered at the praise, his mind still hazy from pleasure. His limbs felt like liquid, his body completely pliant. It was effortless for Lucifer to adjust him, folding him onto his side and wrapping an arm around him. Sleepiness crept in, Alastor’s eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion settled over him.

With a snap of Lucifer’s fingers, he summoned a damp cloth and carefully wiped the sweat from Alastor’s skin. The king’s touch was slow, reverent, each stroke of the cloth followed by a kiss—on his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck.

“Beautiful,” Lucifer murmured, his breath warm against the deer demon’s ear. “You handled it so well. My beautiful boy.”

Alastor hummed sleepily, the words sinking deep into his tired mind. The sinner instinctively tucked himself closer, their legs intertwining. As Alastor sighed, a soft, rumbling purr escaped his lips.

Lucifer buried his face in Alastor’s hair, his chest tightening at the sound. He pulled the blanket over them, his arm draped securely around the younger man’s shoulder. With a final exhale, Lucifer allowed sleep to take him, knowing that come morning, he would have to face whatever came next.

***

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the motel curtains, casting a faint light over the room. Alastor stirred, his body heavy and sore, the lingering ache between his thighs a clear reminder of the night before. He sat up carefully, muscles protesting with every movement.

It worked.

That thought should have brought him relief, but instead, there was only a strange emptiness settling deep in his chest. Beside him, Lucifer slept soundly, his breathing slow and steady. One arm rested over the empty space where Alastor had been. The sheets were tangled around his waist, barely keeping him covered. Alastor swallowed, his face warming as memories of the night came rushing back. How had things come to this? Sharing a bed with him of all people?

I needed this, Alastor reminded himself, clenching his jaw.

And yet, his eyes lingered. Even in sleep, Lucifer looked... at peace. As if he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Stupid face. Stupid, handsome face.

Alastor exhaled sharply and got dressed, every rustle of fabric feeling too loud in the quiet room. He had to go. He couldn’t afford to wake the king. Couldn’t afford to hesitate. But as he reached the door, he found himself pausing.

Just one last look.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed the lightest kiss against Lucifer’s lips. Just a whisper of a touch, barely there, but enough to remember. Enough to keep.

“Goodbye,” he murmured.

Then he turned and slipped out of the motel room, stepping into the cold morning air. But even as he walked away, the hollow feeling in his chest refused to fade.

***

Hours later, the sharp ring of Lucifer’s phone yanked him out of sleep. Groggy and disoriented, Lucifer reached out blindly, expecting to find Alastor still beside him. His fingers met only cool, empty sheets.

The bed was cold. The motel room was silent, save for the steady hum of the air conditioner and the ring of his phone.

His brows furrowed as he pushed himself up, scanning the room. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Charlie’s name—six missed calls. Lucifer winced before answering.

“Dad?” Charlie’s voice was tense the second he answered. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling all night!”

“Ah, Char-Char, I was—” His words faltered. The scent of sex and Alastor’s absence clung to the air. How the hell was he supposed to explain to his daughter what had just happened between him and her hotelier?

A faint voice spoke in the background, then a woman’s voice, clearer this time. “Something wrong?”

Lucifer’s blood ran cold. His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles turning white. His mind scrambled to process the voice he had just heard. “Is that—”

“Mom’s here,” Charlie cut in quickly. “So, uh… yeah. I need you back at the hotel. Now.”

Lucifer fell silent. His heart pounded, but a heavy dread coiled deep in his stomach. His eyes lingered on the vacant spot beside him, his thoughts spinning.

He was so screwed.

Two weeks later, since the motel incident...

Thick smoke clung to the city like a veil. Lucifer descended, his massive wings folding behind him as his heels struck the cracked, bloodstained pavement. The air was heavy with the stench of burning wood, charred flesh, and the metallic tang of blood. Pentagram City, once teeming with 60 million souls, was now half a graveyard of rubble and ruin.

Shattered buildings stood like broken teeth, their skeletal remains jutting toward the sky. Fires raged unchecked, lighting the streets where sinners lay trapped beneath debris, their muffled cries barely rising above the silence left in the wake of battle. The streets were littered with remnants of destruction. Angelic weapons, the lifeless bodies of sinners and angels alike. Even some Hellborns had not been spared.

Lucifer strode forward, his sharp eyes sweeping over the devastation. Distant screams and pleas for help echoed through the ruins. He passed a cluster of wounded sinners, huddled together, their faces streaked with soot and blood. An old woman, barely clinging to life, looked up and recognized him. She reached for Lucifer with a trembling hand.

“Please, your majesty… help us,” she pleaded. “My friend… she’s trapped.”

She pointed toward a collapsed building a few feet away. With a flick of Lucifer’s fingers, the rubble disintegrated revealing a wounded body beneath. The old woman gasped in relief, whispering her thanks. But Lucifer had no time to acknowledge it. He pressed on, his pace quickening as he neared the heart of the city.

Four days.

He had only been gone for four days.

A few days ago, he had been in the Sloth Ring with Belphegor, Satan, and Beelzebub, investigating an anomaly deep in Hell’s core. Unstable dark energy leaks opening random sinkholes across the Rings. Normally, he would have left it to the Sins, stepping in only if the situation became dire. But Alastor had vanished. No trace. No word. And after several days without any news of his whereabouts, Lucifer feared the worst, that he had fallen into one of those sinkholes, lost in the depths of Hell. He had to be sure.

But while he and the Sins were searching, deep within the caves of Sloth beneath the Rings of Hell, his wife had started a war.

And now, the city bore the scars of it.

The destruction worsened as he neared the place where the embassy of Heaven was located. The fighting had been fiercest here. Bodies were strewn across the ground in grotesque piles—sinners, angels, hellborns, all reduced to casualties of a battle he hadn’t been there to stop.

And then he saw them.

Gabriel and Sera stood among the ruins of the embassy. Other angels moved around them, some retrieving their fallen, others tending to the wounded. Gabriel’s eyes locked onto him, grim and unreadable. He tilted his head toward a large tent, standing alone in the wreckage.

Lucifer followed his gaze, dread creeping up his spine. He glanced back at Gabriel and gave a silent nod, knowing they would have a long conversation after this. But the fact that his brother didn’t accompany him should have been warning enough.

The angels guarding the tent didn’t stop him. They didn’t speak, didn’t even meet his eyes. They simply stepped aside, their faces tight, their silence saying more than any words could.

The tent flaps hung heavy, untouched by wind. Inside, the air was still and dim. A single cot sat in the center. Someone lay on it, unmoving, wrapped in a wool blanket.

His wife.

“No,” he choked. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he reached out and touched her cheek. It was cold. Far too cold. His vision blurred, tears already welling as the weight of what he saw hit him like a wave crashing down.

“Lili, wake up.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. At first, he shook her gently, as if that might bring her back.

“This isn’t funny anymore, Lili. Wake. Up.” His claws dug into her shoulders. A choked sound broke from his chest, a sob too sharp to hold in, as his tears fell onto her face.

Everything else faded. The cries from the battlefield, the sounds of fire and rubble and broken things… none of it mattered. All he could hear now was silence, empty and cold, where her voice and warmth used to be.

Then the ground began to shake. The ones outside the tent felt it first. A deep, violent tremble, like the start of an earthquake. But it wasn’t the earth. It was him.

A second later, a shockwave burst out from the tent—raw, divine rage exploding in every direction. It swept through the air like fire and shattered glass. People were thrown backwards. Angels and sinners alike slammed into walls and rubble. Even Gabriel and Sera, watching from afar, had to raise their arms to shield themselves.

Lucifer’s grief had split the sky.

“LUCIFER, STOP!” Gabriel shouted, sprinting toward his brother. But Lucifer’s power, driven by grief, was a violent storm. Wild, unchained, impossible to contain. Gabriel’s divine aura couldn’t even reach him through it.

“Brother, please!” Gabriel begged, trying to get closer. But Lucifer couldn’t hear him. His cries tore from his throat, full of pain no words could hold. He screamed again and again, power surging outward. The air twisted with hellfire, and the ground cracked open around him, revealing the deep, endless abyss beneath.

“SIR! CHARLIE NEEDS YOU!”

The desperate cry cut through everything.

Lucifer’s head snapped up. His eyes were glowing red, unfocused, trembling. Vaggie stood at the tent’s entrance beside Gabriel, her face stained with blood and ash, her chest heaving.

The fire around him flickered. Lucifer’s wings lowered.

“...Charlie?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Y-yes,” Vaggie gasped, nodding quickly. “She’s hurt. Badly. She needs you. Please, you have to come. Now.”

The storm halted. The flames around him died down. The shaking stopped. The heat faded from the air, like someone had closed a furnace.

Charlie.

His daughter.

The only piece of his heart left.

Lucifer drew in a sharp breath. He turned back to Lilith, pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, before laying her back down with care. The grief still burned inside him, thick and unbearable, but another feeling had pushed its way through.

Fear.

He couldn’t lose Charlie too.

“Take me to her,” he said, his fists stayed clenched at his sides. Vaggie nodded, her whole body shaking with relief as she turned and led the way. Lucifer followed without a word.

He had already lost the love of his life.

He wouldn’t survive losing his daughter too.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

Lucifer sat behind an ornate desk, his fingers steepled as the voice of the news anchor droned on. The man on the screen was young, polished, speaking with a carefully practiced solemnity.

"—the summit concluded with promising trade agreements between major cities in the Pride Ring, led by Pentagram City, and unions from the six other rings. Analysts suggest this could mark the beginning of a new era of stronger economic cooperation—"

Lucifer barely listened. The words blurred together, just background noise against the endless stack of documents in front of him. He kept himself busy, drowning in work.

Once, in another time, he would have withdrawn from public life. He would have shut himself away in his palace, surrounded only by his workshop and the ducks he used to find comfort in. But now, even looking at them for too long sent grief clawing at his chest. His old ways wouldn’t work this time. Before, no matter how long it took, the cycle always ended with Lilith returning to him. They would reunite, spend decades together, and then the cycle would start again.

But this time, Lilith was gone. Permanently.

There was no light at the end of the road. Not even his daughter was here. He couldn’t visit her, he wasn’t allowed to set foot in Heaven. He had given her up, the only way to save her life.

Work was all he had left.

His pen moved in smooth, practiced strokes, signing decrees and approving proposals. Then, a shift in the broadcast.

"In other news, the trial of the conspirators linked to the late Queen’s rebellion has finally concluded. Last week, the execution of the traitors was carried out by the king himself. The Court has confirmed all eight of them are dead, sentenced by royal decree—"

The screen flickered, showing grainy footage of the condemned burning in infernal flames. Behind them, royal guards stood at attention. In the center of it all, Lucifer himself, cold and unmoving.

"Notably," the anchor continued, "this marks the first public execution overseen by the Crown since the failed rebellion. Political analysts suggest this signals Lucifer Morningstar’s tighter grip on power. An end to overlord-led politics, with the throne reclaiming control."

Lucifer exhaled slowly. He reached for the next document, eyes scanning the text without really seeing it. An end, they called it. Perhaps.

The door creaked as it opened, and Roo slipped inside. She wore nothing but an oversized polo shirt, his shirt. The sleeves were too long, hiding her hands, and the bottom stopped around her thighs. The fabric looked messy, and the collar was a bit stretched out. Most people wouldn’t notice something like that. But Lucifer did.

