Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You've done it. You've done what other men (and several women) could only dream of. You've managed to escape hell with your ensemble of demon girls (plus one curious angel).

To be completely honest with yourself, you really should have seen this coming. Who could have possibly foreseen that taking on a harem of demon girls (plus one curious angel) under your roof would drain you mentally, physically, and financially?

Seems like Anime glossed over how feeding thirteen mouths puts a strain on your wallet.

With the rest of the demon girls (plus one curious angel) asleep upstairs, you're given a brief moment of respite. You decide that the best use of your limited time is to watch some television. With the queen of pestilence beside you.

"…"

Clearly, to find all this normal, your parents must have raised you in a questionable matter.

"You mortals are quite perplexing."

Beelzebub drags you out of your thoughts. "I don't understand. Is this really what passes for 'education' in the eyes of your young?"

"It's a children's show." You reply patiently. "This isn't meant to 'educate'. It's supposed to capture and ensnare their attention."

And as such, the television is blaring softly in the middle of the night. Sounds of cartoon cruelty ring out.

"Oh, such savagery! No, wait! I've heard of this before! This is conditioning, is it not? This must be to train your young to be familiarised in the ways of cruelty and torture!" She exclaims from the portal.

She sighs and shakes her head. "Shame that it isn't an accurate depiction. I've tried bending spines that far, and believe me, they break long, long, long before than what I'm seeing here."

You fight to keep your face straight. "It's just to entertain them. We humans rather enjoy our peace."

She turns to give you a flat look.

"You say that, and yet you mortals seem all too willing to wage wars with one other."

You shrug in response. "We just like making others learn our peaceful ways; by force if necessary."

She harrumphs in response. "Still, I'm not convinced this isn't just preparing the young for a life of violence."

You blink. "You're not wrong, but no, this isn't conditioning either."

"Then what could it possibly be for?" She huffs out.

"Well, when the children are busy, what do you think the parents do?"

She opens her mouth to respond. She raises a finger, then slooowwly lowers it again after some thought.

"Ingenious."

"Mm-hmm." You absently nod. "Also, you might want to leave now."

She sniffs. "Why? Have you grown tired of my magnificent presence? Has my beauty finally pushed you to your limits? Is that it?"

"No, it's just that I can hear Lucifer coming down the stairs."

"-eep!"

And with a hiss of flames, the portal closes in on itself.

You chuckle and adjust the volume.

As Lucifer makes her way down stairs, she gives you a questioning glare.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching the telly."

"Alone?"

You make a noise that encompasses your entire being.

She gives a narrowed glance at the space where the portal was just a minute ago. Shrugging, she turns back to you.

Peering from behind, she blinks in surprise.

"Oh, is this torture porn? I admit, it's quite unrealistic to have ones' body contort like that, but I can see how you would want to simplify it for the childrens sake-"

You sigh.

-0-

I own nothing. All charcter are property of Łukasz Piskorz. Just to let you know, it is Tom and Jerry. It's quite violent if you think about it.

Chapter Text

There are many reason why you don’t let anyone but Lucifer in the kitchen. Maybe Malina if you’re feeling lucky, generous, and are prepared to clean up the resulting mess. Or die.

It’s really just a coin flip.

But anyways, the reasons becomes apparent the first time you ask the others to help make pancakes. You would end up never asking them again. The resulting mess took a week to clean up, Cerberus was left scarred for life, and four out of the six fire departments in your town blacklisted your address.

In Cerberus’s defence, they didn't intend to use that much force. In Justice’s defence, she was planning on stopping Cerberus. In Zdrada’s defence, she was laughing too hard to do anything about it. Then again, she probably wouldn’t have helped even if she wasn’t paralysed on the ground, crying tears of mirth. She’s a bitch.

In your defence, you really should have seen it coming.

Don’t ask. It wasn’t pretty for anyone.

The fallout was even worse.

“-and," Lucifer hisses, after the resulting fire is merely contained; the ‘oh God I have sinned but please let me in, let me in, LETMEEIINNN!’ in her voice cranks up by 3000 percent, “-if I find out that any of you even think about going in the kitchen, again; then get heaven to help you because no earthly or demonic power will.”

“They won’t!” Azazel cheerfully chirps. “We have a very strict policy on who we let in nowadays after the influx of people… using… loopholes…” Her tone gradually shifts to nothing as the tiniest fraction of pure hatred turns to face her.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll just leave youguystoitokaybye!!”

As the angel dashes a strict 180° away from the 5 foot tall of ‘HOLY SHIT’, said nightmare^TM resumes her unholy tirade against the others.

The rest of the girls are properly cowed and re-educated on why Lucifer is the CEO of hell.

-0-

Fun fact, even if you’ve committed all the sins in the world, as long as you accept Jesus in your heart right before you die, you get to go to heaven. It’s one of the many, many loopholes.

Don’t ask me how I know.

Chapter Text

Their defences crumbled like paper. The turrets had proven to be nothing but a nuisance, where bullets rain upon the monster, and are just as effective. Shells drop from the heavens, where they assume the monster cannot reach.

The monster chuckles at their ignorance, and continues its task to wreak havoc upon their lands. They can’t stay in the air forever. When they land, they’ll be surrounded by the bodies of everyone they know.

For a species so indulgent of waring with one another, they're quite horrible at taking down a single foe.

They’re desperate now.

They send in their nukes, sacrificing cities at the mere prospect of slowing it down.

It doesn’t work. Nothing they do can stop the monster.

The monster towers over the peons, ready to deal the final blow. She’s already taken their legs. They cannot escape. Bleeding profusely from their stumps, they crawl, clawing at the ground, trying to extend their pitiful lives for a few more meaningless moments.

When they see the shadow loom over them, they plead and cry out for mercy.

Such arbitrary concepts. This monster is the herald of doom. Monsters cannot be reasoned with.

The monster was there when you were concepted. It was there when your kind was born. It watched your civilizations rise and fall. It will be there when your kind inevitably passes to the sands of time.

All it’s doing is speeding up the clock.

She brings naught but death and destruction, spreading misery and misfortune wherever it goes. Fire and fury consumed her world, and now she’ll do the same to yours.

God cannot stop the monster. Neither can the devil. Nothing on this plane of existence can even slow her down.

With bells ringing in the distance, much akin to a death toll, she lunges-

WHACK!

“WHO DARES-”

“I dare.” You interject, lowering the rolled up newspaper. “Stop playing with your food. Eat your gingerbread cookies quietly.”

Judgement glares at you, tearing off a head from one of the gingerbread men in what others would assume to be a threatening manner. If looks could kill, you would be coffin dancing your way to hell. Again.

You’re not fazed in the slightest. You’ve seen what Azazel reads under the covers.

Instead, you take a napkin and wipe the crumbs off her chin, relishing in her flustered squeals.

The monster has been stopped. Truly, love slays all.

-0-

Let's be honest, we've all imagined that when we were children. I even used ketchup as a substitute for blood. The resulting mess was worth it. The scolding from my sisters? Uh... not so much.

Chapter Text

On a particularly boring day, you find yourself sitting at the table with Judgement. You’re drinking coffee, but not Pandemonicas’ special blend; no sirree. That’s reserved specifically for her, and for her alone. You learned your lesson after she broke three of your fingers. Judgement is drinking some orange juice.

You’re talking about the past.

“Wait, so Justice was the High Prosecutor of hell before you?”

“Yeah?” Judgement replies, taking a sip from her cup.

“So is it like a honorary title, or is it like a job?”

She frowns in thought. “A bit of both. The main job of the HPJ is just to stop stray spirits from escaping damnation.”

You raise an eyebrow. “If you’re here, doesn’t that mean people can just get up and leave hell now?”

She gives you a flat look. “The doors we left from weigh 5-tons. Each. You shouldn’t be able to budge them, much less kick them down.”

On your part, you managed to distract yourself by taking a long sip of your coffee, then adjusting every damned button on your shirt until you had nothing else to do but meet her eyes.

She huffs. “Anyways, that’s even if they make it that far. Souls are usually too engrossed in the pain of hell to even think of leaving.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.” Funnily enough, hell wasn’t that bad. It was hot, yes, but only in the sense that it was full of cute demon girls. “I didn’t much damnation going on.”

“Well, hell changes from person to person. A person who’s sinned a hundred times usually get the ‘Oh god, it burns!’ type of treatment.” She takes another sip of juice. “A gal who’s just sinned a couple of times usually just gets a few spikes to the face. Maybe a couple of sledgehammers. After a few months, we usually let those souls pass on.”

Her expression turns foul at her next thought. “But a small number of spirits, the real bastards; the ones who deserve to burn for eternity, they’re the ones with unusually strong wills.” She grimaces. “They try to fight off the torturers, and that’s when I have to step in.”

“Oh.” You’re relived that Hitler won’t be leaving anytime soon. “So if you have her old job, then what does she do?”

“Eh, she just trains the new demons.” She waves nonchalantly. “Paperwork, torture, cleaning up, that sort of stuff.”

“Huh. Did she train you?”

Judgement immediately takes a deep breath and doesn’t stop taking it. When she finally stops, her face goes slack, eyes distant in a happier place.

-0-

Lucifer hummed to herself as she made down the hallway. The kid had promise, and while Justice was still recovering from the fight, she definitely wasn’t going to spend another second laying down and recovering. At least this way, she wouldn’t be straining herself so much.

After all, she certainly wouldn’t pass up on a punching bag  successor.

She chooses this moment to make her return. It had only been a few hours since she left, but what she sees in the training room doesn’t surprise her one bit.

She sighs. “Is she dead?”

Justice cheerfully prods the body at her feet with her tonfa. “Unresponsive, but she appears to be breathing!”

Judgement says nothing, on account of being diagnosed with dead. She tries to beg for help, but only manages to make a pathetic sounding wheeze, much akin to a broken squeaky toy being squeezed. She thinks she cries a little and feels vaguely nauseous as she continues to dissolve into a boneless mass made of pain and pity.

Well, even more of one.

Lucifer barely gives her a passing glance. “Don’t kill her, dear.”

“No promises, my dude ~”

Lucifer leaves, and the pair continue the training (torture) session.

-0-

The skin around Judgements eyes slackened. She carefully arranges her face to be neutral, hiding the fact she was still screaming internally. You would have suspected nothing, if not for the fact that the cup handle, the cup, and the table that it’s sitting on starts cracking.

You take a glance into her soulless, hollow eyes.

"..."

Then you turn to Justice, who’s on the couch listening to Azazels’ babbling. You’re unsure if it’s out of fear, concern, or mirth. Justice notices you, smirks, and gives you a jaunty little wave.

You hesitantly wave back.

You turn back to your partner. Judgement is still catatonic. You pour a little more orange juice for her, take out the newspaper, and don’t ask again.

-0-

Oof. Poor Judgement. I can relate. My sisters used to do a lot of sports. They took (read: dragged) me to their training sessions, and taught (read: beat) me how to fight. I ended up doing professional triathlons. Plus side? I got abs and was pretty healthy. Bad side? I also got an irrational fear of boxing gloves and the smell of training mats. My first kiss, along with the next hundred were spent on them. I love them to bits and I know they love me back, although I still think they took a little too much pleasure in watching me writhe on the ground.

Now I just write and read.

I also have no doubt in my mind that Judgement drinks orange juice like a little kid. She may act all tough, but she can’t hold her liquor for shit.

Love you Khloe and Emma! Also, go fuck yourselves.

Chapter Text

As dog-like Cerberus acts, the trio are not dogs.

You’re reminded of that fact when you try to hide the good caffeine in a place they can’t reach. They’re not idiots. They take a chair, stand on top of each other and easily obtain the forbidden coffee grounds.

The reason why you’re reminded of that fact?

Well, what do you get when you give a child with hyperactive tendencies a dose of heavily caffeinated coffee?

You get regret.

You get neighbours knocking at your front door.

You get out your wallet to pay for the damages.

All in all, not so bad. Annoying, yes. But it’s also manageable.

However, what do you get when you give three children with hyperactive tendencies a dose of heavily caffeinated coffee?

Don’t forget, three children with the ability to turn into a massive fucking dog with heads that can spew hellfire from each of its maws, mind you.

You get police knocking at your door.

You get an arrest warrant.

You get the FBI doing the meme at your house. It isn’t as funny when it’s your property they’re destroying.

You get out your suit to go the courthouse.

You get out the tranquillisers to stop Lucifer from tearing the government a new one for, and you quote, ‘Messing with my bitches.’

Turns out tranquillisers don’t do much against demon girls. They just make them angrier. You learn that the hard way.

In the end, you don’t get much of anything, really. All you get is a bill for the damages. And a migraine. And a new stab wound for your troubles.

You get weird looks when you go home.

You get 99 problems and Cerberus is only about 10 of them, which paints a horrifying picture on how destructive the other girls are.

Then, during your rant against the trio, you realize with mounting horror that Cerberus only did all of that to protect a little girl that they made friends with. They did it to get away from a kidnapping. They followed your rules of not killing anyone upside, and had to crash through a few shops to get her away safely.

You pause the scolding and rethink your move. You find the girl, and allow Cerberus to invite her over for a sleepover.

You apologize to them.

You get them to show you a picture of the fucker (no, fucker would imply they’re human… hmm. Ah, yes.) You decide to go with trash. Yes, that’ll do nicely.

You get them to show you a picture of the trash.

You get them all ice-cream.

You get Modeus to make them their favourite dinner.

You get Azazel to tuck the girls in.

You get Pandemonica, Malina, and Zdrada to make an alibi that can account for property damage, arson, and countless acts of brutality. You also ask them to get evidence for the trashes wrongdoing, all in jest of course, ‘cause you don’t really need a reason to tear them all a new one, but it would be nice not to deal with the police when they eventually come.

With what you’re planning, they will come.

You politely ask them to also account for unholy satanic rituals that may or may not be used to seal the trash away in Beels’ dimension.

Lucifer agrees. Beelzebub is ecstatic to have guests.

You get the girls outfitted in masks, tactical gear, and enough firepower to take on a small city. You also encourage them to bring their favourite weapons, no matter how archaic they are, and pay no mind to how many parts of the Genova convention they’re breaking just by thinking of them.

You get out your browning semi-automatic shotgun, with a custom-made magazine casing of 24 rounds, topped off with lacquered rosewood, and load up the truck.

You get out the shrapnel shells. The ones that sting.

Zdrada compliments your choice in weaponry.

The girls say they can buy only buy you an alibi for nine hours. They apologize if it’s not enough-

You chuckle, and reassure them it's more than adequate.

They flinch at the pure vitriol that drips from your mouth.

You get nine hours to take out an entire operation of child predators. Five is plenty. With the girls? Three.

When you arrive at the warehouse, you pull up your mask, and gently take off your shades. You stash them in a box, and leave them in the truck.

Justice asks why you brought so much firepower. They’re not complaining, but the girls know you could easily take them all on yourself, armed with nothing but your fists.

You don’t need the weapons, no. But it would be rude if you didn’t come at them with all that you’ve got. If they mess with your family, you’re only going to repay them in kind.

You get out your old industrial grade goggles. The mask isn’t to hide your identity. It’s to protect you from blood borne diseases.

This is going to get ugly.

-0-

Cerberus may not be a dog, but they’re definitely as loyal as one.

-0-

Cerberus is that one weird kid you make fun of in class, but it’s all in jest. You don’t really mean it, and they know it.

In a more serious note, if someone you know is getting bullied, your first priority is to make sure that they are okay. Everything else comes second. Once you make sure they’re surrounded by loved ones, that’s when you get out the baseball bat.

Chapter Text

This is a small continuation from last chapter. You don't need to read it, but it'll make a bit more sense if you do.

The first time lieutenant Alexis ‘Alex’ Madison Jones is called to the house, she nearly shits herself just by the mere sight of the man. He’s massive.

She’s heard the rumours. He’s a boxing champion. He’s a freedom fighter. He saved the world from aliens. He’s a robot from the future that came back in time to save the human race from a rogue AI.

… Yeah, she doesn’t have much faith in the rumours either.

People may not know his face, but everyone knows the rumours. The guys at the station don’t even know his name. Everyone in town just refers to him as ‘the shades guy’.

His house is lonely, sitting on a, well, it’s not abandoned, she can see the lights on in other people’s apartment, but it’s definitely a street that seems tucked away, where no one comes to visit.

The police van pulls up to the door.

They get out, and-

“TRESSPASSERS SEEK TO INVADE OUR DOMAIN! SHOULD I DISPOSE OF THEM?”

Well, shit. None of the rumours mentioned that he had someone living with him. The lieutenant and the squadron leader stare at each other. Was that a threat? Did it count as a threat even if it wasn’t directed at them?

She knocks at the door.

The door opens after a brief moment, and Alex promptly starts sweat dropping.

Yes, Alexis, you can do it! Her inside voice, ever the optimist(idiot) cheers.

No, me, we can’t, she internally fights back. Just look at him. Bullets look like they bounce off his chest. What the hell does he eat? Three square meals of steroids a day?

Somehow, she manages to get the words out.

“Police! We’re here on official business-”

He reaches for something behind him, and oh god this is where she dies because stupid police training tells them to wear nothing but a bulletproof vest under a fucking suit of all things just to make herself seem like a non-hostile and that does jack all against a guy of his size if he decides totwistherscrawnylittleheadoff-

He offers them a plate of pancakes.

