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When Lucifer was first captured, he and Alastor had been quick to mock Vox's elaborate plans. Even now, the King of Hell remained absolutely certain the Television Sinner would fail, though perhaps he had slightly underestimated the man's volatile temper.
They had managed to genuinely infuriate the demon, which led Alastor to endure a flurry of nasty electric shocks and a heavy beating. The violence looked undeniably painful. Lucifer felt a distant, prickling sympathy for the bellhop, but guilt was useless. It’s not like he could not hurt the sinner, and he remained helpless inside this confining glass box? Cage thing?
The abuse had lasted for what felt like an eternity. The flathead sinner now panted, exhausted from his effort, his knuckles bloody. Alastor's face was not faring well, yet his smile somehow clung to his features, though it looked more like a pained grimace now.
As much Lucifer hated to admit it he knew the Radio Demon possessed enormous resilience, but even he could tell that if this went on much longer, Alastor would most likely lose consciousness. It was not that Lucifer particularly cared for the guy, but Charlie would be significantly more angry at him then she already was if he simply stood by and watched this happen.
So he did the only thing he could do at the moment. Lucifer shifted the other demon's attention away from the beaten overlord.
"You know, beating a man who is already down doesn't really disprove our point about you being weak," he drawled, injecting every possible drop of mockery into his voice. "I mean, you have the King of Hell right here, and you still choose to go after the one who is clearly an easier target."
He saw Alastor's eyes narrow at him for daring to call him weak, but Lucifer could not care less about injuring the sinner's pride right now. The words seemed to achieve their goal, causing Lox, Fox, or Vox, whatever, to spin toward him with a harsh glare on his glowing screen.
"You think I need to harm you to be in control!? You are not going anywhere, and I have been meaning to finally teach Alastor a lesson. His disrespectful ass needed to be put in his place," Vox shouted.
Lucifer clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes in a theatrical display. "Excuses, excuses. Bambi was right. Without your friends, you really are nothing."
With a growl the demon immediately tore himself away from Alastor and strode toward the king. When Vox reached the sphere, his bloody fist slammed against the holy glass, leaving a sickening splatter behind.
"You think yourself so high and mighty, do you, Lu?" Vox was practically seething with uncontrolled rage. "You think you are so much better than us sinners! Well, news flash! You’re not! You are nothing!"
Lucifer executed a very dramatic eye roll at the sinner's predictable tirade.
The other glared at him. His left eye did a strange, digital swirl before he suddenly stepped back, instantly composed.
“You know what, Your Majesty,” the title was spoken with clear distaste. “You are right. Beating Alastor only proves so much about me. Let us be honest; the only demons who care about his defeat are the ones in the Pride Ring, and maybe the Imps. But you. Our dear Fallen Angel, leader of the Seven Sins, the King of Hell himself. You are supposed to be all-powerful, but look at you now. Caught in my net, demoted to nothing but my tool. I wonder what the rest of Hell would think if they knew about your little predicament.”
Despite Lucifer maintaining a mask of boredom, the words made his heart beat a frantic rhythm. He had been absent for so long. What would happen if his first reappearance in nearly a decade was him being degraded by some lowly, upstart sinner?
“Stuck under my boot, and not a single thing you can do about it.” Vox grinned at the intoxicating thought. “I wonder if I could get any of the other Royals begging at my feet? With your powers, I am sure of it!”
With his powers? What did that mean? Did the sinner possess a method to siphon his strength?
“Oh, the opportunities this opens up. I only ever truly cared about ruling the Pride Ring and Heaven, but honestly, the thought of having all of it is just too tempting.”
“You see, that is literally not going to happen.” Lucifer pushed back. “Just because I cannot hurt sinners does not mean any of the others cannot. What makes you think they would even listen to you?” Lucifer knew he was right. There was no way in literal, well Hell, that any of the Ars Goetia, let alone any of the other Sins, would permit this cocky mortal to spout such bullshit.
“Well, because I have you, of course. I could show all of Hell how pathetic you are compared to me, and they will all be groveling at my feet.”
Lucifer stared at the sinner for a long moment, trying to decipher if this guy was actually serious. That was possibly the most ridiculously stupid, most fantastical dream he had ever heard, and that was saying something. He compared it to the time when Charlie had first told him about her dream to rehabilitate sinners, long before they actually found out it was possible.