"You know," Roo said with a lazy smile, "I didn’t think I’d see you working this hard again. Not like this. The last time you were this focused was back in Hell’s early days."

“Then you should be pleased. You always nagged about how I should rule Hell more efficiently. I’m finally listening,” he replied. His gaze flicked up, lingering for a moment on the faint marks peeking above her neckline, before he schooled his expression back to neutrality.

“Unless, of course, you’re here to test me again,” he added. “See if I’ll redecorate my office with your bones this time.”

Roo chuckled as she leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “Tempting, but no. I’ve grown quite fond of my bones.”

Lucifer picked up a folder and slid it toward her without lifting his head. “Here. The trade agreement you wanted.” She grabbed it, but her eyes wandered to the TV screen in the corner. A headline ran across the bottom: 'Soul contract suppression decree still in effect — sinners report weakened power.’

She tilted her head. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play coy,” Roo said. “You clipped the sinners. Cut them off from half their power sources. That wasn’t policy. That was a statement.”

A beat passed. And Lucifer finally met her eyes. “Control,” he said.

And oh, the uproar that followed his decree. It wasn’t just Pentagram City raising its voice, every major city in the Pride Ring had erupted in dissent. Representatives from the overlord councils from each city poured into the capital, each one shouting louder than the last. The streets swelled with protests, furious speeches, and mobs that roared into the night. It was noisy. Unruly. A storm of indignation.

But Lucifer did not flinch. He was no longer a ruler who turned away.

He met them all himself. No middlemen. No delay. He stood before them like a wall of iron. He listened, eyes cold, arms crossed. Then he told them plainly: Hell would no longer be governed by whispers and debts. Not under his reign.

He dismantled their speeches one by one, stripped their demands to nothing. And when they crossed the line—when they forgot who they were speaking to—he reminded them.

He ruled Hell by might. It had never been about democracy.

Roo arched an eyebrow, watching him carefully. “So, it’s a power move then. You're really pressing the crown’s weight on them. You squeeze too tight, people start chewing through their chains. You are familiar with the concept of revolution, yes?”

“Let them try. You and I both know they could never stage a successful rebellion, especially not now. I’ve narrowed the gap. Their caste is no different now from imps or hounds.”

Lucifer stopped, his expression distant for a second, like he was seeing something far away. “And after what they did to Lilith... I owe them nothing. If not for my daughter’s wishes, I’d have drowned the entire Pride Ring in infernal fire. But I gave Charlie my word. Weakening the sinners reduces their thirst for power. If they’re starved of it, maybe, they’ll turn to redemption instead.”

“And the overlords?”

“Their grip will loosen. Without power disparities to prop them up, their influence fades.”

“You’ve really thought this through. I think I like this version of you. You’ve got that charming old tyrant glow again.”

She walked over and sank into the chair near the fireplace, stretching her arms overhead with the lazy ease of a cat. That’s when her eyes landed on something resting on the couch—Lucifer’s hat. Only, this one didn’t have a crown. The usual golden trim on the alabaster snake was gone too. Now it was a faded violet.

“When did you change your hat?” she asked.

“As of today.”

“I always thought gold suited you better.”

“Gold is for kings. I’m not one anymore.”

"Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’re still king. Just… mopey," Roo said flatly as she turned Lucifer’s new hat in her hands.

She remembered when he tried this style once, long ago, before Lilith told him it didn’t suit him. And of course, he dropped it right after, because Lucifer had always been such a simp for his wife. It used to make her roll her eyes.

Now Lilith was gone. Charlie was out of reach. And instead of hiding from the world like he usually did after loss, this time Lucifer kept busy. He buried himself in work. Honestly, Roo thought he'd snap and wipe out the sinners for good. That would’ve been the ending she expected—brutal, but frankly hilarious.

But this? This version of him? It was just as good.

"I don’t want the crown,” he mumbled.

Roo studied him. His shoulders were tense, and his fingers were gripping the pen a little too tight. She ran a finger along the edge of his hat, watching him.

Lucifer didn’t stay on the topic. He shifted gears instead. “I’m leaving for the Sloth Ring tomorrow. Belphegor requested aid.”

“Did she? Is this about the cave again?”

“No. It’s a shipment. Medical supplies. There’s a storm coming, and if we don’t move quickly, it’ll all be lost. After that, I’ll go check the cave. She still thinks it’s worth looking into.” He leaned back in his chair, his mind drifting to the last time he’d been there.

The Sloth Ring lay at the deepest part of Hell. Beneath it was the cave, an entryway to a place no one claimed. A no man’s land. Hell’s dark energy there was thick, almost alive. The cave stretched for miles underground, twisting and turning the deeper you went.

Lucifer and the Sins had tried to explore it over the years. Even after centuries, they never found the end. And each time they returned, the layout had changed. It moved like a living maze.

The last time Lucifer went, he had one goal: to find Alastor.

His hand tightened into a fist at the thought.

“You’re still chasing ghosts,” Roo said quietly as she stood. Lucifer looked at her, eyes narrowed, but said nothing.

“Alright. I’ve got my own mess to stir. Might be a while before I drop by again.”

Roo sauntered towards Lucifer. She leaned in, her hair tousled, her lips still slightly swollen from earlier. She dropped a vial in front of him before straightening up. “A little going-away present. Use it when someone says no.”

Lucifer blinked at her, confused. "What—"

Roo looked back over her shoulders with a grin. “And change your bedsheets to maroon, Master. You’ll thank me later.”

Then she walked out.

Alastor stood at the edge of a cliff at dawn, the sky above brushed in shades of gold and violet. Below him, jagged rocks broke through the surface of the restless sea, their points sharp enough to rip flesh from bone. Yet he felt no fear. Only a strange, weightless peace settled over him. The wind carried the scent of salt and wild grass, and for a moment, his mind grew quiet.

Then a voice called out to him, “Alastor.”  It was unfamiliar, yet it scratched at something deep in his memory, like a ghost refusing to stay buried. His pulse began to spike. The peace he had found was shattering. And then, the ground beneath his feet gave a sudden, violent lurch.

He was falling. The wind roared past his ears, the rocks below rushing up to meet him—

He woke with a jolt, his heart hammering against his ribs. Small hands tugged insistently at his sleeve.

"Mwammy… Mawmaw look funny. She warm."

Alastor blinked, the world coming back into focus as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Beside him stood his son, Nathaniel, his wide golden eyes filled with worry. The boy’s lower lip quivered as he repeated himself, his tiny fingers clutching Alastor’s sleeve even tighter.

A sharp sense of unease settled in Alastor’s chest. Without another word, he stood and hurried to Marie’s bedroom. The elderly imp woman lay curled beneath thick quilts, but even the layers of blankets couldn’t hide the feverish flush on her skin. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, and her breathing came in slow, labored huffs. Her frail fingers clutched the blanket tightly, as if it could shield her from the sickness creeping through her body.

Alastor knelt beside her, pressing his hand gently to her forehead. Heat radiated from her skin like an open flame.

"You're burning up," he said, worried.

Marie cracked open her eyes, the glassy look in them betraying her condition. "It’s just a chill, Alastor," she rasped, waving him off weakly before coughing into her sleeve.

Alastor frowned, ignoring her dismissal. He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and pressed it into her hands. "That’s not true. You’ve got a fever. I’ll go buy you some medicine."

Marie sipped the water but shook her head. "Stay put. The storm’s coming. Wait two days, then you can go."

Alastor turned to the window. The sky had darkened, heavy storm clouds rolling in, and the trees outside swayed against the strengthening wind. He could hear the faint howl of the approaching storm, but he didn’t care. Marie’s skin was burning under his touch. She couldn’t wait two days.

"Nonsense," he said firmly, already reaching for his boots. "I’ll be back before it hits."

Before he could stand, Marie’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength. "Al, don’t, it’s not sa—"

Alastor gently pried her fingers away, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Rest up. I’ll be quick."

Marie’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion pulling her into sleep before she could argue further. He lingered for a moment, making sure she was truly resting before stepping away. His shadow slithered at his feet, waiting for instructions.

"Keep Nathan away from the windows. Check on Marie while you're at it," Alastor ordered. His shadow nodded, giving him a lazy salute before vanishing into the dimly lit room.

Nathaniel, still standing nearby, looked up at him with big, curious eyes. "Where you going?"

Alastor chuckled, scooping the boy up effortlessly. He carried Nathaniel back to his small bed and tucked him under the covers, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I’ll be gone for a little while, my fawn. You better be asleep when I come back."

Nathaniel pouted but gave a small nod before burrowing deeper into his blankets. Within moments, his breathing evened out, and he drifted off.

With a final glance toward his sleeping family, Alastor sighed and stepped outside, the cold wind biting against his skin as he hurried off to fetch the medicine before the storm arrived.

The merchant ship groaned as it tilted dangerously, its engine destroyed and the waves growing more violent by the minute. The hull creaked under the pressure of the swelling sea, the storm looming overhead. The air was already thick with the promise of the coming tempest. On deck, the crew scrambled, their shouts tense with urgency as they worked to salvage supplies before it was too late.

Then, a shadow passed over the ship. For a moment, the wind stilled.

Lucifer descended from the storm-darkened clouds, his six wings spread wide. He landed without a sound, yet his mere presence was enough to halt every man in his tracks. All eyes widened in shock, then in awe, as they took in the sight of their king standing before them.

“Your Majesty!” A chorus of voices rang out, the tension easing for the first time that day. Relief washed over the crew as they realized who had come to their aid.

Lucifer raised a hand to quiet them. "Listen up, we don’t have much time before the storm hits. Gather the wounded and get everyone ready to move. The full squad is waiting below with the lifeboats. I’ll make sure we all reach the shore safely."

No one hesitated. The fear that had gripped them moments before melted away, replaced by determination. With Lucifer here, they knew they had a chance.

With a flick of his wrist, crates of medical supplies lifted into the air, weightless under his power. They drifted toward the waiting lifeboats, landing neatly in place. The injured followed, guided onto makeshift stretchers that hovered toward safety. The crew moved swiftly, their hands steady now that they knew they would survive.

But just as Lucifer was guiding the last of the survivors toward the boats, something tugged at him. A presence.

His head snapped toward the nearest island, his senses flaring.

"Sire, are you alright?" One of his guards stepped closer, watching him carefully. Lucifer hummed in thought, his eyes narrowing at the landmass ahead. There, amidst the darkened shorelines and tangled forests, something flickered. A light—warm, bright. Unnatural.

It was not the presence of an ordinary Hellborn. Nor a sinner.

It felt divine.

Lucifer’s jaw tightened. "That island... That’s where we’re supposed to wait out the storm, isn’t it?"

The guard beside him nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Lady Belphegor instructed us to take shelter on Somnus Isle. The mayor has already made preparations for our arrival."

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on the island. The presence was watching him, it almost felt shy. Was it an enemy? An ally? He couldn't say. The storm clouds rolled in, and the winds picked up, howling against the ship’s battered frame. He reached out with his senses, testing if the presence would reveal itself to him.

And then, as if feeling his gaze, the light vanished. Gone.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. It knows I’m here.

