Chapter Text
Lucifer was far too exhausted for a being who did not require sleep.
“What shall we do of Asmodeus's outburst?” Some sputtered.
“Nothing but insipid drama to keep the imps entertained for the weekend! I say we do nothing.” Others countered.
“But love?” They cried. “The Sin of Lust falling in love? Such fatuous public claims should be dealt with!”
Lucifer's frown deepened. Priceless champagne bubbled and stained his antique damask tablecloth.
“Appeal to the slaves and potentially cause a greater spectacle? How uncouth!” Another rebutted.
“And let Asmodeus seduce further whims of fancy? What ideas shall this plant in all their feeble minds?”
The civil conversation had turned sour far too quickly. The crushed ice beneath the caviar had turned to slush, and the champagne had gone flat. The argument proceeded to go around in circles, always asking the same questions and coming to the same half-baked solutions decorated with fanciful adjectives that made everyone feel smart.
Unable to bear another word, Lucifer adjourned the meeting. He had long since tuned out their mewling long ago. Little had been resolved, but Lucifer was confident that the unctuous lot of high-society aristocrats left feeling as if they had accomplished something. Dressing decadently, dining on fine cuisine and listening to their own shrill voices for hours on end seemed to have that affect on anyone these days.
It was no matter, some points were made, and Lucifer agreed that sweeping the Sin of Lust's little outburst under the rug was the best course of action.
Such conversations had a horrible habit of causing Lucifer's mood to spiral into a terrible state of existentialism. Just like the conversation, immortality was nothing but repetition. People lived too little to see it happen, but life (and death) was nothing but a broken record. Things and people–one in the same–were destined to repeat.
Immortality was boring. It was the only thing that Lucifer and Alastor could agree on.
Lucifer scowled, all his thoughts have been leading towards Alastor as of late and it was driving him positively mad.
Lucifer discovered–against his will about a century ago–that he and Alastor were uncannily similar. Despite the two gentlemen sharing a proclivity for well-tailored suits, upbeat tunes and a smile sharper than their own wit, it made Lucifer's stomach churn in a way that he hadn't felt in millenniums. He would be lying through his pearly-whites if the power oozing from Alastor didn't catch his interest upon the deer demon's initial drop from the land above.
For the standard run-of-the-mill serial killer, Alastor's accrued levels of power were rather mysterious. Lucifer wouldn't dare admit it was a cause for concern, but it had managed to pique his interest in the vast eternity that was Hell.
As many of the sinners and hellborns would learn, Alastor's power was nothing to sniff at. Lucifer couldn't help but speculate as to where and why Alastor was gifted so much raw power for a sinner. It had simply never happened before, and if being immortal in Hell had taught Lucifer anything, it was that Hell was dreadfully monotonous. Hell was made for punishment, lost causes and dreams that never came true, not for blooming sentiments and change of any kind.
However, by the grace of whatever entity presided over the workings of Hell, Alastor had changed the game. His reign to fame had planted saplings in demons across the realms that such power for lowly sinners and hellborns was possible. Alastor gave the denizens something that not even he was aware of.
Hope.
As twisted and rotten as hope could get, it still gave demons the idea that with power, their lives could be changed for the better.
And that was a cause for concern.
A sinner rising to climb Hell's hierarchy, lowly demons throwing off the balance of power, and now his gullible bastard of a daughter gallivanting off to defile the crown in the name of redemption? It nearly sends Lucifer into a fit of laughter, he would have never guessed in his wildest nightmares that his long life would amount to this.
He knew now that making Charlotte was a mistake, and letting her out into the real world had proven to be a rancid failure. A failure so rank that it attracted the Radio Demon, as if the Hotel didn't put the Morningstar's in a precarious position to begin with.
Alastor didn't actually think he could... usurp the throne by dismantling Charlotte, did he?
It was a nagging thought that kept Lucifer's eyelids peeled open at the late hours of night. If Alastor's intention was to eliminate the heir to the throne to worm his way into more power, Alastor didn't even know how close he was to success.
The veil of supremacy that the Morningstar's ruled with was well respected, for no being in Hell could compare with the sheer strength and power gifted to Lucifer and Lillith. It kept their inept daughter out of trouble in her worst moments. Weakness was not tolerated in Hell, and Charlotte was a cornucopia of naive optimism that would have gotten her eaten alive if it weren't for her precious lineage. Despite the power that defined the Morningstar trinity, their very existence was also their greatest weakness.
The idea of Alastor brushing shoulders and having afternoon tea with his daughter set Lucifer's teeth on edge. He supposed this was what he got for not properly explaining to Charlotte why her actions were so callous and incredulously dangerous. However, Lucifer remembered how that conversation went when he attempted to reason with her as to why opening a hotel was probably not the best idea for the daughter of the King of Hell to pursue...
The Heir of Hell could handle herself if need be–Lucifer made sure he did something right with her–but he wasn't particularly confident she would have the strength to take on the charming, ever-so-helpful Radio Demon.
Being the all-powerful King of Hell should have meant that Lucifer could just snap his fingers and Alastor would be reduced to ashes, but of course that would just make things too easy.