Before he was able to utter anything else, cables descended from the top of the cage. They plunged down and stuck directly into his chest. They actually penetrated his flesh. For his Father’s sake, he truly hated angelic steel.
“But before all that, I have a show to put on. I will be back soon.” Vox cast a quick glance at Alastor, who was still bleeding on the floor. “Al, be a good boy and stay there until I come back. You can keep the King company.”
Then the man vanished in a spark of electrical light.
“Well, that was certainly unnecessary,” Alastor drawled, his voice a low, crackling static, betraying the effort it took to speak.
Lucifer rolled his shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the slightly annoying tickles that were radiating from his chest. “Oh, forgive me, Deer. Were you expecting a thank you for your incredibly convincing performance as a damsel in distress? You gave him far too much fuel.”
“I was referring to your utterly pathetic attempt to save me, which only supplied that picture box with more ridiculous notions,” Alastor shot back, attempting to push himself up onto one elbow.
Lucifer rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Unbelievable! I was trying to help you! I saved you from a concussion, possibly worse! Charlie would have never forgiven me if I had just watched our employee be turned into paste.”
“I do not require your aid, least of all your dramatic sacrifice for my well-being,” Alastor insisted, his smile tightening. “Besides, I am not your employee, I'm Charlie's business partner. And my ability to control a situation, even a violent one, is far superior to your capacity for a half formed rescue ploy.”
Lucifer scoffed and glared down at the wounded demon who merely stared back, his stupid grin still present despite his injuries.
Suddenly, the floor began to rumble, grinding with deep vibrations that traveled through the bone. A sound that started off as a light hum quickly escalated, turning into a high-pitched, electric whine.
Small, erratic sparks of blue and violet electricity suddenly danced across the thick, angelic glass of Lucifer’s cage. The cables embedded in his chest began to glow, heating the metal dangerously.
Then suddenly every nerve ending in Lucifer's body screamed in protest. He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut, a choked sound escaping his throat that was half-yell, half-grunt.
Alastor watched, his own ever present radio static momentarily silenced by the spectacle. He saw the King of Hell, trapped in the rigid, vulnerable posture, body shaking with the sheer effort of enduring the celestial weapon's torture. It was strange, Lucifer had been the picture of untouchable, arrogant power moments ago; now, he was simply another tortured soul. A king brought down to the level of his peasants.
For the fallen angel the agony stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Each second was a vicious, blinding spike of fire and pure electric force. Lucifer’s mind struggled to locate the source of the overwhelming sensation, cycling through confusion and mounting panic. He was supposed to be above this. Of physical pain, a sensation that had been absent for millennia, felt utterly foreign and terrifying. He swears he could feel the magic being forced from his very cells. As if he was being torn apart in a million different places at the same time.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ceased. The bright light vanished, the cables dimmed, and the deep, seismic rumble beneath the floor faded into silence.
“Well,” Alastor, who had managed to scoot himself to a far wall and rest against it, was finally able to get his voice to return to its normal, cheerful crackle, though now it was slightly subdued. “Maybe Vox did manage to actually succeed in something.”
Lucifer was far too busy trying to understand what the hell had just happened to dignify the red man with a response. Too busy struggling to draw air back into his lungs. Too busy trying to comprehend what the rogue overlord had done that required siphoning such an overwhelming amount of energy from him.
He had not used that kind of magic since he and Lilith first began taking control of Hell, and even then it had never felt like this. Never like something so delicate had been torn from him so violently.
The sensation almost reminded him of the moment he had defied Heaven itself, when judgment had been passed upon him. When his siblings had simply watched as–
No.
He could not allow himself to spiral into those memories right now. It seemed like both an eternity and no time at all until Vox returned. Lucifer was intimately familiar with the strange lapses in time that occurred when one became trapped inside their own mind. Even still, it was odd.
When he finally managed to take in his surroundings again, he found that Alastor had been restrained once more, tied to the rolling chair he had been torn from earlier, the muzzle locked back over his face.
Their captor was occupied with what appeared to be some sort of camera or drone, its lens pointed directly at Lucifer’s glass cell. When Vox finally seemed satisfied with his adjustments, he stepped back and at last addressed the fallen angel.
