A/N: Hello! I used to watch a ton of Lucifer and I actually wrote this last year, but it never made it up to FFN. So yeah, I'll just leave this here...
I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!
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1
The actual experience of Falling, Samael determined, was exactly as it sounded, but with more fire. Fire as his skin and wings burned in the resistance of the atmosphere, and then again as his metaphysical form crashed through the very solid ground and into what lay beneath. The molten layers of earth were a nice touch. And how could he possibly forget the bloody lake made of literal fire.
He had just finished pulling himself out of said lake and, while he felt like kissing the ground below him, he instead collapsed onto his front. One hand, bright red with blood and exposed muscle, lay in his vision and Samael's heart sunk at what the rest of him must look like. Not even a day ago he was Father's favorite angel, the brightest, the Light bringer. Now, thanks to Michael's siege, he was a wreck, a parody of his former self.
Samael was too weak to moan out as the fire actively burned the remainder of his skin. The flames tickled his flesh, a constant reminder of his current situation. He loathed to see what the rest looked like. What his wings looked like.
If he had crossed the Lake of Fire, Samael reasoned, that could only mean he was officially in the First Circle of Hell. He could sense the gathering of demons around him, no doubt curious about the new arrival, but cautious enough to stay hidden. It was just a few at first, but they quickly grew in numbers. The demonic energy dampened the air around him, feeling oppressive and suffocating.
Samael could barely blink. His eyelids, caked with the scabbing that started to form all over his rapidly healing body, felt like they were glued open. He couldn't move beyond the small twitch and realized the gravity of his helplessness when a pair of boots stepped into his vision. So it seemed the surrounding demons realized it as well.
Samael felt his heart pick up. His began to breathe shallow, quick breaths as his mind screamed danger, danger, danger. He instinctually tried to flap his wings, his body desperately trying to get away, almost screaming out at the pain caused by his blistered skin pulling apart. Samael's heart felt like it stopped and then sped up even faster when he realized with a sinking feeling that he didn't feel the familiar brush of his feathers against his back. They couldn't be… His wings couldn't just be gone… He began to hyperventilate as thoughts raced through his mind.
"Trying so hard to just fly away, huh?" the voice above him said. It was deep, gravelly, demonic. Samael had escaped one inferno to find himself in another, he now realized. He found himself trembling in fear as the demons surrounding him found their courage.
"Looks like the little chicken's lost its feathers," another gibed.
The growing sneers and taunts from the surrounding demons almost drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps. Samael couldn't even let out a proper scream as he felt what could only be a foot step on one of his wings. The combination of the raw skin and crunching bones nearly sent him over the edge. Tears began to fall from his eyes, a sickening wheeze the only sound that his abused throat would accommodate.
So this is Hell, Samael thought to himself, numb from the abuse of the fire and now the foot ruthlessly stomping on his back. He imagined his Father and Michael, watching from the safety of the Silver City. What did they think of the treatment that he was receiving so soon after his fall? Were they smug, proud of themselves? Did they expect him to repent and come crawling back to them, begging for forgiveness?
A particularly brutal stomp, leading to a couple of the joints in his right wing getting crushed, brought him out of his thoughts. Samael grunted in pain and the demon above let out a sinister laugh. But he refused to let a bloody demon best him any longer.
Samael focused his energy, or whatever was left of it. There was a gaping hole in what was once his majestic power, but it would have to do. Samael was called the Light Bringer for a reason. After a minute of focus, which was a trying task with feet jumping on his open wounds, he released the energy he had gathered in a quick blast.
In a burst of light, he could feel the demon directly above him vaporize into nothing. The soul seemed to dissipate in a flash, meshing in with the surrounding atmosphere. Three other demons, not making direct contact but still quite close, were thrown back and hopefully damaged. His laughable excuse for a blast could not reach any further, but scared the surrounding demons nonetheless.
What was once a cavern filled with the sneering jeers was now silent. Most of the demons had fled, not expecting him to fight back, but Samael could still feel a couple stragglers. As long as they stayed their distance, he paid them no mind.
Samael let out a small sigh. That outburst had taken out of him what little energy he had left. He could feel the rocky ground pushing against his cheek, but he honestly couldn't care less. Samael's pain was emanating throughout his entire body, but all he could care about was the silence.
