Chapter Text
The magic of golden sparks and crimson trails dissipated in the King’s room, in the Palace. The almost absolute darkness welcomed him, enveloping him in shadows. Lucifer Morningstar didn’t bother to turn on the lights.
He made his way through the clutter on the floor, not caring about stumbling. He kicked several rubber duckies out of the way, and when he reached his bed, he kicked off his shoes. A snap removed his white suit, replacing it with soft cashmere pajamas. The light, feather-like touch on his skin helped with the hypersensitivity he felt, but it also added a hint of vulnerability to his being, as if simply being comfortable made him more aware of his overwhelming emotions.
He fell back onto the bed and covered his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt like his head was full of air, like a balloon filled with too much helium about to burst. Then he paid attention to his surroundings and realized he was gasping for air. His throat rattled like an ungreased gear, and his chest ached.
He struck his chest, in the area of his heart, with his clenched fist. He had once been an archangel, for the love of his father. But was his heart failing him?
No. It wasn’t failing.
Lucifer opened his eyes. He had a wet vision of his surroundings, a result of the unshed tears pooling at the edge of his lashes and finding their way down his cheeks, forming two winding trails. And he still couldn’t breathe. Had the oxygen in Hell become so toxic, or was it something affecting him personally?
The unease of fainting prompted him to turn on his phone and open a friendly app with an icon of a sleeping sloth. It was an app created by Belphegor and the specialist technicians from the Sloth Ring. Belphy, who was as close to a sister as the rest of the Seven Deadly Sins, had forced him to download it the first year Lilith left with Charlie.
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me, Belph. I can’t breathe—it’s like I’m dying, but without the death part!”
She had huffed affectionately. Rubbing his back firmly (which felt comforting), she left a gentle caress in his hair. “You’re not dying, Luci. You’re having an anxiety attack.”
“Who? Me?”
“You,” the sheep confirmed patiently. “It’s more common than you think.”
And yes, it was common and recurring. After learning what an anxiety attack was, along with panic attacks and depression, he realized he had spent most of his existence feeling this way. Sometimes it felt like too much, other times like nothing mattered at all. Other times, the euphoria was too much to keep in check; then there were periods when he barely moved, like a reptile resting on a rock on a sunny day, but without the warmth and satisfaction. Just burning inside or shaking from the cold.
Sera and Adam used to tell him in meetings that the world is perceived in a range of two colors: black and white. Irreconcilable extremes that perfectly described every part of his soul. And the story repeated itself in the hotel when, in the middle of a fight with the Radio Demon, he lost his temper and scared off a group of potential residents that Charlie had taken a long time to gather.
God. Thinking of her face, the fury in her expression, and the disappointment in her voice when she asked him to leave… His heart squeezed and shattered into a thousand pieces. Yet he admired Charlie’s diplomacy. At least his punishment was a kind of exile and not an inevitable fall from which he couldn’t recover. A being, celestial or not, can only fall so many times before being destroyed. Lucifer still didn’t know if he had crossed that line or not.
The app finished loading, and a PLAY symbol appeared on the screen. He pressed it with trembling hands and let Belphegor’s invention work its magic.
/ Currently, it is eight o'clock in the evening. There are no forecasts for acid rain, and the air in Hell feels welcoming.
The voice was barely robotic. The firm yet calming words invited him to pay attention.
/ I need you to get comfortable. You can start by closing your eyes, or keep them open if you prefer.
Lucifer closed his eyes.
/ Now, breathe. 1, 2, 3… and release. Place a hand on your abdomen and feel the movement of your breath. It’s calm and steady, can you feel it?
He could. Which was a surprise. The gentle motion helped anchor him to reality.
/ You’re okay. If you have a problem, we can think about it with a cool head. Now is the time to take a break.
Yes. A… break…
Lucifer continued to listen to the voice assistant's murmurs, and little by little, he managed to find his footing.
____________
When he finally woke up, it was early morning. The wall clock read 4:00 AM.
Lucifer jumped out of bed, put on his slippers, and his first impulse was to rush downstairs and hide in the kitchen. His little one woke up around 6:00 AM alongside her girlfriend, and two hours was more than enough time to make a hearty breakfast for them and the other residents of the hotel. Pancakes were a safe bet, and if he felt particularly generous, he could add fried bacon and meat patties to the menu for that stupid demon… Oh. Right. He was no longer welcome in the hotel.
