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Humans were… an interesting bunch. Part of Lucifer wanted to throw in a handful of expletives alongside that description, but even he could see the apparent hypocrisy in that.
Truth to be told, he wasn’t sure what exactly he had expected to happen after giving humanity free will. Or well, that’s not entirely true. He very much knew there would be consequences of some sort – mostly for himself, but also for poor Eve and Adam – with one of his best guesses being humanity’s removal from Eden.
Spoiler alert, he had been right on all those accounts.
But aside from that, he hadn’t exactly considered the long-term consequences. Realistically, he had known that humanity would survive and live on for several millennia. They were Father’s favourite creation after all. No matter how much they disobeyed or what trouble they caused, Heaven would not allow them to simply die out . But maybe that had a somewhat self-serving purpose as well. Without humanity, there would be nobody left to worship them…
His former family’s hypocrisy aside, Lucifer knew humanity would survive. How that survival looked; however, he had never really stopped to consider. After his fall, it had also become distinctly not his problem . He had domination over the damned, dead mortal souls, not the undecided, living ones. That task had left him with some… awkward holes when it came to the history of humanity, and all of their going on.
See, the trouble with being tasked to only oversee the dead was that he rarely – if ever – got the chance to see the living. All knowledge he obtained by sinners was, by default, outdated . They were things that had already happened, some longer ago and others a bit more recent, but still old . And that was if any sinner denied speaking to him at all.
It appeared he had something of a reputation back on Earth and didn’t that just chafe something fierce.
The living world was, in other words, beyond his reach…
Mostly , at least.
His siblings had tied him up in quite the colorful variety of contracts and rules over the centuries – some more frustrating than others – but one thing they never got their hands on was his ability to astral project and dream walk. Night, space, and the magicks had once been his domains; no matter how much they tried to erase him and his previous life in Heaven, they couldn’t take away a part of his original being . His powers may not be as strong as they used to, at least in this specific area, but they were still nothing to sneeze at. After all, it is one of only two ways for Lucifer to reach the mortal world on his own.
Astral projection sounded incredibly flashy for an – all things considered – quite simple ability, especially since Lucifer had originally stumbled upon it by accident. And hadn’t that been a stressful way? How was he supposed to know he could teleport himself to Earth, but be unable to actually interact with anything? He had just been screwing around with spells for shits and giggles; he hadn’t meant for any of them to truely work . Being invisible like that, stuck with observing humans as they went about their day, had been… interesting . He couldn’t say it was in any way pleasant , but it hadn’t been horrible either.
The sensation of being there, while also not having a physical body, was a special type of uncomfortable the first time around; feeling people pass through him, unable to either see, hear, or feel him. But watching them live their lives and use their free will had been wonderful. A silent confirmation that his choice all those eons ago had been right , that humanity would thrive if only they received the ability to choose for themselves.
He had never doubted his choice, not really, but after only witnessing the worst humanity had to offer… To say it hadn’t begun chipping away at his mental state would have been a lie. While he knew people were ascending to Heaven, being cursed to never see their goodness with his own eyes hurt.
But then he was suddenly there , seeing humanity while it was still alive and well — It had brought new life into him, at least according to Lilith, after he returned and she stopped panicking about his abrupt disappearance.
Since then, Lucifer made it a point to visit Earth every two centuries or so, just to see what was going on. Trial and error had taught him several things regarding this astral projection of his. For one, it certainly had its limitations. Wherever he went, he was always tied to a human, or perhaps more specifically, a human who had sinned . They were not always bound for Hell, even if the majority of them did end up there. Some were more fun to observe than others, and certainly showcased the wide berth of human morality, yet one single person rarely kept his attention for long. When you have lived since before the dawn of time, there wasn’t much that could surprise you anymore.
Still, wonders never cease.
Lucifer couldn’t quite recall why he had decided that today was the day to return to Earth for a look around. The visit was long overdue, sure, he hadn’t visited since the Great Plague of London, but he had also been very busy back home. Aside from ruling all of Hell, he and Lilith had finally decided to try for a child. Was it a horrible idea to have a kid as a way to try to save their marriage? Absolutely. He should have listened to Asmodeus on that one. Yet he did not regret it one bit. Charlie was his pride and joy, despite any personal issues he might have with her mother. It had been some of the best years of his existence, watching her grow up. But now his daughter was a grown woman setting out to take on the world, leaving Lucifer with terrible empty nest syndrome. No, he had desperately needed to get out of the palace, and what better way than to take a long overdue trip down to Earth?
—
Lucifer wasn’t sure if he should be surprised or disappointed when he materialised back on Earth in the middle of a murder . Truth to be told, he had been halfway ready to return home before he remembered the empty, looming halfways of his palace and piles of paperwork in his office and thought better of it, staying out of morbid curiosity if nothing else.
One good thing about Hell was that it had done wonders for Lucifer’s tolerance of cartoonish violence. It certainly made it easier to watch the gory scene unfolding in the middle of the bayou. Humidity hung heavy in the air, almost oppressive in its intensity as it clung to everything around. The smell of blood was almost overwhelming, sluggish, and stifling in the warm, stagnant weather. The sun had set not too long ago, leaving the bayou illuminated only by the sparse light from the waning crescent moon. Judging from its placement and the stars around it, Lucifer concluded that he must be somewhere in the northern hemisphere, but not terribly far from the equator.
A strange place for a murder, but then again, he didn’t exactly have many context clues to go off of. The scene only consisted of two men: a murderer and a victim. The victim was a white man who could be anything between 35 and 50, with graying blonde hair and dressed in what must have once been a blue suit – now dyed a blackish-brown from blood and swamp water. There wasn’t much life left in him by now, only a few pathetic wheezes and attempts to bargain for mercy. Despite his pitiful circumstances, Lucifer couldn’t find it in himself to feel much sorrow for the man. A dark, oily aura clung to his soul, reeking of pride, lust, and overwhelming greed . When the King returned home, he knew he’d find this man among his subjects.
A lost cause, really.
The murderer, on the other hand? He, surprisingly enough, caught Lucifer’s attention. The man couldn’t be very old – perhaps in his late twenties – with wild dark curls, tanned skin, and vivid hazel eyes. He was dressed much more practical than his victim, wearing a pair of loose, dark colored breeches, a pale flannel shirt, and a leather vest. Further off to the side, he seemed to have placed some of his equipment, which included several lengths of rope, a variety of different knives, and one loaded gun.
So, a planned murder, then, one that the young man was well prepared for.
Another soul that would be destined for Lucifer’s realm, as so many were, but something about him piqued the King’s curiosity. Through the millennia, he had stumbled upon a wide variety of murderers, from the first one to take another human’s life – Cain – to the politicians who killed their way to the top, and they all seemed to have one trait in common: selfishness. They killed to further their own lives, and such an act left a mark on the soul. It seemed to have become more and more common among his Sinner subjects as the years wore on, especially once humanity began establishing itself in larger cities. Greed and envy ran rampant, setting the stage perfectly for many serial killers to get away with their crimes.