Mysteries in Hell were piling up, one after another. Perhaps, once they reached the island, he could solve at least one of them.

"Sire, everyone’s on board and ready to depart."

Lucifer inhaled deeply, pushing the distraction aside. First, the storm. Then, the island.

"Good. Get everyone moving."

With that, the lifeboats pressed forward, carrying them toward Somnus Isle, and whatever awaited him there.

The apothecary’s shop carried the thick scent of dried herbs and bitter tinctures, chamomile and crushed peppermint lingering in the air. The shelves were lined with glass jars filled with powders, roots, and preserved leaves, their labels faded with age. Alastor stood at the worn wooden counter, his fingers drumming against the surface in impatient rhythm. The elderly shopkeeper had disappeared into the back, searching for the fever tonic he’d requested.

Outside, the wind howled against the wooden shutters. The storm was coming, faster than he’d hoped.

He wasn’t alone.

At the far end of the counter, a man leaned against the shelves, his arms crossed. He had the weathered look of a fisherman, salt-stiffened coat, tan fur, and claws calloused from years at sea. When Alastor first stepped inside, the man had given him a short nod, a quiet acknowledgement between two strangers waiting out bad weather.

Minutes passed in silence before the fisherman let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Shame about the harbor right now,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Alastor glanced at him. “Harbor?”

“Aye. Just came from town hall. Place is packed, mainlanders, ship crews, all from that merchant vessel that ran aground last night.” The fisherman shook his head. “Storm’s got ‘em stranded for days, maybe longer. Town’s scrambling to house ‘em all.”

Alastor’s fingers stilled on the counter. “The stranded crew?” he echoed. “I heard about that this morning. They made it to shore, then?”

“Barely.” The man snorted. “A powerful noble dragged ‘em in like they were sacks of grain. One of the big shots from the mainland. Whole town’s talkin’ about it.”

Alastor bit his lip. “Lady Belphegor, then?”

“Must be. Never seen anything like it, the coming storm was tearing the waves apart, and yet the mainlander just powered through, pushed ‘em all forward like it was nothing.” The fisherman tilted his head. “Mayor will probably throw a town festive after the storm. Elections are comin’ up, after all.”

Before Alastor could respond, the shopkeeper finally returned, a small glass bottle clutched in his frail hands. The amber liquid inside sloshed as he set it down on the counter with a wheeze. “Last one,” he muttered. “Storm’s delayed the shipments. You’re lucky.”

Alastor pulled out his payment and handed over the money without hesitation. “Keep the change.”

He tucked the tonic into his coat pocket, gave the fisherman a small nod, then stepped out into the wind.

He had hoped to leave soon. The sky was a brooding shade of pinkish-gray, heavy with the promise of an oncoming storm. Dark clouds churned overhead, and the wind had picked up, carrying the scent of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.

Alastor stepped outside and climbed onto Baku’s back. His horse, thankfully, was well accustomed to the occasional storms that visited the island. Slowly, they started their journey back. 

He had only been riding for a few minutes, his mind still reeling from the information. One of the Seven Sins was on the island. It had to be Lady Belphegor, the Sin of Sloth.

Knowing she was here changed everything. He would have to be more careful. It would be best to stay inside for the next few days, avoid drawing attention. The Sin and the other mainlanders likely wouldn’t stay for more than a week. Hopefully.

He took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts aside as he refocused on the road ahead. He urged his horse forward, gripping the reins tighter. When he heard it.

“Alastor?”

On instinct, he shut his eyes, cursing the absurd nightmares that now invaded his waking hours. Exhaling slowly, he opened them again and nudged Baku to keep moving. But the voice came again, louder, more insistent.

“Alastor!”

This time, he couldn’t ignore it. Summoning his resolve, he finally looked back, hands tightening around the reins. At first, he saw nothing, just the empty road and the darkening sky. But then, a figure emerged from the shadows, its silhouette stark against the stormy backdrop. His mind must have been playing tricks on him. He had to be seeing things, things that could not possibly be there.

He merely stared at the false specter his mind had conjured.

“Please move on,” Alastor muttered under his breath, convinced he was losing his grip on reality. “...Just let me go.”

The figure stared at him, its voice nearly awe-struck as it spoke. “I can’t believe you’re alive... I’ve been searching for you for four years, fearing you might have died during the rebellion without my knowledge.”

Alastor frowned. The man’s gaze, too familiar, too perfectly alike to the one from his memories. It made his stomach churn. Was he hallucinating? Had exhaustion finally driven him past the brink? His eyes flickered to the line of men standing behind the figure, their uniforms pristine. The sigil of the Pride Ring gleamed on their chests, catching what little light remained.

Doubt took root in his mind, his brows knitting together.

The man stepped closer, and beneath him, Baku shifted uneasily. “Alastor.” The figure spoke again, but this time there was an undercurrent in his voice, low and deep, like a warning.

“Your Majesty?” One of the guards addressed him, and in that instant, any remaining illusion shattered. 

This was real. 

Lucifer was here.

Fear twisted into instinct.

Without thinking, Alastor yanked on the reins, sending his horse rearing up with a startled whine. Then, with a thunderous gallop, Baku took off, hooves pounding against the muddy ground just as the storm broke overhead.

He was real. Real, REAL, and HERE!

Alastor’s thoughts were a jumbled mess, his body trembling with fear. He couldn’t face Lucifer, not now, not like this. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.

Rain began to fall in sheets, soaking him to the bone, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was putting as much distance as possible between himself and Lucifer. Why was Lucifer here? Out of all places in hell, why was he on this island? Did someone rat on him? His face was all over pentagram city, someone must have recognized him here. Despite all his careful hiding, someone had still found out.

Did he know about Nathaniel? The mere thought of his son being taken from him sent Alastor into a panic.

Behind him, he thought he heard Lucifer call his name again, but the sound was swallowed by the roar of the wind and the crash of thunder. He didn’t look back. If he did, he might lose his nerve.

Turning sharply around a corner, he wove through the streets, losing them over time. He had to reach Nathaniel, they couldn’t stay here a moment longer.

As he entered the forest path, he pulled his horse to a slow stop. Just ahead, the land where the cabin stood was protected by the runes he had placed, wards against intruders. Rain splintered voraciously from the clouds, fear gnawing at his throat, seeping into his very bones. He snapped the reins lightly, urging his horse forward onto a more well-traveled path.

The bridge was coming into view.

Alastor urged Baku forward, the horse’s hooves slipping against the slick marbled deck. Below them, the river raged, its currents thrashing as if eager to swallow anything that dared to fall in.

But the river wasn’t the only thing that terrified him. Halfway across the bridge, Alastor felt his stomach drop as if he had been gutted. A line of guards bearing the sigil of the Pride Ring stood at the end of the path, blocking his path. He yanked on the reins, forcing his horse to an abrupt halt, nearly toppling forward in the process.

He barely managed to steady himself. His grip on the reins tightened, his teeth gritted in a mix of anger and fear. The feeling was all too familiar, like a collar tightening around his neck, like the chains of a contract he had thought long broken. His breath came in ragged gasps as the rain hammered down in torrents, the storm growing stronger, determined to stay.

Then he felt it. A sudden shift in the air that raised the fur on his skin. Something was behind him. His breath came out in pale clouds as he turned slowly. Through the curtain of rain and fog, he saw them—six massive wings slicing through the storm, black as pitch. Twisted horns framed a face half-hidden in shadow. Above it, fire twisted like a crown, casting an eerie red light that made the falling rain look like blood.

Lucifer landed hard. The bridge groaned under the weight, cracks spidering out from where his feet touched. The storm seemed to bend around him, as if even the wind and rain were afraid to come too close. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, revealing his full demon form—dark, towering, and terrible. Like a warning. Like death had come down from the heavens.

"Did you really think you could run from me, bellhop?"

"Stay back,” Alastor gritted out, his heart hammering in his chest. He had few options. In front of him stood Lucifer, the strongest being in all of Hell. Behind him, a line of guards blocked the bridge’s exit. And beneath him, the Agusan River raged, its currents roaring like a hungry beast.

Lucifer laughed, a sound utterly devoid of humor. "Oh, please. You’re in no position to give me orders. You never were."

"Are you here to kill me?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Does it matter?" A smirk played on his lips. "Don’t worry your pretty little head, Bambi. Death would be too kind a fate for you."

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound good. Lucifer made it sound as if death would be the better option. "And if I refuse to go with you?"

The storm had reached its peak, the relentless rain blurring the world into a wet haze. Mist curled around the bridge, swallowing the landscape. He could barely see Lucifer, but he could feel him, the weight of his presence pressing against him like an iron collar.

"You don’t have a choice, sinner." Lucifer stepped forward, his crimson eyes cutting through the fog like burning coals. "You’re coming with me, whether you walk or whether I have to break every bone in your body to drag you there."

Alastor’s ears pressed flat against his head. His pulse pounded in his ears as Lucifer’s form grew sharper with every step forward.

"And if you don’t…" Lucifer continued. "Well, I’ll just start picking off the people who helped with your trial case. There aren’t many, but you know them personally."

Alastor’s stomach twisted. His mind flashed to Niffty and Husk, two of the few who had stepped forward in court to defend his character. The thought of them suffering at Lucifer’s hands made his chest tighten. Didn’t the king’s time with them mean anything? Had Lucifer truly fallen this far?

"Now, come along, little fawn. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be."

"No!" Alastor barked, tightening his grip on the reins. His lips trembled. Nathaniel needed him. He knew his refusal could put others in danger, but he had no choice, his son came first.

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with anger. "Don’t make me repeat myself, sinner."

Alastor’s breath hitched. "No," he whispered, more to himself than to Lucifer, as if in confirmation. He flicked a glance over his shoulder, toward the river below. Lucifer noticed and frowned, suspicion darkening his expression.

"Alastor," Lucifer started, his voice almost coaxing. "If you obey me, I might even be merciful. Isn’t that what you want?"

"You said you searched for me for four years. Why?” Alastor almost sounded like he was pleading. “Why can’t you just let me go?" His eyes searched Lucifer’s, desperate for an answer he knew he might never find.

"Let you go?" Lucifer’s lips curled, a humorless laugh slipping past them. His horse shifted uneasily, sensing the malicious energy rolling off from the king. Alastor’s heart pounded as he caught sight of Lucifer’s horns lengthening, twisting out further, a testament to his growing rage. The devil’s stare bore into him.

"After what you’ve done? After you ruined my life?"

Alastor’s brow furrowed. "I don’t know what you’re talking about! I wasn’t the one who started the rebellion, I wasn’t—"

"My wife is dead. My daughter is barely clinging to life. If I hadn’t wasted time searching for you—" Lucifer’s jaw clenched. Saying the words out loud made them real, finally forcing him to acknowledge the weight of his own regret. "If I had been there…"

"And somehow, that’s all my fault? How is it fair that I take the blame for your actions?" He exclaimed in anger, frustration coiling tight in his chest. Why is it always me? First the rebellion, now this.

Lucifer scoffed. "Fair? You want to talk about fairness, Alastor?"

"I didn’t ask for you to heal me! I didn’t ask for you to destroy my contract."

The fog thickened around them, the storm wrapping them in a cocoon, isolating them from the rest of the world. For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Lucifer’s gaze, something unreadable.

"And the child? Was it fair of you to ask me that?"