His bubbling flame extinguished, leaving behind bitter smoke. Hell; at first, he could barely stand waking up in the hotel due to his lack of habit, and now that he had finally acclimated and learned to appreciate the new life, he was returning to the palace. It no longer felt like a safe place. Not after he had tasted what it was like to live in the hotel, with his precious little girl and other people he had also grown accustomed to.
Custom. An interesting word, just like routine, habits, and practices. He liked how it sounded in his mouth, how his tongue hit the right sounds. What is a custom? he wondered, staring into the emptiness of his room.
A custom is, he thought, wanting to stay asleep. Not communicating with anyone to avoid the unpleasant feeling of crushing in his stomach. It was also compulsively spinning the gold ring he continued to wear despite the divorce. Another custom might be thinking about Lilith and everything he could have done differently to be a good husband.
Custom was being a failure. A bad angel, a bad king, a bad husband… A bad father.
Lucifer wondered why God had created custom in the first place. It was even more suffocating than evil, yet no one seemed to realize. How does one escape from custom? It was definitely a heavy force that kept things static. That’s why there were sinners who, having a chance to live a life free from abuse, fell into it with open arms. He feared making a misinterpretation, but he saw that custom reflected in how Husk, for example, sold his soul to Alastor. Or how Angel Dust couldn’t easily ignore his past and put himself in danger or relapsed and lamented again, even though he was progressing more than Lucifer himself had in his eons of existence!
Well. It was also possible to unlearn habits, now that he thought about it. He had to when his wife left, and he never saw her again. He had to accept that kisses, caresses, and love would no longer exist. He clung to that with all his might, and despite the words his ex-wife had said to him, he still harbored a faint hope in his heart that she would return and everything would be alright, because Lilith was a wonderful woman who could read Charlie like an open book, unlike him.
But even that hope was slowly fading with each passing year.
“I’m sorry, my beautiful angel. But even as the centuries pass and we live forever, there will never be a moment when we are together again.”
Lilith could be many things that he still struggled to accept, but she was not a liar. And she was the most rebellious and determined creature that ever existed. Interestingly, Charlie was following the same path, and he couldn’t be more grateful for it. Perhaps Lilith's upbringing had made her immune to custom, which is why she was so imaginative, so tenacious, so passionate.
For a fleeting moment, he thought of Alastor. About what had happened with him that had started it all in the first place. He couldn’t even remember how the fight began, but suddenly he was unable to maintain control. He roared with demonic fury, causing the sinners who had been listening to his daughter’s speech to flee in terror. And his daughter was on the verge of tears.
He made her cry because he broke his promise to support her dreams more than anything. And he broke his promise because that’s what he always did.
He realized that at some point during his internal diatribe, he had started crying again.
The worst part was that he couldn’t even blame Alastor. He was a sinner; he had the right to be irritating, but that indemnity didn’t extend to the king of Hell. He was supposed to be better than that. Oh, but the Radio Demon knew where to sink his fangs. He didn’t hate him; he had never truly been able to hate anyone, but Alastor was a good candidate to be the first on his list.
Although he had been able to give Charlie what he could not: support.
What did it matter that Alastor didn’t believe in redemption? He still backed his little girl’s impulsive ideas. And he was jealous of the raw admiration that the deer demon evoked in Charlie. At the same time, he knew he had no right to feel that way, but it was inevitable.
Maybe the only one who didn’t deserve redemption was himself.
Redemption is for everyone, he remembered his daughter saying with enthusiasm during one of her trust sessions or playful activities. We are all worthy. Believing it is the first step. The second is to take responsibility for ourselves, and with hard work, someday I will ensure that your souls go to heaven.
Lucifer thought about that. He was no longer allowed to set a foot in heaven, so that specific incentive was impossible, no matter how much he believed he deserved it. Unlike the punishments of human souls, his transgression against the laws of heaven was a crime that held sentences a sinner could never reach, not even after being reincarnated a thousand times. So he turned the matter around and asked himself a simple question: What is heaven to me?
And not heaven as a world of Winners, angels, and hypocrisy. No. The definition of heaven explained in countless texts found in the bookstores of the earth. The "heaven" as a desire, as an image of longing that was deeply embedded in his heart.
The answer was immediate. Charlie was his heaven. But not just her mere existence (though that already encompassed almost the entire definition), but Charlie being happy and fulfilling her dreams. Charlie being safe from the same consequences he had to endure. Heaven was seeing his grown-up princess overflowing with happiness. His redemption, then, would have to be the path to make that a reality.