Once they arrived in Hell, their souls were forever tainted by their selfish acts committed while alive. A cold, frigid aura seemed to have settled into their very bones, cursing them to an icy and miserable afterlife, forever lacking the warmth that comes from compassion. Lucifer was expecting this young man to have a similar aura, or at the very least the beginning of one, considering the gleeful way he was currently dismembering his victim, yet he couldn’t find it.
No, wait, that wasn’t quite right.
There were faint traces of it, the muted sense of a bone-deep chill, overshadowed by a frankly fascinating concoction of sins and emotions. There was the unmistakable cloying, sticky sensation of gluttony, the burning hot sensation of wrath, and the hard, unshakable feel of pride. Perhaps not Lucifer’s first pick for the man, but it certainly wasn’t a bad fit. No, what truly caught him off guard was the appearance of Cardinal Virtues . Things he had almost forgotten the feel of… The solid, warm comfort of justice, the wispy, soft brush of prudence, and the protective, pleasant embrace of fortitude. It was an unexpected and frankly wild clash of sensations, unlike anything the King had ever encountered before.
He whipped back around to get a better look at the young man. He appeared so ordinary at first glance. A tanned complexion, wild dark curls, and beautiful hazel eyes. Yet the longer he stared, the more he managed to see through the veil of an innocent, everyday man. Underneath the calm, placid exterior was a hot, boiling anger, carefully contained and sharpened into a lethal weapon.
As he observed the man meticulously clean up the mess he had made during the duration of the murder, Lucifer couldn’t help but find himself insatiably curious . There were not many people in the history of the world who could claim such a contradictory mash of sins and virtues clinging to their soul, and the King would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to wishing to know how such a combination came about. Perhaps that was why he found himself following the man home, hovering above his shoulder as he picked his way through the bayou with practiced ease. The man was obviously following an invisible path through the undergrowth, but took great care not to leave any visible traces behind. Every so often, he would whistle loudly before throwing a dismembered piece of his victim into the water. Seconds later, it would be snapped up by an alligator or two, handily getting rid of any incriminating evidence.
“Another pest removed from polite society… Such a shame he didn’t have more meat on his bones, this will hardly classify as a satisfying meal.” He sighed, shaking his head as yet another body part was discarded to a waiting gator. “Perhaps I need to step up my game a bit more… I heard from Mimzy that Mr. Copeland has been giving many of the girls at her club a hard time, touching where he isn’t supposed to… You’d love to feast on him, wouldn’t you?” The alligators didn’t respond aside from a few soft grunts and slow blinks of their eyes. Their silence didn’t seem to deter the man, as he chuckled to himself before resuming his trek.
“Ah, yes. I, too, wouldn’t mind a piece of the man. He’d make for a much better meal than Mr. Jones here, perhaps I’d even be able to save some for my own storage?” He hummed, smoothly jumping from rock to rock in the undergrowth. “Thoughts for the future, I suppose. I’ve got more than enough personal evidence, but I’ll need to scout out his schedule before making a plan of attack… For now, I know Maman will be expecting me home. Until next time, my friends!” With one last theatrical bow to the gathered wildlife, the man turns around and steps out of the bayou, heading towards a small, unassuming cabin not far away. Lucifer had been so absorbed in thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the flaring presence of another human slowly coming into range, nor the fact that the wild forest had slowly begun receding to make way for settled ground.
Human territory.
It was with great apprehension and a gnawing morbid curiosity that Lucifer threw one last longing gaze at the bayou before he followed the man towards the cabin. He had learned early on that following murderers back to their home was rarely a nice experience. Especially during the Middle Ages, he had stumbled into several little shops of horrors – twisted monuments to their owners’ depravity. The one man who collected preserved fingertips had quite handily turned Lucifer off of following any possible killer back home ever again.
So, why was he here, breaking his personal rule and following an obvious murderer home?
Well, where should he start? It was difficult to put into words how truly fascinating this man had proven himself to be in such a short amount of time. Sure, he embodied some of the worst parts of humanity, his soul forever stained with the sins of gluttony, wrath, and pride. Yet he was so strongly tied to several Heavenly Virtues . It was clear from his behaviour that this was not his first murder, nor would it be his last. But at the same time, his mutterings made it obvious that he had some sort of moral code that he went by. A twisted one, certainly, but still a metric which he used to determine who would die by his hand and who would live.
Lucifer couldn’t remember having ever encountered something similar before, and that intrigued him. When one has lived since the dawn of time, things gradually lose their intrigue, and little ever leaves you surprised. It has been quite some time since the King has been faced with something – to him – completely new , and he’d be damned if he let it slip through his fingers.
By the time Lucifer pulled himself from his scattered thoughts, the human had long since disappeared into the cabin. The muffled sound of happy chatter travelled through the thin walls, although not well enough for him to make out what was being said. With a few easy steps, Lucifer pushed himself through the wooden exterior – perks of being not quite corporal – and found himself standing in a dimly lit bedroom. It was sparsely decorated with a few well-worn knick-knacks and aging photos scattered about, a vanity and accompanying floor-length mirror situated in the far corner, and a double-person bed placed in the middle of the room. On the bed lay an older woman with dark skin and graying hair, talking happily with the young man from before as he handed her a cup of chamomile tea and tucked her back into bed.
It was… not what the King had been expecting, and was an almost jarring change of atmosphere from the murder scene not even an hour prior.
“Oh, Alastor,” the woman chuckled, nursing her cup with shaking hands. “What would I do without you? These old bones aren’t quite as strong as they used to be… If it wasn’t for this infernal illness–”
“Come now, maman. You need the rest, or else you may never get better!” The man, presumably called Alastor , gently chided his mother. “I know it’s difficult to sit down and take it easy, but please do not push yourself. Let me take care of you, as a son should .”
“Hmpf, a son should be able to live his own life, with a wife and kids, instead of being stuck taking care of his sick ma day in and day out–”
“We have been over this before,” Alastor sighed, shaking his head as he helped his mom lie back down. “I’m not interested in any of that. I take care of you because I want to, nothing more and nothing less. So don’t overexert yourself out of stubbornness to prove a point, okay?”
The woman let out a laugh, which quickly trailed off into a wet, rattling cough. “Oh, Al, what did I do to deserve a child like you?”
He hid it well, but Lucifer still caught the silent flash of grief that danced through his eyes even as he offered his mother a warm smile. “Nothing much, you simply raised me like this. Now try to get some sleep, it’s late and you need the rest.” He carefully tucked her back into bed, putting out the light on her bedside table as he went. “Goodnight, maman, sleep well.”