The words struck Alastor like a physical blow. His breath stilled. His hands, clammy and shaking, gripped the reins tighter. Lucifer remembered. He remembered their child.

Lucifer took another step forward, hand outstretched. "This is your last chance, Alastor. I won’t ask again."

Alastor’s heart raced. Lucifer was close, too close to discovering the truth. To finding out that their child was alive. That Nathaniel lived. His gaze flickered to the river below. A death sentence. The odds of survival were near impossible.

But not entirely.

"I’d rather die." He said, barely audible over the storm.

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with fury. "Alastor—" He lunged forward just as Alastor moved.

With a swift motion, Alastor leaped from his horse, slapping its side. The animal reared up with a startled whinny, bolting toward Lucifer. The king barely dodged in time, but his expression twisted in horror when he realized what Alastor was about to do.

"Al—don’t!"

For a brief second, Alastor met Lucifer’s gaze. Defiant. 

And then, without hesitation, he jumped—diving headfirst into the raging river below.

The cold hit him like a slap, the icy water swallowing him whole. The current seized him instantly, dragging him under. He thrashed, kicking hard, his lungs burning as he fought to reach the surface. The river was ruthless, tossing him like a ragdoll, pulling him wherever it pleased.

For a brief moment, his head broke the surface. He gasped for air, then another wave crashed over him, yanking him back down. The world blurred, the roar of the water drowning everything else. His body slammed against rocks hidden beneath the surface.

The further the river carried him, the weaker he felt. His limbs grew heavy, his movements sluggish. The cold seeped deep into his bones, draining what little strength he had left. Am I really going to die here?

As he kept sinking, the river pulled him down gently, almost like it was holding him close. Above the surface, the storm roared on, rain hammering the water until it foamed and churned. But down here, it was different. Still. Quiet. The burn in his lungs was distant now, muffled like everything else. Maybe this was easier. No more chasing, no more hiding, no more fear.

His arms floated beside him, useless. The light from above faded slowly, slipping further out of reach. Just as the darkness began to close in, a voice broke through the silence. Fight, Alastor. Don’t give up. His mother’s voice. Steady. Urgent. It cut through the numbness and pulled him back like a rope.

His eyes flew open. He kicked out, twisting and thrashing against the weight of the river. Nathaniel, he needs me! His muscles screamed, his ribs flared with pain, but he didn’t stop. He pushed toward the surface, fingers clawing at nothing but the water around him.

Then—air.

He burst through the surface, gasping, gulping in air like it was the first breath he’d ever taken. The storm above shrieked in fury, wind slapping his face, rain biting like needles. But he was alive.

Then Alastor saw it, a small opening in the riverbank, barely visible through the rushing water. A cave. His only chance. With the last of his strength, he kicked against the current, arms reaching for the entrance.

His fingers brushed against stone, but the current pulled him back. Fight. You’re almost there. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind. He clenched his jaw, lunged forward again, and this time, his hand caught on a jagged rock.

With one final, desperate push, he hauled himself inside, collapsing onto the cold, wet stone. He lay there, gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling in shaky bursts. The river roared behind him, but he was safe, for now.

I’m proud of you, love. Her voice was softer now, fading like a memory. Always.

Alastor exhaled, a strange sense of calm settling over him. He turned his head to the side, closed his eyes, and let exhaustion take him.

Alastor jolted awake, his body tense as if ripped from a nightmare. The cave was dark and quiet, except for the soft drip of water and the distant roar of the storm outside. His clothes clung to his fur, still soaked, and a deep chill settled into his bones. He sat up slowly, muscles aching, and peered toward the cave’s entrance.

He had no idea how long he’d been asleep. It was fully dark now, and the storm hadn’t let up. He shivered, pulling his knees to his chest, trying to preserve what little warmth he had. But he couldn’t sit here and wait, he needed to dry off, get warm, and figure out how to escape the island with Nathaniel. The rest? He’d deal with it when he had to.

Forcing himself to stand, he stumbled slightly, his legs unsteady. He scanned the cave for anything useful. The floor was littered with rocks, moss, and a few dry leaves that had likely blown in with the wind. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Gathering the leaves into a small pile, he flicked his fingers, summoning a spark. A tiny flame caught, flickering weakly before growing as he fed it twigs. His hands trembled, but the warmth was immediate, a small relief against the biting cold.

As the flames crackled and danced, casting flickering shadows on the cave walls, Alastor felt a strange unease settle over him. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. He glanced around the cave, his eyes scanning the darkness, but he saw nothing. Still, the sensation persisted, a prickling awareness that someone, or something, was watching him.

“Hello?” he called out. “Is someone there?”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then a voice replied.

“You’re not very good at staying hidden, are you?”

Alastor threw himself against the nearest wall. Lucifer stepped out from the deeper parts of the cave. His clothes clung to him, soaked through, but his hair had already begun to dry. How long had he been there? Had he been watching Alastor sleep the entire time? The storm outside hadn’t let up, so had Lucifer jumped in after him? Now they were both trapped, locked in the storm, with a man who wanted him dead.

“I have to admit, Bambi,” Lucifer said, inching closer, “even after all these years, you still manage to surprise me. Jumping to your death? Desperate, even for you.”

Alastor pressed his back hard to the wall, watching every move the king made, readying himself for the moment Lucifer would strike. “How did you find me?” 

Lucifer moved in slow circles around him, a predator toying with its prey. “I searched. I would’ve torn this whole island to pieces if I had to,” he said. “Not when, after all this time, my father finally listened to one of my prayers.”

The sound of Lucifer’s boots echoed loudly in the quiet cave. Each step sent a jolt of panic through Alastor, like a trapped animal’s instinct flaring. With a quick motion, he called on his power and sent his shadows hurtling toward the devil.

Lucifer didn’t even flinch. He lifted his hand, and in a single flick, golden fire burst forth, scorching through the shadows in an instant. They shrieked as they burned, crumbling into ash and vanishing like dead embers in the wind. Alastor’s breath caught in his throat.

“Cute,” Lucifer said, stepping even closer. “But did you really think that would work?”

Listen closely, mon fils. When a beast bares its teeth at you, you don’t reason with it. Madness doesn’t negotiate. It feasts. His mother’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. That was all the warning he needed. Alastor made his choice in an instant. Better to throw himself into the mercy of the storm than to stay trapped with this madman. He braced himself to sprint toward the cave entrance, but he didn’t get far. Lucifer lunged before he could take a step.

The force of the tackle knocked Alastor off the wall. He twisted and fought, trying to break free, but his body hit a rough pile of rocks, and he lost his footing. Pain shot through him as he hit the ground. In the next breath, Lucifer was on top of him. Before Alastor could move again, the king snapped his fingers, and chains burst from thin air, pinning his wrists down against the cold stone.

His arms were stretched wide, locked in place. The metal burned hot where it touched his skin, glowing faintly with the king’s power. He thrashed once, twice, but it was useless.

“Fuck you!” Alastor snarled, twisting his hips in a hopeless attempt to throw Lucifer off him.

Lucifer’s mouth curled into a smile. “Since when did you get so crude?” he said, running his free hand along the chains linking Alastor’s wrist to the ground. “I see exile has done a number on your manners.”

A shiver moved through Alastor’s body. The king’s gaze was sharp, like a blade hovering just over his throat. He knew that look. It usually came before a death sentence. But he couldn’t die here. Not when Nathaniel still needed him. His son didn’t deserve to lose a parent.

“Don’t,” he choked out.

Lucifer went utterly still. Then he laughed, disbelief dripping from his tone. “Don’t?” he repeated. “You’re asking for mercy? After you stood beside my wife and plotted that pathetic rebellion?”

The chains clanged as Lucifer grabbed one and yanked it tight, the harsh sound bouncing around the cave walls. He leaned down until his breath was hot against Alastor’s ear.

“Every single day since the rebellion, I’ve suffered. I buried my wife. I watched my daughter slip away from me, piece by piece, while I wasted years searching for you. And now, when I finally have you within reach, I find out you were the one pulling the strings all along.”

“I told you, I didn’t start it! The queen forced me into it! I’m not the mastermind you think I am!” Alastor’s chest rose and fell in ragged bursts as the cuffs dug into his wrists. He arched away from the pain.

“Shut up, you lying bastard. There was more than enough proof at your trial. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe a word that slithers out of your mouth?”

His free hand moved to Alastor’s neck, not squeezing, just resting there. Like a warning.

“Give me one reason. Just one. Why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“You’ve already made up your mind.,” Alastor said quietly. “Nothing I say will change that.”

And it was the truth—cold and bitter. A truth he had tried to ignore, but now had to face. There was no point trying to reason with Lucifer anymore. The trial had already laid everything bare. The so-called evidence had been shown—true or not—and Lucifer had still made him the villain. Alastor knew his contract with the queen had come up during the trial, used in his defense. He knew Lucifer had seen it.

But even with that, Lucifer didn’t blame her.

He only blamed him.

It didn’t matter what actually happened. In Lucifer’s eyes, his wife was blameless. And Alastor would always be the traitor. The villain. The one worth punishing. There was no justice to be found here. Only vengeance.

And you couldn’t reason with a madman.

Lucifer smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. “For once, you’re right. I’m tired of your voice. That wretched siren’s tongue that poisoned my wife, my daughter— me. Perhaps I should silence it for good.”

Before he could make good on the threat, Alastor snarled and spat. The spit landed squarely on Lucifer’s cheek, glistening in the dim light between them. There was a pause, a moment of silence.

Then Lucifer laughed. It was low and flat, with no humor in it. He didn’t even wipe it off. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his knee harder between Alastor’s thighs, drawing a sharp gasp of pain from him.

“Still got some fight in you?” he murmured. “Even now?”

Alastor bared his teeth, defiant. “I wouldn’t have lasted this long in hell if I just rolled over and died.”

Lucifer let out a dry chuckle. “And to think, my daughter used to call you a friend.” His hand slid up and gripped Alastor’s hair, yanking his head back roughly. “I should’ve let you rot in that filthy motel room. Hell would have been better without your presence.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” Alastor spat. “Would’ve saved me from ever seeing your face again.”

Lucifer looked down at him. His expression was hard to read. Then, without warning, his thumb brushed against the hinge of Alastor’s jaw, disturbingly tender.

“What happened to our baby?”

The storm outside howled, rain hammering the cave’s entrance like fists on stone. But inside, everything stilled. The air went thick, weighed down by silence. It swallowed the sound of the fire, which had shrunk down to a flicker. The only sound was the distant drip of water from the cave’s ceiling, each drop a ticking clock, counting the seconds Alastor didn’t answer.

“Alastor. What happened to our baby?” Lucifer repeated again.

“I aborted it.”

The words felt like a dagger to the gut. The cave seemed to close in around them, Alastor’s confession hung between the walls like poison. Lucifer didn’t speak. He only stared, his expression unreadable. Silent. Alastor forced himself to go on, each word twisting the blade deeper.

“I only needed your child so I could trick the runes, to slip past the locks of Pride Ring. The moment I got out, I went to the nearest clinic and had it removed. I wasn’t going to let a monster fester inside me.”

For the first time, Lucifer’s mask slipped. A flicker of hurt, genuine and unguarded, crossed his face before his expression hardened back to stone. “Is that why you wanted my child?” he asked.