“Ahh. You are finally aware again,” he said, the grin on his face far too smug. It was enough to make the hair along Lucifer’s neck stand on end. “I was beginning to think I would have to do a bit of convincing to drag that feeble mind of yours back into the present.”
A clawed finger scraped slowly against the glass, producing a shrill sound that made Lucifer want to clamp his hands over his ears. Of course, the angelic restraints made even the thought of movement pointless.
“Not that I would have complained,” Vox continued, his grin widening as he took a slow step back from the glass. “I frankly cannot wait to see what kind of face you make when you are in pain.”
The smile that was projected on the screen made Lucifer wonder what it would look like shattered around his fist.
“But I am not such a selfish man as to keep all of that to myself,” he went on. “After all, I did promise a special show before my big event tonight.” His eyes flicked back toward the fallen angel, bright with anticipation. “Now smile, Your Majesty. We’re going live.”
Vox positioned himself directly in front of the camera, his tall frame deliberately blocking Lucifer from view. The glass cell vanished behind him as he spread his arms wide, posture proud, and of course very theatrical. Whatever came next was clearly meant for an audience far larger than the room they stood in.
“Good evening, Hell,” Vox announced, his voice smoothing into something warm and electric. “I cannot tell you how excited I am to finally say this but tonight we made history.” He let out a delighted laugh, one hand lifting as if to emphasize the point.
“For centuries we have been told to know our place. To stay in our pit. To accept that Heaven sits above us, untouchable and untarnished, while we rot below. But tonight that illusion has finally been shattered.” Lucifer’s jaw tightened.
Vox leaned closer to the camera, eyes bright with fervor. “You saw it. You all did. The Golden Gates of Heaven are gone. Reduced to rubble in a single, beautiful moment.” He snapped his fingers. “Do you know how long I have dreamed of that sound?” He straightened, energy crackling through every word.
“It was exhilarating. To finally strike back. To finally prove that Heaven is not invincible, that they bleed just like the rest of us. Hell does not have to bow before them anymore.”
Lucifer’s thoughts churned violently. The Golden Gates were destroyed? That was not possible. Even the strongest weapons Hell possessed should not have been capable of such destruction. He would have surely known if there was one.
The television continued, his voice growing sharper. “Despite this victory, the moments that forced us to take this stand can not be ignored! Where were our so-called leaders when it mattered? Where was the great King of Hell when our people were slaughtered carelessly on the streets!” Lucifer’s hands curled slowly into fists in his restraints.
“Hell’s royalties are weak,” Vox declared. “They have grown complacent. Comfortable. They sit on their thrones and pretend they still inspire fear, when in reality they inspire nothing at all.” He chuckled softly. “Take our beloved king, for instance. A fallen angel who once challenged Heaven itself, was reduced to hiding in his palace to avoid the carnage he allowed."
Lucifer felt heat crawl up his spine. “And Lilith,” Vox added with sadness, “Ah, Lilith. The Queen of Hell herself.” He shook his head with mock disappointment. “She saw it long before the rest of us did. She saw how far Lucifer had fallen from his former glory. Is it any wonder she left?” The words struck harder than any blow Vox had dealt earlier.
Lucifer’s breath caught despite himself. His thoughts stuttered, scrambling for footing. Lilith had left, yes. That much was true. But Vox could not possibly know why. No one knew why. Not even him. And though he wanted to yell and scream, to tell this worthless sinner he was wrong. Lucifer remained silent, jaw clenched, unsure how to combat an accusation he himself had never been able to answer.
Vox gestured dismissively behind him, still keeping Lucifer out of view. “Hell deserves better than a king who cannot even defend himself, let alone his people. Hell deserves a revolution.” The word echoed unpleasantly in his mind.
“A future where we do not wait for Heaven to pass judgment. A future where we do not cower beneath weak leaders!” Vox continued. “And we’ve proven we don't need to as we have finally struck back. First with Heaven and now with our own hierarchy! We the people have finally stolen their undeserved power, and are using it to better our world.”
The fallen angel's eyes widened slowly. The pieces slid together with horrifying clarity. Lucifer swallowed hard, dread settling deep in his chest. That was the weapon Vox had been talking about. Had he been used to launch an attack?