The big problem was how. How to face such a feat and evade the toxic effects of custom. It wasn’t as if he was in a position to go to Hazbin Hotel in search of his personal redemption. First, because he was a persona non grata. And second, because his redemption had a different idiosyncrasy than that of his daughter’s project.
Where could he seek his redemption?
He needed someone to play a role similar to that of his daughter with the hotel. A kind of guide who helped sinners find their way. Well, finding someone like that in Hell might be impossible. Belphegor could be a good candidate; she knew a lot about the complexities of well-being. There was also Ozzie, who was an excellent counselor and whose frankness was legendary. Or maybe someone else. Someone who could understand him in the same way and who, unlike him, had been able to face difficulties.
Lucifer materialized his tail without realizing it. The jet-black appendage flicked before coiling around his own waist. The pressure felt good and helped him focus better on the question that lingered in his mind: What does Charlie need from me?
A competent father, for starters. And an effective leader to guide her to victory.
With those two variables, the candidates shrank dramatically, but he found his answer in the form of an epiphany. He opened his eyes in realization and shouted in pure surprise. He jumped on the bed and bounced twice, calming the euphoria. Even though he had figured out who could be his guide, he couldn’t just appear in their domain at such an uncivilized hour of the morning.
———
At some point, The Morningstar teleported to a technologically advanced area, though not as flooded as The Vees territory. He remained in the form of a small bird to navigate the area. He was the King; he knew he didn’t have to hide, but he wanted his visit to be fortuitous until he could speak heart to heart with Carmilla Carmine. He shifted back to his normal self when he reached the reception.
“Good morning,” he greeted, tipping his hat to the lady typing on a computer. The lady cursed in surprise and nearly spilled her coffee. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!”
The woman blinked in shock. She sprang to her feet and gave him a deep bow.
“Your Majesty! Please forgive me for the lack of courtesy in my reception. How may I serve you?”
“Oh, um. I wanted to know how I can schedule an appointment with the Overlord Carmilla Carmine. An important appointment.”
“There’s no need for an appointment for you, my lord,” a voice chimed in.
The receptionist and Lucifer turned to see Carmilla elegantly walking toward them. She was an impressively tall woman with an air that commanded respect. As he looked at her closely, Lucifer became convinced that his choice was the only correct one. His tail (which was still out because his nervous emotions couldn’t keep it hidden) began to coil in the air with anticipation.
“Carmilla!” he greeted, a bit informally. A part of him told him he was being too familiar with her, but, God, he couldn’t help the urge to shout everything he needed right in her face and promise her he would give her anything she asked for as long as she helped him. “Hi! How are you? How are your lovely daughters? Oh, they must be so big! Charlie has grown so much too. I mean, she’s even taller than I am!”
“Go ahead, your majesty. I’ll answer all your questions in my office.
“Oh, oh, of course. Excuse me.”
“Sandra, cancela mis otros compromisos. Y dile a Zestial que espere a que yo le indique para entrar.”
“Sí, señora.”
Lucifer understood the words. He was created before language became separate, so his All-Speak worked wonders. He wasn’t sure if Carmilla’s use of Spanish meant he wasn’t meant to hear the instruction or if it was just natural bilingualism. This display made him cautious and silent as he entered the elevator. He suddenly became terribly quiet, and Carmilla seemed to notice.
“I can hear your thoughts, your majesty,” she said, with a feigned severity. “Don’t tell me that after all these years, you’ve forgotten so much about me.”
The King bit his lower lip, recalling. Of course, he had never been Carmilla’s confidant or a close friend, but they had shared some adventures together when Lilith and he were still married. Not of a sexual nature, mind you. Simply in meetings and seeking counsel, because Carmilla was one of the most diplomatic and composed women in Hell. And her daughters were frankly adorable.
It wasn’t difficult to remember their interactions and accept that yes, Carmilla was a proud bilingual, and her choice of Spanish was as benign as it could be. He felt his face warming and blood rising to his cheeks.
“I haven’t forgotten anything, Carmilla. How foolish of me to act this way with you… So Zestial will be coming?”
“He always comes. He’s a recurring presence here. I hope that won’t be a detriment to your reasons for visiting me.”
Lucifer hurried to deny that possibility.
“I have no issues with Zestial being in the meeting. He’s a good gentleman, and his discretion is appreciated.”
It was the right thing to say, as Carmilla rewarded him with a slightly wider smile.