“You actually think I wanted to bear your child out of affection?” Alastor said with a mocking smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. The only thing I feel for you, Lucifer, is hate. ” 

The shadows in the cave seemed to grow darker. Lucifer stood, pulling his weight off of Alastor. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the cave wall.

CRACK.

Lucifer’s fist slammed into the stone with such force that the whole cave shook. Pebbles and dust rained down from the ceiling. The sound echoed like thunder. His hand bled, but it healed just as quickly, leaving nothing but raw fury behind in its wake. Lucifer’s breathing was harsh, uneven, like he was barely holding his anger back.

Alastor flinched. His ears flattened against his head. Fear crept up his chest. Two instincts fought in his mind. One full of spite, begging him to keep pushing. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t do it begging. He would drag Lucifer down with him, word by word, blow by blow. He would hurt him. He’d make it count.

But the other part of him, the quieter one, pleaded for caution. That part reminded him that there was still a chance, no matter how slim, to see Nathaniel again. That maybe survival was more important than vengeance. That living, even in chains, might be better than vanishing for good.

Lucifer stood with his back to Alastor for a long time, his shoulders rising and falling as he worked to calm his breathing. Alastor slowly pushed himself into a proper sitting position, though both his hands were still chained to the ground. His body stayed tense, eyes fixed on Lucifer, waiting to see what he would do next.

“Sin after sin,” Lucifer said at last, still not turning around. “And now, my unborn child, gone before I ever got the chance to meet them.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes but didn’t say a word. He had heard stories about Lucifer’s rule over the Pride Ring. The way he ran things with an iron fist. How Hell had become stricter and more oppressive toward sinners. Husk had mentioned it in passing in his letters, how much Lucifer had changed. Alastor had seen glimpses of it awhile ago. But this was something else.

This anger, a cold rage that pulsed just beneath Lucifer’s skin, it was new. And terrifying. Alastor thought of the way the king had slammed his fist into the cave wall, hard enough to make the entire place shake. The violence he kept barely in check. It looked too familiar. It made Alastor’s stomach twist with unease.

At last, Lucifer turned around. His face was expressionless, but the madness in his eyes was unmistakable. It was the kind of look that stripped away any illusion of control.

He started walking toward him.

Alastor instinctively backed away, but the chains held fast. He only managed to move a few inches before they yanked him to a stop. Now all he could do was look up as Lucifer came to a halt in front of him.

He sat still, every muscle in his body tight with tension. Maybe this was it. Maybe Lucifer had finally decided to kill him. The king's eyes had that look. The kind that made death feel like a certainty. Alastor refused to cry. Not in front of him. If his eyes looked glassy, it wasn’t because of fear, it was because he was thinking of Nathaniel. Of how he’d failed him. Of how his son would grow up without either parent. The only small comfort he had was knowing that Marie wouldn’t leave Nathaniel. At least the boy would still have someone.

Lucifer knelt down in front of him and grabbed a fistful of Alastor’s hair, locking his jaw in a tight, bruising grip. Alastor thought this was the end. He braced himself and shut his eyes.

But instead of a killing blow, he felt something crushing against his mouth.

His eyes flew open in shock—Lucifer was kissing him.

The confusion stunned him long enough for the king to take full advantage. Alastor's mouth was slightly open in surprise, and Lucifer forced his tongue inside, their teeth crashing together in the process. The kiss was brutal. Lucifer bit down hard, deepening it as if trying to consume him, using every bit of leverage he had.

Alastor snapped out of his daze and thrashed violently. “Get off!” he snarled. He bared his teeth and bit down, hard, right into Lucifer’s tongue.

There was a burst, thick and warm, and suddenly golden blood flooded Alastor’s mouth. It smeared across his teeth and lips, sharp and metallic.

Lucifer finally pulled back, licking the edge of his own mouth. Golden ichor dripped down, staining Alastor’s lips. The king stared at it, silent for a moment, as if weighing a thought that had been forming ever since his reunion with Alastor began.

While Lucifer stood in quiet thought, Alastor’s mind was falling apart. The instant that golden blood touched his tongue, his world shrank to that single taste. Angelic blood was the most powerful of all blood types, a rare and dangerous delicacy. But when the blood came from a seraphim, it was far worse. Addictive. Irresistible. The last time he had tasted it was back in that motel room, and even then, he hadn’t been conscious when Lucifer made him drink it. But now he was awake. Aware. And the sweetness of the golden liquid lit a fire in his head. His pupils dilated, his thoughts tangled, and he could feel the pull. The voice in his mind whispered for more.

He didn’t even realize when Lucifer reached out and cupped his face, brushing a thumb across his bruised and swollen lips.

“I think it’s time you repay me, Alastor. Every debt. Every sin. Every ounce of suffering you’ve inflicted on me.”

Before Alastor could raise a hand to push him away, Lucifer acted faster. He grabbed a fistful of Alastor’s hair and pulled, forcing Alastor to arch upward until their eyes met. Alastor had no choice but to look directly at him.

“Because of you, I lost a child. And another clings to life. So you—” Lucifer said, lowering himself until their faces were just inches apart. “—will give me two.”

In the rush of the moment, Alastor didn’t realize his mouth was being forced open until a sharp, burning liquid was poured down his throat. He gagged, trying to spit it out, but Lucifer’s hand clamped his jaw shut.

“Swallow it,” Lucifer ordered, one hand moving to the back of Alastor’s head, fingers tightening in his auburn hair.

Alastor couldn’t stop himself. He swallowed the last of the liquid, and dread immediately followed.

“What did you make me drink?” he coughed, his chest tightening. Each breath came out ragged and hot, the air scraping against his throat and flaring through his nostrils. Heat started to pool in his stomach, curling into a tight knot. His body twisted beneath Lucifer’s weight, tense and disoriented.

“What did you do to me?”

Lucifer’s lips parted slightly as he watched, eyes gleaming with quiet fascination while Alastor squirmed. The king loosened his hold, allowing Alastor to collapse flat on his back. With a small motion of Lucifer’s finger, the chains binding Alastor’s wrists vanished.

Alastor, dazed and trembling like a trapped animal, tried to crawl away. His movements were clumsy, weak. He barely made it a few feet before collapsing again, limbs uncooperative.

He’s weaker now, Lucifer observed. But that wasn’t all. Alastor writhed again beneath him, and Lucifer’s eyes widened. He could smell it, the scent of arousal clinging to Alastor’s skin. He was leaking.

Without warning, the memory of Roo flickered through his mind.

A little going-away present. Use it when someone says no. And change your bedsheets to maroon, Master. You’ll thank me later.

“That woman always has to meddle,” Lucifer muttered under his breath, exhaling a tired sigh. He stepped a short distance away from Alastor and, with a lazy flick of his wrist, summoned a chair made from the cave’s jagged stones.

Alastor’s vision wavered in and out, the colors around him bleeding together like watercolor left out in the rain. Still, he heard the grinding sound of rocks colliding, sharp and loud, and his head jerked in Lucifer’s direction.

Lucifer now sat sprawled in the stone-formed chair, lounging as though it were a grand throne. One leg rested loosely over the other. But the chair wasn’t really a chair, it looked more like a crude, violent sculpture, jutting out in uneven spikes. The seat was perched high, precarious, a mass of stone shaped like a creature made of blades. Fitting for the devil himself.

Another jolt of searing heat rushed through Alastor’s body, his arms shaking violently until they gave out beneath him. His entire frame burned, a slow smoldering heat crawling under his skin and coiling deep in his gut, winding tighter with every ragged breath. Mate is here—he can stop this, something whispered in his mind.

Alastor bit into his bottom lip hard to drown that thought, grinding his teeth while his vision swam. “Answer me!” he shouted, though the words came out strangled, stripped of power, dulled by the fire inside him that churned and twisted everything.

Lucifer watched him impassively, while Alastor curled in on himself, clutching his stomach. “You already know what it is,” Lucifer said coolly. “You’re not an idiot.”

Alastor growled, but it broke into a sudden gasp as another surge of unbearable heat washed over him, his back arching off the ground without his control. His fur glistened with sweat, his hair clung to his face, and he could barely breathe through the panting. Every beat of his heart pounded through his limbs, too fast and too loud, pulsing everywhere at once.

“So, is this it, your majesty?” Alastor sneered through gritted teeth, his body still trembling from the unnatural heat that coiled beneath his skin. “Is this your grand plan? Are you going to defile me here on the dirt like a common whore?”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow but didn’t move from where he sat. The faintest hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No.”

Alastor laughed bitterly. “Liar.”

Lucifer leaned forward in his jagged stone throne, his voice calm. “I’m not going to touch you like that, unless you want me to.”

The heat inside Alastor pulsed like a second heartbeat, and the voices crept in again—soft, persistent, traitorous. Let him touch you. Let him fix this. He shook his head hard, trying to will them away.

“What?” he asked, unsure if he had even heard correctly.

Lucifer sighed, slow and patronizing, as if he were talking to a child. “Your consent, Alastor. I won’t lay a hand on you unless you ask for it.”

Alastor stared at him, his expression full of disbelief. “Consent?” His voice rose, seething. The nerve of this gaslighting asshole, it made his blood boil. Just moments ago, Lucifer had implied he’d force Alastor to carry not one but two of his children, and he had already shoved his tongue down his throat. Consent? His ass.

“You forced your blood into me and you made me swallow whatever cursed liquid that was, just to get me into this wreched state, and now you want my consent?”

Lucifer gave a slow, deliberate nod. “The effects of the serum will wear off by dawn. If you can hold out until then, nothing will happen.”

Alastor’s hands curled into fists. “You insufferable basta—”

But before he could finish, Lucifer reached into his coat, produced a small vial, and uncorked it without hesitation. He tipped his head back and drank it down in one smooth motion.

Alastor gaped. “What are you doing?”

Lucifer licked the last drop from his lips, the liquid still glistening faintly on his tongue. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Lucifer’s body spasmed, a full involuntary tremor overtaking him. His hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly, veins straining beneath ivory skin. But he remained seated, slowing his breath, forcing control back into his limbs.

“Now we’re even,” Lucifer said. “Same dosage. Same fire burning under the skin. If I can resist it, so can you.”

Alastor could see the tightness in Lucifer’s knuckles, the way the veins bulged beneath the pressure of his grip. You want it. You want him.

“But if you do want relief…” Lucifer’s voice dropped to something low, nearly purring. “If the heat becomes too much, if you want me to ease it, you’ll have to ask.”

“Fuck you!” Alastor’s voice was ragged, his eyes ablaze with fury as another violent shudder wracked through him. Slick pooled between his thighs. His cunt clenched and unclenched in uneven spasms, his control slipping. Just give in. He’s strong, he’s here . Your body arches toward him already.

Lucifer chuckled, completely unbothered. “That’s the second time tonight,” he said with a faint smile. “Keep swearing at me like that, and I might start thinking you’re getting comfortable.”

Alastor didn’t bother responding. He couldn’t afford to. His only focus now was lasting until dawn without breaking, without begging the king to fuck him. He had dignity. He had pride. He would not let Lucifer win. Mate. Mate. Mate. Need him. Need his hands, his teeth, his cock. Why fight? This is what we’re made for.