In a few steps, he was out of the room and closing the door softly behind him, leaving Lucifer alone in the space. This woman… Her soul was oh so bright and warm, shining in a way that left no doubt that she’d be welcomed into Heaven once her time came. And judging by her laboured breathing, that would be sooner rather than later.
Tuberculosis.
A nasty disease that had haunted humanity since they escaped the garden, reaping thousands of souls before their time. It seemed they had yet to find a proper cure, even as their technology and understanding of medicine moved forward. While this woman wasn’t at risk of spreading the disease to her son, she would ultimately die because of the strain on her immune system. It was only a matter of time, something even her son must know. Yet he insisted on taking care of her, despite the possible risks to his own health. It was at times like these that Lucifer truly despised his lack of powers over the mortal realm. There was nothing he could do for her, only comforted in the knowledge that she would not be forced down into his domain upon death.
A cold comfort, really.
Taking a cue from her son, Lucifer turned around to hunt down the man who had originally captured his attention. The house they inhabited wasn’t large, so it took little time to find Alastor as he also prepared for bed. His room was noticeably smaller than his mother’s, but impeccably clean and neat – except for the loose floorboards under the carpet, which Lucifer caught him closing just as he entered the room. If he had to wager a guess, he’d say that's where his hunting equipment was hidden, seeing as they were inconspicuously missing from the rest of the room.
“So much to do and so little time…” Alastor muttered under his breath, neatly folding his clothes as he finished changing for bed. He glared at a small piece of paper on his nightstand, covered in crossed-out words and hastily scribbled names. “Copeland is much more careful than I expected him to be… Catching him off alone or in the act will be difficult.” The note was snatched off the nightstand, crumpled up into a ball, and tossed into the nearest trash can. The covers were pulled off the bed as Alastor crawled underneath them, turning around as he attempted to get into a more comfortable position. “It’ll be a problem for… the future…”
“A problem for the future, eh?” Lucifer hummed to himself as he stepped up to the side of the bed, watching as Alastor slowly drifted off to sleep. While he may not be able to interfere directly with mortal affairs, he could still interact with them through dreams. It had been a long, long time since he last felt the urge to meddle in the lives of the living, but this man and his quest to rid the world of evil seemed to be what would break his streak. Reaching out to lay a finger on the man’s forehead, Lucifer felt the tug of his magic swirling all around him. Yes, he would help Alastor with his endeavours… In his own unique way.
“Let’s see if we can find out who this Mr. Copeland is.”
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It’s said that dreaming is a part of the human experience. When you sleep, you dream, simple as that. Yet Alastor couldn’t remember a time when he ever had a dream quite like this one… He wasn’t sure exactly what about it initially set off his senses, but there was simply something that just was not quite right. A normal sensation for a dream, you’d think, yet every part of Alastor’s brain was screaming that this was abnormal – that this was a real and imminent threat.
Still, as he looked around, he found himself standing in a small alleyway, just a few blocks down from Mimzy’s bar. The alley was tight, damp, and filled with various piles of trash, not too different from the last time he used it as a shortcut. What was strange, however, was how the entire place appeared entirely in black and white, as if it had been captured on film. Looking down at his own hands, Alastor found that they too had taken on a shade of darker gray instead of the tanned complexion he truly had.
Very strange indeed…
A loud shout suddenly has him freezing in place, unsure of how to react. He wasn’t left wondering for long, as two human figures appeared at the mouth of the alley and walked straight through Alastor , as if he wasn’t even there in the first place. He clutched his chest in shock, quickly whipping around to follow the men further down. One of them was painfully familiar, even in the black-and-white landscape of his dream. Mr. Copeland simply had that type of face with a disgustingly slimy smile, punctuated by the cigar always held between his teeth. With him, he dragged a young Black boy who was visibly shaking under the older man’s iron grip, leading him further and further away from the dubious safety of the well-lit main street.
“I– Sir, please, I’m so sorry I–” The boy stuttered out.
“You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s best for you, boy. ” Copeland cut him off, roughly throwing the young man against the wall, forcing a wheezing breath past his lips. “You think a nobody like you can interrupt my fun? You think you’re better than me?”
“P-please, I- I just–” The boy attempted to defend himself, desperately scrambling for purchase as he was pressed up against the rough bricks. “Please, sir, I- I didn’t mean anything by it!”
Alastor made an aborted movement towards Copeland, moving more on instinct than actually logic in an attempt to free the boy – the kid . Because he was just a child , just barely in his mid-teens, yet caught at the mercy of a cruel, power-hungry white man all the same.
As Alastor attempted to grab Copeland to yank him away, his hand went straight through his body, as if he weren’t even there.
“You think you can come into this town and mess with these good white women, huh?” The man went on, looking down at the boy with a nasty snarl while reaching a hand into his jacket. “And what were you doing talking to those girls? You fancy them? You trying to get above yourself, boy?”
“I wasn’t talking to ‘em, I was just-” Alastor saw the exact moment the boy realized what Copeland had reached for. He could see it in the way his eyes widened and his breath escaped from his lungs. “NO! P-Please– I–” The shot echoed through the tiny alley, yet it seemed so quiet in comparison to the sound of the boy’s body hitting the ground. It seemed meaningless in comparison to the crimson blood slowly staining the cobblestone in an otherwise black-and-white world.
“There. No more interruptions… But he already chased off all the girls.” Copeland sighed to himself, wiping the blood splatter off his gun with a white handkerchief, barely sparing the boy more than a glance as he began heading for the exit. “Better get someone to handle this mess, I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning.”
For a brief, painful moment, it felt as if the very air he breathed had turned to ice.
When the sun rose that morning, Alastor knew that a mother would be waiting for a son who’d never be coming home. Taken from her by a man who’d never face real justice from a legal system stacked against them. A legal system that was intended to protect the murderer…
—
Alastor woke up with a start, jolting upright in his bed with a silenced scream on his tongue. It took several seconds for his brain to catch up with his surroundings, to register the shock of color suddenly invading his senses.
That dream….
The boy’s scream for mercy still echoed in his mind. There was something hauntingly realistic about it, something that seemed to cling to the edges of Alastor’s mind even as he sat up to gather himself. He had kept good track of Copeland’s major transgressions, and while this would certainly fit his style , it didn’t fit the list that Alastor kept. One line from the dream seemed to stick more than the rest. Insignificant. A throwaway comment. Useless, yet–
“... I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.”
With no witnesses around, Alastor would deny to his dying day that he threw himself at his trash can, desperately digging for the piece of paper he had discarded the night before. His notes were almost illegible even to him, but they confirmed his suspicions.