The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, and the doors opened. Lucifer invited Carmilla to step out first, but she refused, insisting that her majesty should go ahead. They walked together into a kind of laboratory and entered through the sliding doors. Inside, two young girls greeted their mother and then curtsied, showcasing their manners.
“Welcome, your majesty,” they said in unison.
“Please, none of that. Lucifer is fine,” the King requested, approaching with bright eyes. “Aww, you look so much like your mother.”
Odette and Clara flashed him toothy smiles before stepping back to allow them to speak in private.
Carmilla sat down gracefully in a chair, not before offering him a drink. Lucifer requested tea, with plenty of cream and sugar. Once they were both comfortable, cups of steaming tea in hand, the King made an effort to explain to the Overlord what his proposals were.
“Thank you for having me. Before we discuss what I came to talk about, I must thank you for the support you gave my daughter and Maggie during the extermination. I know… you don’t want your involvement to be known, but my girls aren’t very discreet with me. I asked them to be more so in the future, but yes, I’m indebted to you!”
“I hope I read that correctly, your highness. And I know you appreciate my candor as much as you appreciate Zestial’s chivalry,” she said, taking a sip of her tea before placing the cup on the table. “And I have to admit, if you’ll allow me, I want to collect that debt. All I ask is that my daughters remain safe. It doesn’t matter how or who, just so you know my wishes.”
Lucifer felt himself melting into the chair. Yes. The only right choice.
“I promise,” the angel assured, placing a hand on his chest. The room filled with a soft, warm golden light. “Now it’s sealed.”
“You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
The King took a sip of his tea, organizing his thoughts. The evidence was right in front of him. Carmilla was an exceptional mother and an even more admirable Overlord. If anyone could help him obtain his redemption, it was her. And to be honest, he didn’t mind the idea of Zestial joining the cause. He was a born leader, cautious, highly respectful, and quite close to Carmilla.
That could also kill two birds with one stone. He’d get the help he needed and could reassure Charlie the next time she expressed concern about his lack of social interaction. Better two than none, right?
But first, he had to convince Carmilla with the sheer power of his arguments. For that, he had prepared a series of cards with his ideas neatly organized, so he wouldn’t spill a jumble of nonsensical words. The list had five steps:
- Explain what you needed from her.
- Develop the first idea (namely, the need to be a good father to Charlie).
- The second idea (how to be a better king for Hell, or at least an advice).
- Offer her something in return.
- If she said no, ask her to reconsider (and maybe if that happens, you should improve this list, but that’s a problem for the future Lucifer).
At the bottom of the page, there was a drawing of a little duck that caught the King’s attention. That was a good drawing! Quite true to life.
Oh, yes, wait. He needed to follow the steps!
“Then, Carmilla. I’m here because I need your assistance with a great personal task. You can accept or reject this proposal as you see fit, but here are the reasons I need you. May I continue?”
“Of course, my lord. You have me quite intrigued.”
Intrigued! A good adjective. A positive adjective.
“First, I need a figure… a guide, for lack of better words to describe it. You know how on Earth there are people who help others avoid getting stuck in the mud? I think they’re called godparents or mentors, to be honest, I don’t quite remember. But something like that would be great.”
Carmilla raised a delicate eyebrow.
“A guide, my king?”
“Yes! Secondly…” Lucifer glanced at his list. “I consider you a great mother. You embody everything a mother should have within her to care for her children. And I have to admit that’s something I lack.” Damn. He said it. And that admission lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. “I’m deficient in that regard. But I want to stop being that way, and that’s why I need assistance.”
If the Overlord was surprised or puzzled by his words, she didn’t show it.
“Thirdly, I know you’re an excellent Overlord. Your territory and Zestial’s are the closest thing to a peaceful place in the Ring of Pride. Both of you, but especially you, are reliable, polite, and know how to deal with sinners. I mean, you are sinners, but some can be quite irritating. Like Alastor. He’s a goddamn bastard.”
Carmilla huffed.
“I assure you there are much worse scoundrels than Alastor.”
The king doubted that.
“Well, those are my requirements. I’m willing to negotiate the price for this if you’re willing to take the position.”
The woman, graceful as a swan, picked up her tea again. As she remained in thoughtful silence, Lucifer was on the verge of losing his mind. His tail thrashed rhythmically against the seat until he decided to coil it around his leg. It would be quite embarrassing to cause destruction in Carmilla’s furniture simply because he couldn’t control his uncertainty.
“I’m pleased to know you hold me in such high regard, your majesty. It’s a true honor.”
