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Lucifer didn't have a lot when he first came to Hell. It's not like he could bring Heaven down with him, although he would've tried if it was possible. He had a few scraps of his old life, the broken pieces of his old title as the most powerful angel, the least liked, the dreamer too dangerous to accept. It's ironic, now, how he could do anything but what the seraphim wanted. He hid his horns under a helm, shrouded hooves in their long gowns and kept his tail curled close to his ankles, but it was never enough. He would never be what he was supposed to be.
And his punishment personified that. If he thought he was king, then he could be a ruler of a realm that never needed his input. If he thought he was powerful, he would be powerless to stop the mortals from making the worst choices, never to correct their misdeeds with a stifling hand. If he thought his appearance was worth hiding, than every demon will wear his traits with pride, his subjects born with crimson eyes and dagger fangs. No angel looked like him again, not until they decided they must make a kind that will descend to Hell and wipe out those who were irredeemable.
And they're going to do that to his little girl.
"Hey, Dad," Charlie began, tittering through the phone's speaker, "so my meeting with Heaven didn't really go well. They didn't really listen to me on redemption and apparently they don't even know how a soul gets into Heaven, which is such bullshit. But, uh, Adam and his exorcists are going to come to my hotel on Extermination Day and destroy everything and kill everyone. We're not going to let that happen, obviously, Vaggie and I are getting an army together to stop it, but I thought I should give you a heads up."
He blinked, sitting speechless in his chair. His chamomile tea was pouring out of the cup held loosely with a limp wrist, staining his pants and the chair cushion. The phone by his ear crackled, like Charlie was adjusting how she sat.
"Dad?"
The cup's empty now. He could feel the uncomfortable damp on his knees. It's going to ruin his shoes, too. He looked down, blankly eyeballing the growing stain. White's his color partially because of his time as an angel, but the gold seeping into it now looked like ichor. He knew she was saying something, but he was a million miles away, remembering when his fall left him crawling on his knees through sharp stones, dozens of bloodied eyes watching him, possibly mocking him for his failure, as he failed to rise up and just stayed down with his wings in ruin—
"—'re busy right now I guess so I can just call back later."
He should tell her to stay. Lucifer felt the words forming on his tongue, begging her not to hang up. They caught, like the sharp scent of brimstone, the realization his gift of firelight wouldn't be cherished as a way to keep warm in the dark, but as a method to destroy the life of everything he wanted to create. Fire never truly turned things to ash until he burned away all chances of humanity being blessed and blameless. He could hear the dialtone droning beside him.
Lucifer placed the phone face down on the table, then after a beat, the cup. He'd been doing better today than he felt since Lilith left, chipper enough to change clothes the non-magic way and actually walk to the kitchen for breakfast and tea, physically cooking his own pancakes and using a teapot Belphegor gifted him centuries ago. His reunion with Charlie, while it left some unease about her audience with Heaven, still gave him the strength to act okay for a little bit.
So much for that. He pictured his daughter, standing alone against a rain of exorcist blades, and he had half the mind to teleport deep into his duvet and never come out. It's not like he can help. He's unable to interfere in Exterminations until they harm the Hellborn. Hellborn are supposed to evacuate the Pride Ring and not participate altogether, with the exception of the Morningstars, who are duty bound to remain just in case. He hates Exterminations if only because of how he has to listen to them from dawn till dusk without lifting a finger. He never should've agreed to it.
Charlie's trying to stop it, though. She's working so hard to prove redemption is possible because of the pain Exterminations bring. But fighting an army? He knows his little girl, well enough to give her two goat guardians because she would never harm someone else on purpose. She won't use her power to kill exorcists. He doesn't know if she can. She'll be a sitting duck in a warzone.
Lucifer has to do something. He can't be there the day of, not unless Adam foolishly summons him with the blood of his spawn. But Charlie isn't bound by his rules, and if he gives her something, and she can use it…
He stood, a swirl of sparkles and flame making him reappear in a long-locked corner of his home. He didn't have the stain anymore, at least. He turned to a glass case that he never touched, tearing off the rich velvet cover that kept the contents from seeing the light of day. He coughed at the dust he kicked up, covering his mouth as he rubbed the top until he could see inside.