“His meeting isn’t until tomorrow.” He breathed, staring off into space as the realization hit. “His meeting isn’t until tomorrow. The murder hasn’t happened yet– ”
A crash suddenly sounded from the kitchen, followed by a row of coughs and a soft, oh my . It yanked Alastor back into his body, and he was on his feet within seconds.
“Hold on, maman, I’ll be there in a minute!” He threw a last glance at the paper before he crumpled it up and threw it back into the trash can.
Tonight.
—
Alastor was going insane; he was certain of it. Why else would he be standing hidden in a back alley in the middle of the night, waiting for his victim to come storming down, all based on a dream ? Normally, he would be the last person to believe in the supernatural – religious or otherwise. Yet there was something about this dream, the frankly haunting realism of it, that had him going down the alley against his better judgement. It was a cramped and damp place, and his hiding spot wasn’t much better. Squeezed behind a gutter and a stack of old crates, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Yet Alastor sat there, silently watching the shadows dance across the walls and listening to the distant sound of music, the solid metal pipe a cooling presence in his hands. He was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he had made an utter fool of himself – walking around with a pipe, following the guidance of a dream – when he heard it.
Copeland’s distinct, gruff voice spouting profanities above the pleading voice of a boy – the boy from his dream.
Alastor could barely believe it. He watched as if in a trance as Copeland led the young boy down the alley, the scene from his dream layering on top of the present in an eerie double. It was first when the man threw the boy up against the wall that he snapped back to reality. With a quick movement, Alastor stepped out of his hiding spot and aimed his weapon at his target. Copeland crumbled like a doll with its strings cut, the sound of metal hitting flesh echoing through the alleyway.
For a brief second, nobody moved. Alastor and the boy simply stared at each other, both in shock for very different reasons. It was ultimately the boy who snapped out of it first.
“I– T-thank you, sir!” He gasped, scrambling to gather himself and step away from the crumpled body of his former attacker. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“I couldn’t very well let a child get murdered right in front of me, now could I?” Alastor shrugged, forcefully swallowing down the very real panic welling up inside of him. On one hand, he was positively gleeful at having prevented a tragic death. On the other hand, this was the first time he had ever had a witness to his crimes. He studied the boy with a sharp eye. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Oh! Uh, Henry Allen, sir!” He responded, voice cracking in a way indicative of the throes of puberty, all while staring up at Alastor with awestruck eyes.
“Well then, Allen,” he began, offering the young man a friendly smile. “I suggest you head home. Your mother must be worried sick, having you out this late.”
“B-but what about him? Won’t he–” The boy gulped, averting his gaze. “... won’t you demand retribution?”
“Don’t you worry yourself with such matters. I’ll make sure he won’t be a problem in the future.” Alastor chuckled, rolling over his victim with the kick off a foot. “All you need to do is head back home to your ma.”
“I– Alright.” Allen sighed, smiling softly at Alastor before bowing. “Thank you again, sir.”
“Don’t mention it.” He called back, watching with a shake of his head as the boy quickly exited the alleyway and heaving a sigh. He hadn’t planned on hunting again so soon, but he had his work cut out for him. At the very least, he felt quite secure in the knowledge that the boy wouldn’t go tattle on him to the police. After all, there wouldn’t be much left of Copeland anyway when the gators were done with him.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Lucifer chuckled to himself, watching with rapid interest as Alastor began to carter away Copeland’s body. The man was out for the count, possibly with a developing brain injury, but the King didn’t much care to check. No, he was much more focused on the young man soon about to commit yet another murder.
Truth be told, Lucifer hadn’t expected Alastor to figure out the premonition-dream that quickly. He had sent it more to sate his curiosity, watching as he reacted to something he couldn’t interfere with – a ghost in a scene that had yet to happen. He had expected the man to maybe write it off as a nightmare and not realize its significance until the crime had already occurred, too late to change the inevitable. He had not expected Alastor to catch on to the premonition from the moment he woke up, and immediately take action to save a young life, while taking another in the process.
It was absolutely fascinating.
Alastor struggled slightly with the deadweight body, tugging it carefully out through the back of the alley, but determination and righteousness shone in his eyes.
Yes , Lucifer decided, silently and in the privacy of his mind. He’d be sending more of those dreams. He couldn’t wait to see what else Alastor could accomplish, with a bit of divine help.
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Life was starting to fall into a comfortable, if somewhat strange, routine. While his day-to-day schedule didn’t noticeably change, Alastor found himself back in the same eerie black-and-white dreamscape each and every night. The information relayed through the dreams was always different. Sometimes he’d witness a crime taking place, most often against an innocent person who’d see no justice through the real legal system. Other times, he’d be shown the minute details of shady deals taking place, an ominous warning of the power his soon-to-be victims held that he’d need to watch out for.
It was useful information – invaluable in some cases – to how he went about disposing of his victims, yet Alastor couldn’t shake the constant feeling that he was being watched. In each and every dream, there was always an undeniable presence with him. It was difficult to identify at first, starting as a mild discomfort he couldn’t quite place. It escalated gradually as he began catching glimpses of something – or someone – in the corners of his eyes. He could always swear he saw the unmistakable outline of someone standing just at the edge of his periphery, yet when he turned to look, there was nothing but empty space. The most he has ever seen is a brief glimpse of white before it disappeared behind an invisible veil.
It was starting to drive him a bit insane. Outside of the already insane fact that he was relying on prophetic dreams to guide his criminal actions.
On top of that, Alastor has never been one to simply accept anything good in life without suspicion. A hard-earned lesson, but one he’d never forget. Nothing good happened to people like him without reason – not in this godforsaken society. He had fought for every scrap of happiness and comfort in his life, to be given even a modicum of the respect and dignity offered to his white peers. And he was still working hard to ensure a decent living for himself and his sick maman.
No, something strange was sending him prophetic dreams and observing his every action, and he was going to find out what and why . So, like any person being plagued by supernatural dreams, Alastor decided to do some research. It was difficult attempting to figure out where to even begin looking. He had never been one to believe in the supernatural, religion, or God – because what benevolent creator would idly stand by and watch a devoted worshipper like Alastor’s Maman suffer so needlessly? – meaning he felt painfully out of his depth on this particular topic. Yet he couldn’t deny that whatever was happening to him was supernatural in origin.
Maybe that was why he found himself surrounded by a truly ridiculous collection of books on all sorts of different topics. Some were borrowed from the library (after many ifs and buts), and a handful came from his mother’s dear friends, but the majority were lent to him by old Mrs. Lejeune. She had a truly astounding collection of writings, many of them related to more socially taboo topics, such as demons, possessions, and voodoo. It has made her a bit of a social outcast, but it was absolutely perfect for Alastor’s research purposes. All he had to do now was read it all and hope he found something that could explain his situation.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
It started off as nothing more than unsated curiosity. Lucifer had never encountered a soul full of such stark contradictions before, and he simply couldn’t help himself. Observing humans and how they interacted with the world had been his favorite activity back in Eden, even if there hadn’t been that many humans at the time. His original plan had just been to send Alastor a few premonitions and watch how he reacted, but it quickly grew into more than that.
