The middle-aged man finally let the witch go.
The girl crumpled to the ground, coughing hard, a deep red mark already forming on her neck where his hands had been.
Lucifer dropped to one knee beside the man, studying his face before grabbing his shoulder and ripping the fabric away.
Beneath the cloth, the veins were black, the corruption spreading slowly upward toward his throat and downward toward his heart.
"Father—" the girl gasped.
She half-crawled, half-stumbled over, clutching Lucifer's sleeve with trembling hands.
Tears streamed down her reddened face. "Please… save him. I beg you…"
Her voice was hoarse from choking, her words breaking into breathless sobs.
When Lucifer didn't answer, she yanked a dagger from her belt and turned it toward her own chest.
"I'll sign any contract. I'll give you my soul—just save him! I can't lose him!"
Lucifer had been in the mortal world for years, but this was the first time a human had begged him like this.
In the old days, humans summoned demons with blood oaths—offering their souls in exchange for favors.
In Heaven, prayers were always about good deeds and divine mercy.
But this girl… she was ready to harm herself just to trade for another's life.
Before he could think about it, Lucifer snapped his fingers.
The dagger flew from her grip, landing somewhere far off with a splash in the Tiber.
"Relax," he said. "I never said I wouldn't help."
He extended his hand toward the man's shoulder. Black mist gathered at his fingertips like a tiny, flickering flame.
Lucifer blew on it gently, and the dark flame wavered before he flicked it away.
With a heavy thud, a twisted, ugly demon crashed to the ground.
Lucifer's black whip lashed out, coiling tight around it. The whip's barbed tips dug into the demon's robe, and thick black blood bloomed across the fabric in sharp, dark stains.
"Well, well," Lucifer said coldly. "What kind of gutter-born demon doesn't even know who its betters are? You dare to crawl into a holy place?"
The creature shook violently, its skin gray and cracked like old bark.
Through gritted teeth, it rasped, "A powerful lord… tore Hell apart. Many of us escaped. I… I am one of them."
Lucifer froze. "…Excuse me?"
He flicked a glance toward Moses, standing nearby.
Unfortunately, Moses was looking right at him—until their eyes met, and Moses turned away without expression.
Lucifer's stomach tightened. Great. Just great.
Trying to sound casual, he asked, "How many of you are still loose on Earth?"
"I don't know," the demon croaked. "The angel armies are rounding us up. Many were caught in Canaan. But many more… were taken by the lord who destroyed Hell. They say he's building a demon army… to fight Heaven."
Lucifer blinked. To fight Heaven?
And… why did it suddenly feel like Yahweh, standing behind him, was looking at him a little too coldly?
The demon's tone was almost insulting: "He destroyed half of Heaven. Of course he's going to fight it."
Lucifer winced. The problem was… that was technically true.
He had destroyed most of Hell. And yes, he had taken most of its demons. And the thing about Heaven being half-destroyed… well…
If it weren't about himself, he might've believed the story, too.
He swallowed hard. This wasn't an interrogation—it was a public execution.
"I… I'm not—" he started, but when he turned, Yahweh was already kneeling beside the witch's father, healing him in silence.
Lucifer shut his mouth, frustration knotting in his chest.
Anger flared. He kicked the demon hard. Damn this thing—getting me accused in front of Him.
"Lucifer," Yahweh said gently.
Lucifer answered without much energy, sounding distracted.
Still sulking? Yahweh thought, watching him. His hand twitched slightly, as if he wanted to reach out—but didn't.
"Send the demon away," he said instead.
Lucifer stayed frozen for a moment, staring at Moses. Yahweh tugged lightly at his sleeve.
"Go on."
Lucifer obeyed. Outside the ward, he handed the demon to Enoch, watched him record it, and only returned after making sure it was locked away.
When he came back, the ward still opened for him, but Yahweh and Moses were gone.
The riverside looked untouched, the grass green again, no trace of the battle.
Lucifer lay on his back in the grass, pulling at the blades idly, listening to birds and insects until the afternoon slipped away.
In the manor, the witch's father's wounds were so bad that Moses had set up a tent in the courtyard for them to rest in.
By the time he was done, Lucifer still hadn't come back.
"Where has he gone for so long?" Moses asked Yahweh quietly.
Yahweh was carving a wooden plaque, his eyes pausing for just a heartbeat before lowering again.
"He's back within the ward," he said.
"Lord…" Moses hesitated. "If you keep treating him coldly like this, he'll be hurt."
Yahweh's hands stilled on the wood.
"You care for him in secret," Moses continued, "but when you're in front of him, you pretend to be someone else and keep him at arm's length. If you want to punish him for destroying Heaven and Hell, haven't you done enough? This kind of coldness… it cuts straight into him."
"If he's hurt," Moses said softly, "no matter how much you do for him in another guise… it won't matter. Only you can make it right."
The air seemed to still.
Finally, Yahweh asked quietly, "When will his bed be ready?"
Moses blinked. "The wood's ready. I just need to move it to the side house and put it together."
"Go, then," Yahweh said, and returned to carving.
But there was a faint mist in his eyes.
That night, Lucifer returned slowly, draped in starlight.
He looked toward the main house, saw the candlelight inside, and lingered there for a while—only to see no sign of Yahweh.
With a sigh, he dropped his head and nudged a stone with his boot.
"Lucifer."
He looked up. Yahweh was sitting at a small table outside, amber eyes fixed on him.
"Your bed is ready," Yahweh said. After a pause, he added, "Moses made it."
Lucifer's lips twitched upward before he could stop them. He tried for casual. "Oh. That was quick."
Still, he headed straight for the house.
Talking big, but moving fast, Yahweh thought, following with a faint, relieved smile.
The side house was small, so Moses had placed their beds together. From afar, it looked like one large bed; up close, there were two separate frames pushed side by side.
Both of them stopped, startled by the sight.
Once, long ago, when Lucifer was very young, Yahweh had placed two crystal beds side by side in the holy chambers—one for himself, and a smaller one with sea-green sheets, matching the child's eyes.
Shaking the memory away, Lucifer cleaned his feet with a flicker of magic, tossed off his coat, and collapsed onto the mattress.
It was soft, swallowing him in comfort. He buried his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply.
When he glanced up, Yahweh was approaching with a candle. The flickering light turned his white robes and silver hair into something almost unreal, his amber eyes glowing like molten gold.
Lucifer blinked, trying to take it in. Then Yahweh blew out the candle, and only the moonlight remained, glinting on his hair.
In the dark, every sound was sharper.
Lucifer listened to the quiet rustle of fabric, imagining each piece as it was removed—robe, shirt, trousers.
The bed creaked as Yahweh lay down beside him. A faint scent of carnation drifted over, slow and deliberate, wrapping around him.
"Yahweh," Lucifer said, his own heartbeat annoyingly loud in his ears.
Yahweh turned toward him, those amber eyes catching the faintest light. "Mm?"
His voice was soft. "What is it?"