Chapter Text
Lucifer would look back on this moment for eons to come. He would analyse every detail, searching for all the signs he’d overlooked, signs that, in hindsight, had been glaringly obvious.
But he hadn’t seen them. He hadn’t noticed the fear in Chloe’s eyes, the hesitation in her voice, the way she watched him more than she ate. Her grilled cheese sandwich, her favorite, remained barely touched.
It had been written all over her face, had he only allowed himself to look. But he hadn’t looked. He’d remained blind until he registered a strange tingling sensation in his fingers.
He pressed a hand to his temple, and fought against the dizziness that was suddenly making his head spin.
“Lucifer?” Chloe’s voice sounded distant, muffled, drowned out by the buzzing in his head. “Are you okay?”
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered. His own voice barely reached his ears. He tried to lift his hand, but his limbs were slowly turning numb.
“Lucifer!” Chloe was suddenly beside him, her face blurred, shifting in his unfocused vision. Her lips moved, she was speaking, but her words were lost as the world continued to spin around him.
Lucifer fought to stay conscious. He commanded himself to resist whatever was coursing through his nervous system, poison most likely.
Chloe Decker watched as the sedative took hold, stealing the last of Lucifer’s strength.
It worked quickly. A moment ago, he had been speaking normally, and now, he was swaying, one hand pressed to his head.
“Poison,” he slurred, as if struggling to move his tongue. “Who?”
Then his gaze locked onto hers. And she knew. He could see the guilt in her eyes and she knew that he knew what she’d done.
The pain in his eyes struck her like a blade, deep and unrelenting. Chloe nearly faltered. Nearly took it all back.
But then he collapsed, and she knew there was no turning back.
This was necessary.
She thought of all the deaths that had followed Lucifer like shadows—Frank Lawrence. Malcolm’s victims, Rose Davis and Mike Carey. Reese Getty. Charlotte Richards.
How many others? How many would still be alive if Lucifer had never set foot on Earth?
He would never return to Hell on his own. Chloe knew that. And as painful as it was, she couldn’t let his selfishness put more lives at risk.
The world was never meant for him.
Neither was she.
Swiping at her teary eyes, Chloe pulled a burner phone from her pocket. She dialed the number, listening to the single ring before the call was answered.
“It’s done,” she told Kinley.
“You did well, child,” came the priest’s voice.
She couldn’t bring herself to respond. She simply ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket.
Heart heavy, Chloe gathered her courage.
She wasn’t just following Kinley. She was adhering to God’s wishes p. This was meant to be. Why else would Lucifer be vulnerable around her? Why else would he pretend to care so deeply for her?
This was God’s Will.
She had no choice but to follow his commands.
She left the bathroom and walked straight to the elevator. The service entrance. The one Kinley would use.
She didn’t turn around.
She had done the right thing.
⸻
The first thing he felt when he woke up was pain more excruciating than anything he’d endured since his first few millennia in Hell. Every muscle ached, and his blood felt like fire in his veins.
He could hear indistinct voices around him. He blinked his eyes open and was met with the sight of a church basement, surrounded by a ring of men. They wore the same hideous robes that priests always did.
Then he noticed the weight of chains on his wrists and ankles. He could also feel a metal collar around his neck.
He frowned and tugged on the chains. Hard.
Instead of snapping as they should have, a surge of electricity shot through his body. Only his own Will kept him from screaming in pain. It lasted far longer than it should have, leaving his muscles spasming from the shock.
He turned his attention to the shackles for the first time, really looking at them. Runes engraved into the metal glowed slightly blue.
Magic, Lucifer realized with the first stirrings of true fear.
Enochian magic.
That was when he remembered what had happened to land him in this mess.
The Detective.
She’d betrayed him.
Poisoned him for these priests to find.
One of the men stepped forward. He had gray hair and a beard, and judging by his attire, he held a high rank. Most likely the one who had started this operation.
“This isn’t going to work, padre. It never does,” Lucifer drawled.
The priest ignored him in favor of gagging him.
“We will hear no more lies from you, Devil,” he said harshly.
The Devil snarled at the man, letting Hellfire light his eyes. He was pleased to see several of the priests flinch. The man who had gagged him was not among them.
Shame, Lucifer thought.
“Shall we begin, Father Kinley?” one of the priests asked, taking out a knife and handing it to Kinley.
“We shall,” the man responded. With that, he moved around to Lucifer’s back.
The Fallen Angel did not like that. Not one bit.
In Hell, if something managed to attack you from behind, you were already dead.
He had learned that the hard way.
A sharp, stabbing pain between his shoulder blades nearly made him scream in agony. Only through sheer force of Will did he remain silent. His wings unfurled in response to the pain. He knew, without even having to look, that his feathers had hardened and become razor-sharp, as they always did when an Angel was in danger. He heard the man, Kinley, stumble back and hoped that one of his feathers had cut him.
Then he heard the rattle of chains, and suddenly shackles had been clamped onto his wings. He tried to withdraw them, and immediately an agonizing, burning pain shot through them, forcing a groan from his throat.
His fear grew, but this time it wasn’t for himself.
It was for his siblings.
Lucifer knew pain. He had felt more than enough of it over the course of his life—both in Heaven, in Hell, and on Earth—so he had developed a rather powerful tolerance toward it.
Most of his siblings had never gotten their hands dirty, never been hurt beyond the occasional fight or fall, so if the Enochian magic was this painful to him, he had no desire to find out how much it would hurt them.
Especially Michael. He was the most likely to be mistaken for Lucifer. It was a good thing he hardly ever came down to Earth.
Now, don’t get him wrong, he hated his siblings (except maybe Azrael and Michael. Amenadiel was also alright nowadays), but that didn’t mean he tolerated it when anyone but himself tried to mess with them.
They were his, after all.
When Kinley came back around, Lucifer saw that the man was cradling his hand, which had a deep gash all the way across his palm.
Despite the pain, Lucifer smirked in satisfaction.
The smile slipped from his face when a searing pain tore through his wing.
He knew then that the exorcism had begun.
And with it, the real nightmare.