He began to linger more and more in the dreams, threading awfully close to the veil hiding him from sight, and he knew he had almost been spotted a handful of times. But it was so fascinating to watch Alastor react to the things he was shown. Everything from future crimes, distant meetings, and subtle warnings, the man absorbed it all. And like clockwork, he’d wake up each morning and write down what he remembered in a notebook which he had begun keeping by his bed. Such a curious mind and moral code.
It has been eons since Lucifer last took an interest in a mortal like this – much less a still living human. Sometimes it was difficult to put his finger on exactly why, but he always found himself returning to the mortal realm in his astral form. The times he dropped by varied, as he still had obligations in Hell, but he had made sure to anchor himself to Alastor so he’d appear near him. It had been so long since he had last needed to do such a thing that he had almost forgotten the spell for it.
By this point, he had witnessed Alastor in a wide variety of situations – everything from lovingly tending to his ailing mother to committing the most brutal murders and feasting on the meat of his victims. While Lucifer wasn’t usually one to revel in sinning, there was something undeniably captivating and thrilling about watching Alastor at work. His confident demeanor, his ruthless efficiency, the luster of his soul, and the prideful, bright twinkle in his eyes. It always ended up a bloody scene, but the King couldn’t find it in himself to be repulsed. Rather, he couldn’t wait to watch this mortal take down his next victim.
That was what he had expected to find when he materialised back on Earth. It was still a bit early in the day, yet he distinctly remembered Alastor’s excited mutterings regarding a particularly nasty fella by the name of Mr. Hayes. Instead, he found himself in a, by now, familiar green-painted room. It was small but modest, furnished with a metal-frame bed, a wooden wardrobe, and a writing desk with a matching chair. It wasn’t uncommon for Alastor to be found working on scripts and schedules by his desk, but today Lucifer was met with the sight of the man spread out across the red carpet, absolutely surrounded by books.
Interesting…
It was a messy scene, a stark contrast to the normally tidy space. Alastor himself looked mildly haggard, with his hair a frizzy mess from the humid air, shirt untucked, and ink smudges on his cheek. It looked like he had been hard at work, hunched over a thick book and taking notes with growing frustration.
“Just what are you up to..?” Lucifer chuckled, stepping closer to read the notes over his shoulders. The sight that met him had the King strangling a laugh.
Possible Causes
- Demonic possession? (unlikely, but maybe)
- God’s newest prophet (HAH)
- Going insane (no)
- Supernatural intervention (possibly)
Entities:
- Nattmara (far fetched, wrong symptoms)
- Epiales (wrong personality)
- Brizo (interpretation of dreams, not giving them)
- Apollo (makes oracles, but is flash about it)
- Zaqar (fits surprisingly well)
Oh, it seemed as if he had underestimated the extent of Alastor’s curiosity. Or perhaps it’s distrust? It seemed like he was not willing to sit back and let the prophetic dreams continue, at least not without an explanation. Maybe he should have seen this coming… After all, at this point Lucifer had witnessed Alastor’s distrust for the world on several occasions – and he had good reason to be mistrustful. Even in his workplace, where he was arguably one of the most efficient employees, he was continuously harassed and looked down upon for his skin tone.
Threatening someone’s job over such a ridiculous thing? What has humanity come to…
No, Alastor seemed dead set on figuring out where those dreams came from. So perhaps the time had finally come for Lucifer to properly reveal himself…?
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Alastor wasn’t necessarily happy with the research he had managed, but there was surprisingly little information regarding anything even remotely similar to what he was experiencing. His best leads were descriptions of obscure gods and deities – even if most sources called them demons – that ancient people deemed to be the rulers of night and dreams. A wonderfully taboo topic in such a staunchly Christian nation like the United States, making further research impossible.
It was with a frustrated sigh that he swam into consciousness in his dream, by now much more familiar with the black-and-white scenery he so often found himself in. The first few times had been a startling and disorienting experience, trying to make sense of what was happening while also memorising everything he saw. As time went on, it has become strangely comforting to enter this dreamscape. They bring with them a feeling of weightlessness he finds himself missing in his waking hours, always leaving him undeniably well-rested despite the scenes he bore witness to.
Speaking of which, the scene he found himself in this night was strangely empty. A wide expanse of forest stretched out around him, filled with birds and small critters going about their lives. It already made for a stunning picture in black-and-white; Alastor could only imagine how it’d appear in real life. Still, the thought only occupied his mind for a brief moment. Instead,he looked around, searching for any signs of human presence. The trees appeared entirely unharmed, filled only with wildlife and foliage, and any path he spotted was small and innocuous, obviously worn down by animal tracks rather than human feet. He tried to sharpen his gaze, desperately looking for any signs, for the reason why he was here .
Something white fluttered at the edge of his periphery, signaling the presence of his unknown observer. Even though he knew it was useless, Alastor turned his head to look out of instinct. He expected to find nothing but emptiness, perhaps an animal or two. He did not expect the entity to suddenly reveal itself.
It was as if they were stepping out of an invisible veil, materialising from nothing, swathed in pale, flowing fabric that draped majestically around their body. But what truly caught Alastor’s attention, what had his jaw dropping to the floor and stole his breath away, was their exquisite colors . Even in a world otherwise relegated to black and white, with the occasional splash of red, this person seemed otherworldly. They looked like a doll crafted from the finest porcelain, with bright vermillion cheeks, deep blood-red eyes, and wonderful, glowing golden hair, framed by a star-like halo of yellow light; a completely new color in his otherwise monotone dreams. Alastor was well aware that it was considered rude to stare, yet he couldn’t help himself. His brain wished to engrave every last detail of the sight before him into his memory, witnessing the existence of something so beautiful and distinctly not human . The being who had haunted his dreams with their veiled presence, the being who’d been aiding him in his criminal activities, giving him valuable information to save the innocent and properly punish the guilty. They now stood before him, offering him an expectant smile.
“W-who are you?” Alastor wanted to crawl into a hole and die. A million things to say, a million things to ask, perhaps even offer a greeting like a polite person, yet the first thing out of his mouth is a stuttered, breathless demand for a name.
Maman raised me better than this.
Luckily, the being didn’t seem to take any offense at his social blunder. Rather, they seem quite amused as they consider his question, before responding with one of their own.
“Who do you think I am?” For a few seconds, Alastor’s brain came to a screeching halt. He had been bracing for any number of answers, any number of demands or questions to be levied his way, yet what caught him so off guard was their voice .