She blinks, and tries to not cry in relief.

“Oh, thanks. We still have questions though.”

He nods, and invites them in.

He politely asks for them to leave their shoes at the door.

For a man steeped in such violent rumours, his abode is surprisingly homey. It’s well lit, and the wallpaper is nice. The décor is a little bland, but to each their own, right?

In the entrance hallway, she sees a group of triplets, watching the shades guy with unease. The three look nervous, and somehow, they all mirror each other’s expression. Its unsettling, but she can deal with that. They open their mouth to say something-

“Cerberus, go to your room please.”

But the shades guy interjects. The trio look so dejected and heartbroken even she feels the need to console them. They trudge off, and go up the stairs.

On the other side, another girl is standing there, watching her intently. She’s exotic, judging by the dark skin, and an exhibitionist. Alex flushes at the amount of skin that the girl is showing. Dark skin, white hair- huh. She takes a look around the living room. Most of the girls here have white hair. Was it a teenage angst thing?

The shades guy leads them to the living room table, where he pulls out a chair for them. He takes a seat opposite, and motions them to finish the pancake first.

Huh, the pancakes are really good-

“So, uh, can I take notes-”

He doesn’t even turn. “No, Azazel. You study too much. Eat your pancake, brush your teeth, and go to bed.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a halo of light. Emphasis on halo. Wait, did that girl jus-

The man shifts slightly, blocking her view. You shift your chair in a transparent way to get another look at the girl, but when you manage to do so, the halo is gone.

“-you were saying, officer?”

She takes an uneasy look at the pancake in her hand.

Did he lace them with drugs?

“Who was at the door?” Someone calls out.

“Police.” The shades guy grunts.

Another girl steps out of the kitchen, and- wow she’s gorgeous.

She’s just wearing simple jeans and a red dress shirt, adorned with a black apron that read ‘Satan’. The sleeves are rolled up, and her white hair is tied back in a messy bun that seems elegant yet casual at the same time. Somehow, she’s already one of the most beautiful women that she’s ever met.

Alex is straight, but gawd damn she’s making her question her sexuality.

As if she could read her thoughts, the woman smiles coyly at her.

“This is Lucifer, lieutenant. Please don’t accept any deals she makes with you.” He turns to Lucifer. “Lucifer, this is a guest. Please don’t turn her blood into vinegar. She won’t survive.”

Wait, what?

Cerberus? Azazel?? Lucifer???

The hell are these names?

That’s when she finally realizes it. Man that had a million rumours surrounding him, seemed rich beyond belief, his fucking size, (god damnit stop thinking about his size), a house that’s full of inhabitants, and yet none of them look like family. The girls all have those weird names, and they all look to have that dress code where they have to wear suits, and god damnit he was a pimp, wasn’t he?

Lucifer starts laughing out of nowhere.

-0-

She ends up meeting him a lot more within the next few months. The precinct, after seeing that she managed to leave the house alive and with her sanity intact (but not complete, because that would be asking too much), and all matters that involve the shades guy are left to her.

At this point, she feels sorry for him. Every time something happens that’s even just a little out of the ordinary, everyone points the finger at him. And every time that happens, she’s sent to ‘interrogate’ him. Emphasis on interrogate, because let’s be honest here, there’s no chance in hell that she’s gonna come close to threatening that guy. She pities the fool that tries.

The shades guy just takes it all in stride. Whenever Alex is forced to talk to him, he invites her in, makes some pastries, and brews her a cup of coffee. It’s heaven-sent, and now she feels guilty for wanting more people to report his ‘crimes’. He’s a break to the monotony of police work.

But now that he actually gets out of the house more often, usually with one or two of the girls in tow, more rumours start flying around.

Some people claim that he’s a wanted terrorist.

Some people claim he’s harbouring wanted fugitives.

Some people claim he’s a drug lord, a kingpin and a leader of a sex trafficking ring. And that he’s having sex with their spouse. ‘Note that down officer, that last part is especially important!’

Both male and female partners come in droves.

All at the same time.

Alex takes down the concerned couples rants. Once they’re done, she shows them to the door, and thanks them for their service. When they turn the corner and are out of sight, she finally lets down the mask of concentration, and giggles uncontrollably. She makes sure she puts those notes in the other, other tray, where she keeps such claims. It’s technically evidence, and while police aren’t allowed to dispose of such claims when an investigation is underway, nothing in the rules say that she can’t take them home and make a scrapbook album out of it. She could always use a few good laughs.

Then, there are some people who claim he litters.

Funnily enough, that’s the one thing she knows that isn’t true, since she personally witnesses him dragging glass bottles, plastic cartons and piles of newspapers in neatly coloured garbage bags across the town, just to get to the nearest recycling station. He does so every week, and even stops a few times to pick up discarded trash left outside the bins along the way.

-0-

One night, a fire starts from a warehouse near the docks. There are stories circulating on the internet that claim there were demons crawling all over the place, chains erupting from the ground, and that the smell of brimstone and blood filled the air. They also claim that the windows of the building started bleeding, as in the windows themselves were bleeding.

When Alex gets to the part about the aliens, she turns off the computer, re-evaluates her life, and puts on her coat. She’s already got her shoes on and is halfway out the door when she gets the call.

Making her way to the shades guy house, she doesn’t even bother turning on her siren. It’s a breach of conduct and a lot more informal that what the situation requires, but god knows how many times she’s had to come over for a false claim. You don’t expect anything but a good cup of coffee. The guy’s a saint.

-0-

"…" She blinks.

No, that’s definitely him, he’s just covered in blood.

“-blood!” Alex manages to get out. “You’re covered in blood! What the hell happened to you?”

Someone snickers. “Nothing happened to him. He happened to someone else.”

She ignores that, and focuses on him.

“Don’t worry lieutenant, it’s not mine.” He replies nonchalantly.

“The hell it isn’t! Look at yourself! You’re covered in scars!”

And so he is. Many crisscrossing throughout his toned body, remnants of battle are littered on his chest. There’s a particularly fearsome scar that looks like a wack doctor took him to surgery using nothing but a tablespoon, a chainsaw, and extreme prejudice. His back is even worse. It looks as though he was pulled through a industrial grinder, and had to fight his way out.

“Mr. Helltaker?” A voice questions from the stairs, “The kid and Cerberus are asleep upstairs, so if you could please lower your volume-”

Azazel pauses when she sees the lieutenant, her expression quickly forming a ‘oh shit’ face. Not that Alex really notices. She’s more concerned on what’s floating above her head.

The girl has a halo above her head.

A. Fucking. Halo.

Alex stares at the shades guy, and lets loose a myriad of nonsensical vowels, jabbing at the angel, the literal angel- standing next to them with a sense of urgency.

“It’s just cosplay?” He tries.

She turns back at the girl, where she’s franticly nodding. The halo is shaking up and down along with her head, and is also somehow sweat dropping.

It’s hard to get the next word out. “What-”

Because a fucking portal of all things opens up in the middle of the living room.

“Helltaker!” A horrific voice exclaims. “The trash you threw in are settling just nicely. I must extend my gratitude! You know how to let a girl have fun! This is the most excitement I’ve gotten since I was trapped here-”

It’s a eldritch abomination.

Her mind can’t take it anymore. She passes out.

“Ah. Heh, oops?”

-0-

“Wait, so you were the ones that lit the fire?” She screeches in horror, after they tell her what they did. “How could you do such a thing?! They were criminals, yes, but you just started a gang war of one of the biggest criminal enterprises on this continent! You won’t survive!”

The shades guy- or is it Helltaker now? She decides to go with shades guy because that’s the only thing she knows, and she has no fucking clue what’s going on now. It looks like when she was unconscious, the shades guy took a shower, judging from the lack of blood on his person.

She pushes on. “What could they have done to you to elicit such a response?!”

“You don’t understand, Miss Jones,” The shades guy gently answers, “They hurt my family.”

Subconsciously, she stepped back, and started sizing him up. It was a relic of the past, an instinct coded into every living animal, just to make sure they didn’t piss off a lion. It was there to make sure that every living thing had a chance to survive. Fear; pure, unadulterated, fear, floods her body.

They show her a video.

The resolutions’ a bit blurry, but she can hear and see everything perfectly clear from where she sits. The rending of flesh, chains rattling as they were whipped into metal, the splattering of blood, grunts of exertion, cracking of fire and bones, and near the end, even though she can’t see what makes the noise (thank god for small mercies), the sound of things loudly and wetly bursting.

That includes, of course, the endless, almost inhuman screaming.

Alex just sits there, catatonic. She… she knew that the shades guy was dangerous, that was always pretty fucking obvious the moment they met. But she could have never imagined him doing such a thing. He makes pastries for fucks sake! He helps little children cross the road! He-

The demons Malina, Zdrada and Pandemonica? You think? Devil names are weird, even though the first two seem like they’re from Polish or Slavic descent- focus!

No! Don’t focus! Her mind screams at her. If you focus, you’re going to fucking spiral! You’re next to a guy who just single-handedly took on an entire criminal empire!

They pass her a file of pictures.

She opens it in confusion, because how could a few pictures prove that they deserved all of that- she takes a single look, forces down her vomit, and closes it in a forced calm.

She silently vows to get a new job by the end of the year.

She swallows thickly. “I appreciate this, and believe me, this will go a long way to putting these bastards behind bars, but we still need more proof. These guys are professionals. They’ve got their fingers in all the pies. They’ve got drug lords, assassins, and cartel rings on their payroll, and even more that we don’t know of. They’ll get the best lawyers-”

Pandemonica hands her another file.

Alex looks at it, and prays it isn’t another set of pictures. When she finally does open it, she violently lurches across the table, eyes widened to dinnerplate portions.

Pandemonica pays no attention to the display. “Those are the records for most of their illicit practices, and that includes some of their offshore accounts, where they store profits. That should be enough for you to get a judge to approve a warrant to raid these locations,” She pulls out a neat stack of paper, each line tidily stating the location, the IP address and a small description on what they should expect to find in said locations.

Alex now looks like a marionette with all the strings pulled at once, only that most marionettes wouldn’t be able to drop their mouths open that far.

Pandemonica’s still not done.

“and this,” She continues, heaving yet another file onto the table. “-is most of their book keeping. I’ve got here shell corporations that go through Luxembourg, Egypt and Hong Kong, but I highly doubt that’s all of them. I kept following the trail, until I was stopped by the national bank of Switzerland. My clearance wasn’t high enough.”

Alex is still speechless. The shades guy gently eases her onto the sofa, and pushes her jaw back into place.

“Luckily, Malina here was able to hack into the national bank of Switzerland to continue the trail. She got a few more safehouses, bank accounts and personnel that were accepting bribes-”

Alex finds her voice.

“B-but that breaks international law! The reason why so many people use Switzerland for banking is because of the Swiss banking secrecy law! Only the highest members of that bank can even get permission to go through-”

The duo points to Zdrada. The demon waves, and smiles a lazy shark-tooth grin, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air. The shades guy pries the cigarette from her fingers and pinches it out.

She rolls her eyes, and lights another when his back is turned.

“The treaty means very little when you’re faced with a demon, Miss Jones.” Pandemonica assures her. “If it worries you that much, Zdrada was careful enough to only imply bodily harm, instead of outright state it.”

She adjusts her glasses, accepting the mug of coffee that the shades guy passes to her. A sadistic grin comes over her after the first sip. “Not only that, Hell and Heaven aren’t bound by the treaty, seeing how they’re both technically countries that have their own government and citizens. Whatever arguments they even try to bring up will most certainly not hold up in the court of law.”

Alex just has her mouth flapping open at this point.

“Is this a devil thing?” She weakly asks. “To, you know, do the impossible? Did I just sell my soul?”

“Nope.” Another devil girl replies. She has a proud smile on her face. “She’s just that good. She’s not just the customer service representative of hell. She’s the secretary of hell. And she’s all mine~”

Out of nowhere, Alex remembers her name.

“Wait, wait, waaaiiit a minute. You’re Lucifer, right? So if you’re the Lucifer, then, you know-”

She makes a motion that she hopes can convey someone falling from the sky.

“The one and only.”

She pales, and turns to Azazel, who’s been taking notes of the entire exchange.

“And she’s, well-”

She jabs at the ceiling.

“Mm-hmm.”

The gears turn in her head, and she turns to the shades guy in horror. “You’re God, aren’t you?”

And to that, everyone in the room does a spit-take.

Then someone starts chuckling. Someone else follows up with a hearty guffaw. Then someone else joins in, doubling over, as they laugh so hard that it turns into a coughing fit. Soon enough, the entire house is howling with laughter, and even the eldritch abomination- no, she’s now a cute girl in a red suit. Even she joins in, laughing herself into a coma as she pounds the ground in the other dimension.

The shades guy just sighs into his palm.

-0-

Turns out, he isn’t a pimp.

-0-

Poor police girl. Don't worry, this isn't the last we've seen of her. She's going to be the straight man to all the antics the helltaker cast get up to. I mean, looking at it from an outside perspective, the Helltaker looks like he can benchpress a truck! I don't doubt for one second that if someone even tries to threaten his harem, he's going to bring fire and fury down upon them.

Don't forget, as innocent as the demon girls may look like, they are still demons. If someone harms one of their own, well, you just saw what happens. Pandemonica's been the secretary of hell for a looonnnggg time. She doesn't do things halfway. 

Another note, since Łukasz Piskorz says the Helltaker is a stereotypical 90’s action hero protagonist, in a fit of insanity, I have decided that The Helltaker is EVERY 90’s action hero protagonist. All at once. ALL OF THEM. Don't worry, it won't change much. He'll just make a few references every now and again.

Also, please don’t ask how I know so much about criminal enterprises.

Chapter Text

After the last few chapters being a tad bit darker than usual, here’s your regularly scheduled comedy.

Malina drinks and swears as much (if not more) than a sailor.

That’s really not an epiphany. There’s no joke here, she really does.

The moment you stepped in the fourth circle of hell, Cerberus comments on the smell of alcohol, fruit, and brimstone. Two of the trio lightly chide the third for being an idiot. Its hell. Of course there’s brimstone.

You think they’re exaggerating, until you smell the vodka before you could see her.

When you complete the puzzle, you invite Malina to play. To your surprise, she thinks you’re talking about video games; not that you’ll tell her otherwise, and she agrees as long as you’re fine with turn based RPG’s. You have nothing against them, so you invite her in. During the trip, you question her on why she chooses turn-based strategy games out of everything.

She starts ranting.

She likes them, because there’s nothing else to like. Charon’s a money-grubbing, stingy cunt of a demon, and he charges her far too much for what shitty games he can get his hands on.

“It’s against the rules,” He whinges, and it takes almost all of her energy to not to point out that he has no problem in regularly smuggling weed, alcohol and fucking ice-lollies out of all things.

Charon loves his ice lollies. It’s his ‘one vice’ he says.

Malina takes her frustration out by dreaming about kicking his teeth in.

She can’t peel off his fingernails and force feed it to him, because there’s no other delivery system in hell. And while she’s desperate, she isn’t desperate enough to want to hurt Charon so much that Lucifer has to step in.

At least his alcohol selection is good. Or rather, it’s good for his sake.

She can’t feel angry if she’s drunk. And if she’s drunk, she can’t feel anything. That’s why she likes her alcohol like how she likes her weapons. Life threatening, expensive, goes down easy (what goes down easy where?! you think in horror), and would preferably knock her unconscious before she can even think.

The metaphor’s a bit off, but you understand her sentiment.

Too bad demons have the constitution of a fucking mountain and are just as tough, because it takes a veritable lake of alcohol to put her into sleepy bye-bye time. Instead, she only drinks enough to dull the anger she feels whenever she has to deal with him. That’s not even the real problem. The worse thing is, her laptop’s so shit that she can’t even run anything that could potentially set her hard disk on fire. So even if Charon pulls his head out of his intestinal track, she’s only left with games that can run on a fucking knockoff ‘Hellpad’ laptop.

It’s not even a stupid joke that Lucifer made. It’s an actual fucking knockoff laptop from the mortal realm.

Thus, she got used to old-school turn-based RPG’s.

It’s an acquired taste, no matter what Zdrada says.

Shut up.

You don’t say anything.

Doesn’t help that hell has shitty reception, she continues. Lucifer, “that bitch,” Malina mutters darkly beneath her breath; she hogs it all to herself, watching cat videos where she thinks no one ever notices. She continues her tirade, absolutely missing the Chersire grins that spread across the others’ faces.

That’s one of her most guarded secrets, because unlike her sister, she does care about living, and not dying painful, horrible deaths.

You don’t have the heart to tell her that she’s already fucked up.

That’s because you can actually see the stress lines slowly fade as she lets loose, so you let her carry on as they continue traversing though hell with your growing entourage.

-0-

You help her build her PC, and Malina nearly cries at the sight of it. You feel proud, because the last time you dabbled in electronics, you killed a rogue AI that tried to take over humanity. She puts down the screwdriver (the tool), makes a screwdriver (the drink) and prepares to grace humanity with her gaming skillz.

Now that she’s topside, armed with a great gaming PC, has decent Wi-Fi, (It’s actually 30 Mbps, which is amazing, until she realizes she has to share it with eleven people), and an abundance of games. She goes online, and chooses the first thing she sees.

League of legends.

Huh. Shit title, but if so many humans play it, shouldn’t be that bad, right?