He gritted his teeth and yanked at his own hair, desperate to drown out the insistent voices that had grown louder in his head, rising in volume with the waves of heat rippling through his body. Each wave struck harder than the last, brutal in intensity. His skin felt like it had been steeped in molten gold, every inch hypersensitive. Even the rough fabric of his clothes tormented him, every seam scraping like claws, the weight of it suffocating.

He clawed at his collar, nails digging into the flesh of his neck in a frantic effort to find relief. When he pulled his hand back, his fingers came away damp with sweat, his skin burning with fever.

Submit. Let him take you. Stop pretending.

His breath hitched. He was panting, short and harsh. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision at the edges. In spite of himself, he looked back toward Lucifer, not because he wanted to see him, not because he needed him, definitely not because of that. He just… wanted to see if the bastard was suffering too.

But the sight that greeted him made his blood boil.

Lucifer sat still, statuesque, cross-legged in his jagged stone throne. His eyes were closed. His back was straight, unyielding. The only indication that he wasn’t entirely unaffected were the veins bulging along his forearms and the unmistakable tent in his trousers, strained taut against the white fabric. But his breathing remained even. His expression, unreadable.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair—that he had to suffer like this, that all the blame had fallen on him. That he might lose Nathaniel. That in order to feel any relief from this unbearable heat burning inside him, he would have to beg Lucifer to claim him. The very same heat Lucifer had forced on him. His own biology was betraying him, pushing him closer to the edge. And deep down, he knew he wouldn’t last until dawn. His womb ached with emptiness, untouched for too long. Lucifer could fill it again—if only Alastor would stop resisting.

His breaths came in short broken gasps as he fought hard against the primal need that curled low in his belly, threatening to consume him. But Alastor’s resistance was failing, crumbling like sand in his grasp.

Then Alastor’s legs moved before he could stop them.

That’s your mate—your true mate. Why make him chase you? When he could be mounting you, breeding you, giving you purpose again.

Every step he took toward Lucifer felt like walking to his own doom. The distance between them stretched endlessly and yet wasn’t far enough. His whole body thrummed with urgency, every instinct urging him to move faster, to give in. Lucifer remained still, eyes shut as though meditating, but he knew Alastor was drawing closer. The sound of each footfall echoed sharply in the quiet cave. Still, the king didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t reach. He just waited, as if he had known from the start how this would all play out.

Alastor sank to his knees. His hands reached for balance, gripping Lucifer’s shoulders. His body ached, tense with need, his mind reduced to a feverish chant— Need his seed. Need to be bred. Need to swell with his child. A breath escaped him, shaky and helpless, as Alastor finally lowered himself onto Lucifer’s lap. His legs straddled the king’s hips, trembling with the effort it took just to stay upright.

“There,” Lucifer murmured, at last opening his amber eyes and looking at him. The king’s strong steady hand slid to the small of Alastor’s back, applying gentle pressure until their bodies aligned fully. “Was that so hard?”

"D-don’t want this..." Alastor whimpered, his voice unsteady, trembling as he lowered himself onto Lucifer’s lap and rolled his hips against the tent in the king’s pants. The heat of Lucifer’s shaft, and the size of it, made him moan. He kept rutting against it but the moment was cut short when Lucifer growled and caught his hips in a firm grip, halting the movement altogether.

"Your mouth says no, sweetheart," Lucifer said. "But your body’s telling me another story. Just look at how soaked you already are." His hand slid down between Alastor’s legs, cupping the heat there. His fingers pressed into the damp fabric, right over the wet spot already darkened with slick. Alastor moaned, unable to stop himself as he moved his hips into that touch, his cunt craving for more.

But Lucifer pulled his hand away just as suddenly and returned it to Alastor’s waist, holding him steady.

A soft whimper broke from Alastor’s throat, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes. Why did he stop? he thought, frantic. Need him. Need his hands on me.

Lucifer looked up at him then, his breath shallow, control beginning to slip as he stared at the trembling beautiful figure in his lap. His mate. His doe. His.

"As much as I want to give you what you need," Lucifer murmured. "You’ve got to tell me first, love. I need to hear it. Use your words."

Alastor bit down hard on the inside of his mouth to keep himself from speaking. His pride was screaming at him not to give in, but his body—burning, desperate—was screaming louder. He could taste blood on his tongue from how hard he was biting, but it wasn’t enough to ground him. Not when his thoughts were clouded, not when his body was on fire and only Lucifer’s touch brought even the smallest relief. Every brush of the king’s hand felt like a cool breeze in the dead heat of summer, and Alastor needed it like air.

Slowly, his lashes lowered, hiding the shimmer in his eyes. "Fuck me," he mumbled, voice barely audible, the words quiet and strained.

Lucifer let out a quiet tsk and reached up, fingers tilting Alastor’s chin until their eyes met. He studied that face, flushed cheeks, teary eyes, lips kiss-bitten and trembling. Something inside him growled in satisfaction. He missed this look. He could drown in it. He could carve this memory into stone and still find it lacking. Alastor looked utterly wrecked, and it made Lucifer want to sink his teeth into him and never let go.

"Now, now," Lucifer said, thumb brushing over Alastor’s bottom lip. "Use proper words, my deer. Say it right, or I won’t give you anything at all."

The last of Alastor’s resistance dissolved like wax left too close to flame. His bottom lip quivered in a soft, involuntary pout before his body acted on instinct, leaning forward, helplessly drawn to the scent of his mate. His body had already decided what it wanted, what it needed, since that night in the motel. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself until now, until he saw Lucifer again. His thoughts had long since unraveled, mind emptied of logic, filled instead with a singular, aching desire: to be claimed by Lucifer. To be owned.

The first touch of Lucifer’s cool skin against his burning cheek nearly undid him. Alastor pressed his face to the side of Lucifer’s neck, purring softly from the jolt of relief that flooded through him at the contact. A whimper spilled from his lips as he began to nuzzle, dragging his feverish skin along the sharp edge of Lucifer’s jaw, the length of his throat, anywhere he could reach. The contrast was intoxicating. His own body aflame, Lucifer’s cool skin soothing like ice melting on sunburned flesh.

Finally, the voice inside him purred. Finally, you're where you belong.

Lucifer’s grip tightened around his waist, steady and firm, yet he didn’t move beyond that. He held himself still, restrained, composed, and it made something deep within Alastor swell with reverence. His mate was strong. So in control. So powerful. And he belonged to him.

"Please—" Alastor whispered, lips brushing along Lucifer’s cheek. His teeth caught lightly on the king’s pulse point, his breath shaky. "Need you. Need you—ah!—your cock, anything, just—" His voice broke, hoarse and needy. "Fuck me, Lucifer. Please."

The moment Alastor gasped out his consent, Lucifer’s control finally gave way.

His hands gripped Alastor’s ass hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh with a possessive roughness, kneading as though he’d been starved for the feel of him. Then he finally rutted upward, dragging a broken moan from Alastor’s throat. Alastor’s back arched into the motion without thinking, desperate for every bit of contact.

Lucifer drank in the reaction like it was the finest wine.

Then Lucifer bit into his own tongue, sharp and deep, letting the metallic taste of his golden blood flood his mouth. The scent hit Alastor instantly, thick and potent in the air, and his pupils went wide—pure instinct flaring hot behind his eyes.

Alastor didn’t wait for permission.

Before a single drop could fall, Alastor lunged for him. Their mouths collided, wild and messy, Alastor’s tongue diving into his mouth with greedy hunger. He moaned into the kiss, making desperate, frantic sounds as he lapped up the taste of blood like it was salvation. Lucifer groaned against him, holding him tighter, feeding him more, letting their tongues, lips, and teeth smear with it. That’s it, Lucifer thought. Take what you need.

Each stroke of Alastor’s tongue sent waves of pleasure down Lucifer’s spine. Alastor’s body shifted from soft and pliant to demanding and needy all at once, grinding down on Lucifer’s clothed cock harder with every motion.

“More,” Alastor breathed into his mouth, eyes wild.

Lucifer let out a deep chuckle before biting down on his tongue again. The blood welled up slowly this time, dripping from his lips in thick golden trails. Alastor whimpered, chasing the line of it with his tongue, licking it from Lucifer’s chin before smashing their mouths together once more.

Alastor had been so enthralled by the taste of Lucifer’s golden blood that he hardly noticed the way Lucifer’s hands began to wander. Slipping beneath his trousers to continue to cup and knead the soft flesh of Alastor’s ass. Alastor let out a sharp inhale but didn’t stop him, his focus still blurred by the rich taste coating his tongue.

Then he felt a hand brush over his tail.

Before he could register what was happening, Lucifer gave it a firm tug, and Alastor squeaked in surprise, his whole body jolting from the sensation.

“I missed this cute little thing,” Lucifer said with a grin, fingers toying with the fluffy appendage like it was a treasured plaything. He fondled it slowly, his touch just shy of cruel. Alastor’s head dropped against Lucifer’s shoulder as he shuddered uncontrollably, arms wrapping tighter around the king’s torso. More slick trickled from between his thighs, his cunt reacting instantly to the attention on his overly sensitive tail.

“You feel so warm, my sweet,” Lucifer murmured as he licked his lips. “Let me help you.”

With a simple snap of his fingers, the clothes that clung to Alastor’s body disappeared, vanished without warning. No fabric remained, not even a scrap of modesty. His flushed skin was left bare, suddenly exposed to the charged air that prickled against his fevered flesh.

A gasp tore from Alastor’s throat. The rush of cool air hit him like a wave, offering a momentary relief from the heat that wracked his body. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

He was still burning, every inch of him desperate, needy, aching with unspent desire. His fingers clawed at nothing, trembling in the space between them as he gasped out, “P-Please.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, pulled from the pit of desperation. He needed more. He needed him.

Lucifer hushed him gently, one large hand stroking his trembling thigh while the other adjusted his pants, freeing his cock. Alastor's breath caught in his throat.

Even through the haze of heat, the sight stunned him—thick, heavy, impossibly large, the shaft standing tall and flushed against Lucifer's abdomen. A memory flickered in his mind, from that night in the motel. Was it really that big? How had he managed to take all of it?

Before he could finish the thought, Lucifer’s grip tightened and pulled him closer. "Shh," the king murmured, his hot breath brushing Alastor’s ear. "I’ll make it fit."

And then, there was no more thinking. Only need. Only the desperate urge to be filled.

Alastor shuffled closer, eyes locked on Lucifer’s thick cock. He steadied himself, then gasped as Lucifer took his shaft in hand and guided it to Alastor’s pulsing cunt. When the broad tip pressed against his entrance, Alastor whimpered. He already felt so full.

"Relax," Lucifer murmured, his voice rough with restraint. But his grip on Alastor’s hips stayed firm. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, the sinner’s cunt fluttering around him, hot and tight. It was too much, too big, and Alastor sobbed, his nails digging into Lucifer’s shoulders.

Then—

A sharp thrust drove him in deep, burying him to the hilt in one hard stroke.

Alastor cried out, pain and pleasure crashing together in a dizzying wave. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but beneath the sting was something deeper, something that felt right. Lucifer’s groan rumbled against his skin, their bodies locked together, finally joined completely.