Undeniably male, but still the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It carried an uncanny melodic undertone, as if it were singing a song without music. Soft like the lapping shores on a summer beach, warm like the sun on a hot day. It brought with it so many sensations, yet it was only a sound.
Incredible.
He was truly standing before something ancient and incredibly powerful, and his maman taught him better than to be rude to those who had aided him and shown him kindness – even if it had been unexpected. Better not keep him waiting.
“I… I’ve tried to research who you could be, based on my dreams. The sources are spare but…” Alastor took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself. “Only one deity fits in with your actions. He is the messenger of sin and ruler over dreams and nightmares. The ancient people called him Zaqar.”
The being inclined his head, a soft smile playing on his lips while his bright red eyes looked Alastor up and down. “And why do you presume that’s me?”
“Well–” He began, chewing uncomfortably on his lower lip. “You only communicate with me through dreams. I’ve never seen anything that could suggest you interfering with the waking world, much like how Zaqar is rumored to only have power over dreams. Moreover, you communicate with me through my dreams. The things you show me, your messages to me, all involve sin. Sins that other people are committing.”
The figure huffed, clearly holding back a laugh, but didn’t speak to correct anything Alastor said. Instead, he opened his hand and gestured to the monochrome forest surrounding them.
“You are right in that assumption of yours. I cannot interfere with the mortal world; I can only witness it from afar. The only way I can communicate with any of you is through your dreams.” A sad smile overtook his soft features, a heavy feeling of melancholy filling the air as they watched some birds fly around the trees. “Even here, I am limited. I can show you anything, be it the past, present, or future, or simply create a fantasy from scratch,” as he spoke, the world around them changed. A medieval village, his own bedroom and a strange-looking city filled with dozens of sleek cars, before it returned to the forest from before. “But I can never keep you here against your will. The moment you wake up, you’re out of my reach.” The being lowered his arm once more, turning back to Alastor with an expectant smile.
“That’s… good to know. It certainly explains how you are able to show events that have yet to happen.” He nodded along before pinning the being with a stern look. “But it does not explain why .”
For a few agonizing seconds, everything went quiet before the being started laughing.
“Oh- oh my– I forgot how paranoid you are!” He exclaimed, whipping an imaginary tear from his eye as he clutched his stomach. “My reason for helping you is quite simple. You fascinate me. It’s been millennia since a mortal last caught my attention, and probably even longer since I aided one. I haven’t actively observed humanity for centuries, yet the first one I see when I tune back in is you. Your soul is a kaleidoscope of colors, and I wish to see what you make of the information I give you. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Alastor simply stared for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Absolutely nothing? ”
The being hummed to himself. “Remember that I am not human. There is little you could offer me that I’d want, or that I couldn’t discover on my own. I suppose some conversations would be fun, but as I said, I cannot keep you here against your will and I wouldn’t want to either.”
Well, Alastor couldn’t exactly argue against that. This being wasn’t human, so it would be illogical to assume he’d act like one. Still, he felt mildly uncomfortable receiving something without giving back in return. He truly didn’t have much to offer, and—
The clap of hands startled him out of his thoughts. “It seems like our time is up!” The being said, pointing towards the edge of the trees. When Alastor turned around to look, he could see the monochrome world begin to disintegrate. “You are waking up, which means it’s time for me to leave.”
That had Alastor whipping back around, reaching out to grab the being before he could walk away. “Wait, you never told me what your name was! Did I get it right?”
“Tell you my real name? Hmm…” He chuckled, shaking his head wistfully before flashing Alastor a sharp look. “Over your dead body.”
At first glance, that answer sounded very much like a threat. But something about the way it was said – the tone of voice used and the being’s soft, yet serious expression – told him the words held a much deeper meaning. A meaning Alastor wasn’t quite sure how to figure out.
“Until then,” he continued, gracefully leaning far too close into Alastor’s personal space than he’d normally allow anyone to do, “you are free to call me anything you’d like. Pick a name, and I’ll respond to it as if it were true.”
Had he not been a grown man, who was far above such childish antics, Alastor would have pouted at the answer he received. Seeing as he was a full-grown man, who’d never stoop down to that level, he stifled a sigh before responding.
“Then I’ll call you Zaqar; messenger of sin and ruler of dreams. I am in your care.”
The last thing he remembered before waking up was a smile gracing Zaqar’s lips – filled with far too many sharp teeth to be natural – as he spoke. “And I’ll be in yours, Alastor. ”
—
The following weeks passed in a dazing whirlwind. Alastor kept on killing, meticulously taking down his next victims using the information gained through his dreams, although not all of them were prophetic anymore. Sometimes, Zaqar didn’t have anything especially important to show him, but sought out Alastor’s company nonetheless. During those nights, the God because that’s what he’ll call the man until he knows what he truly is would often make a meadow for them to lounge around in, filled with millions of red flowers. It was an odd detail that gold only existed in his dreams when Zaqar was present. Still Alastor found himself enjoying the strange company – so utterly different from anything he could find in the waking world.
“Your crime scenes are truly a work of art, even if you end up removing all evidence in the end. It’s a sight to behold, the gleam in your eyes as you exert your justice.” Zaqar had told him one night, looking Alastor up and down with that molten gaze of his. And oh , that had done things to Alastor’s brain. When he woke up the next day, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, but he knew that he liked the warm, erratic feelings welling up in his chest. For the first time, it truly seemed to register that he had caught the sole attention of a God . A god that regularly observed him as he went about his life, as he committed crimes . But most importantly, he relished in watching Alastor take out his victims.
If Alastor’s body had a mortifying physical reaction to that particular thought, then it was between him and nobody else.
—
They talked about a lot of things, he and Zaqar. He got the chance to tell the God about his past – his thoughts, his feelings, his dreams, and aspirations. He got to talk about humanity from a personal perspective, something that seemed to fascinate the God to no end, telling him what was going on, where he thought the world was heading, and what had happened recently to get them there.
As he sat at his desk, planning how to best take out his next victim, Alastor found himself longing for Zaqar’s company. It was truly unmatched by any human to be able to converse with such an ancient and otherworldly being, who could change their surroundings as he wished with a wave of his hand. He had made Alastor’s dreamscape into a lot of things: a bar, a flowerfield, an open stage, and an extensive radio studio. All Alastor had to do was ask .
It was a strange company, but something he certainly craved more and more with each passing night. An addiction.
And for once, Alastor found himself not fighting it. If this was the addiction that would get him, then so be it. He would welcome it with open arms.
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This whole thing has spiralled just a teensy tiny bit out of Lucifer’s control…
Okay, a lot out of his control. But he couldn’t help it! There was simply something so special about Alastor. Something magnetic that kept pulling Lucifer back again and again and again. At first, he had told himself that he was only sating his curiosity – that he kept coming back in order to learn more about humanity and their new inventions and nothing else – but at this point, he needed to stop lying to himself.