Vox stepped aside at last, finally allowing the glass cell to come fully into view. Lucifer stood within it, restrained, disheveled, and clearly somewhat injured.
The sight alone was enough to send a ripple through all of Hell, and Vox’s grin sharpened as he watched the feed. “Ah,” he said pleasantly. “There he is.” He gestured toward the cell with an open palm, as if presenting a prize.
“Hell, allow me to introduce you to living proof that even kings can fall. The great Lucifer Morningstar.” His eyes gleamed. “Or what is left of him.”
Lucifer’s chest burned and not just because of his wounds. Rage flared hot and immediate, but he kept his mouth shut, jaw tight, gaze fixed forward. He refused to play into the sinner’s game. “This,” Vox continued, circling slowly, “is what rock bottom looks like.” He laughed softly. “Trapped. Drained. Reduced to nothing more than a power source behind holy glass.”
He leaned closer to the camera, voice dropping into something intimate and cruel. “Do you see him? Do you see how small he looks now? How powerless?” Vox turned back toward the angel, eyes alight with triumph.
“You are beneath me,” he said plainly. “You always were. You just had a better throne.” Lucifer’s fingers twitched uselessly against the restraints. “I have his power now,” Vox announced, spreading his arms once more. “The strength of the Morningstar. The very force that once defied Heaven. The power that was once again used against them just a few hours ago!” He laughed again, louder this time.
“Lucifer has reached his second reckoning.” The words scraped against Lucifer’s mind. Second. As if the first had not been enough. “And the best part?” Vox continued. His grin widened. “I took him down myself.”
“You lying scum! That was not how this happened,” Lucifer snapped before he could stop himself. “You tricked me. You used–” The sentence never finished. Cables shot forward with a sudden, violent hiss, sliding down from the ceiling of his cell.
Lucifer barely had time to react before they wrapped tightly around his jaw and mouth, yanking his head back. The pressure was immediate and punishing, forcing his teeth shut and cutting off any further sound. Lucifer snarled against the restraints, fury flooding his veins. His eyes burned as he struggled uselessly.
The overlord watched with open satisfaction. “There,” he said calmly, turning back toward the camera. “Much better.” He rested a hand against the glass, expression smug and utterly at ease. “You see, Hell, the father of lies, well lies!”
Vox chuckles at his own joke for a moment before he begins to speak again, “He always blames others for his fall.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Lucifer, amused. “But the truth is simple. Power changes hands. And tonight, it changed to mine.”
–
One might assume that being one of the Seven Deadly Sins, counted among the most powerful beings in Hell, would mean very little effort was required in day to day matters. In reality, it required an exhausting amount of organization and responsibility, and unfortunately, paperwork. Each Sin ruled their own Ring and oversaw countless operations within it.
On top of that, most of them maintained personal businesses, public venues, and contractual agreements that needed constant attention. Authority did not simply maintain itself, and indulgence did not exempt one from administration.
Despite Asmodeus’s intense dislike for paperwork, he still spent a significant portion of his time confined to his office. It was precisely why he kept the television running whenever he was forced to sit behind his desk. The background noise helped dull the monotony of legal documents and formal reports, and occasionally it offered something far more pleasant.
More often than not, it carried Fizzarolli’s voice. Between performances, interviews, and endless media appearances, it was almost impossible not to encounter him somewhere on broadcast. There was something grounding about hearing Fizz’s voice drift through the office when irritation began to creep in. It smoothed the edges of frustration in a way nothing else quite could. Today was not unusual in that regard.
Asmodeus sat comfortably behind his desk, golden pen in hand, nearly finished with the towering stack of papers awaiting his signature. Trade approvals, performance contracts, venue expansions, and various financial disputes that should have been resolved without ever reaching his desk were spread before him.
He was just signing off on the final few documents when the steady hum of the television shifted. The advertisement that had been playing abruptly dissolved into harsh static. The sound cut through the quiet of the office and pulled his attention upward. The screen glitched violently before stabilizing on the image of a demon with a television set for a head. If he had to guess, the figure was a sinner.