“…”

The rest of the inhabitants never let her play it again. The (literal) demonic screeching is enough to wake up the dead.

-0-

She tries her hand at Fortnite.

The Helltaker, as kind hearted and as accepting as he is, does not stand it for one fucking second, and has no hint of hesitation when he carefully dismantles the PC using a sledgehammer. He performs acts so brutal that even Modeus gets wet just thinking about it, and sets the rest of the affronting metal on fire.  

That’s when Malina steps back in the room, having gotten her drink of water. She had only been gone for a minute.

“…”

Seconds later,

“The corruption will not spread to my house,” the Helltaker babbles drunkenly through the concussion, beaten black and blue when Malina finds the burning trash that used to be her pride and joy. “No evil will be found here.”

Lucifer is impressed at the amount of will you show.

-0-

She tries Minecraft.

… It’s actually not that bad.

…Until she digs straight down.

She actually survives the fall, but then Notch decides since that particular heart attack wasn’t enough, he spawns in a creeper to ‘Why hello there, General Kenobi,’ her ass.

For a scant few seconds, no sound comes from the room. You don’t even notice anything’s wrong, until you watch Cerberus all start howling in agony. You rush over to help, but before you reach them, they pick up one of their own, and use her as a battering ram to knock down Malina’s door.

That’s when the sprinkler system activates. For the next minute, the heat coming from the room is hot enough to rival hell.

One of the remaining two fire departments blacklists your location, and leaves a warning for the last.

Lucifer is begrudgingly impressed, and makes a mental note to create a new type of torture that revolves around computer games.

-0-

You wonder briefly if Charon knew about this, and was somehow protecting the spirits and citizens of hell from Malina, using only vodka and shitty turn based RPGs. Maybe he was the hero Hell needed, but not the one that it deserves.

After all, it’s hell.

In the end of it all, you have to take Zdrada; yes, you said Zdrada, not Malina, to the hospital. Zdrada ends up laughing so hard that she pulls a side, and literally needs stiches. The collapsed lung didn’t help matters.

Malina goes back to turn based strategies. She goes to sulk in her room. Maybe her and video games weren’t meant to be. You sigh, and pick up some old favourites of yours. You show her some games that aren’t online, and pick role playing classics filled with a good story, like Undertale or Borderlands.

She immediately gets into it, and thanks you.

While it still causes property damage, and it’s still destructive, you can easily foot the bill. She’s spent a long time on old turn based games. She should have some fun.

But the next time you go out, you make sure to get some steel plate reinforcement. You plan to reinforce her room, and walls surrounding it. You’re not sure if the poor house can take it anymore.

-0-

A small section that I didn’t know how to fit in this chapter.

“WHO THE HELL IS THE LEGEND27?!?”

You sigh, and pick up the fire extinguisher. This. This is the reason why you told her not to go online anymore, lest she get a fucking stroke.

You make your way up, with a fire extinguisher for the fire, and a sledgehammer for the source of it.

Unbeknownst to you, Justice whistles a merry tune as she stashes the phone in Zdradas’ room. She conveniently ignores the fire that she’s setting, and goes back downstairs, just as you come up.

How does Justice play games when she’s blind? You may ask.

She doesn’t need eyes to play video games. She's just that awesome.

Also, if you don’t play games, just imagine how people react when they watch their favourite teams lose a game of sports. It’s basically the same thing here, but people can blame their internet or computer for their poor performance.

League of legends has enough salt content to rival the dead sea, Fortnite is more virtual shopping channel than game, and I think everyone knows that you don't dig straight down in Minecraft. Pity Malina doesn't.

Chapter Text

I just realized something horrible. Last chapter was about video games, and I forgot about the most obvious one. DOOM. Heres how the cast would react to playing it. 

Cerberus ears perk up at the muted howls of agony that emanates from the living room. Once they made their way out of hell, the Helltaker made them all vow to not hurt, kill, maim, intend to intentionally hurt, intend to unintentionally hurt the people topside, whether it be physical or emotional. He was very careful with his words.

Everyone (reluctantly) agreed.

So why is there screaming coming from the living room? Cerberus stare at each other, wondering if it’s worth the pain to go check up on her.

Their curiosity beats their self-preservation skills, and they quietly make their way down.

She’s playing on the television, another one of those video games she kept complaining about in hell.

She’s playing as a giant green golem.

And look! He’s jumping to hug one of those cute looking demons! That’s adorabl- Uh, you’re hugging a bit too hard there, golem. Please let go. oH SATANS BLUE BUTTOCKS! THERES BLOOD EVERYWHERE! HOW COULD SHE DO SUCH A THING TO HER OWN KIND?! OH NO! GIANT MEATBALL DEMON! RUN! THE GIANT GREEN GOLEM IS NOT NICE! RUN FOR YOUR UNHOLY LIFE! HE’S CATCHING UP, AND OH- MY LUCIFER!

The trio are scared for life.

-0-

Zdrada looks in interested, and smiles a little as the DOOMSLAYER takes his arm blade, and places it somewhere it should not go. That’s saying something, since it’s an arm blade connected to a demon killing machine. She politely asks for Malina to give her the controls the next time she dies.

The pair have some good sister-to-sister bonding time, over the howls and cries of virtual demons dying.

-0-

Modeus thinks it’s hilarious, and actually gives some pointers on how the DOOMSLAYER could be more efficient in cleaving through the hordes of demons.

-0-

Justice and Judgement come in together. While Justice can’t see what’s going on, the sounds of violence and screaming makes her chuckle. Malina offers her some vodka, and explains what the DOOMSLAYER is doing to those poor, poor demons. Judgement, on the other hand, actually puts on a small pair of spectacles, and starts taking notes.

-0-

Pandemonica takes a single look, and immediately decides she needs more coffee to deal with this.

-0-

Lucifer is horrified. She screeches how they’re killing their own kin, with no mind to how brutal it is, and actively promoting heavens work with glee. She has half a mind to go to the creators of the game, and bring them down to hell with her.

She’s also mad how they didn’t invite her.

She wants in. Now.

-0-

Azazel takes to the game like a duck to water. She cracks her neck, pop the joints in her fingers, and plops her angelic ass down for some literal divine intervention. When Azazel snatches the controller from Lucifer’s hands, she yelps like a kicked puppy. Lucifer turns to complain, but the look on Azazel’s face makes her complaints die in her throat.

She plays like a goddamn pro. She’s switching through weapons as fast as the game can register the inputs, her health never falls below half, and her ammo storage is always full. Her fingers are a blur on the controller, and that’s when everyone realizes this is her first time playing video games, and they didn’t even tell teach her how to play.

The demons are slightly worried. What terrifies them even further is when they reach the heaven part of the game, Azazel somehow takes it up a notch. The curious angel, usually skittish and shy, doesn’t have a hint of mercy on her face.

Fools! She is no longer Azazel! Azazel is no more! Azazel is now the DOOMSLAYER.

There isn’t a moment in the game where she isn’t either shooting something, running and shooting something, taking aim to shoot something, or just using her chainsaw to get more ammo to shoot even more things. Her face is flat, and completely emotionless as she single handily increase the stock value for bullets and violence based insurance in that universe by a factorial of six.

God is dead and Azazel is still not done.

Somehow, her halo acts like a mood light, and turns a bloody red, flashing in time to the killing. It’s only when the final boss appears, when she finally shows some emotion. She stumbles a little, and that when the game leaps at the chance to punishes her for causal genocide, making her lose a life. One single life.

The uncharacteristic snarl(?) that leaves her mouth make the citizens of hell lean far, far away from her. Then she starts smiling, cheerfully humming along to the headbanging rock, and that’s when the demons decide to step away, and watch from the safety of the stairs.

-0-

You smile as the group starts cheering someone else on. You make a few tubs of popcorn, and pass them around while the carnage plays on the television. You also make sure to get some water and orange juice for them. (Also coffee, since it’s 5.13, and Pandemonica is very strict about her caffeine intake.) The girls take the items wordlessly, too engrossed by the violence that’s happening.

You dim the lights and close the curtains for them, but not before you snap a picture of them, all happily laughing and smiling as a group.

Tomorrow, you hang up the picture of your little ragtag group. It’s the first of many.

-0-

Sorry if this isn't up to my usual standards(Not that they're very high have any). I shit this chapter out in 30 minutes. If you don't know, DOOM is a very christian game that teaches young boys and girls to never listen to satan, and to make sure to cleanse the earth from the presence of demons. It also teaches you not to mess with the DOOMSLAYER.

Also, I giggled my head off when I wrote "God is dead and Azazel is still not done." 

I think thats one of my finest lines I've ever written.

Chapter Text

Justice works out.

That really shouldn’t have been a revelation, but somehow, it was. How else could she have those abs? You reckon you could wash the laundry on those things. Hell, she’ll probably beg for you to do so, just to be able to claim that they were literal washboard abs. They’re works of art.

You’re disappointed in yourself. After your freedom fighting days, and that brief little stint of boxing, you’ve really let yourself go. Not by a lot, you reassure yourself, you’ve still got muscle, (how else would you be able to move 2-ton blocks of stone just by kicking them?) but they pale in comparison to what Justice is packing.

You now understand why she wears her jacket like that.

Gawd damn. Steel fuckin girders.

Anyways, you find out she works out when you step into her room for the first time, after you assigned them to the girls in the first place.

She’s got some sports attire on, and is currently doing push-ups with her thumbs. Impressive, yes, but what catches your attention is the lustful demon on top of her. Thing is, that’s also not the exact thing that you’re looking at. Modeus is one thing, but she also has a veritable stack of romance books nestled between Justices’ shoulder blades, and is using that as a makeshift desk for the book she’s currently reading.

That event caught your attention.

You try your best to keep an eye out on Justice the next few days, because now you’re interested on how strong she actually is. She used to be the HPJ, and while you managed to beat Judgement, it was still one of your closest fights yet. (And that’s saying something, given your life.)

If she was that strong, what could her mentor do?

You have no idea, and that thought excites you to your core. In Justices’ prime, she was able to take down Beelzebub, an ancient demon, despite being eons younger than she was.

Beelzebub had the complete and total advantage. There was no doubt about it. She had been planning the coup for a long time, and had plans and contingencies, her armies and traps, decades of careful planning and manoeuvring; all for the sole purpose of taking Lucifer down in a single day.

She respected Lucifer as a foe, and would never underestimate her.

On the other hand, Justice had two fists, a plucky attitude, and no chewing gum left.

Poor ol’Beel. She never stood a chance.

You know this because whenever you talk to Beelzebub, if the name ‘Justice’ comes up, she flushes and clams up, then starts muttering how it was a fucking tie, and how she fucking cheated and she would have never fucking lost if she wasn’t tired from the day before.

You take all this in without a word, sipping quietly on your water.         

“I can feel your judgement!” Beelzebub shouts. “Get out!”

You raise an eyebrow at her.

“O-oh yeah…”

She flushes, and the portal vanishes.

Your attention is increasing.

You think Justice has caught on, because now she’s just showing off.

How else can you explain her using a single hand to lift up the goddamn piano? She struts around you doing superhuman feats of strength, and you think she’s fucking with you.

You rise to the challenge, and start following her as well.

The inhabitants of the house stay well out of the way.

Your attention is peaking.

Now you can’t think of anything but those muscles.

The day passes on, and everything you look at makes you think of her. Watching the television- how many television sets could she lift up with a hand? Buying the groceries with Cerberus- how much effort would she need to carry all three demons and the groceries? Cleaning the house- well, that doesn’t specifically remind you of Justice, but you still wonder how fast could she run.

So what’s the immediate logical action to do? The glass that you’re washing cracks in your hand as the idea comes up.

A Flex Off.

It’s…it’s… it’s…IT’S BRILLIANT! Both of you are the pinnacle of your races! This battle will be legendary! The ultimate bro-off! The one tradition that mankind has always honoured. Where nothing can stand in the way of proving your worth, not through words, but the beat of your fists, and your hearts pounding as one!

Of course, this is where Lucifer steps in the kitchen. She watches you stare intensely at Justice, now balancing a coffee table with Cerberus on top, with only one hand, sipping a cup of coffee in the other. Then she just had to open her little demon mouth and ruin your dreams.

“-you know she’s using her powers, right? I mean, she’s buff, yeah, but that’s not her natural strength. Without her powers boosting her—"

You tune her out, and cry a little inside.

Your attention is gone.

How could Justice betrayed you like so? What treacherous villain would raise the hopes and dreams of mortal(debateable) men like him, just to crush them in the end? What type of spurned bastard would do such a thing-

-but, yeah, she can still bench-press a truck without them. She’s just that strong.”

That event caught your attention; The sequel : Electric boogaloo, the revengening.

Your mind snaps back to your previous thought. What’s the logical choice of action ?

A FUCKING FLEX OFFFFF.

-0-

You and Justice stand across each other on the lawn. The winds still, and the world hushes around the two of you. The world stops moving on its axis, and nothing else matters. Only you and your opponent.

Then, slowly, you begin bending over, stretching down and out, stretching out your shoulders.

The spirits possess you, an ancient ritual. You can’t feel your body anymore. All you can do is let it flow through you.

Justice for her part, doesn’t even flinch. She keeps staring at you impassive. For once, there’s no smile on her face. Her arms are crossed on her chest, and she. Just. Keeps. Staring.

RIII-

Your body keeps going. Nothing can stop you.

RIIIII-

“Uh, Helltaker? You might want to stop. Your shirts kinda-”

RIIIIIIIIIPPP!!!!

The voice of protest dies in the heathens throat. How dare she try to stop the ritual? But that isn’t what shocks them quiet. As your apron and shirt shreds itself to pieces, they catch a glimpse beneath the surface.

Muscle. Pure, hulking slabs of muscle. Each and every inch of skin was ripped to gods’ name. The scars pale to how much muscle you carry upon you. Each centimetre enough to bench-press a small child, each ab, glistening in the sun’s ray.

“AAARRRRGHHHH!!!”

You scream to the heavens, stating your challenge.

God is watching.

For the longest time, nobody moved, in fear of disrupting this holy picture. Finally, after what seems like a eternity, Justice makes her way over. She stood to her feet, and glared at you. Maintaining her expression, she drew her arms together, and RIIIPPP!!!

The blazer and dress shirt explodes off her body.

“RAAGHHHHH!!!”

Your foe accepts the duel.

Yes, child. Let the spirits guide your body. Let us truly begin.

-0-

They were… posing at each other. No other word for it. They were just posing and flexing, muscles rippling. Their expressions stayed stony, completely and utterly determined as the kept the battle going. It was muscle and muscle, brawn against brawn. Soul against soul. It was a battle of raw flesh and willpower, clashing against one another like two forces of nature colliding.

Neither would back down.

Alex, who was passing by, just wanted a nice cup of coffee. Instead, she quenched her thirst on an entirely different drink. She chooses this moment to speak up. “Isn’t Justice blind?”

“Your legal system? No. The demon? Also no. Well yes, but actually no. She’s like the devil version of daredevil. She can’t see things, but she makes up for it by pure awesomeness. In hell, she’s one of the most strongest demons ever. Period. I think she could even beat me, and that’s saying something. In fact, in her prime, she took down one of my kind, and her armies at the same time. Don’t underestimate her.”

“..but she’s still blind. She can’t see the flexing, can she?”

“…I said she’s awesome. I didn’t say anything about mental capabilities.”

The muscles ripple on without a care in the world. As they swell and tense, Azazel feels as though she’s committing sin by being in the general vicinity. Modeus is taking notes, muttering how lewd this entire scene is, and how they’re both perverted degenerates. By her side, Alex feels something within her. Watching the display, her soul and body are moved, and she can feels like she understands how the universe works. Her body feels as though its-wait a minute. She pulls open her collar.

“Holy shit.” She mutters. “I think my fucking chest hair is growing.”

And really, that single sentence should be enough to explain the absurdity of the entire situation.

“-actually, I’m interested now. Justice, dear?” Lucifer called out, “Why are you having a flex off?”

Justice pauses for a moment to turn to them.

“You’re blind, so you can’t see the flexing, and don’t try to bullshit saying that you can sense them either. I was there when you got the powers.”

Justice tilts her shades down to give Lucifer a literal deadpan look.

“Yeah, so what? It’s a fight between the pinnacle of bros. A bro’s a bro. Even if they’re not a man, being a bro transcends through gender and orientation. No disabilities can stop a true bro from being a bro, and the audacity that you even think that being blind could stop us from-”

Lucifer tunes her out. “Alright then,” She mutters, turning to Pandemonica. “-translation?”

“They’re both muscle heads who has to see who’s stronger, because they respect one another so much that they’re too prideful to let the other back down.” Pandemonica replies.

She blinks. “That’s oddly… heart-warming. ”

Pandemoncia gives her a look. “Ma’am, It’s Justice and the Helltaker. I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

They turn to the pair, who are back to flexing. The sun is lowering behind them, painting a beautiful sunset scene, and the only thing Lucifer can think about is how this feels like a good metaphor for her sanity.

Disappearing beyond the horizon.

Then Judgement comes along, finds it interesting, and joins in. Now there are three flexing muscled idiots screaming at the top of their lungs. Mortals are now gathering. They’re taking pictures. Some jeer and laugh at them, but even more are joining in. They’re not as muscled as them, but it’s the thought that counts. Then someone brings out the beer. Some are setting up a makeshift stage-

No. She decides to leave before the rest of her sanity- now there’s music playing.

