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Lucifer was sitting on his throne in the least horrible part of Hell, which was obviously the location of his castle. It still rained ash around these parts, but it was better than the rivers of lava or the temperatures close to absolute zero other parts of Hell offered. He didn't get a chance to sit down all that often — Hell didn't run itself and anyone who thought otherwise was a fool. There were literally millions of demons and demons weren't exactly known for things like order and organization.
Additionally to that, Lucifer had to look over countless sinners and an only barely smaller number of demons, read a whole lot of reports — most of them horribly boring as they were pretty much identical. The ones from the one demon permanently on earth — the one with almost as many names as he had himself — were always enlightening and amusing, compared to literally everything else around Lucifer.
Through them, Lucifer heard of the good humans. Of the people that he would never meet. Those that were determined to prove him wrong. They might have been only mentioned as failures due to the angel working against this particular demon in question getting to the humans first, but it was still a proof that these kinds of humans exist.
Lucifer couldn’t fault them. Not really. In fact, he was glad to hear of their existence, because that proved the human he met in Hell were the bad ones and not the average of a human.
The message that changed his routine came right as the Lord of Darkness was reading another report of Crawly — it was so confusing since the snake had given that other demon permission to use the name Crowley, too, so Lucifer called one Crowley and one Crawly. He had to keep track somehow, after all. Though, maybe he could call the older one Anthony instead. He'd give it a thought.
There was a reason why each demon had their own name. Just one single one. And that was to avoid confusion.
That, and that Lucifer could call any of them whenever he desired to do so. But that was more of a benefit than a reason, especially since he had only figured that out after the fact.
Crawly/Anthony's report was unusually thick and had a bright yellow post-it on top that said Learn, guys…
The King of Hell was actually looking forward to learning what that was about — not that he would ever admit it to anyone — but he was distracted before he had the chance to read a single sentence. Distracted, by a message, to be precise.
Something had happened that had never happened before, not in any of the countless years since The Fall. Lucifer most certainly would remember something like that and since he didn't, that meant that this was indeed the first time this had happened.
The Devil didn’t get messages from his old ho- from Heav- from Above. This simply didn’t happen. Except that, apparently, it was happening now, if the too-flawless white paper providing a stark contrast to the filth impossible to get out of Hell was any indication.
The report was immediately discarded and forgotten about. The forgetting part of it was meant to be temporary, but it would never be found again, no matter how hard he looked.
Well, let people look. He had all the dominions of Hell at his disposal, so he might as well make use of them.
The message from Heaven was simple.
Michael, one of his only two older brothers — or, apparently, Michael was currently a sister, if he was reading the shift in the energy since he had last seen it correctly — had decided that it was time for their Father’s plan, for The End Of All Things, and was growing tired of Lucifer’s lack of action in that regard.
That was mainly because he wasn’t certain he wanted it to happen. The Devil seemed to be one of the only ones that didn’t look forward to The End when he was supposed to bring it.
Lucifer had no idea what he was supposed to do. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry or... what? Rebel? Because that had worked out so well the first time and all that.
Except, no, that was a lie. And he didn’t lie, not even to himself.
He was supposed to follow his Father’s plan. As if there was a point.
He was supposed to impregnate a girl or a woman and conceive a child. The Antichrist. The catalyst that would bring the end of the world, the Apocalypse.
It was supposed to be non-consensual as he was still enough of an angel that that would guarantee for the child to be, well, a monster.
This was apparently everything that he had been created for. His first name had been The Poison of God, after all.
I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father. Lucifer thought, no, prayed. I'm asking forgiveness…for what I might be about to do.
He waited for a minute, two, three; no response.
Why he had expected something different would bugger the Lord of Darkness for years and years.
The world would never be the same, if he did what he was asked, but let them be damned.
There were so many that deserved what he got more than he did and perhaps he could finally do something to deserve it, too.
“Hastur,” he called.
Not a second later, the demon appeared in front of him, kneeling and head bent downwards.
“Yes, milord?”
Lucifer ordered the demon to bring him a woman. The woman who would be the mother of the Antichrist. He did grant himself the penance of adding a compulsion to bring someone actually willing to perform the act and carry a child.
Hastur brought someone to him. A virgin. She was twenty years old and more than just scared of what was happening. Her name was Mary and despite that, she was actually willing to do what he needed her to do. Lucifer asked as soon as he had sent Hastur away.
The Lord of Darkness didn’t find the irony of her name funny at all, but he didn’t let that fact affect him.
He did what he was supposed to do.
He regretted it the second it was too late.
Nine months later, a baby was born.
Lucifer couldn’t bear to look at the boy. He didn't want to get attached, yes, but it was more than just that.
The child was his son, but looking at the young boy meant thinking about what he, Lucifer, had done in siring him and what he, the child, would do.
Lucifer gave pushed the bundle to the next-best demon, Hastur, again.
“Let Crawly handle it,” he commanded, as he walked off to somewhere. He didn’t know where he would end up himself, not yet, but he needed to distract himself with anything and everything available in Hell.
Lucifer had doomed Earth and the humans that inhabited it. Once upon a time, he would have loved this, but somewhere down the line, that had changed.
It was painfully ironic, but somewhere down the line, he had developed some sort of... fondness? Was that it? for them.
The King of Hell sighed and moved towards the least commonly used torture chamber. His own.
Contrary to all of his demons but his fellow Fallen — even those that had been human at one point — he hadn't been created a torturer.
He had been made one.