His spear, shield, and helm from his time in Heaven, laid on delicate pillows. The spear didn't look like much, wasn't opulent and commanding of grand station. It just had a golden hilt, a glowing white tip, and a diamond butt at the other end. It was mainly big, removing it from its case and craning his neck back to glare at a spearhead that reached the ceiling. Once he brought it out for someone or other to see and they called it a sarissa, although that seemed to be a human invention far past his time. It's too big for Charlie, so he can't just hand it to her and say "good luck". He had to train with it, and that was purely for showmanship. Fighting is another matter.
The shield will be simple enough, since she only had to hold it. He slid his free arm into the straps, wide enough to completely cover him, but easy to lift because he's the most powerful being in Hell. He slipped it off and turned it to study the face of the shield, his brow furrowing. It's like looking into the moon back when he could see it in Paradise, diamonds studding the circumference to shine. The intricate metalwork in the center turned the pale angelic steel into the golden visage of the Speaker of God, her halo made of more precious stones that seemed poured directly into the metal like a stream of moonlight.
He can't give that to Charlie, either. Using the image of the Speaker of God to defend sinners from Heaven? He won't dare risk it. In fact, how dull and scuffed up it is from disuse may make it a grander insult. He could hear the creak of the spear's hilt as he pressed on it, and as he swept it down to be in both hands with the shield leaning on his knees, he could see how it wasn't perfectly straight. It's not wood, no tree died to make it, but it warped like a branch that never got its chance to grow. Admittedly, he's never been good at maintenance. There was probably some kind of upkeep he had to do and neglected.
It's not like he can offer armor, either. Angels only wear helmets ornamentally, and he knew his won't fit Charlie. He curled his tail around the spear to keep it upright and scooped up the helmet, frowning. It had gaps for his horns and golden caps over his eyes, crimson copper detailed with gold and white to mimic the plumage of a harlequin drake. He never had the beakishness of the seraphim, but it made it look like he did, and he didn't know if that was an offering of acceptance, or a reminder that he needed magic and metal to fake it. He didn't have his halo anymore. It always made it look complete when he wore this for ceremonies. It made his horns less…out of place. Like where the copper turned into red bone was natural, planned, and not a secret hope that when it all inevitably went to shit, when they one day had to go to war, someone would put him out of his misery and lop off the vulnerable addendums to his crown.
His hands shook as he squeezed the metal, the edges digging into his palms as he stared into the face of someone who wasn't him. Why even give them helmets and weapons if everything was supposed to stay peaceful? Did they know what he was going to do? Did they know how it would ruin everything, and not warn him? Was he predestined to make that mistake, and so they armed all of Heaven for that day? Was it written for him to Fall before he was created, and so they made him monstrous compared to their beauty, gave him wings to clip and rip away, never to be listened to or appreciated?
Is that Charlie's destiny?
No. No, he will not let her get hurt. He gathered up his belongings, a puff of smoke sending him to his workshop. If they won't work now, he will make them work. He swept his workstation clean, his knuckles popping as his fingertips sharpened into red claws. He's powerful enough to rip the seams off with his bare hands, popping off every diamond rivet as the face of the Speaker bent under his hands. He'd feel bad if it wasn't for his daughter. His spear disassembled quickly, tossing the hilt to the side. He picked up the helmet, staring at the fine craftsmanship of the mask. Only hands heated by hellfire could warp it to something malleable, angelic copper and gold he can really use.
He can mold it like clay, rubbing his hands into something he can twist into something worthy of Charlie. He needed it to be small enough to hold and carry comfortably, something she could hide if she needed. A simple layer of copper, red as apples and shaped like it. No gaudy gemstones trying to impress those who will not be convinced. He took the image of the Speaker and made it the image of him, wings and living serpents of holy gold. He knew Charlie wouldn't like the angelic steel, but she needed it to defend herself, in case the gold and copper aren't enough.
He stepped back, waiting as it cooled. If his magic was enough, it would be enough. He touched it and waited for a golden snake to slither up his arm, resting in his palm in tight coils. It's ready.
Lucifer waved his hand through the air, waiting as a portal opened. It gave him a look at his daughter, standing in the hotel and directing the snake one to nail something together. Charlie turned and paused, staring at him. He waved, stepping through with his cane tapping and the snake hidden behind his back. He smiled softly as he angled his head down the hall, then, making sure she can't see his present, started walking. Charlie's footsteps were quick to follow.