Her sanity doesn’t break. It fucking shatters.

Ah yes, the ancient battle between man and man. A flex off. It's never stated in the game, buts lets admit it, we all know that justice is fuckin ripped underneath that shirt of hers.

Chapter Text

Zdrada is a bitch.

She admits it, and she doesn’t even think of it as an insult. She knows she’s hard to please at the best of times, and downright maleficent in the worst.

Why is she a bitch? It’s the pain. It’s the constant, never-ending pain.

She not as smart as Pandemonica.

She’s not as strong as Judgement.

She can’t clean, she can’t do paperwork, and the only job in hell she has is to help Justice keep others in check. The spirits of hell don’t even rebel much, and she spends most her days lazing around, and keeping an eye out on Malina.

There’s so little good about her that she doesn’t even try anymore.

The Helltaker is a good man.

Even as he jokes about the girls being part of his harem, there’s malice nor power dynamic. There’s desire, yes, but that makes sense. Every healthy relationship needs mutual attraction to get going, but in the Helltakers’ case, the desire is buried deep below. He takes care of the girls’ needs, and asks almost nothing in return. He’s just lonely.

She only accepted to his ‘harem’ deal (and a huge emphasis on ‘harem’, because no one even sees it that way anymore), just to keep an eye out on her sister. As much as Malina drinks, and has a proclivity for violence, she’s just as naïve about love as a demon as she was when she was still human.

Malina can only remember her sister. She doesn’t remember the rest of her human life. If she did, she would hate her sister. Zdrada does, and it hardens her. It threatens to break her, and on the particularly bad days, she smokes. A demons body is weird. To Justice or Modeus, they’re used to it, because that’s all they’ve known.

But to her, she can feel the runes carved into her neck and wrists, buzzing with unnatural power. She can feel the emotions of the living around her, and when she slips in concentration, the dead are added to the list.

The taste of nicotine is sour and acrid on her tongue, and it’s just as potent as it was the first time she took up the damn habit. It drags her mind away from the constant pain,

-she carries her broken, bloodied body to the altar. They’ve been on the run for a week now. Malinka is unconscious on her back, and the only signs of life from her are the rattling wheezes that can only barely count as breathing. Malinka would kill her if she knew what she was about to do. Not like livings going to be much of a problem soon anyways. Heh.

Oh, the gallows humour is back. That doesn’t bode well.

“Search the town! When you find them, break their legs! The prince wants them back alive, not unharmed!”

Neither does that.

Shit.

-but that’s the thing. Demons can’t get addictions, see. They can enjoy stuff and hate stuff, and while the emotions aren’t dulled, the mechanics behind it are. There’s no dopamine, serotonin, or anything that causes addictions, so that’s why natural demons like Cerberus or Modeus don’t actually need to sleep or eat. They do so because it refreshes their mind, kind of like how muscles work.

The only reason why Malina can get drunk is because subconsciously, she still thinks she’s human.

Snow muffles her footsteps as she trudges her way through the sea of bodies, clutching the hilt of her knife. Her leg is broken, there’s a few broken ribs, and a knife is still stuck in her shoulder. She doesn’t pull it out, because she doesn’t know how much more damage that’ll do. Only willpower keeps her moving.

She knows she won’t live beyond tonight.

The soldiers expected a meek little girl, terrified out of her mind. When the platoon commander cupped her cheek, he didn’t expect the blade hidden beneath her back, painting a bloody smile along his neck.

Zdrada lets the rapidly cooling body fall, and glares hatefully at the others.

The soldiers cry out, and all rush in to meet their doom.

Her sister is clumsily hidden behind a shed. She’s still in the town. If they get past her, they’ll eventually find her.

She screams, and charges right in. Desperation and anger lends her strength, and she tears out a mans throat with her nails, breaks her knife between the ribs of another, and just pounds another into the ground, until his head is paste on the snow. There was no art to it, no skill nor training to her movements. She just kills and kills and kills and kills and kills and kills and she Just. Doesn’t. Stop.

The demon blood in her literally burns her. She feels like ants are crawling beneath her skin, and when she exerts herself, blood pumps faster, and she feels like she’s slowly dying all over again.

A human body isn’t supposed to take on a curse. Especially not two of them. Her body is literally tearing itself apart, and the only thing that keeps her from clawing herself to shreds is the look on Malinas’ face if she does. She doesn’t want to see that face ever again, and every day where she doesn’t is a good day for her.

But on days where the pain is too much to bear, she takes a cigarette, lights it up, and inhales it. She literally stores the smoke in her lungs, and while she can feel the cells rotting and dying away, the healing factor in her keeps her alive. She uses that to take the mind off the pain.

There’s more than enough blood for the ritual to work. When the devil appears, Zdrada realizes the stories of them being horrific monstrosities are nothing but a lie. She’s beautiful. She’s the most beautiful person that she’s ever seen. Her lips speak honeyed words, and Zdrada asks the devil for the only way for Malina to live.

For her to become a demon.

The devil agrees, but someone else has to take her burdens. Her injuries, her memories, her fear, her everything. She’s going to take Malinas’ humanity away, but someone else needs to bear the pain.

Papa would scorn her from heaven. If Malina knew, she would hate her forever. She doesn’t care about mother, but she’ll probably continue calling her a witch. She’s betraying her. She’s turning her into a monster. Some part of her mind, most likely the logical part, screams at her to not accept the deal. She won’t be able to go back.

But she doesn’t care. As long as her sister lives, she’ll do anything.

She doesn’t regret taking that deal for them, all those moons ago. Lucifer’s a bitch, but she understands betrayal.

She says all of this to you in a drunken haze, after taking on Justices’ bet of seeing which sister can drink the other under the table. Its late, and everyone else has long retired to their rooms. The two of you are left alone in the living room.

Everyone knows that Malina drinks to dull her frustrations. They don’t know why Zdrada does as well.

This is the part where she grabs you by your lapels, slams you into the wall, and well, the only thing that can even come remotely close to describing that expression on her face, is a bloodthirsty snarl.

If you ever and she quite means ever, even think about telling anyone, especially Malinka; mała słodycz Malinka, she hisses, choking ever so slightly on the nickname, she will break you. She’s sacrificed so much to keep her safe, and she’ll sacrifice even more to keep it that way.

There won’t be any quips. There won’t be any last words. There is no joke here. She will end you. She will kill you herself, and she won’t wait until you sleep. She will take her own hands, and straight up murder you, and is that to be understood?!

You solemnly nod.

Zdrada waveringly steps back, wiping the tracks off her face. She glares at you for a little longer, then collapses on the couch. A few moments later, you can hear small snores exit her mouth.

Hmph. The warning wasn’t necessary. You were are never going to hurt them.

You clean up the mess, and make a start on the dishes.

-0-

When morning comes, Zdrada finds herself in her own bed. She yawns, until the little bastard of a midget in her head starts mining away at the fucking skull. She thought she fucking dealt with him all those years ago, and they had an agreement for him to never strip mine her brain again.

But even with the booming hangover, (she’s coming for you, you little rat bastard!) her heart feels lighter, and she can’t deny it’s one of the best nights of sleep she’s had in a long time.

She tries to stretch, but her arms are pinned to her sides by a blanket cocoon she has no recollection of wrapping herself in. She struggles valiantly, but the demon perishes to the Ikea blankets. She wiggles like a worm hooked on LSD, and tries to squirm her way out. Instead, she struggles just a little too hard, and pushes herself to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, no. NononononononoNO, don't you dare—!"

You fool! The universe does as it pleases! It so dares!

Downstairs, you chuckle softly as you hear her shriek of surprise. Dare to break your drywall, does she? You had to get her back in some way. Just wait till she looks in the mirror.

Huh. So she can get drunk, and get a hangover. Maybe she's more human that she thought she was.

Sometimes, you try to believe that nothing you do will ever amount to anything. Sometimes, you believe that you deserve every bad thing coming to you, so you don't even try anymore.

Don't. 

It's a large world out there. Take it from someone who's been in a bad place most of his life. Always keep believing, because there's going to be a better day. If you ever need help, don't think like it's an act of weakness. Think of it as a way to become better friends by sharing!

Another less serious note, some of these chapters have been a bit darker than usual. If you don't like them, tell me, or if you do, then also tell me. 

Keep strong everyone!

Chapter Text

There exists a game that is nothing short of complete and utter warfare.

This game has been dubbed as the most dangerous, most lethal, most disastrous, most apocalyptic one of all.

When the game begins, it will never end. Once started, the clock to salvation begins.

The bonds of friendship cannot hold this monstrosity back.

Families are torn asunder. Sister against sister. Father against son. Child against mother.

Children are mentally scarred for life.

It is used as a form of torture in Guantanamo bay.

Saw shudders at its’ ingenious.

Actual wars have been started over this game. History does not dare speak of them, in fear of reigniting the embers of conflict.

Love is not fair in this war.

Civilisation is haphazardly thrown around like a ragdoll.

In this game, no one wins. You only lose less than the others. Even without completing it, the souls of the players will empty out. The players will feel hollow, and the dark forces upon this earth will not touch these cursed bodies, for they have played the game. They have been tainted.

The bible may say that God loves all of her creations, but there are… some creations of man that she cannot abide by. Her power falters before this game.

The game is, of course, Monopoly.

BOOM-CRACK!

Curses! The name has been said! The heavens are not pleased with humans even uttering the abomination’s name!

Cerberus pokes her head from out the cupboard.

The Helltaker said to take the first board game they see. Might as well be this one. Maybe this will help Malinas’ frustrations! After all, it couldn’t be worse than what’s online, right?

Okay, let's all admit it. We have never finished a game of Monopoly before in our lives. It's not just my sisters and me, right? We usually just pack it up and count who has the most money, and declare them the winner. Then we make sure we clean up the resulting destruction we left in our wake, and try to cover up the remains of our fight. We didn't play nice. There was biting. And screaming.

Quite surprised the neighbours only called the cops on us once. Believe me, there was ALOT of screaming.

Chapter Text

The question comes to mind on a lazy afternoon as you’re watching some sort of cheap horror flick with Lucifer.

It’s about a group of teenagers who try to summon a devil to have their wishes granted. Of course, it turns all horribly wrong when they find out the demon is not beholden to them, and is certainly not willing to grant them wishes. The movie ends, and you’re left with a feeling of… something. Even you can’t really identify it. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but you’re sure as hell not going to be the one to figure it out.

But still, the question does come up.

“Hey, Lucifer?” You ask.

She doesn’t look up from her phone. “Hmm?”

“So does the blood matter? Does it have to be virgins’ blood? Or can it be animal blood?”

“…excuse me?”

She turns to you, an incredulous expression on her face. You do your best to explain.

“You know, the ones with the virgins blood, the pentagram, the sacrifice of a dead goat and something. Are they like teleporters for you? Or are you forcibly summoned, like if you’re in the middle of a meeting, you just disappear, and everyone else is like, ‘Welp, there she goes. Take five, everyone.’”

Lucifer just sort of stares at you. “Please know I mean this in the nicest way possible, but, what the actual fuck?”

You blink. “You know,” Waving your hands around, “-satanic rituals. The ones that summon devils and such. Do they really work? Or are they just made up?”

“Oh, so that’s what you meant.” She ponders the question, “Well, to answer your question, no, not really. They’re not even summoning circles.”

“Huh.” You made a noise, not quite disagreement, nor agreement, but more like a verbal shrug.

“Why ask?” Lucifer questions. “You rarely care about such things.”

“Well, I thought that since they’re so prevalent in culture and history, there must have been some sort of actual truth to it.”

She turned away guilty, scanning the room for the other inhabitants. She beckons you closer.

You leant in.

“Don’t tell the others?”

You nod. Lucifer sighs, and tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s a nervous tick you noticed, after living with her for so long.

“It was me. I fucked up.”

It’s your turn to look confused. “What do you mean?”

“Thing is, I was the one who started the trend. I made the first circle, by accident.”

“What? Why would you want a summoning circle for devils when meet with them every day?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said they weren’t summoning circles. It’s more like a calling circle…”

You try to image that in your head. It doesn’t work. “Come again?”

“It just pings a demon.”

Still doesn’t compute. “Again, come again?”

She sighs. “Alright, well, back then we didn’t have phones, right? So I tried experimenting on ways to communicate with others demons at long distances. These ‘satanic rituals’” she mocks, “Are just supposed to let demons speak with one another from long distances.”

She sighed and fell back into the sofa.

“So what happened? Seems like they work perfectly if humans can make it work.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, see. They worked too well.”

-0-

“Joseph! Is the ritual complete yet?”

“Sire, the circles are nearly done! We just need a bit more time to decipher these last symbols! The knowledge here is outstanding! The information here is at least a hundred- nay, a thousand years ahead of our current technology! With this, we can change the world!”

“Friend, we’ll already be changing the world! With the power of the Hell on our side, we’ll be unstoppable! We’ll be kings- no, we’ll be gods in the new world! No one can stop us!”

Surprisingly, there was a distinct lack of thunder to accompany the cliché evil laughter that followed.

“We’re done! The circles are complete!”

The hooded man gave a shout of glee. Turning to the ground for one last cursory check, the rest of the group quickly took their places in front of the altar.

A flash of fire erupted from the middle. The noise deafened them instantly, as the winds around the altar started howling. The air split in two, a red portal ripping itself into reality.

The being before them stepped into existence. Be it a God, demon, or monster from the abyss, she came with her own presence. The air in the altar turned stale, rich in the stench of brimstone, along with the screams of the dammed. It washed over the acolytes, except it had a weight to it, pinning them all to the floor. The first step she took burned the earth beneath her, the soil and wood melting at the heat, scarring it for the rest of time.

The acolytes braced themselves. The being would utter her first words upon this realm, gracing the earth with her presence forevermore. The demon opened her mouth-

“-dares call upon me at this time of day? Do none of you understand what a bloody break means?! I work my arse off for half a century, and I’m entitled to my damn holiday!”

The demon pinched the bridge of her nose, seething the whole time.

Huh. The devil was a bit… different to what they imagined.

“I swear, Pandemonica, if hell isn’t literally on fucking fire, I will skin you alive, and I will-”

The figure paused, and turned to look at the room.

“…who the fuck are you?”

The acolytes paused for a moment, no doubt in awe of the devils’ aura. Definitely not because she came out swearing like a sailor, raving about holidays and well deserved breaks.

They pushed on, unshaken in their faith.

“We are mere disciples to you, oh great mighty Lucifer!”

“Disciples? Wait, wha-”

“Yes!” The leader turned to face the group behind him. “The great mighty Lucifer has acknowledged us as her disciples! Hail the mighty Lucifer!”

“HAIL LUCIFER! HAIL LUCIFER! HAIL LUCIFER!” The group went wild, chanting her name like a mantra, over and over again.

“Dear Lucifer, we have received your revelation! We have deciphered the ancient murals and completed your work! The ritual and summoning have gone exactly as you have planned eons ago! With this, you will walk among us upon the earth!”

“And what makes you think I am beholden to you?

“The circle of summoning! You must follow our command!”

“Command?”

It was one word, but said with so such coated venom that the acolyte paled as though all the blood in his face had evacuated.

“Our wishes,” he amended. “I-I meant no disrespect. Please forgive my excitement.”

“-so you just want me to grant your desires.” Her tone could not get flatter. Neither could her look.

The demon stood silent for a moment, deep in thought.

“I’m not leaving hell-”

The acolytes immediately burst into argument.

“Spent decades for this moment-”

“Years of failed experiments!”

“Lives spent in pursuit of your power-”

She raised her hand, and they fell silent.

“-but in turn, I’ll grant you your wishes.”

“Yes! We want women! Infinite riches! Power beyond comparison!”

The demon sighed. “Yes, yes, whatever you say. But first, you need to do me a favour.”

“A favour?”

“Equal exchange, dear mortal. I cannot grant wishes without a sacrifice on your behalf.”

“What do you require, your unholiness? We will gather the materials at once!”

-0-

You pass Lucifer another cup of coffee. “So what happened next?”

“I had to make something up on the spot. I asked for a pure individuals blood, willing given. Thought that would stop them trying again. Not many good-hearted people would willingly sacrifice their blood for a demon ritual.” She mumbled, taking a sip.

“So what went wrong?”

“They misunderstood my words. They thought I meant a virgin when I said pure. They promised her she would get to meet an angel, which isn’t technically wrong, since I’m a fallen angel, and they slit her throat the minute I was summoned.”

Ah. So that’s where the virgin sacrifice came from.

“How did you know they wouldn’t have sacrificed one of their own immediately?”

She gives you one of her famous, ‘Are you shitting me right now?’ looks. “They were fat, balding, middle-aged men whose first wish upon meeting the lord of hell, was to ask for a fucking girlfriend. Do you think they’re pure?”

You cough. “Fair enough. So what did you do with their wishes?”

She smirked. “They asked to be powerful and attractive. I made them extremely magnetic.”

“Magnetic?”

“It was 1200-ish. There were iron weapons everywhere. Screws, knives, swords, shields; the works.” She took a sip of coffee, relishing the caffeine that ran through her system. “They also wanted to be popular with females. They didn’t specify they had to be human. I made the animals on that continent more feral and bloodthirsty for that exact purpose.”

You nod. That seemed like a rational and fair response- wait a minute.

You give her a nervous look. “That continent wouldn’t happen to be Australia, would it?”