“But?” the king anticipated, twisting his hands.
“But I believe you’re mistaken in your approach.”
Lucifer deflated, shrinking into his seat.
“W-why?”
“Tell me, do you know how expertise works on Earth?”
“I don’t think so,” the king admitted. “But it sounds demanding.”
“And it is,” Carmilla clarified. “Expertise is a quality, a skill certified through specific methods that qualify a person to perform a role. When I was alive, my own expertise was dance. Ballet, to be precise. I was a great dancer; I participated in numerous performances. Scenes from Giselle, The Nutcracker, The Barber of Seville, and Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, for example.”
Wow. Lucifer could picture her dancing, with all her graceful movements. He wondered if they could ever dance together. In Heaven, ballet was a divine invention to dignify the arts and keep the celestial court entertained. As the angel who emanated beauty, delicacy, and splendor, he was responsible for entertaining others and bringing them joy. They had some things in common, he and Carmilla.
“Also, I can admit that I’m an expert in my current job. Arms trafficking is my specialty. However, I believe that being a good mother and a good leader isn’t something that can be taught, or even made tangible.”
Did that mean that even with her influence, redemption would be impossible to obtain?
The king looked at Carmilla pleadingly, on the verge of begging her to reconsider her viewpoint. Meanwhile, Carmilla dragged her chair to a corner and opened a drawer, pulling out an angelic gun. She placed it on the table and invited the king to take it.
“This is a weapon I modified a few years ago, when the model was new. Now I can manipulate it without having to see it. But back then, I couldn’t. I tweaked this weapon a bit, but accidentally almost shot one of my daughters.” The Overlord looked at the gun with particular resentment. “It was a stupid mistake. But the consequences could have been terrible. That mistake might make some debate about my expertise as a mother.”
“But it was an accident,” Lucifer argued. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“I know, Your Majesty. That’s what I want to explain to you, so you can form a realistic idea of what I’m capable of offering. I’m a mother who makes mistakes and an Overlord who loses her composure in meetings because there are certain brats who think they know more than I do, with the years I’ve spent existing in Hell.”
That statement had a personal tone, but Lucifer decided not to inquire further. However, he began to understand what the woman meant about accreditation and experience. It made a lot of sense. Hell, he couldn’t even comprehend how he thought he could put someone on a pedestal, no matter how fleeting the moment or how desperate he felt. Not even his creator had been worthy of that pedestal.
The reality was not very encouraging, to be honest. He felt much more hopeful when he had a blindfold over his eyes. He mentally reproached himself for that thought—he had been the first being to remove the blindfold, for God’s sake! What was happening to him now?
But Charlie… His little girl still deserved a good father and a good king. And if the answer wasn’t to find a guide, then what was it?
“Sorry for wasting your time with this nonsensical proposal,” he said, a lump in his throat.
“Your majesty, I never said such a thing. I only mentioned that the approach wasn’t right.”
Lucifer blinked, one eye first and then the other. “Does that mean that…”
“That I can offer you my counsel, be your confidante, if that’s what you want. Not as an expert, but as someone in a position similar to yours. In return, I hope to receive the same and, if I may ask, a more formal alliance.”
“Is that all?” the king inquired, stunned. Damn, he expected something weirder.
I mean, if he ever asked an Overlord like Alastor for something of that magnitude, he’d surely be met with something repugnant and underhanded, like his right arm served on a silver platter for the creepy cannibal to eat, or various types of humiliation that left a bitter taste in his mouth just imagining it. It was sheer luck that Carmilla wasn’t a sadistic cannibal with aggressive tendencies.
“I could add that if the formal alliance and benefits of the deal extend to Zestial, I would be quite pleased.”
Lucifer leapt from his seat. His tail extended again, rhythmically thrashing. “CONSIDER IT DONE!” he shouted, reaching out his hand. Then he paused, scratching his head. “Is this a deal? Maybe a promise?”
“I’d say it’s a mutual agreement, my king. And an alliance.”
Lucifer buzzed with excitement. “It’s been so long since I formed an alliance!” he confessed. “Where’s Zestial? We need all three of us!”
Carmilla shook her head, still serious but as close to amused as she could show.
“Zestial is waiting in another room. Should I have him come in?”
“Fuck yes!” The king paused. “...Oops. Sorry for my language.”
The Overlord brushed off his choice of words and called her receptionist to have Zestial sent in immediately.
Lucifer waited, bouncing on his feet. He felt that his redemption was getting closer by the moment.