Alastor had become special to him. Had become someone he cared for; a warm presence that filled up the aching void once left behind by his ex-wife and daughter almost half a century prior. Alastor was a complicated and bright soul, a serial killer who murdered those who wronged his community, committing sin by following cardinal virtues, projecting the persona of a soft, mellow man while being filled to the brim with pure hatred. He was a delightful mess of contradictions in the absolute best of ways.
And, perhaps, Lucifer saw a bit of himself in the man; someone who did good through arguably immoral deeds.
Once he had come to that realization and forced himself to accept this new reality, he stopped holding back. After finally revealing – or conforming – his existence to Alastor, he let his impulses and instincts guide his actions. No longer did he simply lurk in the back of his dreams. If he didn’t have anything new or significant to show the man, he’d whisk Alastor away in his dreams to a place of their choosing, to simply spend time together. It always made for unforgettable nights. Lucifer hadn’t truly interacted with a mortal in eons , and he was utterly captivated by Alastor’s stories of life and human development. Because sure, Lucifer could technically witness it all if he so wished, but it was another thing entirely to have it told to him by someone who lived it, by someone whose reality it affected so deeply. From tales of his childhood in the bayou, blissfully unaware of the war happening in another part of the world, to the spread of radio, the changing of seasons, old stories passed on from his mother— Lucifer adored hearing about it all.
Of course, that was not the only thing they discussed. While Lucifer was more than happy to let Alastor guide their conversations if he so wished, he wasn’t opposed to taking the lead himself. His mortal had a lot of things to tell, but on occasions, he found himself curious about the being continuously stalking his dreams, and he was brimming with questions.
Lucifer would happily share what he could, especially the more intriguing ones. He told about the rise and fall of empires, the unaltered history of Rome, Britannia, and the Ottomans, the true lives and deaths of famous historical figures, and what was hidden in the Vatican catacombs. He explained the workings of the universe, about the existence of atoms and how they made up the world, how stars were formed and their life cycle, the evolution of animals, what things human science had gotten right and wrong, explaining the truth and separating it from the lies.
The one thing he could not do, however, was give Alastor his true name.
Heaven was always very anal when it came to their rules and regulations. Lucifer was already threading a very fine line, interacting with Alastor like he was. Humans were not meant to interact with the supernatural on Earth unless it had been sanctioned by Heaven, or some mortal had managed to summon a demon on their own volition. What Lucifer was doing, interacting with Alastor in his dreams without a deal in place and without being officially sanctioned… To say his siblings would be unhappy if they found out would be an understatement, but he wasn’t technically breaking any rules.
Yet he would be breaking rules if he told Alastor who he truly was. Because that would be revealing to a mortal the existence of Heaven and Hell, outside of a summoning or officially sanctioned mission. It was a painful, dumb, and archaic rule, in Lucifer’s humble opinion, yet he wasn’t looking to end up back in front of the Heavenly court anytime soon. Or ever again, really. The restrictions chaffed, but Lucifer would prevail. He was a being older than time, and would happily wait for Alastor’s arrival in Hell to truly begin their relationship. Until then, Lucifer would be known by another name.
He’d be known as Zaqar , the God of Dreams and Nightmares. And wasn’t that an ironic title?
The Original Dreamer, the Messenger of Sin .
Of course, Lucifer was well aware that Sin was just a name – the name once attributed to the God of the Moon, worshiped by the people of Ancient Mesopotamia – and not the action of sinning , but the irony was there nonetheless. He’d accept the name with grace until Alastor’s time finally came.
What a fitting name to give to the Devil.
Lucifer sat back and watched in contented silence as Alastor walked around the dreamscape he had conjured up this time – a very familiar radio station – listening as the man went on and on about what everything was and how it’d normally function in the real world. He has so much pure passion for it, it made Lucifer’s heart ache. He was so beautiful when he smiled for real. A true, happy smile, unburdened by the horrors of reality and the mask he wore to hide himself from the world. But in his dreams, Alastor had deemed it safe enough to drop his mask – had deemed Lucifer safe enough to drop his mark for – either consciously or unconsciously.
The King could stare at him for the rest of time. To watch those vivid hazel eyes light up, to see his face brighten with a genuine smile, to hear the passion in his voice and feel the love that Alastor has for his craft.
It was simply breathtaking.
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Alastor didn’t know what to do with himself. The past few nights had been absolute agony , wrestling with his own unruly emotions, to the point where not even he could deny them anymore.
He liked Zaqar. Actually, romantically liked him .
And what’s the problem with this, one may ask? The problem is, he has no clue what to do with these emotions. He has never been in love before, much less felt inclined to physically touch any person other than his mother. It is all foreign to him. Yet, he knew the basics of how a relationship was supposed to work. He knew it included kisses and hugs and sex and other things – It had never interested him before, so he had never thought to pay attention when it came up in conversation. He sort of regretted that now, seeing as he was way out of his depth. Still, he wasn’t going to let a lack of practical knowledge stop him. He intended to make the God his, one way or another.
He’d figure it out. Somehow.
—
On this particular night, Alastor and Zaqar found themselves lounging around in his bayou – the place where he usually hunted, killed, and buried his victims – which had become a frequent place for them to be. The first time the god had recreated it, Alastor had spent almost the entire night seeing if Zaqar had made any errors. But no, he had recreated the bayou flawlessly , and that knowledge did things to Alastor. It also made him relax in a way he had never expected, to be in such a familiar place, that he had accidentally let his true southern drawl slip out.
He had been absolutely mortified . He thought he had trained himself out of that accent ages ago, yet there it was escaping him without his say-so. But instead of being disgusted or angry, Lucifer had been absolutely delighted and intrigued by the slip-up, demanding an explanation on why he sounded so different and to please do it again, your voice sounds so pretty like that!
Those words had echoed in Alastor’s head for days and did not help his infatuation with the god whatsoever. It was an endless loop, slowly wearing down his resolve and self-control, filling his entire body with a warm, fluttering feeling.
Even now, as Zaqar was speaking and explaining something entirely different, Alastor found himself struggling to concentrate. His attention was hanging by a thread, painfully focused on the God’s lips. His voice was sweet and melodic as always, blissfully clearing Alastor’s scattered thoughts until only a sparse few remained. Zaqar’s lips looked so soft, and he wondered what they felt like. Were they warm or cold? Although the God’s skin seemed to have the color and texture of fine porcelain, would it feel the same? Or would it be more akin to that of a human’s? They were pale white, yet also held an unmistakable understone of gold . What was that all about? Was it an innocent colour choice or perhaps it was his blood shining through? Ichor, the blood of a God . What would that taste like? How would his soft, golden lips feel pressed against his? Giving away underneath his teeth, biting into holy flesh, hearing that melodic voice gasping his name—
Distantly, Alastor could hear somebody calling his name. A hand was waved in front of his face, and he was close – oh so close – he could almost smell the scent of apples and sugar that always clung to the God.