“Hmm? Yeah, what about it?” She replied nonchalantly.

“Oh, nothing…”

She sighed, and rubbed her head.

“The worse thing was the eventual paperwork.”

“The paperwork?”

“Remember the virgin sacrifice?” You nod. “Well, because of some bureaucracy bullshit, her soul went to hell, instead of heaven. I didn’t even say she needed to die! I just asked for some blood!”

She starts getting worked up. “Do you know how much paperwork I had to go through just so that he could go to heaven? Literal MOUNTAINS of it! I had to even MAKE paperwork! This was the first death of its kind, and technically how I asked for the sacrifice, I had to take all the blame.”

She put her head in her hands.

“It didn’t stop there. I thought that was a one-off, but one of the fuckers survived, and left notes to his associates. He left records on the circles, and said I would grant wishes, but would turn their words against them. Now, every once in a while, I have a few idiots who try to get their wishes granted. Whenever that happens, I usually just get some lawyers to do the job for me. At least hell is full of them.”

She sighed. “If this gets out, and other demons find out that I’m the one who made them have to deal with this whole summoning shit, the committee will have my head. I had to make several departments because of it, and an entire subdivision for the resulting complaints!”

You frown in thought. “But wait a minute. How did humans even get a hold of the plans in the first place—"

Your voice fades to nothing as you notice Lucifer find the ground extremely interesting at that exact moment.

“You completely forgot about it, and left it out in the open, didn’t you?”

Whoops. I mean, how would you react if suddenly a bunch of idiots started chanting your name? If they're willing to murder someone to get you to follow them, then you're sure as hell not going to stay longer than necessary, and you're definitely not going to give them infinite power or something stupid like that.

I imagine summoning circles to be like a phone thats in your head, but you can't turn the ring tone off until you deal with the idiots chanting your name.

Chapter Text

It’s almost torture watching Azazel torture herself, trying to talk to Judgement. There’s a joke in there somewhere, but you’re too busy cringing at how the angel is still stuttering, failing to get a word out. Judgement is honestly the nicest out of everyone here, but she’s still naïve at heart. She doesn’t understand that Azazel genuinely likes her. Like, like likes her.

Not that everyone else can’t see it. Even Justice. Hell, there’s a pool going on to see how long it takes for Azazel to finally confess.

Usually, there’s an unwritten agreement that you don’t talk to the parties involved in a bet. Its basic etiquette, and stops people from cheating. Zdrada doesn’t give a shit. She puts five hundred in the pot, boldly claims they’ll get together by the end of the week, and slides her way over for some easy cash.

“So,” she begins nonchalantly ignoring the silent outraged looks of the others, focusing on Azazel taking a sip of water. “When’re ya going to confess to lil Justice junior?”

There’s a snort, followed by a wet splutter, and half the drink Azazel’s drinking ends up in her nose. Zdrada pats her on the back as she coughs out the water she just inhaled.

“What?!”

“C’mmooon,” Zdrada whines, watching her as she tries to get the remaining water out of her nasal system. “We can see it. We all know you want to do more than just, and please note I’m using your words to, ahem, ‘do some research together-’”

Azazel slaps her hand over Zdradas’ mouth. “What? No, of course not! I don’t see her that way at all! I don’t even-”

Suddenly, she recoils in disgust. “Did you just lick me?”

Zdrada smirks. “So what you’re saying is, that you don’t like her.”

She wipes her hand on her pants. “No! I mean yes? I see as a friend, nothing more!” Stumbling through excuses, she glares (pouts) at Zdrada, who has a bemused expression on her face.

She says nothing, letting Azazel make her way through a veritable list of excuses that just ends up in her mumbling beneath her breath.

Zdrada’s just waiting to see how long it takes her to break.

“No, I’m not! I swear! If I didn’t need her for my studies, I wouldn’t even be talking to her! I only like her a little bit! Just a smidgen! A teensy tiny amount!”

 She pinches her fingers. “Only this much!”

And to that, everyone turns to deadpan at Azazel. Even Justice. She had her shades up, milky white irises staring back at her.

Azazel flushed. “Okay, maybe a little more than that…”

Like a collective hive, everyone raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe, just maybe, I enjoy her company?”

They raised it further.

“I admire her?”

They raised a second eyebrow.

“Seriously! That’s all it is! You guys are all just- argghh!” Azazel muffles a scream and storms up to her room.

There’s an awkward silence left behind.

“Think we went a bit too far on the teasing?”

-0-

It’s the middle of the night, or extremely early, depending on how you wanted to view it. You’re alone in the kitchen, washing the dishes over the sounds of the radio, murmuring quietly into the night.

You hear the stairs creak, and you turn the water off.

It’s Azazel.

She’s pale and clammy, but despite that, she spots you and makes her way over.

“Mr Helltaker? I just wanted to say, from earlier today, well, I-, uh, me and Judgement, the thing is-” She splutters, nervously wringing her hands together.

You gesture to an open seat, and take the one beside it.

“Deep breaths. Take your time.”

She does so, and falters slightly before speaking. “It’s about what happened earlier. I, uh, just wanted to ask if you could ignore it.”

You frown in confusion. That doesn’t seem like what she wanted to say. “Is it the teasing? Sure. I’ll tell the girls to stop it.”

She looks at you, and smiles uncertainty.  “Uh, sure. Yeah, that’s great. Thanks for everything.”

You can tell something’s wrong, and you give her a concerned look. “Azazel, are you okay?”

She hesitates.

“Is this about your crush on Judgement?”

Hey eyes widen. “Wait, you think I’m gay? What? No! Of course not!” She manages to get out, franticly shaking her hands. “No, it’s not that! I swear it’s not! I just admire her, and how she does her work! She’s just so nice, but she understands what her job means, and she knows she has to do it no matter what-” She rambles, blushing faintly at the cheeks.

Suddenly, it clicks.

“Azazel,” You interrupt, keeping your tone light and non-judgmental, “I can, with full confidence, say that the girls and I won’t judge you. It’s fine if you are.”

She stares at you, trying to find deceit in your words. She starts tearing up a little.

“Y-you’re not going to kick me out?”

“No.”

“But they’re your harem!”

You sigh and shake your head in amusement. “I think that ship’s sailed a long time ago.”

“You’re not going to throw me back to heaven?”

“No? How would I even do so?”

She looks lost for a minute, and doesn’t know what to say. Her hands are shaking, so you rest yours over them, in a way you hope is reassuring.

“I’m glad you trust me enough for you to come out, and there’s nothing wrong with liking girls. Hell, I’m pretty sure that Lucifer and Beel had a thing a long time ago! Just by listening to them insult one another, you would think they’re a married couple!”

Her choked sobs stop for a moment, and she chuckles wetly.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, dear.”

And really, that’s all she wanted to hear.

Angels were pure maidens, right? So love was a no go. Contrary to human belief, being gay or bi or any type of orientation doesn’t change their chances to going to heaven. Love is love, and it doesn’t matter what form it comes in. As long both parties are consenting, heaven doesn’t really mind.

But for angels, they’re expected to be moral pillars of Chasity. Angels have to be pure. They must be pure. Nothing else is expected, and any and all dissenters are punished. It’s a rule that’s spanned from the beginning of time, and it hasn’t changed since.

Love is strictly prohibited.

“Would you like something to drink?”

She nods mutedly.

“Water?”

“No. Wine.”

You blink in surprise, but wordlessly pour one out for her.

She takes all in one go, and splutters a little as it goes down.

It burns Azazel, but it’s the burn that leaves a warm feeling inside her. She cries a little more, letting the Helltaker embrace her. Relief, pure cold relief floods her body.

She still doesn’t know how she go on. But as of now? She wraps her arms around his back, and draws up deep, shuddering breaths.

She doesn’t know herself what this impulse means, but-

Her chest feels warm.

That alone she can be sure of.

-0-

In the end, Azazel still doesn’t manage to confess, but she vows to try again, and that’s good enough for everyone.

Except Zdrada. She’s disqualified from the bet, and her money is shared between the participants.

Oohh. Ok. Uh, I actually had this chapter done for a long, LOOONG time. Like way back at chapter 7. I just held off posting it because I wasn’t sure if I could post it. The reason being was if I did it badly, I would be pissing off and doing a disservice to 3 major groups of people. The religious community, the LGBT community and the Helltaker community.

I would like to say I’m bisexual , and I never really needed to come out. My parents aren’t really here, and my sisters already kinda knew I was bi, so me coming out to them just really had them replying like, “Yeah, no shit, sherlock.” But, you know, in a loving way.

So if you do feel that I did a bad job on portraying on someone coming out, or that I did bad on exploring Azazels character and how she would have come to terms with her sexuality, or just did bad in general in this chapter, just say so, and I’ll try to remake it. Or if it’s really that bad, I’ll just delete it.

So, uh, yeah. Thats it.

Also, MAH HEART, MAH SOUL. AZAZEL IS PURE GIRL. I JUST WANT TO HUG HER AND SAY EVERYTHING IS OKAY.

Chapter Text

It was a normal (or as normal as it could be) Saturday at the Helltakers’ house. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and the grass was growing. For once, there was little happening, as the inhabitants decided to take a day off from their usual antics.

The tranquil peace was only interrupted by a rather… unexpected utterance.

“Fuck!”

Or, well, not unexpected, as swearing wasn’t exactly a rare thing in a house full of demon girls. It was one of the least sinful things they were doing while up in the overworld. Rather, it was unexpected due to the person saying it.

“Shiiittt” Azazel hisses, massaging the toe that decided it was a bright idea to slam itself into the kitchen doorway.

You gasped as though the world was ending. You had never heard of such- oh dear. This was dangerous uncharted waters. By your side, you see Justice and Zdrada share a shark-toothed smirk, grinning in pure delight while they leave the room, muttering plans beneath their breath.

The rest of the house seem too startled to do anything for the next minute, until Azazel finally notices the stares.

-0-

To be completely fair on yourself, this was definitely something out of left field. A swearing match. A completely verbal verbose vivid vertebrae vehement vent of vords- sorry, words, to settle who had a better grasp on the english lexicon.

The girls decided to vote Zdrada up as their contender. She, of course, takes it all in stride, rolling up her sleeves to prepare for the battle.

This was no mere swearing match.

This was a scuffle on swearing. A clash on cursing. A war on words.

Zdrada swaggers, (and yes, its swaggers because there’s no other way to call that walk,) up to the table, opens her mouth, and-

“Azazel, you’re a-”

-and she just unhinges a host of insults that leave the room silent.

She let out the most horrendous paragraph of swearing that you had the (mis)fortune of hearing. Somehow, somewhere in your soul, you feel that this was morally wrong, even though you had already traversed through the pits of hell. You wipe a manly tear from your face.

Then Azazel decided to interject with her own choice in insults.

She smiles back at the demon like she hadn’t just been told she could fit a veritable zoo of animals up her intestinal system, pulls out a chair, and brushes a speck of lint off her dress.

The glint in her eyes is starting to worry you now.

“That was pretty good, Zdrada,” Azazel cheerfully replies. “But you’re a-”

You blank out of a minute.

The pure drivel that exited her mouth was, to say the least, extraordinary. She insulted her mother, father, her choice in clothing, lifestyle choices, her future children, her children’s children, back to her clothing, no wait, it also had a few choice insults that went on to describe her face-

The chain swearing had a plot. It had a fucking plot. It had a story, side-characters, fan service, and even a few twists that no one saw coming. It had puns. Really bad pun, mind you, but they were still puns-

“Holy shit.” – Lucifer, probably.

Zdrada is shocked silent.

So are you.

Gawd damn Azazel. A guest called 'Ragnarok' said in the comments that Azazel was the definition of the word 'repressed'. I decided to run with that idea. Funnily enough, the line that made me chuckle wasn't the swearing. It was this one-

“Holy shit.” – Lucifer, probably.

On another note, I have some real life work to do, so they updates will be a bit sporadic for the next few weeks. I won't stop, but they'll come at weird times. So, uh, yeah. Seeya!

Chapter Text

“Roll the die, coward.”

“E-excuse me?”

You wonder to yourself on how a simple game could have turned out like this.

“Did I stutter? I told you to ROLL THE DAMN DICE!”

“I’m not going to roll it for something so stupid!”

You can understand how people can be competitive. You understand what it’s like to be fully invested in a game, and want to do your best. It’s natural, and you think it’s healthy, because it maintains a good sense of fun while playing.

But this?

Justice slams her hands on the table, knocking the miniature figurines aside, whilst glaring at Lucifer.

“I’m only going to say this once.” She seethes, “When I say I’m going to fuck the dragon, what I mean IS, I’M GOING TO RAM MY TWELVE-INCH, THROBBING CO-”

You don’t know what to call this.

A mistake? Insanity? A continuous lapse in judgement?

“-HE’LL HAVE TO TWIST HIMSELF A HUNDRED AND EIGHTY DEGREES-”

No, it’s definitely not the last one, because Judgement is staring slack-jawed at her mentor. You’re surprised that Modeus isn’t saying much, until you realise the acts of… let’s go with fornication, that Justice is describing is probably quite light to what she’s used to dealing with.

You briefly tune out, thinking back on how the game started oh so well. They were a party of five, bright-eyed, cheerful adventurers, seeking out fame and glory. You were the warrior, the burly, frontline, tank. Azazel was the paladin, who protected allies through thick and thin. Malina was the rogue, the silent assassin who had a unfortunate habit of stealing things, which included her allies’ trinkets. Pandemonica was the cleric, healing all status aliments and wounds amidst battle, and Judgement was a mage, a sorceress able to control the mystical arcane.

And Justice? Well…

“-AND I WILL MAKE HIM LICK IT OFF THE DAMN FLOOR!”

-she was the bard.

A charismatic support unit, who was supposed to boost her allies with buffs and extra turns.

Keyword is, ‘supposed’. Justice had decided to play into the charismatic role a bit too much, and had promptly decided that it mattered not the size-

“-and I told you, I don’t care how wide his asshole is, I’ll make-do.”

-nor the race,

“I’m just trying to improve elf - dragon relations!”

If it was a sentient being, and if it had sexual organs,

“-I ROLL TO FUCK IT!”

She was going to fuck it.

Lucifer put her head in her hands. “You know what? FINE! I give up! If you roll a nat 20, You get to fuck the dragon! Are you happy now?!”

“Very.” Replies a smug looking Justice. “Now, do it.”

Lucifer does so, and hopes that she doesn’t have to make up a situation where Justice manages to literally fuck up the dragon.

The die clatters nosily, and she takes a abated breath.

A sad lonely one stares back at her.

And just like that, a cheshire grin tears across her face.

“To the surprise of no one, the bard dies in the act of fucking the dragon. The dragon is not impressed. The dragon thinks the bard had a tiny cock, and if he were still living, would never satisfy another person in bed. The rest of the party stays silent for a minute, holding a silent vigil to honour your stupidity. It’s a coincidence, because that how long you actually lasted in the dragon.”

She smiles victoriously, turning to the Paladin.

“Now, Azazel, what do you do?”

Azazel paused in thought for a moment, then blushed, grinning meekly.

She opens her mouth.

Oh no.

You know what she’s going to say. Know it with iron certainty.

“I fuck the dragon.”

Lucifer lets her head slam the table.

And from then on, Azazel was given the title as the Chad Dragon Fucker, while Justice had her position usurped, and had been demoted to virgin bard.

Much sadness. Many regret.

Updates are weird because my real life is weird. Not much to say here.

Chapter Text

To your surprise, demon girls do sleep. While sleep, food, and drink aren’t exactly necessities, they do still indulge in a good nights’ rest. It refreshes the mind, they say. So you, the gentlemen that you are, give them their own rooms.

After months of living with them, you notice all of them have some kind of routine before going to bed. Since sleep doesn’t come naturally to them, they usually tire themselves out first.

-0-

Modeus reads. She hides her romance books behind a bookcase of smut, doujinshi’s, and … well, let’s just go with ‘other’ types of books. You were cleaning her room once, and a book or two fell off the shelves. While putting them back in place, you took an unfortunate glimpse at the pages.

You still get nightmares.

Anyways, you lightly chide her for reading under the covers. It’ll hurt her eyesight, and you get her a desk lamp for future midnight reading sessions.

In terms of going to sleep, she’s the one with the least problems.

In terms of reading material, she’s the one with the most.

You make a mental note to keep Azazel far, far away from her. You don’t think she’ll survive the resulting nose bleed.

-0-

Justice meditates. As energetic and upbeat as she is, it doesn’t surprise you that even she needs a break every once in a while. She’s quite low key, and you caught her on several occasions watering a couple of house plants.

You offer her the greenhouse at the back, and she happily accepts.

Now, she spends her nights taking care of the small zen garden she made. Its small now, but you hope she lets it grow out.

-0-

Cerberus just asked for some good quality hair products and three hair brushes. As childish as they seem, the one thing that they’re serious about is their hair. When they get out the shower, they sit in a small circle and brush each other’s hair. It’s slow and meticulous, and they won’t let anyone else touch it.

Once they’re done, they curl up together and falls asleep in the massive king-sized bed that they requested, rather than the three bunk beds you offered.

They don’t snore, but they always seem to wake up in a tangle of limbs.

