Chapter — Lux, Angels, Devils
The neon sign of Lux glowed like sin incarnate, casting its crimson light over the crowded street below. The club's reputation preceded it — exclusive, dangerous, and dripping with enough temptation to make angels cry and demons weep.
I parked the Bugatti La Voiture Noire right outside. No valet needed — nobody touches my ride. Gabriel materialized beside me, trench coat sharp, expression eternally unimpressed.
"So… this is where Lucifer's taking his vacation?" I smirked, adjusting my cufflinks. "I heard his bar's crawling with dangerous women. Beautiful. Lethal. My type."
Gabriel sighed. "Officially, I'm here to keep you out of trouble."
"Un-officially?"
He shrugged. "I hear the drinks are good."
We entered Lux, music pulsing through the walls like a heartbeat. The place was packed — mortals dancing, immortals scheming, and somewhere in between, legends sipping cocktails like it was just another Tuesday.
At the center, perched like a king in his crimson leather throne, Lucifer Morningstar himself — smile sharper than knives, eyes glowing faintly with infernal amusement. Beside him, Amenadiel, angelic, stoic, glaring at everyone like they might stain the furniture.
I approached, tossing my cosmic authority around like confetti. "Lucifer," I greeted, sliding into the booth. "Nice place. Love the lighting."
Lucifer chuckled, offering a glass. "Death 2.0, finally gracing my establishment. Word travels fast, darling — cosmic upgrades, timelines bending, angels panicking."
"Guilty." I clinked glasses with him, taking a sip. The whiskey burned like heaven and hell had a baby.
Gabriel sat beside me, giving Amenadiel the usual 'big brother rivalry' stare. Meanwhile, my attention drifted — and there she was.
Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.
She leaned against the upstairs balcony, dressed to kill — tight black dress, red hair cascading like fire, eyes scanning the crowd with lethal precision. She wasn't here for fun — no, her gaze locked onto a target across the room. Probably SHIELD business. Probably deadly.
I nudged Gabriel. "You seeing this? It's her."
"Her?" he repeated, exasperated.
"Scarlett Johansson," I whispered dramatically. "I've always loved her movies. And now? She's here. Real. Breathing. Dangerous. Perfect."
Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Focus, Daniel."
"Focus?" I laughed. "I'm Death. Focus is optional."
Mazikeen appeared at the bar, eyes locked on me, smirk sharp enough to cut souls. She tilted her head, observing, always one step from slicing throats for fun.
Lucifer followed my gaze. "Careful, friend. Mazikeen's territorial. And Natasha's… complicated."
I leaned back, swirling my drink. "Complicated's my middle name."
I whistled low. "Damn. Even better live."
Lucifer chuckled. "Tempted to interfere?"
I finished my drink, standing. "Tempted to enjoy the night."
Gabriel grabbed my sleeve. "Behave."
I smiled, cosmic power humming under my skin. "When do I ever?"
The night was young, the universe on hold, and Lux — well, Lux was just getting started.
Chapter17.1 — Devils, Blades, and a Widow in Red
The warm hum of Lux's atmosphere was intoxicating — music vibrating through bones, conversations laced with lies, flirtations, and hidden blades.
I sipped my drink, eyes casually drifting across the room, but my words? Those were aimed directly at Lucifer Morningstar, lounging across from me, his infernal grin ever-present.
"You know," I began, twirling the glass between my fingers, "people always wonder about the difference between angels… and God."
Lucifer arched a brow, amused. "Do enlighten me, Death 2.0."
I smirked, leaning in just enough for only our table to hear. "Simple. You can kill angels… with Mazikeen's little knife."
I flicked my eyes toward Mazikeen, polishing her blade at the bar, her eyes narrowing like a cat ready to pounce. The tension coiled like a serpent.
Lucifer's grin faltered for a fraction of a second. Just a glimpse of something buried beneath the charm — respect? Fear? Hard to say.
"But me?" I tapped my chest lightly. "I'm different, Luci. Or should I say… Amenadiel's favorite nickname for you?"
The way Amenadiel's jaw clenched told me he caught that.
I kept going, voice smooth as the whiskey. "I don't die. I'm the passage of time itself. You understand that, right?"
The music throbbed in the background, conversations drowned under my words.
"And your father?" I tilted my head, eyes gleaming with cosmic mischief. "Even He has to respect the God I serve. Because let's be honest… in this multiverse? Gods are everywhere. But there's only one Death."
Lucifer chuckled, recovering his composure with practiced ease, but the spark of seriousness lingered behind his eyes.
Mazikeen smirked, clearly enjoying the tension. Gabriel rolled his eyes, mumbling something about keeping me under control. Good luck with that.
But my attention drifted again — up the sleek staircase of Lux, where shadows danced between the crimson lights. There she was.
Natasha Romanoff.
Black Widow herself. In the flesh. Looking lethal, looking stunning, looking exactly how I imagined every time I marathoned those movies back on Earth.
She wasn't here for pleasure — her eyes, sharp as razors, scanned the crowd with military precision. Her target? Some sleazy, overconfident arms dealer nursing a martini like he owned the place.
I stood, drink abandoned, suit straightened, cosmic confidence radiating off me like an aura.
Lucifer laughed softly. "Careful, Death. She bites."
"That's my favorite kind," I replied, making my way through the crowd.
I climbed the staircase, every step calculated, every glance measured. Natasha clocked me approaching — posture shifting subtly, ready to neutralize whatever threat I presented.
But I wasn't here to fight.
Yet.
"Beautiful night," I greeted, leaning casually on the railing beside her. "Though I suspect your definition of beautiful involves broken ribs and extracted intel."
Her lips quirked, not quite a smile, but close. "Depends who's asking."
I extended a hand, knowing full well she wouldn't trust me — not yet. "Daniel. Just… Daniel."
She didn't shake it, of course. Instead, her gaze lingered on me, assessing — cataloging threat levels like a true SHIELD operative.
"I don't know you," she said bluntly, Russian accent faint beneath her perfect English.
"Technically, you don't know half this crowd," I countered smoothly. "But you've been watching me since I walked in. Curious, aren't you?"
Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, but her stance softened — intrigued, but guarded.
"I know enough," she retorted. "You're not on any official file."
"Lucky me. Bureaucracy slows things down."
Behind us, Mazikeen observed from the bar, Lucifer chuckling with amusement, Gabriel visibly facepalming.
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Relax, Natasha. I'm not here to interrupt your mission. Just… admire the view."
Her lips twitched again — playful, dangerous. "Most people who admire the view end up unconscious."
I winked. "I like a challenge."
The arms dealer fumbled with his drink nearby, blissfully unaware of how close death circled him — from her, from me, from the universe in general.
But tonight? Tonight wasn't for soul collecting.
Tonight was for playing.
End Scene.