Then Lucifer leaned back, his hands sliding up Alastor’s furred, sweat-slicked thighs, taking in the view before him. The sinner’s flushed skin, his parted lips, the way his stomach bulged slightly from how deeply Lucifer’s cock was buried in his womb—it was a perfect sight.

"Look at you," Lucifer growled, thick with satisfaction. "Taking me so well. Like you were made for this."

His fingers dug into Alastor’s hips possessively as he smirked. "Since you want my cock so badly, then ride me. Show me how much you need it."

The command sent a shiver through Alastor’s overheated body. His mind was already hazy, pleasure-drunk and submissive, but his mate’s order sharpened his focus. Please him. Obey him.

With shaky arms resting firmly on Lucifer’s shoulders, he lifted himself up, whimpering at the slow drag of the king’s cock inside him. Then, with a breathy gasp, he sank back down, taking every inch. He kept a steady rhythm, lifting himself up and sinking down again, then rolling his hips in careful circles, stopping for a few light bounces before moving back into his earlier pace.

"Fuck—" Alastor moaned, his head falling back as he moved. Each roll of his hips sent sparks of pleasure through him, feeling more heated and desperate as he repeated the motion. The angle was deeper like this, Lucifer’s thick cock rubbing perfectly against that sweet, sensitive spot inside. His thighs ached, but he didn’t stop—he couldn’t. Not when every bounce made his body tremble, not when the king’s dark, hungry eyes followed his every move.

"My sweet little doe," Lucifer rumbled, his hands tightening as he guided him faster. "Just like that. Take what you need."

And he did, chasing his own pleasure, chasing his mate’s praise. His movements grew more frantic as the heat coiled tighter in his belly. The wet sounds of their bodies filled the air, his slick cunt clenching around Lucifer’s thick cock again and again until he was gasping, shaking, coming undone.

Then Alastor squirted, coating the king’s throbbing cock with his release. He collapsed forward against Lucifer’s chest, breathless and drained, the haze of heat finally starting to fade. His muscles ached, his cunt still fluttering around Lucifer—wait.

It was still hard. Still pulsing.

A deep, slow chuckle rumbled from Lucifer’s chest as his hands slid down Alastor’s back, possessive and gentle. “You did so well, my sweet,” Lucifer purred. “So perfect for me.”

Before Alastor could even respond, everything shifted. Strong arms lifted him easily, and with a soft gasp, his back hit the ground as Lucifer loomed over him, still buried deep inside.

Then Lucifer’s form began to change. His body stretched, growing larger until he was three times his usual size. Massive dark horns curled from his skull, and his eyes glowed a bright, burning red—no, not just two eyes. Dozens. They opened across his face and body, blinking slowly, all focused on Alastor with frightening intensity.

Then came the wings. Six huge, crimson wings unfurled behind Lucifer, each one covered with hundreds of watchful eyes. Their stares were sharp and hungry, and Alastor’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding.

Lucifer leaned in close, his many-eyed face just inches from Alastor’s. “Now,” he whispered. “It’s my turn.”

Lucifer’s thrusts were deep and relentless. Every time the king slammed inside, Alastor’s entire body jolted, a broken cry tearing from his throat. He writhed beneath Lucifer, fingers clawing at the dirt as his body stretched to take every inch.

The king’s cock, which grew even bigger, was so thick, that with each thrust, Alastor could see the obscene bulge of it pressing against his stomach. His thin frame shouldn’t have been able to take it. But his body gave in anyway, slick and eager, clenching around the devil’s girth like it couldn’t get enough.

“You were right all along, Alastor.” Lucifer laughed, the sound low and ragged with lust as he kept driving into the sinner’s trembling wet pussy. “I am fucking you in the dirt, like youre some common whore in heat—” Lucifer leaned in, teeth grazing Alastor’s ear, thrusting deeper, savoring the way the sinner clenched even harder around him. “—and you’re loving it.”

Alastor sobbed, tears streaking his flushed cheeks, but his hips still moved, still ached for more. His instincts roared with satisfaction. This was where he belonged, under his mate, stuffed full, claimed in the rawest way.

“Do you want my fawns?” Lucifer demanded, his big strong hands digging into Alastor’s narrow hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Do you want my seed growing in your womb?”

“Y-Yes!” Alastor gasped, his nails scraping helplessly across the king’s broad chest. “Please—please, I want it—!”

“Say it.” Lucifer’s thrusts grew rougher, every snap of his powerful hips making Alastor’s vision blur. “Say you’re mine.”

“I-I’m yours!” Alastor cried, his body trembling on the edge of another release. “Only yours!”

“And what else?” Lucifer snarled, leaning down to bite the sinner’s shoulder, marking him all over again. “Tell me what else you want.”

“I want—ah!—I want to bear your fawns!” The words tumbled out between moans, Alastor’s mind hazy with need. “T-Two—no, more—I want them—I want everything—!”

That was all it took. With a roar, Lucifer buried himself to the hilt. His hot seed spilled into Alastor’s welcoming womb, so much that his stomach twitched from the heat, from the feeling of being filled and fully claimed.

The sinner shuddered, overstimulated and weeping, but his body clung greedily, milking every last drop. As Lucifer finally stilled above him, panting, possessive hands roamed his marked skin.

Before exhaustion finally took him, Alastor felt Lucifer’s size begin to return to normal. The king was nuzzling against his shoulder, then his neck, before letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Mine."

***

Alastor jolted awake from the brief nap, a wave of heat blooming in his stomach once again. His eyes widened as the feverish haze slammed back into him, his skin prickling with unbearable warmth. No, no, no —this wasn’t supposed to happen again!

He had thought, had truly believed, that after Lucifer had taken him, after being claimed so completely, his heat would be over. Just like what had happened in the motel room. But the fire inside him hadn’t gone out. It had only quieted for a moment before coming back, even stronger.

Panic rose in his chest. "W-Why?" he choked out, turning wide, desperate eyes toward Lucifer. "You—you fucked me. Shouldn’t it be gone by now?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his gaze as he watched Alastor struggle. “Did you really think one round would be enough?” the king asked, reaching out and sliding a fingertip down Alastor’s fur-covered, sweat-slick back. “This kind of heat doesn’t fade that easily, Bambi. It takes a long mating to burn it out.”

The words hit him hard. Alastor’s breathing turned shallow and frantic. He couldn’t go through this again. He couldn’t be undone like that, over and over again.

His body shook. Another wave of slick spilled between his thighs, his skin flushed hotter, and his cunt clenched on its own. His vision blurred, and his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

Mate. Need Mate.

The instinct was loud in his mind, beating like a drum. He tried to fight it, tried to crawl away—just a little, just enough to prove he still had control—but his muscles locked up. Another tremor rolled through his body. His fingers gripped his stomach, his back arched, and a small whimper escaped him.

Go back. Go back to Mate.

The voice inside him wouldn’t stop, drowning out his panic. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore. His resistance crumbled under the pressure of instinct. With a broken sob, he turned around, his movements shaky as he reached out for Lucifer. His pride was gone.

"P-Please," he begged. "I-I need—"

Lucifer’s smile grew as he pulled him close, his touch cool against Alastor’s burning skin. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing the furry edge of Alastor’s ear. “Just let go.”

And with a shuddering moan, Alastor did.

The storm raged outside the cave, wind howling like a beast and rain beating hard against the stone—but inside, there was only heat. Only him.

Alastor’s mind was lost in a haze, where pleasure and pain twisted together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Lucifer had taken him again and again, each time deeper, as if trying to carve his claim into Alastor’s very bones.

Against the cave wall, his back scraped raw on jagged rock, fingers clawing for purchase as the devil pounded into him. On his knees in the dirt, face pressed into the ground, breath coming in ragged gasps as his body was used, owned. Bent over a boulder, thighs trembling, voice breaking on sobs and moans. In, out, in, out. Every thrust felt like both a punishment and a reward.

Time became a blur. The storm never stopped. Neither did they.

Alastor’s body was sore and overstimulated, but still he begged for more, with whimpers, with tears, with the way he arched his hips back, desperate for the king’s touch. Lucifer’s growls filled his ears, his teeth left marks on Alastor’s skin, and his hands gripped hard enough to bruise.

When exhaustion finally pulled him under, Lucifer was still buried deep inside him. Alastor’s body was too wrecked to move, too satisfied to care. The last thing he felt was strong arms wrapping around him and the sound of a deep, possessive purr against his neck—then everything went dark.

Alastor stirred, his entire body weighted by a dull, relentless ache. Every muscle throbbed as he moved against the rough stone floor, its surface scraping his skin. Bruises spread across his limbs and body, and he was completely naked. The only thing on him was Lucifer’s coat, heavy and smelling of burnt applewood, draped over his shoulders.

He wanted to throw it off, to reject the stench and the ownership it implied. But he was exposed beneath, and it was the only thing covering him now.

Sunlight poured in through the cave’s mouth. The storm had passed, leaving the world outside looking too clean, too bright. The Agusan river glimmered in the distance, calm now, its surface scattered with light like shattered glass.

Alastor’s legs trembled as he moved forward, thighs sticky with dried —no . He forced the thought away. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just walk. The glare hit him as he stepped out. His eyes blinked rapidly, struggling to adjust after hours of darkness. Slowly, the shapes sharpened. And there, standing knee-deep in the water, was Lucifer.

Shirtless, with his back turned. The lean muscle of his shoulders shifted as he scrubbed mud from his arms. His slacks clung low to his hips, soaked through and dark with water.

For a long, frozen moment, Alastor stared. Monster, he thought.

Then Lucifer turned and their eyes met across the distance. His expression was unreadable. Alastor’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Are you satisfied now, your majesty? You’ve had your way with me more times than I care to count. Surely my punishment ends here,” he spat, his fingers digging into his own arms. Lucifer had taken and taken, and his marks were burned into every inch of Alastor’s skin. Surely that was enough.

Lucifer let out a low, mirthless laugh. “It will never be enough. Not for you.”

The words hit like a blade to the ribs. Alastor’s breath caught, quickening, his vision swimming with frustration, with exhaustion. Something dangerously close to despair.

“What, do you plan to drag this on forever?” he snarled. “Humiliate me until there’s nothing left? Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

Lucifer stepped forward, water sloshing around him. “Oh, Alastor,” he said. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

Lucifer turned to face him fully. His form may have returned to normal, but his eyes… they were still the same ones Alastor had seen last night. Unhinged. Burning with madness.

“But don’t worry,” Lucifer said. “You will. Soon enough.”

Then, without warning—“Now tell me where he is.”

Alastor froze. The blood in his veins turned to ice. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alastor replied too quickly.

Panic surged in his chest. Had Lucifer found out? Had he finally pieced it together? He stepped back instinctively, and Lucifer stepped forward without hesitation.

“Still playing coy, I see.” Lucifer sighed, rolling his shoulders in a loose motion. Sunlight glinted off his bare skin. For all his height, or lack thereof, the man was built like a weapon. Every inch of him carved from strength and control. It wasn’t always obvious, but Alastor knew. Last night had made that abundantly clear. He couldn’t even hurt him. “Fine. I’ll just bring you along, we’ll ask him together,” Lucifer said dripping with false patience.

Before Alastor could react, the world blurred. Lucifer was suddenly in front of him, the king’s massive wings flaring wide, blocking out the light. Alastor barely got a hand before he was yanked off his feet, crushed against Lucifer’s chest in a bridal carry that felt more like a cage than an embrace. 