-0-

Azazel and Pandemonica usually do paperwork by themselves. To your amusement, their rooms look similar in terms of messiness. Used socks lie in mismatched pairs beside shoes, and the chairs have jackets or blazers hanging off them. The walls are adorned with boards, with clipped-on notes, charts, and graphs. Most of them have neat, tidy script, and when the words threaten to spill over, note books are shelved in alphabetical order besides them.

There’s a method to the mess, only known to the residents, where they leave reference books and textbooks in easy reach of the desk, where clean clothes are in that pile there, underwear in the other, and the computer is in the other, other, one.

But their work desk is always completely clear of clutter. The wires and cables are carefully zip-tied behind the desk, and a small armada of stationary stand guard at the side. A blank notebook is always at the ready, slapped right in the middle of the desk.

Most of the time they stay up late, working till the sun peaks above the horizon. Sometimes when they’re lonely, they bring their work to the kitchen for some company.

You’re happy to indulge.

Funnily enough, Judgement usually follows suit, and tries helping Pandemonica with paperwork. She’s not as efficient as they are, but she definitely puts in the work. She thinks as the current HPJ, she’s required to help with the residents of hell with as much as she can, be it punching the problems away, or writing a strongly worded letter to upper management (i.e. Lucifer), about said problems.

It also helps that Azazel is also there. Judgment sneaks glances at the angel from time to time, blushing when Azazel bites her lip whenever she pauses in thought.

Sooner or later, they’ll fall asleep at the table. They’re quite the workaholics, and you carry them, one by one, to their rooms, tucking them in.

-0-

Malina has a YouTube channel. You don’t know when she started streaming, but it’s a thing she does now.

She takes advantage of the reinforced walls you put up, and uses it as a makeshift sound room, where her screams are muted. Her rage and frustrations are quite the topic to the online community, where they can’t decide if she’s either just really good with those special effects, or an actual, you know, demon girl that can set herself on fire.

To her horror, she’s become a meme.

In the past, Zdrada used to only help with editing and formatting, but ever since she was spotted on one of the livestreams, the sisters started playing co-ops together. It would have been heart-warming, if not for the fact that they both scream profanity at each other the entire time.

Doesn’t stop them from smiling the entire time.

-0-

Lucifer doesn’t do much. Sometimes she drinks a little wine, or reads a book. Most of the time, she perches on the roof, and stares up at the night sky.

You don’t intrude.

Instead, you leave a glass of water by her dresser, and a note to remind her to brush her teeth.

When all is done, and all the girls are fast asleep, you open up the portal, and share a drink or two with Beel. You share news of what’s been happening outside, and switch out her battery packs for fully charged ones. You bid her goodnight, and turn in yourself.

You put on your sleepwear, take off your shades, and place them gently on your drawer.

Sometimes, the days are hectic and full of action. Sometimes, they’re filled with the monotony of life.

You don’t mind either.

You go to bed with a smile.

If you're wondering about Justice, I have it in my head that since she's blind, all her other senses are heightened drastically. Now imagine heightened senses in Hell, of all places. The screaming, brimstone, and souls of the damned will probably start to get to you. A zen garden seems perfect for her.

Also, sorry for the late update! I just got my new meds, and they've fucked up my sleep cycle so badly that I needed to get sleeping aids to help me get back on track.

Chapter Text

It’s a beautiful day, and for once, nothing is going wrong.

You’ve taken everyone out for a small(relative to your group size) shopping trip, and the girls take to that idea with glee. The only worrying thought in your head is how hard this is going to hurt your wallet, but watching them smile and laugh washes your troubles away. When you arrive, the girls immediately take off.

Cerberus always seems to be ahead of everyone, spotting something interesting in the distance, rushing off and doing it again once they see something else that catches their attention.

Judgement and Justice make their way to the sports shop. They all collectively agreed that the flex-off was a tie, and plan for another bout when they’ve gotten stronger. Lucifer makes a strangled noise at this point, but the resulting shouts of agreement drown her out.

Malina’s on her way to the alcohol or game store. She’ll make her decision based off how angry Zdrada makes her on the ten minute walk it takes to get there. You kindly ask Zdrada not to make death glares(in her case, they’re quite literal) or stab the cashiers if they make funny glances at Malina. You can barely survive them. Other humans (she scoffs at that, and you wonder why) won’t.

Pandemonica and Modeus are going to the book store. Pandemonica’s getting new office supplies, ‘hell doesn’t run itself, you know!’, and Modeus is getting some things that are certainly not office supplies. You really hope she doesn’t find the anime section. That’s a whole nother can of worms that you don’t want to open.

After making sure the girls won’t cause immense property damage just by existing in the area, you make your way back to Lucifer, who decided to be the responsible one, and wait by the fountain. You notice the lack of a curious angel.

“You know where Azazel is?”

You both start to walk off, until Lucifer snaps her fingers. “Oh, actually. You know who she’s probably with?”

“Judgement?” You reply wearily.

 “No, Modeus.”

…Fuck, that’s actually worse. Go back.

After months of living with the demons, Azazel managed to finish her entire study of demonology. She even managed to create more studies based on habits and behaviours of demons, and with it, she got an extension to continue. She’s one of the smartest angels this era, and you’re proud of her. But even with all her acumen, merits, and intelligence, she still can’t string together a full sentence when she’s alone with Judgement.

Neither of them can. It drives everyone up the wall.

So what does the smartest angel in her generation do?

She goes to the demon of lust.

Now, that may seem good on paper, until you realize the only type of relationship Modeus has ever had are of the carnal type, and she’s just as naïve as the rest of them in terms of ‘normal’ romance.

You really hope Modeus doesn’t take a sledgehammer to Azazel’s innocence.

-0-

The day passes by without much to say.

Instead of shopping, you go to a café with Lucifer, content on letting the day pass by as Lucifer all but drags you there, when her face lights up as she smells the sugary goods.

You give in and buy a few sugared pastries from the corner shop, and bring them to the patio outside. She’s already ordered some coffee, and grabs a pastry, devouring it with gusto. You take a small nibble, and feel your blood pressure shoot up.

When the coffee arrives, you dunk it in, and take another bite.

This time, your blood pressure hitches a ride on a rocket.

You swallow it down with a grimace, and you turn to Lucifer, intent on asking how she isn’t dying from sugar overdose.

You freeze.

She’s smiling.

Huh.

She looks happy. It’s the peaceful type of happy, where she’s content with what she has. A small grin spreads across her face, as she watches a little girl wave to her.

It’s not the teasing smile, or one of her cocky smirks. It’s not one of the vicious ones, or one of the ones where she smiles, but is internally thinking about violent thoughts. It’s not the famous ‘I will make your insides, outsides’ smile, and it’s not even the fake one that she puts on when she has to deal with bothersome humans.

It’s a genuine smile, where she’s happy of where she is now.

You don’t think she even knows she’s doing it.

It’s funny. Out of all the smiles on tv, the million watt smiles that show off pearly whites, the ones with the photographic dimples, the ones where the tv hosts show off all their best features at once;

Lucifer’s simple smile makes them all pale in comparison.

She has a really awkward smile.

It’s a smile that makes the skin around her eyes crinkle in laughter, a smile where while she doesn’t show off her teeth, the ends of her mouth quirk up, where her eyes sparkle with amusement. It’s a smile that’s so simple in its’ honestly, happiness and delight, you instinctively understand this is a side to her that she rarely shows.

Lucifer has a really awkward smile, like she doesn't use it often enough, and you’re always glad to see it.

It’s times like these where you enjoy the life that you’ve lived. After all, it got you to this point.

She notices your staring. “What? Is there something wrong with my face?”

You chuckle, taking another sip of coffee. “Not that I can see.”

You spend the rest of the day talking to Lucifer about nothing in particular.

Another scene, where I couldn't figure out a place to put it.

Sooner rather than later, your group all reconvene at a diner.

The people around you look at your large group with… something. You can’t really tell what they’re thinking. The server, who looks like she’s in her teens, says something. One word. One little word, which causes you pain beyond comparison. She mutters it, and you know you’re not supposed to hear it, but it still shatters your heart.

“Simp.”

You burst into tears.

Congratulations, Helltaker. A pre-teen has done what hell could not. A simple chapter that I hope puts a smile on your face.

When you're in love, just being with the person that you're in love with means the world to you. Simple things like smiling, or the way they talk when they're exited just makes my heart beat faster. Just talking about nothing in particular makes you fall in love with them again.

Next chapter should be about Lucifer. I've got tons of plans for her.

Chapter Text

Lucifer meets with the little girl on a fateful Friday.

She ends up losing the straw draw with the others, and has to pause to take a deep breath. This is fine. This is fine. This is fine. She keeps the polite expression on her face, because as the CEO of hell, she has to maintain a faithful figure of authority where the others have to look up to her. After all, it is quite reasonable to have to- WILL YOU BASTARDS STOP LAUGHING!?

They’re traitors, she contemplates darkly, stomping her way to the store. And since she’s the queen of hell, its treason. She’s plotting their eventual demise when she bumps into a little girl.

Or to be more accurate, nearly trips over her.

The first thing through her mind is, wow, she’s tiny; then the next one is how she had essentially kicked a child down the street like an angry soccer fan, and that sort of stuff isn’t looked well upon up in the overworld.

“-oh hell!” she manages to get out, “Are you okay?”

And of course, the girl isn’t okay after being bowled over, so Lucifer has to bring her to a pharmacy, where she buys alcohol swabs and band-aids in a frenzied panic. She’s finished sterilizing and halfway through wrapping a bandage over the wound when she realizes she doesn’t even know the kids’ name.

Lucifer’s not good with human interaction, see. Centuries and centuries of idiots trying to talk her up into giving them god-like powers and daily interaction with the figurative scum of humanity doesn’t exactly prepare one for a little girl telling the devil directly how her new friend (i.e. ,  her) is super-duper really nice!

And when Lucifer splutters in embarrassment, asking how they could possibly be friends-

“After all, friends are just strangers you haven’t met yet!” Lunas’ eyes gleam, and smiles a million watt smile.

In that moment, the Lord of demons, the CEO of hell, the fallen angel; Lucifer Morningstar has only one thought.

She’s so pure.

Lucifer flushes at the statement, and takes the little girl back home. She waves good bye at the entrance, and watches her enthusiastically wave back.

-0-

The following weeks fall into a content routine. Lucifer volunteers to get the groceries, the residents of the household look at her like she’d grown another head; or more accurately, as though she had been diagnosed with a second head growing disease ‘Such a shame, it was a rare recessive trait, passed down from four generations ago, really, really unfortunate-‘ but they had never really considered the thought that she would actually grow another head, because the chances of that happening was really slim at worst and the fact- never mind.

The point is, everyone is shocked.

Lucifer meets with little Luna every other day. She goes to the store, and without fail, the little girl sits at the corner of the tree stump waiting for her. Lucifer takes her by the hand, and escorts her home. Sometimes, they go out of their way to visit a shop or two, or when Luna is peckish, to the small pizza shop down by the river.

They make fantastic meatballs.

Lucifer herself doesn’t know why she does so. Why she keeps doing so. It’s not for the conversation,

“Boys are stupid! They’re icky, and gross and stupid and crazy; they won’t help in clean up time, they’re mean and they’re-”

“Stupid?”

“Yeah! And they don’t listen at all!”

Lucifer wants to refute that statement, saying that she’ll grow out of it, but reminds herself she’s only here because a man wanted a demon harem.

“…little one, no truer words have been spoken.”

It’s certainly not for the looks she gets,

“Oh, she’s adorable!”

“Yep.”

“How old is she?”

“Oh, seven or eight; maybe? I’m not entirely sure. She’s not mine.”

The concerned father takes a uncertain step back, grabs his daughter by the hand, and subtly starts calling the cops.

And it’s definitely not because of the small nods of approval she gets from the Helltaker.

She’s fucking Lucifer for hells’ sake! She’s the CEO of hell! She's bloody Satan! She is definitely not supposed to feel… feelings at…at… WHATEVER this is!

-0-

One day, they bump into Azazel and Judgement. They’re sitting both sitting at a café, discussing something or other. They don’t spot them, too engrossed in talking, where Azazael rambles on about something or another, and Judgement follows her every word like a lovesick puppy.

An apt description for Judgement, really.

It’s the sight of Azazel that makes her stop and think. The type of thinking if she actually deserves this peace. If she’s actually supposed to be here. Up here in the overworld, where her kind is feared and shunned, where the only people that interact with her are the truly desperate, the sinners, and the damned.

Lucifer is fully aware she doesn’t exactly deal with emotions well. She isn’t like Justice, who wears her heart on her sleeve, or Judgement, who only communicates by screaming, where she somehow manages to convey a host of emotions from it.

After all, she’s always been good at hiding hers’.

Whatever she’s feel now, it doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem natural. It makes her feel vulnerable. So of course, she uses her oldest coping mechanism, the one where she just leaves everything behind. The one where she smothers her feelings with her cold, dead heart, and let the parts where she felt she was in control slide forwards for the world to see.

She puts on a mask that betrays nothing of the surging tide of emotion she feels.

Lucifer thinks she’s been rubbing off Luna, because all it takes is a single look before she opens her little demon mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

What’s wrong?

What’s wrong ?!?

What wrong is that she doesn’t know how to feel about Azazel. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to feel. She’s not angry, (and the reason why she knows she isn’t angry is because that’s one of the few emotions of hers that she can actually identify), but she can’t…. stand her? Or, maybe she doesn’t? She’s not happy with her either, and it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

She doesn’t understand what this swirl of emotion is supposed to mean. She likes being alone, but the problem with being alone was that it gave her too much silence, which ended up being filled by the thoughts she didn’t want to think.

The thoughts that she can’t afford to think.

So, she talks to Azazel in polite manner. She knows better than to take her frustrations out on someone who doesn’t deserve it, but it’s hard to do so whenever she sees her halo. She represents literally everything about her hated past, and it’s hard not to react.

Azazel’s polite, really does want the best for others, and genuinely she doesn’t care that they’re all demons.

That alone is enough to make Azazel better than her.

Lucifer tears her gaze away from them, and decides a vague answer is the best one.

“Ah… It’s… complicated, little one.”

“Oh.” The girl replies, dejected. She suddenly smiles. “I may not be able to help you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything! I don’t understand why you’re so sad, but I can stay with you until you feel better!”

“It’s not that simple.” Lucifer smiles wryly. “I’m not a very good person. You really shouldn’t like me. I don’t-”

She looks down to see Luna pummel her leg with her tiny fists of righteous glory.

“-what are you doing?”

“I don’t care.” Luna huffs. “You’re nice to me, and I like you. In fact, I think you’re the nicest person I’ve met! You know what? You’re an angel!”

Lucifer freezes.

She thinks about how she lost her right to be called one.

She thinks about what she used to have.

She thinks about herself.

She thinks these things and feels her mood darken, twisting and writhing beneath her very soul.

She thinks about a time when she was ‘graced’ with a halo instead of horns.

She remembers the searing pain of her wings being stripped from her back. She remembers the fear of her followers, where their only crime was to believe in her. Only a few survived the fall into hell. Even fewer lived past their injuries. And when her last follower died with her name on his lips, she vowed to make each and every one of those bastards pa-

“-Miss Lucy! Please, I’m sorry! You’re hurting me!”

The cries snap her out of her thoughts, and she finds herself clenching the girls arm in an ironclad grip. She immediately lets go.

“Oh, hell! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, little one!”

Lucifer blinks away the red irises, and kneels down. She holds the arm to her face, and to her horror, it’s one of those marks. The ones that won’t fade for the rest of her cursed life.

The kid’s looking at her with fear, and she doesn’t blame her. After all, she’s a monster.

She remembers Gabriel. Dear old Gabby.

Ancient words come to mind.

She gently clasps Luna’s arm.

“I can heal you. I-its magic. But you have to close your eyes for it to work, okay?”

Luna nervously nods.

An old habit comes up. The runes on her body stay silent.

Oh God, please let this work.

Words that had passed long ago flow from her lips.

For a brief moment, nothing happens. And nothing happens because she’s nothing more than a fucking monster, and she knows she’s a fucking monster because every time she looks in the mirror, she’s reminded of it by the horns that were ripped from her fucking skull, and now she’s damned for eternity because she couldn’t fucking keep her ego in check, and now?

She bites her lip, as tears spring to her eyes.

-and now, this precious, little, innocent girl is cursed forever, all because of a monster.

The wind still.

Time slows to a near stop.

The faded runes on her back weakly sputter to life.

The insects fall silent, the trees dance in tune to some silent melody that no one else can hear, and her eyes start glowing with power. With the countless stars above shinning as one, the earth stops its motion.

For the first time in untold millennia, her eyes don’t glow red with anger, fury nor rage.

The muscles in this cursed body of hers heave with exertion, blood boils beneath the skin, her mind hammering within her skull, and she nearly cries out in pain. The air in her lungs ignite with holy flames, burning a path through her throat. Her tongue starts frying in her mouth, as spots appear in her vision.

She may be a monster, but this little girl is not.

Instead, her eyes glow white. Wonderful, worldly, blinding white.

She breathes life.

Time starts back up again, and the people start walking. Few passers-bys give her a curious look, but nothing more.

She’s panting, and she’s drenched in sweat.

It’s a touch of magic she thought she’d lost long ago.

“Miss Lucy, you really are an angel!”

I mean, think about it. Using angel magic when you’re a demon? That’s going to do some massive internal damage.

MAH HAEART, MAH SOUL. MY POOR BABY GIRL.