The next thing he knew, he heard Zaqar let out a soft gasp before their lips crashed together. The kiss was uncoordinated and messy, but Alastor felt as if he was in heaven . One of his hands cupped the God’s face, feeling his warm, smooth skin against his palm, while the other tangled in the silky, golden hair. For a brief moment, Zaqar stood stiff and unmoving before practically melting in Alastor’s hold. His lips parted ever so slightly, letting Alastor into his mouth. He kissed the God like a man possessed, as if he were the very air he needed to breathe. The taste of sugar and cider filled his senses, cradling the smaller body tightly against his. He never wanted the moment to end, lost in the trance of absolute bliss–
Until he noticed the god in his arms beginning to crumble away. Slowly turning into golden dust, even as Alastor attempted to pull him in closer, to keep him together and safe in his arms. But he didn’t stand a chance, not as the world around them disappeared and was swallowed up by endless darkness.
—
Alastor woke up with a gasp, jerking up from his mattress and reaching desperately for something that wasn’t physically there. His bayou was nowhere to be seen, nor the God he so badly wished to hold in his arms.
He collapsed back into his pillows with a heavy sigh, his chest filled with a mix of sadness, longing, and mortification, desperately attempting to adjust his pants to relieve some pressure on his extremely unfortunate boner.
Shit, what had he done?
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To say Lucifer was frustrated would be an understatement . Actually, he experienced a wide variety of emotions in that moment, but as he sat alone in the dream realm staring into nothing, he simply wanted to scream.
Father above, that kiss had absolutely ripped his breath out of him. He could taste Alastor’s desperation and adoration, could feel the way his soul flared a bright, all-encompassing red, and he could sense the moment he began waking up. He watched as Alastor was yanked into a space where he couldn’t reach him.
He wanted to laugh and cry and scream and shout all at the same time. Alastor had kissed him, and Lucifer had felt the complicated array of affection and love he held for him. Alastor had kissed him, and Lucifer had wanted it to last forever. He could have lost himself to the taste of his lips and–
“ Fuck. ” He truly was whipped, wasn’t he?
The next night, Lucifer was quick to make his way into Alastor’s dreams. Had he been waiting for hours for the man to fall asleep? Maybe . But they really needed to speak. Judging by how the poor man looked like a deer in headlights the minute he appeared, the conversation was very much needed.
“Before you say anything, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Lucifer began, and he was pleased to see the majority of the tension easing out of Alastor’s shoulders. “Trust me, if you did something I wasn’t enjoying, you’d know it.” That earned him a sceptical frown.
“So why’d ya’ throw me then?” Father above, hearing just the barest hint of Alastor’s southern accent slipping through, did things to Lucifer, but this was not the time for that.
“Al…” He began, taking a step closer and doing his best to keep it together. “You were waking up . I can’t trap you in your dream, no matter how much I may have wanted to at the time. You kicked yourself out of your dream.”
And oh , how he loved to watch the flush rise across his face. “Ah… Perhaps I… made some hasty assumptions.”
“You think?” Lucifer chuckled, finally slithering his way into Alastor’s personal space. The man seemed a bit hesitant at first, but gladly pulled him closer when the king guided his arms around him. “I really did enjoy that kiss, and I’d be open to experiencing more with you, if that’s what you want. But you’ve got to know that being with me comes with… certain caveats…” That would be putting it mildly. Lucifer was threading a very fine line, and he could only show half of it to Alastor. He could only pray the man would have patience and trust.
“Trust me, I realized as much when I first noticed I was stalked by a supernatural being,” he laughed, bending down to shyly rest his forehead against Lucifer’s. “Even if I didn’t know it’d end up like this. I’d… I’d still like to try.”
Lucifer smiled softly, leaning in until their noses touched. A few seconds passed in comfortable silence before he could feel the man’s curiosity bubble up.
“Does this mean you’ll finally tell me your name?” And there it was.
“Unfortunately, no, not now at least,” he sighed, gently brushing a curl out of Alastor’s face. “What I once said still stands. I’ll tell you my name, over your dead body .”
—
Time moves strangely when it has no effect on you. Lucifer had never really felt its effect on himself, but he could see it on Alastor. Not many years have passed since their first encounter, yet he could spot the differences all the same. He complained more about issues with his joints, his smile lines became more permanent, and his vision had started to worsen. He was not old by any human standards – barely in his 30’s – and was expected to live several decades more.
And yet, Lucifer knew Alastor was nearing the end of his life. He was still young, but the devil could tell when a human was nearing their death. He doesn’t know when, how or where it will happen, but he knew it was coming soon. And he couldn’t tell Alastor about it either, lest he wish to bring down Heaven on his ass once more. Lucifer could only watch on from afar, making sure that his love enjoyed the short time he had left on Earth to its fullest.
While Alastor was none the wiser, Lucifer watched him live his life with bated breath; quietly preparing for his arrival in Hell where he could finally greet him properly .
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His head felt as if it was being split open with an axe, rattling his brain with each swing. If only the world could stop spinning, that’d be great . Alastor grumbled to himself as he attempted to sit upright, finding himself in an uncomfortably unfamiliar environment. His last memories were hazy, escaping his reach whenever he attempted to figure out how he got here.
Blobs of color danced across his vision, slowly but surely coalescing into a painfully familiar face, although with a noticeably different attire. Zaqar stood above him, offering him a smile full of far too many teeth. His white, draping clothes had been exchanged for a formal suit in the same color, decorated with red accents and golden detailing. His star-like halo had been replaced with a large, striking hat, topped with an apple and a golden snake. What remained the same was his red cheeks, vermillion eyes, and bright, golden hair.
He reached out a helping hand that Alastor took without thought, and immediately felt his breath catch in his throat. This… was not one of his dreams. The floating feeling was nowhere to be found, nor was the strange staticky sensation when he touched Zaqar’s hand. It felt different. More solid, more real .
“Where– Where are we?” he asked, startling at the sound of his own voice – staticky and echoing, as if talking through a radio. Zaqar, however, did not seem surprised.
“Welcome home, Alastor. I have waited a long time for you,” he said, smiling broadly as he took Alastor’s hand and bestowed it with a soft kiss. “I know you have many questions, but indulge me on this one, would you?” He looked up at him with a cheeky expression, mirth and longing playing in those deep red eyes. “Ask your question, the one I could never answer before.”
Alastor felt his breath hitch, a treacherous excitement fluttering in his belly.
“... Who are you?” He asked.
The being before him beamed, taking a step back to bow dramatically as six majestic wings unfurled from his back.
“I am Lucifer Morningstar,” he answered, “the King of Hell.”