"Dad, what are you doing here, I thought you couldn't do anything about the—"
"Hup up up up." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Let's wait to talk until we get to your room, yeah?"
"It's right here." Charlie opened the door to his right, gesturing them in. He dipped through and took a few more paces as she locked it. "Dad, I'm sorry I messed up the meeting with Heaven, you did so much to help me and I couldn't even—"
He turned on his heel, clicking his toes together as he put on his most authoritative voice. "Princess Charlotte Morningstar. You've always held fast to your beliefs that you are doing what's right for your kingdom, regardless of who was against you. You have Heaven personally coming down to smite your creation, and here you are, risking a life you don't have to lose to defend it. The Hellborn are never obligated to aid the sinners. In fact, the Morningstars are supposed to stand by and watch. And yet, you refuse." Lucifer lifted his cane, waiting until she inched close enough to press it to her heart. "You're doing everything I ever dreamed of doing, and you've made every dream your own. I could not be more proud of you, Charlie."
"Dad…" Charlie spread her arms for a hug and he quickly stepped back, laughing.
"That's not what I came here to say. Well—it's not the only thing I came here to say." He cleared his throat. "I have something for you. Proof of your sovereignty, of your station in Hell." He held out the serpent, allowing it to float upwards until its coils became entwined with a hilt engraved with eyes. The trident had an angelic steel head with the copper apple as the centerpiece, gracefully curved with hooks in the points to let ichor flow down the blade. "Heavenly arms were once purely ceremonial, made for beauty. It was only dangerous if the impossible came to pass, if we had to deal with death in Paradise. I know you don't want to hurt your enemies, Charlie, so I hope giving you the spear I never used, reforged for your crusade, would be appropriate."
Charlie flexed her fingers, looking unsure. "Dad, it's amazing, I just." She sighed. "I want to defend my people, and even as we prepare for war, I'm not sure if that's the way to do it."
So like Lilith, and yet so different. It made the skin around his eyes grow tight. "I know, honey. And that's why I did this." He flicked his wrist, and with a burst of hellfire, the trident became a shield. The thin rounded serpent flattened into a sharpened face surrounding where the pitchfork became an inpenetrable center to the shield. The copper apple, burning red, had the six wings of Lucifer fanned across its edges, with the old hilt becoming flexible straps for her forearm. "We valued our shields more than our spears back then, even if now they seemed to fall out of style."
She gasped, clapping her hands together. There's the excitement she always had for his little inventions, her face beaming as she grabbed the shield right out of his hands. "This is perfect! Dad, thank you! Thank you thank you thank you—"
"No need. I just knew I had to do something, you know?" He did let her hug him when she went for it this time, leaning into it while she held the shield above him. "You've been the best ruler Hell had, kiddo. I don't want you forgetting that, and I don't want them forgetting it, either. So you better go out there with the symbol of the Morningstars and make sure Heaven knows it, yeah?"
"Because you can't go with me."
His heart broke at the lonely note in her voice. "No. I still won't be able to interfere unless they kill a Hellborn." Unless they kill you. His throat bobbed as he broke the hug, holding her arms so she'll look at him. "You'll keep Razzle and Dazzle close, right? They're not to leave your side."
"Yes, Dad."
"A-and stay with your girlfriend too, okay? I don't want you getting caught alone."
"Of course, Dad."
"And if you could—"
"Dad." She rested her hand on his shoulder, smiling. "I'm going to be okay. Heaven won't know what hit them."
"They never do." He stepped back, inhaling to distill the shakiness. The last time he did this, he sent her to Heaven, where they tore down his daughter's dream and treated her as worthless as they treated him. He knew they were cruel, he knew they didn't listen, but he let her go anyway because he trusted her. He has to trust her again.
Even though sending her off with a spear and shield felt woefully inadequate, he had to trust her. He snapped his fingers, and the shield became a serpent again, twisting up her forearm like a bracelet. It'll only listen to what Charlie wants, now. "It's all in your hands. I'll be rooting for you."
And he left her hotel in a torrent of fire, to wonder if his daughter dies and takes every dream with her. He'll have to wait and see.