Lucifer was not much freer than his own citizens when it came to being bound by the principles of Hell. If anything, he was bound to stricter rules than any of the disciples he governed. Hell was here long before he had fallen, and while he would never admit it, he suspected that it would be here long after should the day ever come. He was a fallen soul, he was barely any different than the people he presided over. One rule stipulated that the King of Hell could not harm–let alone kill–another demon so long as said demon did not instigate an attack first. Lucifer scoffed at the notion that even the most pitiful of demons offed each other for breakfast seven days a week while he was confined to being nothing more than an afterthought, but he figured that without that rule, he would have obliterated rings just for some slight entertainment centuries ago.
If Lucifer wanted things done, he had to delegate his dirtier tasks to other members of the court, such as the Goetia or other royal families. It was a cruel irony for the Sin of Pride, but Lucifer was all too familiar that Hell was not forgiving towards anyone.
But this task was too important, too personal. He couldn't risk anyone discovering the motive behind this; if the truth was revealed, demons all over would realize that the Morningstar's could be overthrown. The thought of those lowly sinners and hellborns finding the audacity to question his reign sent a wild, hot rage through Lucifer. And yet, Lucifer would prefer that over seeing Alastor influence his daughter any further, waiting patiently for her to fall victim to that slippery devil.
However, assassinating the most powerful overlord in Hell without causing a scene was proving to be a cumbersome ordeal.
Alastor hadn't made any moves to threaten him, so per law, Lucifer couldn't do a single thing to him. He somehow needed to provoke Alastor into making the first move. Lucifer's first step was to get Alastor away from Charlotte as fast as possible. Lucifer was prideful enough to admit that even Alastor was quick enough to see an angle when there was one, so a long-game tactic was out of the question. Lucifer would just have to show Alastor how out of depth he truly was in the grand scheme of things, but what to do?
The one true aspect that Lucifer held over Alastor was experience, there had to be something he could defer to; some loophole in his own constraints and some ancient magic that Alastor couldn't even fathom in his relatively short existence.
Lucifer slouched in his chair, his muscles slightly protesting as he hadn't moved since the meeting. He should order a new set of chairs, the seating arrangements were ornate but not particularly comfortable–
“Your Highness.”
“What?” Lucifer snapped, pivoting around to glare at the servant posted by the entrance.
“Your meeting with Overlord Valentino is in ten minutes.”
As if this day couldn't get any worse.
He had blissfully forgotten, Valentino had requested his presence on behest of the new renovations taking place at his main studio. In the last fifty years, Porn Studios had seen a rapid increase in foot traffic and revenue, so the main headquarters had to be expanded with more land and manpower to accommodate the ever-increasing and morbidly disgusting needs of demons from all rings. It was going to be one of the largest grand re-openings Hell had seen in centuries. In all honesty, it was partially cause for Lucifer's indifference towards Asmodeus's latest scandal; any press was good press and with the talk of love and lust in the air, securing a larger target audience for Porn Studios was a picnic. Lucifer had been shirking his agreement to meet with Valentino for the past year–the overlord had some audacity to think that the King of Hell would honor him with his presence–but perhaps he could afford to blow off some steam and revel in some much needed attention. His wife told him he should care a little more considering his Overlords were all part of the schematics that kept the balance of Hell in check (“Something you care about more than anything else, no?”), but she was a fool to believe he was capable of caring about anything.
Lucifer rose from his seat. “Tell him I will be arriving when I decide to arrive, he can keep his pants on until then.”
When Lucifer appears in a grand storm of hellfire, he is met with the usual charade of demons squealing with fear and freezing in a cocktail of awe, anticipation and terror. The reaction is intoxicating and Lucifer is nothing but greedy as he soaks in all the attention with pure delight.
“Your Majesty!”
Lucifer smells him before he sees him, which in of itself was a miraculous feat. Valentino's magenta mink coat sticks out like a sore thumb against the sea of lowly demons that scuttle beneath their feet. Lucifer refrains from turning up his nose at whatever cheap cologne the moth had bathed himself in to mask the potent scent of drugs that cling to every inch of his exposed skin. How crass.
Valentino approaches swiftly with his arms extended wide, swooping in more attention from curious onlookers. “How honored I am to be graced with your effervescent presence! Your entrance is truly a sight to behold as always.”
The overlord leans in to give Lucifer a far too indulgent French kiss, but at the last moment refrains. Lucifer innocently grins and Valentino returns the notion, but there's a vicious animosity behind those tacky rose-tinted glasses.
“If I recall properly, the first and last time we met was when I gifted you this little playground... I'm only here to see how my investment has paid off.”
Valentino's smile turns into a snarl which he corrects so promptly that it's as if it had never been there. Sloppy and stupid, Lucifer muses.
“Well, I am here to put your worries at ease, you have placed your unwavering faith into the right hands!”
“Shall we?” Lucifer replies, gesturing to Valentino's luxury trailer.
Valentino slips into a more content frame as he leads Lucifer to his quarters. “Right this way, your Majesty. You will not be disappointed with our numbers and what we have in store for the future!”
Valentino towers over Lucifer in height, his shadow completely encompassing Lucifer's being. But like the moth he is, Valentino cannot help be drawn to the elusive and powerful light, and Lucifer will be there to remind him how much it burns if he gets too close.