That in itself was unusual. Mammon rarely allowed sinners to broadcast beyond Pride without negotiation or compensation, and unauthorized interference across Rings was generally discouraged. Pride politics did not often bleed outward unless it was intentional.
There had been exceptions, of course. A year prior, their niece Charlie had managed to broadcast her optimistic proposal to all of Hell, presenting her idea of rehabilitation for sinners with unwavering conviction. Asmodeus had not entirely shared her belief that such a thing was possible, but he had not dismissed it either. If Charlie believed something could be achieved, she would chase it relentlessly until it either succeeded or proved itself impossible.
And if anyone in Hell possessed the stubborn optimism to force the impossible into existence, it was her. And he was definitely not biased in that assessment simply because she happened to be his favorite niece.
Returning to his original thought, this sinner should not have been capable of broadcasting into Lust at all, which was precisely why the interruption unsettled him. Unauthorized interference between Rings was not something that simply slipped through unnoticed.
The fact that it had reached his office suggested either deliberate permission or an alarming breach in control. What unsettled him more, however, was the content of the broadcast: the words that the sinner was spouting had to be nonsense. Claiming the gates of Heaven were gone?
Ozzie stared at the screen, expression sharpening as the words settled in his mind. Had the sinners truly done something so catastrophically foolish as to strike Heaven itself? Were they attempting to provoke a holy war that would engulf every Ring in Hell? Pride was reckless, yes, but this bordered on suicidal arrogance.
And how was this the first time he was hearing about it? If any of this was true, Lucifer would know. He would have had to. Despite his recent personal distance from Hell’s daily operations, matters involving Heaven were never trivial and he never treated them as such.
The Sins were the only ones that knew that Lucifer could not physically harm sinners, which is why they encouraged him to call upon the rest of them when necessary. If Pride had truly launched some reckless assault beyond its borders, he’s sure Lucifer would not have remained silent. Yet silence was exactly what they had received.
Asmodeus’s phone began to vibrate sharply against his desk, the sudden flurry of notifications pulling his attention away from the screen. The device continued to chime repeatedly, the distinct tone of their private group chat echoing through the office. A confirmation that this was being broadcasted in the rest of the rings as well.
He reached for it and unlocked the screen with a controlled flick of his thumb. The messages were flooding in. Confusion and complaints compiled together, several of them were even directly tagging Lucifer, asking what exactly was happening in Pride. One message even suggested that perhaps Mammon had approved the broadcast without informing the rest of them, which was quickly corrected by the man himself.
As much as Asmodeus and Mammon had been at odds recently, he knew Mammon would not bluntly lie to them, at least not about something like this.
He looks back at the screen when he hears the sinner directly insult Lucifer, suggesting that he had simply agreed to the examinations, which was simply not true. Originally, Heaven had wanted the right to enter all the Rings whenever they pleased and however they pleased. The Fallen Angel had fought tooth and nail to negotiate the terms into what they were now.
The words filter through the speakers, loud and triumphant. “A future where we do not wait for Heaven to pass judgment. A future where we do not cower beneath weak leaders. And we have proven we do not need to, because we have finally struck back. First with Heaven, and now with our own hierarchy. We the people have finally stolen their undeserved power and are using it to better our world.”
Stolen power? What the hell happened in the Pride Ring? The constant notifications that had been flooding the group chat suddenly stop as the sinner steps aside, revealing what he had been hiding behind him this entire time.
Lucifer restrained upright inside a glass cell, arms spread wide. Wires are embedded through his torso, golden blood leaking slowly from the puncture points and streaking the white of his clothing. He looked exhausted and unsteady, trembling faintly as if even holding himself upright requires effort.
Asmodeus rarely gets angry. He gets annoyed and frustrated often enough, but true anger is something else entirely. But, seeing a sinner dare to treat one of his family like this sends heat rushing through him, his flames turning red with fury as something sharp and dangerous settles in his chest.
He doesn't bother looking back at his phone as he tucks it away and storms out of his office, heading straight for Pride Ring. He already knows the other Sins are likely doing the same.
Those sinners clearly need a reminder of just how powerless they truly are and how fortunate they have been to have someone as restrained and merciful as Lucifer ruling over them. The televised sinner, however, is going to become a very memorable example of what happens when that mercy runs out.