For starters, sorry for the really late update! I was hospitalized for reasons that I won't go into, but the danger has passed for now. The doctors say I should be okay in a few weeks, but should make a full recovery. The updates are going to be a bit more sporatic as I take medication (they mess with my head, so I can't write when I do), but I'll still be here !

Now that that's out of the way, More about the chapter :

I'll say it now. I'm not happy how the chapter turned out. I had initially written alot more about little Luna, and maybe I'll post the parts that were cut out if people want it, but this chapter is supposed to be about Lucifer, and it doesn't really work if I add in a secondary character. From what I have in my head, Lucifer is confident in herself. She has a identity, and it's grounded in being the literal CEO of hell. The main interactions of her life have been the scum of humanity, so suddenly being showered with love and affection from the Helltaker is going to make her question herself, and if she actually deserves any of this, especially since she was cast down into hell by God.

And on why she makes friends with a little girl ? Well, seeing a child for a thirst for knowledge that’s pure would probably would pull at her heart.

Kindred souls and all that.

Also,

-0-

The winds reach up into the skies, blinding the heavens with a gale of fury. The residents watch in awe as the squall slowly peters out. It’s been millennia since they’ve seen that type of magic.

A lone angel watches it from above, atop a spire. She gives a curt smile, and turns back to her work. A bit late, but it still arrived nonetheless. The others really should have expected this.

After all, her sister was always destined for great things.

Chapter Text

One day, the girls decide to learn how to cook.

This already happened once. Lucifer threatened to turn their insides, outsides, if she caught them trying to doing something (anything) in the kitchen again. You don’t know what piece of sanity you let slip from your grasp that led to this situation, but you’re starting to think it was a very important piece.

-0-

“I’m fine!” Malina screeches, sounding the furthest thing from fine.

You open your mouth to retort-

“I told you, I’m fine!”

“You just said that.”

“I know, and I’m going to keep saying it until I trick my brain into believing it!”

-0-

Sadly, while you could (theoretically) trick yourself into believing it, physics and logic was a different matter.

Fortunately, you had a fire extinguisher at hand, and managed to contain the fire.

The dying embers of the stovetop smell suspiciously of brimstone. As you stare blankly into the flames of the pan, you see nothing but Ifrit grinning back; a smile immortalized by the agony of the sinned. You’re disappointed in yourself that you believed any other outcome would occur. Even the fish seems disappointed, from what you can make of its’ expression beneath the charring.

Sorry for a smaller chapter than usual, as I'm still really sick. 

If you have any any ideas that you want to see, you can always leave a comment. I'm open to suggestions!

Chapter Text

Mr Stone is an old man who runs a small coffee shop on the lonely street corner between Main and Sixth. His mother before him and her father before her, and then his mother before him started this business, and he had no qualms on continuing this little tradition of theirs of serving good coffee to folks. His family started long before coffee chains started popping out of the ground like overgrown maggots, and while he can’t predict the future, he’ll do his best to make sure this shop will continue long after he’s gone.

His parents wanted him to follow his dreams, but just like his family before him, he was too enthralled in the art of coffee making. How his grandfather’s fingers would dance on the stovetop, toiling effortlessly through the fog of steam that fans across his spectacles.

He remembers his childhood, basking in the aroma of freshly grinded roasts.

He remembers his later years, where a young woman took his invitation for some late night coffee the way it was meant to, rather than the way that he did.

He remembers them laughing into the night beyond, so young and so helplessly in love.

He remembers the accident.

Mr Stone is not a man of lofty dreams, and he tries to enjoy the simple life that he leads.

That doesn’t change when the girl walks in his shop.

-0-

It’s a Thursday morning when the girl walks in. He had barely turned the sign over when she appears out of thin air, clay bells chiming as the doors reveal the young woman. She’s wearing a blazer and a pencil skirt, holding a budging manila folder, and looks to be all business. After all, he’s seen many faces with that exact tired look.

She’s looking to get her coffee fix.

She orders a fifty-fifty blend of Arabic and black, and he beams at the fellow connoisseur. He taps the countertop as he brews, where only experience and pride keeps him from rushing the process and making a subpar product. The everyday layman may settle for whatever tasteless sludge that a clueless kid would cook up on their rush to work, but he will never settle for anything less than a masterful drink, no matter what time of day nor who it was for.

The girl breathes in the aroma, and smiles faintly as she sips at it. She immediately vows to return again.

It’s the start of a beautiful relationship.

-0-

The coming months have her visiting every Monday and Thursday. The moment he flips the sign and turns around, the girl appears, seemingly out of nowhere. She usually stays for the day, ordering a plethora of mixes that tests his ability as a barista. She returns the cutlery and mugs in pristine condition, works silently in a shadow corner of the café, and often tips. When business is slow, they sometimes discuss the delicacies of the fine art that is coffee brewing.

She’s the perfect customer.

The first few weeks are tense, as when his usual customers trickle in, they hush at the sight of the girl working. Mr Stone is not impervious to the looks, but doesn’t comment.

There’s just something about the way she moves, graceful and silent, always carrying the smell of coffee and brimstone wherever she goes. She tucks herself into the corner, humble and making herself small, as though she doesn’t exude an aura that demands them to pay attention to her. Mr Stone catches himself on more than one occasion watching her play with the loose curls around her face, and twirling pencils with a grace that doesn’t seem real.

But like everyone else, she’s a valued customer; and everyone and anyone is welcome in his quaint little shop.

-0-

Mr Stone knows he is not the most observant person, nor does he give much credence to rumours, but he’s heard the stories.

After all, there’s plenty. Some say that she’s from the shady house, where a single man lives alone, who only recently started coming out of his shell. They talk about the new residents, where they all have eyes of fire, horns protruding out of their skulls, and tails that flicker mischievously at those who pass by. They avoid the obvious d-word, because seriously, there’s no way the rumours are actually, y’know, true, right?

Instead, the only story he’s gotten from her is from a lazy afternoon, when she vents to him about her idiot of a boss who decided to pack everything up and go on an extended holiday, leaving her business to a random grunt, and how she dragged her entourage along with her.

He chuckles with her, and serves her another slice of coffee pound cake.

One night, he turns on the news story to a burning warehouse on the docks, which was an apparent base for a local drug lord. He doesn’t give it much attention.

Until the very next day, when she stumbles in, exhaustion weighing her down, smelling like brimstone, ash, and fire.

She orders a simple doppio (Really? One so early in the day?), takes out her work, and starts typing away at a laptop.

He glances at her for a moment, shrugs, and turns to grind out the beans.

-0-

A chain coffee store opens on the street opposite him. He doesn’t pay attention to the flashy signs, the cheap store-bought coffee, or the overextended workers.

But his customers do.

The bills start to pile up. Rent starts to fall behind. As good as his coffee is, business doesn’t follow.

It affects his work, and as the few customers he has starts to leave, the girl stays.

Instead of leaving, the she comes about more often, keeping him company. From open to close she arrives like clockwork, appearing out of thin air when he turns the sign over, and bidding him a good night once the sun starts setting. She leaves a fancible tip every time, but he knows that it’s an downhill battle.

One day, he decides not to open, but he still lets her in when she passes by, after she starts tapping inquisitively on the window.

“What are you doing here? I’m closed for today.”

She raises an delicate eyebrow. “What, can I not see what my favourite supplier is up to?”

Mr Stone gives her an odd look. “Miss, that--that makes me sound like a drug dealer. And you drink coffee!”

“They’re fixes that artificially affect the body into states that increase productivity that the masses frown upon, and yet everyone tries it at once,” The girl smirks back. “Technically, you are my drug dealer.”

“T—I… I can’t argue with that logic.” Mr Stone sighs, smiling sadly at her. “But soon, I don’t think I’ll be anyone’s coffee dealer anymore.”

He eyes flash dangerously. “What are you talking- is that coffee?”

“That a question or a request?” He grumbles, handing her a cup of Joe.

City roast. His mind helpfully supplies.

“Actually, Full City.” The girl mutters behind the mug.

Mr Stone blinks obliviously, unaware he said it out loud. He turns to inspect the coffee grounds behind him. Huh.

Must be the stress.

He turns back to face her and takes a hasty step back, startled as the girl positions herself directly in front of him, inspecting his face.

“Eyes bloodshot, clenched jawline, pale demeanour,” She mumbles, prodding and poking his cheek. “Any loss of appetite? Migraines? Problems sleeping?”

“Er, I’m not sick if you’re worried about that, Miss. I think it’s just stress.”

“It’s just stress.” The girl echoes with a deadpan. “Mr Stone, one of the reasons why I come here is because it’s no exaggeration that you’re one of the best coffee brewers I’ve ever had the pleasure of sampling since the turn of the century. You don’t make mistakes.”

He feels oddly appreciated, as though that’s the highest compliments this girl could give to anyone.

She glances at the chain coffee shop behind her.

“It’s them, isn’t it?”

He nods, giving her a depreciating smirk. “Anyways, I guess it was a long time coming. Gotta retire sometime, you know.”

She gives him a calculating look. “But you don’t want to, do you? This isn’t just a job for you, because this is your life. You give this everything you have, and you wouldn’t want to trade it for anything else in the world.”

He stares at his coffee shop, taking in the memories of long past.

“Yeah,” He mumbles.

“It is.”

A minute passes by, and he shakes his head free of such thoughts.  “But you know, it’s not the end of the world. I still own the building. You can come back anytime you want to chat or have some coffee.”

Instead of an answer, her eyes flash dangerously, smile taking on a sadistic edge.

On the next day, she doesn’t appear at all, the first since she started coming here. He tries to hide his disappointment to the few customers that do visit, but his heart isn’t really into it.

But the day after?

Mr Stone wakes to the sound of a horde in front of his store. Blearily, he opens the door to a crowd of cameras and journalists outside the café. What the hell was going on?

Flashes assault his senses, and someone stabs a microphone towards his face.

“Sir, are you the Jeffery Stone, the owner of this establishment?”

What?! How did they- No, it doesn’t really matter.

“Er, yes? What’s going on here?”

“Mr Stone, are you aware of the rumours that your café is now considered a cultural heritage, and is one of the last remaining establishments from the 19^th century?”

Well, that’s… new. But, come to think of it, this was originally his great grandmothers’, and his family never did renovate it too much. But how did they know?

“Well, my family has been running this place for a long time, so it wouldn’t surprise me. But I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I do need you all to make some space. You’re blocking the entrance, and I can’t afford to lose any more-”

He trails off, watching the crowd disperse a little, huddling in smaller groups as they looked over their shots.

There’s a line of customers that seems to go on forever, most tapping their phones impatiently as they stare up at the ‘closed’ sign over his café.

Ah.

-0-

The bills disappear over the course of a month.

The papers say that the landlord has been arrested for tax fraud, and how she had been caught by an anonymous note that went into heavy detail on the logistics of her wrongdoings. A government worker comes by on the weekend, and somehow, his little café is now considered a cultural heritage. Every day, customers line around the block, his old customers trickling back in, along with trendsetters looking for some ‘genuine’ coffee. His little shop is now famous, and featured in articles online, stating that he’s the real deal.

Business is booming.

Next week, when the original crowd dies down a little, the girl comes back.

But this time, a group (her family?) is dragged along with her, and everyone gives a wide berth to the large group of women, and oh dear lord is that the shades guy andwhyishesobig-

The girl orders a round of normal mocha for them, and a special mix of Affogato for herself, with chocolate sauce instead of caramel.

Mr Stone pauses to smile, because words couldn’t express his gratitude.

He makes sure to make this round his best work.

I'M BACKKKKK- 'Starts coughing violently'

I'm half-backkkkk. I'm still really sick, and the infection has spread. It's pretty bad, but not life threatening. Just a much longer extended stay at the hospital. I only just got my work to understand I have to work from home now, but heres the newest chapter on Pandemonica! 

Sorry for the wait, but as usual, if you want an idea on here, leave a comment, and stay safe everyone!

Chapter Text

Idea from NarfoOnTheNet. Do I get the bonus points?

When Judgement and Azazel finally took the singular minute to process the concept of, why yes, I do have feelings for this other girl; everyone thought they would finally get together and spare them the horror that is their way of dancing around the subject.

They were naïve.

They had actually believed in the idea that they would come together like a pair of responsible adults, go on a few dates, and once they inevitably hit it off, would try (emphasis on try), to surprise the others that they’ve started dating.

… actually, everyone knew that the very notion was false, but was it too much to dream?

Yes. Apparently, it was.

Now the pair decided to double down on the dancing, and have started a waltz around each other, too afraid to take the next step because of the tiny, infinitesimal, miniscule, chance it could ruin their friendship. It is a horror show of a dance and they look like oversized fucking peacocks, but in the opposite fucking direction. Instead of strutting around and trying to out-do one other, once eye contact is made, they flush, stamper out apologies (For who??? The people who have to watch?!) and run away with their tails/wings/halos tucked between their legs.

When confronted on the subject, Judgement commits acts of defenestration.

When confronted on the subject, Azazel does the same, but makes sure to aim for the windows that her partner already broke.

Doesn’t want to cause any more property damage, apparently.

As horrifying it is to watch, they can’t look away, much like the morbid curiosity that causes drivers to slow down to peer at a burning wreckage on the freeway.

-0-

The bet was to see how long it would take the pair to stomach the concept of being in love, which coincidentally had nothing to do with actually acting on said concept. (Demons are very good at finding loopholes, and very bad at accepting defeat). So without further ado, they decided to make a new bet, and see who would finally get them to confess to one another.

-0-

It starts out small, where the residents of the house try to get them to, y’know, talk about their feelings. They position themselves at dinner in a way that boxes them in, forcing the two to sit so close to one another that their knees start bumping underneath the table.

The pair of them sit straight as though they were facing a firing squad and eat mechanically, eventually devolving into laughing at random comments with a robotic ‘Ha. Ha. Ha.’ or, ‘Yes, I agree with that statement’.

Somehow, it gets even worse.

-0-

Modeus decides to send them separate packages of… phallic objects.

After the resulting screaming, she apologizes at length, then sends them another package, this time featuring books that feature people in… erotic situations. There are a lot of scenes of people using said phallic objects. It’s weird, but judging from her skewed version of romance, it’s quite the apology.

Doesn’t make it any better for the recipients.

Later that night, they hear the sounds of a fire, rubber melting, demonic screeching, and angelic choirs from the backyard.

-0-

Pandemonica says her coffee shop is off limits, and she’s not going to risk their stupidity contaminating her safe haven.

“Coffee shop is off limits.”

“But think about it! It’s the perfect-”

“I don’t care. Touch the coffee and I’ll break more than just your fingers.”

-0-

Justice, Zadra and Malina decide that the best option is the simplest one.

They lock the pair in a room with a plaque that reads in bold, highlighted words, ‘Either confess or fuck each other’s brains out.’

Judgement gains a burst of herculean strength and breaks through the three inch steel-lined prison that is Malina’s room.

-0-

Out of a last minute desperation, they talk to Beel.

“Make one of them give the other a bloody carcass of their enemy. Propose under a blood moon. That’s what I did for Lucy.”

“… didn’t your marriage end up with you trapped in the ether?”

She waves her hand nonchalantly. “Details, details. We had our good times.”

Cerebus nods, and vows to make it a last resort option.

-0-

Helltaker, the sensible one of the bunch, decides make them a romantic dinner.

Everyone looked at him.

“You and your practicality are an increasing source of disappointment.” Justice mutters with a sigh. The Helltaker acknowledges her words by seasoning the sockeye salmon with just a tad bit more force than strictly necessary.

-0-

Lucifer, the other sensible one of the bunch, sits down with Judgement and undergoes a conversation that clearly, with no uncut words, specifically stating that maybe, just maybe, the girl she has feelings on also does have feelings for her.

The next part of the conversation consists entirely of deadpan stares.

“Ridiculous,” Judgement asserts.

Lucifer hums nonchalantly, then falls silent. She looks at her. Smirking. Not even prodding the subject, just waiting.

Slowly, very slowly, the tiny little hamster that controls her brain starts to rise.

“Huh,” she says, squinting.

The hamster starts running the cogs.

No.

No, that was -

It was a weird idea.

Some power is building up.

Senseless, really.

She wasn’t even sure why they were -

One (1) feeble neuron sparks alive.

Something in her head clicks.

“What.”

-0-

Azazel saw the imperfections on Judgements face. The lines around her eyes that were too tight and dark to be makeup, the small cuts on her body, or the wounds that left scars that would never fully heal. She sees the small limp she had after one particular fight that broke her leg, or how she can’t fully rotate her left arm anymore.

She sees the flaws and finds that it doesn’t deter her one bit.

-0-

Being in love, Judgement mused, was probably like a city on fire.

On the outside, she could pretend everything was alright, and put up the stoic walls she had painstakingly took years to build up. When sentiments she didn’t permit tried to come in, she could let the walls slide forwards, weathering through the storm of emotions. For the most part, as long as the walls stood strong, she could go about her day pretending nothing was wrong, par for the city that was on fire. For the most part, it would work. The little men and women who worked to keep the city running may be burning and screaming, but she could always replace them, right?

But the moment those walls fell or the gates opened, everything would pour in at once, all hell would break loose, and life was officially over.