“Unhand me!” Alastor shouted, thrashing. His nails raked over Lucifer’s arms, legs kicking in wild panic, but it was like trying to fight a mountain. They shot into the sky. Air screamed past his ears. The ground dropped away at an impossible speed.

“I hate you,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I hate you so much.”

Lucifer didn’t even look at him. “It doesn’t matter.”

Higher they soared. The trees blurred into smudges. The river became a silver thread. The cave, just a dot. Alastor’s struggles grew weaker, not from surrender, but from sheer terror. The roof of his house came into view, the porch, then the garden. His heart hammered so violently he thought it might burst.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucifer said again. “Because you are mine.”

And then they began to descend. Lucifer’s grip didn’t falter for a second.

“Now,” the king murmured. “Where is he?”

***

The moment his boots touched the ground, Lucifer dropped Alastor without ceremony. The sinner stumbled hard onto the dirt path just outside the small, weather-beaten house. Alastor shot him a glare, but it carried no weight, his clenched fists trembled too much to look threatening.

Good, Lucifer thought. Let him shake.

Alastor said nothing, but it didn’t matter. Lucifer already felt it. From within that little house, it radiated the same presence he had sensed back on the ship. Divine. Angelic.

The certainty of it ignited his blood. This was the reason Alastor had slipped past him for so long, why he'd managed to vanish from the Pride Ring and evade his grasp for years. He hadn’t done it alone. He had help, not from below, but from above. From some sanctimonious, winged fool who dared to believe he could steal from the king and keep what was his.

Pathetic.

Lucifer flexed his fingers slowly. Power shimmered around his wrists, coiling like serpents, alive and eager. He would tear this angel apart before Alastor’s eyes, shred those wings from his back and crush his grace beneath his heel. Then, he would burn the bastard with hellfire until not even ashes remained, damning the soul to eternal flame.

But not right away. No, first he would make Alastor's lover suffer. Make him beg. Let him feel what it meant to take from the devil himself. And only after the lesson was carved into his bones would Lucifer erase him from existence entirely.

The divine presence stirred, coming closer. He could feel it now, radiant, sickeningly bright. And then—

The door creaked open.

Alastor moved suddenly, clutching his wrist, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Lucifer, please—”

Lucifer yanked free from the grip with a sneer, his focus locked back on the opening door. His lips curved into a slow, cruel smile—

Then his whole body stiffened. It wasn’t an angel who stood in the doorway. Not the man he expected. Not the lover he envisioned that Alastor had, hiding in this house.

It was a child.

A boy.

Small, maybe three or four. Golden eyes stared up at him, wide and watchful, pupils slitted red like a serpent’s. Soft blond hair, tipped with streaks of crimson, framed his round face. Tiny antlers poked through his curls.

His face.

The boy had his face.

His brows. His jawline. The high cheekbones dusted with familiar apple-red markings. Even the curious way he tilted his head to the side was painfully familiar. The toddler blinked up at him with a mix of wonder and shy hesitation.

Lucifer stared, unblinking. The storm in his chest went utterly still.

“Mwammy?” the boy asked, blinking up at Alastor, who stood frozen beside him, still shaking. The sound of the word struck Lucifer like a physical blow. A deafening roar rushed in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Alive. Their child was ALIVE.

Lucifer’s breath caught. His entire body stilled, save for the slow rise of his chest.

A hand suddenly grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare look at him!” Alastor hissed, his nails digging into Lucifer’s wrist like he could somehow pull his attention away by force. It was a futile effort. He might as well have tried to stop a tidal wave with his bare hands.

Lucifer didn’t even flinch.

The boy—his son—took a small, uncertain step forward.

“Aw you mwammy’s friend?”

That voice. That tiny, gentle voice. It pierced through Lucifer like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. His wings twitched involuntarily, not to strike, but to shield. The instinct hit him like a jolt, sudden and terrifying in its intensity.

Alastor moved fast, throwing himself in front of the boy. He spread his arms wide, blocking the child from view. “Please,”  the word spilled out unbidden, Alastor’s whole body shook, but he stood his ground. “Please, he doesn’t know—”

The child’s small hands clutched the hem of his oversized white coat that Alastor wore. His fingers gripped the fabric tightly, clinging to the sinner without fear. Trusting him completely. The dizzying resemblance made the grief hit him like a tidal wave.

His wife’s laughter at their daughter’s first steps.

The way his daughter used to listen with rapt attention as he read her stories.

Years of silence after Lilith… after Charlie...

Four long years of stumbling through a half-existence, waking to the scent of ash and phantom lullabies, clinging to the memory of warmth that was no longer there. Lilith’s death was a wound that refused to heal. And his separation from Charlie was a weight that dragged him deeper into the dark.

But now-

Here stood Alastor, still shaking, still defiant. His arms now wrapped protectively tight around a child. Their child. And the boy—so small, so familiar—looked up at him with eyes wide and golden, full of curiosity and cautious wonder. The way they fit together, a perfect broken puzzle. Mother and son.

Something inside him cracked.

This was real.

This was a second chance.

A family.

His family.

***

“I’ll go back with you right now,” Alastor said quickly, the words tumbling from his lips as he stared up at Lucifer’s face with open desperation. “No more running, I swear! Just don’t hurt him.” He would’ve sold his soul all over again if it meant those cruel, golden eyes would stop looking at their son like that.

But Lucifer didn’t seem to hear him. Or maybe he did, he just didn’t care. Instead, the king reached into his pocket. Alastor’s entire body went stiff. He braced himself, ready to run, to throw himself forward, to take the hit before Nathaniel could—

—then Lucifer knelt.

And from his pocket, he pulled out a small wooden duck. It was no ordinary trinket. Alastor could see that at once. It was coated in gold and carved with painstaking detail.

“I made this,” Lucifer said quietly. “For my daughter, a long time ago.”

Before Alastor could respond, Nathaniel wriggled free from his grasp and darted forward, his eyes wide with wonder. “Pretty!” the boy gasped, holding the duck with both hands.

“What’s your name?” Lucifer asked softly.

The boy hesitated a second, then shyly said, “Nathaniel.”

"That’s a wonderful name," Lucifer said with a smile, ruffling the boy’s hair. Then the king straightened and, with a dramatic flourish, made his apple-cane appear, spinning it in his hand. "I think someone as awesome as you deserves more!" he grinned, tapping the cane twice on the ground.

Colorful smoke appeared, and a dozen small stuffed animals fell from the sky. The clouds above twisted into letters that spelled out “Prince Nathaniel.” Tiny fireworks popped, and multiple clones of Lucifer danced in the background. It was loud, flashy, and full of showmanship.

Alastor’s jaw tightened as he watched. His son laughed, completely entertained by the grand display. He bounced on his little feet, eyes wide as he stared at the clouds, the toys, and the glittering sparks Lucifer conjured just for him. When Lucifer lifted him onto his shoulders so he could see better, Nathaniel’s small hands clutched his father’s hair. The two stood in the sunlight, framed like a portrait—father and son. And in that light, side by side, the resemblance was clear. The boy looked like a tiny version of Lucifer. The sight made Alastor’s stomach twist.

“Higher!” Nathaniel giggled, his legs kicking in excitement.

Lucifer chuckled. “Careful, my little duckling,” he said. “Even the sky has its limits.”

My little duckling.

The words burrowed beneath Alastor’s skin. The way Lucifer spoke so easily, the way he changed around the boy. It was dangerous. It was deceiving. That smile, that warmth. Alastor had seen the cold truth beneath it. The bruises still ached. 

Men like Lucifer didn’t truly change. Not at the core. Not for good.

The king’s hands, now gentle as they held their son, were the same hands that had pinned him down in the dark. His voice, so soft now, had once been filled with fury. The smile that reached his eyes had once been a snarl, teeth bared against sweat-covered skin in the shadows of a cave.

Then, as if feeling his stare, Lucifer turned. The breeze lifted his hair again, and the sunlight caught in the golden strands. His lips curved into something warm, something gentle—like none of it had ever happened. Like he hadn’t once wanted him dead.

Their eyes met.

And for a breathless moment, Lucifer looked at him like he was something fragile. Something worth keeping.

The monster had forgotten he was a monster.

Alastor looked away.

He didn’t believe that smile. He knew better than to. But still, Alastor didn’t stop the boy from laughing. Didn’t stop him from holding the duck. Didn’t stop the king from pretending to be a father as Nathaniel’s delighted laughter filled the air—and for a moment, just a moment, it was almost easy to forget everything else.

Because their child, his child, deserved to know joy, even if it came wrapped in shadows.

For now, Alastor watched the boy ride on Lucifer’s shoulders, reaching for the sky, laughing like he didn’t know a thing about pain.

And Alastor let him.

He let him laugh.

END.

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EPILOGUE:

Deep in the caverns of the Great Cave in Sloth Ring, where the air hung heavy with the smell of sulfur and the faint whispers of the damned souls, the ground began to shake. The walls of the abyss groaned as ancient power surged through the cracks, and shadows moved like serpents breaking free from chains. The third seal had been broken.

Roo stood at the edge of the chasm, her figure outlined against the red glow of molten rock. The brim of her wide, worn hat hid her face in shadow, but the curve of her lips gave her expression away.

Shadows burst from below, spiraling upward in a twisting storm. They wrapped around the pillars of the cave, swallowing the light, the heat, and the very breath of those damned within. Somewhere beyond the curtain of darkness, hooves struck the scorched earth, and the low, drawn-out call of a horn echoed through the broken barrier.

Three seals had been broken. Three were now free.

She let out a soft breath, almost like a quiet laugh. “How predictable,” she said.

She turned and walked away, her boots making no sound on the stone floor. The edge of her coat brushed the ground, untouched by the chaos that exploded behind her. Only one seal was left.

The path ahead was steep, winding toward the surface where the world still slept, unaware of the danger tightening like a noose around its neck. They had no idea what was coming.

As she stepped outside, the last flicker of hellfire lit the edge of her smile—only for a moment—before the shadows closed in and swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

this one isn't part of the fic but just a scene outside of the fic, i guess its more like a peek to how alastor and nathaniel's life were pre-lucifer appearing. this is funnily during the covid era XD (yes covid is real in this universe folks, its also partly why its so busy in pentagram city because theres a whole bunch of new sinners appearing, rip the workload on lucifer that time LMAO)

i never got to complete this and will remain a wip doodle, but you get my vision right??? its the bridge scene

heavy on the postpartum period for alastor, but this was the exact scene in the fic where he woke up from it, i'm really glad!

probably one of my favorite scene to ever write and draw!

what granny marie looks like btw!

father and son's first meeting!

before i end this i wanted to explain this is what i think of how the rings are ordered in hell, sloth being the closest to the core of hell hence theres a lot of hell's power leakage there and why the "great cave" is located in sloth ring! its the most featured ring in this universe especially once we get to heaven-hell war, sloth is the ring that should be most protected (also the furthest away from heaven)

OTHER RANDOM AMBAR WORKS: 

What i think of how lucifer and nathaniel's interaction an hour after AMBAR,,, LMAO (this is the LINK )

or watch it here:

thank you once again for supporting this fic and this universe! till next time!