-0-

Azazel watched Judgements hair flow like koi in a river as she swung her staff, watching the colour of pale hibiscus bloom in her cheeks as she exerted herself in training. She watched her hips sway in rhythm to the melody in her heart, timed to perfection. Azazel disappeared around the corner and slowly slid down the wall, hands covering her blushing face.

Oh, thought Azazel.

Then: Oh no.

-0-

It’s been several months since their leave from Hell, and Judgement cannot for the life of her stop looking at Azazel.

To be fair, she’s always looked at Azazel. She’s an angel that decided to brave though Hell to write an essay, and it doesn’t help that she’s easy on the eyes. She’s a young angel in a group of demons, and it would be impossible for her not to look. She’s long admired her will and strength to keep pushing forward, followed by the curve of her eyelashes and the small dimples on her face, and maybe watched the way her chest rose and fell with every breath. Maybe.

Azazel talks with her, laughs with her, and shows her research to her, trying to teach her, and Judgement can listen to her voice with fondness and bask in her impish grin for long as the sun and moon dance through the sky. And when Azazel closes her eyes and goes to sleep, Judgement stares at the softness of her lips and breathes just a little too deep-

Oh, thought Judgement.

Then: Oh no.

-0-

It’s late at night when the two decide to talk it out.

The Helltaker and Lucifer stand in the kitchen, watching the pair stumble over words.

“Judgment’s an idiot,” Lucifer muttered.

“And so is Azazel,” Helltaker poured her a drink. “they're perfect for each other.”

Lucifer tossed back the shot.

“Whatever this is,” Lucifer muttered, “it's far from perfect.”

“That's the beautiful thing, love.” He pulled her closer with a smile. “So are they.”

Is the Helltaker referring to love or to his Love? You tell me :3

This chapter comes from NarfoOnTheNet, who gave me this idea.

Chapter Text

Contains spoilers for Examtaker. (Helltaker DLC)

When she spoke, she didn’t whisper, weep, or even tear up. She spoke with such grace and confidence that Justice knew she was being spoken to.

“Do you remember what I said to you?" She softly murmured.

-0-

It’s just Loremaster and her thoughts once again. She thought it’d be different this time, but it seems that every time that she decides to leave herself alone with her thoughts, she ends up on the ground with liver failure, an arm torn off, and the other caked with dried blood. (Usually hers.)

It’s beginning to form a pattern.

Her thoughts are bad company to keep, she thinks. Not just because every time she’s left alone with them, she ends up like this, but that they have nothing to offer her but criticisms. It hurts. It really hurts, to say the least. To look into a mirror and not see a part of yourself that was always there. She thinks she’s crying, but she can’t feel the tears. She picks herself up, and keeps moving forward.

-0-

“We would be together until the end. We would always take care of each other. If the end came early, we would stand as one. And god forbid, if the end separated us, we would remember the good times, and would keep moving forward.”

"But you,” She chokes. “-you're still alive."

"You're just sleeping."

"So I'll wait forever."

-0-

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Someone takes another cautious step forward.

She grits her teeth, and stops writing.

“I told you, I’m fine. Just leave me alone!”

“Sad experience are sad no matter how many times you experience them… Please don’t just ignore it because you’re used to it. We’re all here to help. ”

Her form slackens, and hope blossoms deep within her chest. Her breath catches in her throat with anticipation, and she turns to find-

Nothing.

Nothing but a empty room.

-0-

"As long as you still can breathe, I'll always be there for you . As long as you survive, I’ll stand with you. As long as you live, I will never lose hope.  For one day, one year or even my entire life."

-0-

Loremaster sits alone on the control deck, watching the final clip of subject 67 passing through her latest trials. When the colossal figure passes through the gate, she thinks she’s supposed to feel triumphant or something like that.

She hopes she can convey enough of what she thinks she’s supposed to feel through her face alone. It’s not an exact science, which irks her greatly. Sometimes she feels so much that none of it really comes out, and her face goes blank. Sometimes she feels nothing at all. This might be one of those times. This is where she defaults to her usually impish grin, smiling and throwing praise upon 67, with a voice that even seems hollow to her, with a body that she has to pretend isn’t rotting around her bones.

Subject 67 turns to look at Loremaster, and says nothing.

-0-

“You protected me.”

"You can sleep soundly now."

"I will protect you.”

-0-

Maybe... finally resting a little wouldn't hurt, now that she finished her goal. She'd be sleeping with the ghosts of the dead – but what else is new?

She’s not suicidal. She’s not. She’s just…. worn out.

Sleep would be nice, but she knows if she goes to sleep now, she won’t wake up.

Fuck, Azazel thinks to herself. She’s tired. She’s really, really tired.

I'm back? 

Chapter Text

You’re busy taking out the turkey when the doorbell rings.

As the other occupants of the house are too busy trying to look, well, busy, you sigh at the girls’ antics, hurrying to the door and pull off your oven mittens.

Unusually late for a Christmas caroller, but you don’t mind.

And that’s why when you open the door, you didn’t expect to be greeted with what looked like a woman with an extreme case of resting bitch face. Holding a package underneath her arm, she’s dressed with a short bob haircut, a rigid stance and a glare that seems to freeze you in your steps. You don’t have to try very hard to guess who she is. After all, you don’t know many people who can fly.

Or have glowing riding crops.

Or wings.

Or a halo.

Oh dear.

With a regal air surrounding her, she steps in the house, unbidden, and strolls right on through.

The awkward silence is broken when Malina walks by, having retrieved her phone.

“If it’s another caroller, tell them to fuck off-”

And promptly pales when she notices who she just told to do so.

The others, intrigued by the mysterious person who could render Malinas’ famous potty mouth speechless, peer around the corner.

Beelzebub, from behind the portal, chokes on the very air she’s breathing.

Cerebus promptly walks away.

Pandemonica decides that she needs more coffee.

Zdrada chokes on the cigarette she just inhaled.

Modeus is determined to only look at her book.

Justice merely looks at her coolly.

And when Azazel makes a little sound that sounds reminiscent of a puppy being trodden upon, Judgement takes a clear step protectively in front of her.

That’s when Lucifer steps into the living room, and starts choking on fury and the wine she just drank.

The mysterious stranger opens her mouth in greeting, for the first time since she arrived.

“Hello, Lucifer.”

Lucifers’ still choking on fury and wine, so while she can’t triple-choke, she does a admirable job trying.

You pat her on the back, as Lucifer splutters with anger and points to the stairs.

“Out. Now.”

The rest of the occupants make haste to leave.

You stay.

When Lucifer glares at you, you merely raise a unimpressed eyebrow. She grinds her teeth, but with the rest of the group gone, she gathers her composure and turns to focus on her sister.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The note of danger in his voice is gentle compared to what her enemies get, and Lucifer carefully controls it as it trickles into her voice.

Its sharp. Its piercing. It leaves no room for negotiations, lest they try her temper. When she's loud, she's bluffing. When her voice goes flat and calm and there’s a cool detachment in her gaze?

Then she's terrifying. 

But she’s not calm. She’s not in control. She’s feels anger. She feels betrayed. She’s feeling things she think she would ever feel again, and it comes out when her fists shakes and her breath comes out ragged and raw.

It’s the first time the angel looked uncomfortable since she’s stepped in the house.

“I just wanted to talk-”

“Talk?” She scoffs, “Talk? You just want to talk?”

Lucifer draws in a breath, clenching her fists.

“Four thousand and a hundred twenty eight fucking years and not a single how do you do? And the moment I come back up and try to keep a single, minute, iota of fucking happiness, you decide you want to talk?”

With each word, Lucifer doesn’t with anger, but with something that leaves her fresh with grief and frustration.

“But you, you don’t have to care, do you?!” Lucifer snaps. “After all, you think you’re perfect! Miss fucking perfect, following all the rules because she’s oh-so perfect and knows everything and has everything, and needs nothing! And Miss perfect can’t have a sister who’s not, so you pretend she doesn’t exist!”

Gabriel’s face doesn’t budge, but her shoulders slacken slightly.

“I never said I was perfect.”

Lucifer flares up at that. “No, but by god, do you think it.”

“…I’ll just leave.”

And she does so.

-0-

It takes some time before Lucifer is able to speak coherently through the sobs and wracking body.

“-she betrayed me!”

“Beelzebub raised an army, tried to usurp you, and banish you to the abyss,” you point out, “But you still talk to her.”

“That’s different. We were only friends back then. Gabriel is-was my sister.” She chokes on the last word. “We were sisters, through and through! She was my best friend! I trusted her with everything! I looked up to her!”

“And what, you’ll go on another four thousand more years of silence?”

Lucifer goes silent, and you take that as sign to keep going.

“Maybe this is a chance to reconcile.”

She immediately scoffs. “She doesn’t deserve another chance.”

When a unsteady hand reaches for her wine glass, you firmly but gently put it down.

“Maybe, maybe not.”  You hum in thought, taking her words in. “But you definitely do.”

She glares at you, but beyond the fury glimmering in her eye, and the exhaustion lining her brow, there’s a spark of hope. She fumes and clenches her jaw, and with a swirl of shadows, she disappears.

-0-

Gabriel Morningstar is not one to be rejected, but there’s a first time for everything. It shocks her on how such a small meeting could cut so deep. Gabriel isn’t…. good with words. She’s the opposite of her sister in that regard.

Lucifer has a way with words, a way to communicate with others - and normally all of it is utterly fake. Lucifer organized her expressions the way people organized their windows for appearances. Not for malicious purposes, no, but because she was never good at recognizing emotions like others could, her feelings mixing and writhing like worms under the surface of her skin.

But there's always a hint of whatever she’s feeling if you knew what to look for.

Seeing her sister lay out her emotions like that is jarring, because she wasn’t hiding anything. Seeing the hatred and grief flow so freely, means that these were one of the few times she could understand what she felt at heart.

So to hear such vitriol from her sister?

And all of it well deserved, A small voice in her head supplies.

It cuts especially deep.

Gabriel, on the other hand, feels very little. She can’t put her feelings into words, because she felt so little she couldn’t emote. Her face stays neutral at all times and will only speak in curt, short, sentences; unable to trust herself in showing or even understanding others emotions. She throws herself into work, following the rules to a T, because that was the only thing she could trust she could understand.

Well, that, and her family.

So she didn’t come here to try to take away Lucifer. She couldn’t. One of the very few things she understands is that she loves Lucifer. And Lucifer was happy. Lucifer being happy was a good thing. And to see her sister happy after so long? After what had happened?

She thought she could share in that joy.

Ahead of her, a figure steps out of the shadows, wreathed in black, inky wisps of smoke.

Gabriel paused as Lucifer threw herself towards her, arms raised with the intent to strike. Unhelpfully, her mind reads her movements, telling her a nudge there, a raised arm here, or a simple sidestep could incapacitate her, where she could retaliate.

But she doesn’t.

She closes her eyes because understood she deserved the hit. She deserves a lot more than that, and she hopes that it makes Lucifer feel better.

But the attack never comes.

As she opened her eyes, she felt her chest suddenly constrict. Lucifers’ voice chokes as she gripped her, the sobbing grow louder and louder and turned into a heartbreaking wail that she had never heard before, filled with so much raw emotion that it makes her pause in thought.

"Please, just stay there, let me hold you like this for a while, just a while…"

Gabriel didn't know what to say, because no words could comfort her at the moment. Gabriel still doesn’t know how she should respond. So she says nothing. All she can do is what she feels is right right now. Hesitantly, haltingly, she wraps her arms around Lucifer’s back.

She doesn’t know herself what that movement, what that impulse means, but…

Her chest feels warm.

That alone she can be sure of.

-0-

Lucifer looks horrible. The tears tracks are still on her face, her makeup smudged, and she's glaring at her with a look that would make any lesser man cry.

“…there will be no talk of business at the table, and you will not harass my employees nor their significant others. This is not me forgiving you, this is me giving you a chance. Is that understood?”

Gabriel swallows a response, and nods mutely.

“…leave your coat and cap at the door. Dinner is nearly ready.”

Oof. Not entirely happy with this chapter. I wasn't able to put in a better conversation between Lucy and Gabby, mainly because I'm a shit writer, and i don't trust myself to write something so raw and filled with emotion.

Anyhoo, please leave a few ideas in the comment. My bad year, mixed with my sickness and the resulting shit body I have now really sapped me of my creative juices. it's not completely empty, but it's running dangerously low.

Seeya guys later!

Chapter Text

When Justice wakes up, after not nearly enough sleep, the first thing she notices is that her body doesn’t hurt as much anymore. The second is the fact that her head felt like it was in a vice made of concrete; and that the air tasted horrible.

But the only sign of her awakening is the sharp intake of breath that is not let out for an unusually long item. Her eyelids don’t flutter, her fingers don’t twitch, and her breathing quickly settles back down into an almost convincing rhythm not long after.

A merciful person would let her rest.

Shame Lucifer doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

So Lucifer pokes and prods her until Justice rolls over, groans and tries to get a semblance of a healthy night’s sleep into her.

“Justice!”

It was far too dark out and she’d gone to sleep far too long to wake up now. She floundered in the expensive sheets, burrowing into the covers, and tried to block out Lucifer’s shouting. At least the linens were comfortable and fluffy, which made the bed that much more inviting, and made ignoring her that much more easier.

Waking now would mean to acknowledge it, acknowledging it meant thinking about it, and thinking about it meant accepting it as reality.

“Justice, if you don’t wake up, I’ll set the damn sheets on fire!”

A lot easier’ didn’t mean ‘easy’, unfortunately. Or even ‘possible’.

-0-

When Justice finally pulls her hands away from her eyes, she finds she doesn’t even have the ducts to let out a tear.

She hears the sheets rustle and feels a presence sink beside her. The CEO of hell says nothing, but Justice can feel her gaze upon her. "Would you like something to drink?"

"I would like a quick and painless death," she answered.

Lucifer gave her a glass of water instead.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

The answer comes too quickly, the reply too harshly, with a voice too filled with emotion to be anything but the truth. Lucifer doesn’t call it out. She just waits for her to gather the courage to speak again.

“….yes. I thought I was prepared for the consequences.”

The pair sit in silence, letting the atmosphere settle. There’s a tenseness to the air that suffocates them, slowly curling between their ribcage, threating to burst out of her lungs.

Lucifer breaks the silence by dragging a chair over, letting it scrape along the floor. She starts with, “You’re an idiot.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“You’re also a fool.”

Justice nodded. “That too.”

“Then you can bear through hearing it again,” said Lucifer, “and again, and as many times as those who have the right to say it choose to.”

“I’m not arguing.”

“You’re being dismissive.”

“Lucy—”

“You’re being dismissive,” Lucifer repeated, cutting her off, “-because you think it will make things easier if you accept the pain. It doesn’t.” Justice doesn’t answer, so Lucifer waits until she does.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” Justice says very carefully.

Lucifer looked at her and sighed. “Justice, you’re reacting as if I would want to condemn you. I don’t. That’s what makes this so difficult. You’re making it harder by treating me as though my judgement is foregone.”

“Isn’t it?” Justice asked.

“No,” said Lucifer, “and you demean me by assuming so. You have made far too many assumptions. That is why we’re in the situation we are.”

Justice was silent for so long that Lucifer was almost surprised when she did.

In a small voice she answers, “I’d hoped...that my life would have been worth all the sins I've committed."

“Then you’re a fool.” is Lucifers’ blunt response.

There’s a fire in her chest that starts off small, but Lucifer strokes it with the love she’s grown to have for this stupid girl of hers, letting it blaze into a fiery inferno.

"Giving up is easy. But you know what’s hard? To believe in your own self-worth, and to get up every day, and beat that fear into submission. The beautiful thing about redemption is working for it. But there is one thing. I want you to hold on to that guilt you feel forever. I want you to feel burdened by it. I want you to do things the right way. Fight for the right reasons, agonize over those you kill, and cry about what you’ve done. Giving in? Now that’s just lazy."

A double chapter this time. Read in whichever order you like.

Chapter Text

“Even though you know who stands before you; even though you know who you are up against, you do not falter. You still wish to defeat me.” Belzebub scoffs.

“I do not understand if it is bravery or foolery I am witnessing. I cannot understand your logic. You understand that I am stronger than you in every conceivable way, and yet you still want to exhaust my energies in a futile attempt to make this body betray itself. You’re fighting for a lost cause, following naught the will of your own making, but of that false idol.”

She sneered, glaring at her.

“Just based on Lucifers’ will alone.”

And to that, Justices’ eyes ignited.

The inky shadows that had once covered the landscape for millennia retched and scurried away, screeching at the sudden flare of light. Beelzebub swallowed dryly as the very air was set ablaze; Justices’ body was sudden wreathed in unholy fire, becoming a star in the eternal darkness.

The floor was set alight beneath her, burning with a terrible slowness as hideous black-orange flames torn themselves at the stone and history before them, a terrible tinny sound that emitted from the soil she could only recognize as the ground screeching in agony.

“It’s not her will that’ll shatter your plans, Belzebub.”

As Justice raised her head, for a split moment, their gazes met. Her eyes were fire and hatred and rage and all the words of war that were forged in the deepest, darkest, depts of man. Even though they were separated by cliffs, Belzebub stepped back, and with her, the demons followed her lead. Simply abiding an instinct from the past, a relic from an age where humans were little more than animals; well, it told them one thing. It told them to run.

The entire horde, several thousand strong, cowed from a single woman.

“It’s mine.”

A double chapter this time. Read in whichever order you like.