Samael's body was done, he knew, at least for the moment. He would rest, recover, and gather strength. He would orient himself in this strange new world he found himself in. And he swore to himself he would never, ever go crawling back to his family for help.
As much as he tried to fight sleep, Samael couldn't control his eyelids, getting heavier by the second, as they fluttered shut, leaving him in a world of darkness.
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2
Samael flinched at the piercing screams of the tortured. He hadn't stopped flinching since he'd found himself here in Hell, in fact. He supposed it was something he might get used to in time. It was impossible to tell time down here, without the sun or the moon. Without the stars. Heavenly white clouds were replaced with cold, blue corridors. His beloved stars replaced with ash falling down from the lake.
He sat uncomfortably on the ground, framed on either side by doors leading to some poor soul's personal nightmare. His head hung low and his wings, not fully grown back yet but now thoroughly grayed by the ever falling soot, wrapped around him like a security blanket. Samael no longer held his hands over his ears. The tortured screams had a pattern to them, and if Hell held any similarities to Heaven, he knew that the nightmares happened in repetition.
Footsteps. Where Samael would once upon a time perk up at the sound, he now further closed in on himself.
"You look like shit."
Samael tensed at the voice. Female. Confident. He looked up. A woman, or at least what appeared to be a woman, stood before him, hands on her hips. Her face was a mess, with a mixture of exposed bone, muscle, and other tissues. What almost looked to be black mold framed her eyes like some mockery of makeup. Definitely a demon.
"I suppose I could say the same about yourself," Samael replied, fake confidence bleeding through his voice. He knew this game. Just like any other animalistic creature, demons had to size each other up through intimidation and aggression in order to develop a hierarchy of sorts. Samael knew he was the fresh meat.
The demon smiled. Samael wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing.
"So what's an angel like you doing down here in a place like this?" she asked. Samael didn't miss the way she said angel, as if she were talking about an insect or a rat. Before his fall, he would have smitten her on the spot for such insolence. Now, he wasn't so sure. His wings shifted, curling tighter around himself.
"I got into a fight with my dad," he said. Samael considered his verity a point of personal pride. He wasn't going to start lying now. "He got pissed off and told my brother to throw me down here."
The demon seemed to consider his words. Her hand raised and motioned to her face as she said, "And the red…"
"Lake of Fire."
"That would do it."
Samael wasn't sure how to respond to that. How was she so nonchalant about all this? He burns the majority of his skin off in a lake made of literal fire and she has the gall to say…
"What is it that you do here in… in Hell?" Samael asked, trying to calm himself. It was important that he asserted himself eventually in order to rank fairly high in the pecking order. But surely he was allowed to lick his wounds first, was he not? Samael reasoned that an outburst would not help him at this point. Making an enemy out of this demon would not help him when he was at his weakest.
She smiled, obviously happy at the opportunity to talk about herself.
"I punish souls, down on Nine," the demon said cheerfully, as if she were talking about the weather. Meanwhile, Samael's face blanched, his mouth becoming dry. Torturing souls aside, because that was bad enough, he thought about this demon on Level Nine out of nine. The screams here on Two were bad enough, but he couldn't even imagine the pain and suffering that happened on the very lowest level.
She continued, "You see, all the souls on four and up, they punish themselves with their own guilt. Levels five and down become a little trickier and require punishers. Which is where I come in."
It took Samael a minute to find his voice, "If you are a torturer, and punisher, as you say, then may I ask what are you doing on the second level?"
The demon's smile grew, and she let out a small chuckle, "You know how demons are made?"
Samael was sure that the confusion on his face could be read like an open book, "From human souls, of course. Once they are no longer viable, they are either reprocessed into the reincarnation cycle, or they transform into demons. I fail to see how this is relevant."
The demon rolled her eyes (insolent little prick) and smirked down at him, "And the deeper the level, the stronger the potential. Yours truly was once upon a time in a happy little room in the Seventh Circle. Didn't feel like going back to the mortal plane."
"And this information is necessary why?" Samael asked, somewhat afraid of the answer.
"As much as I hate the little buggers, I am human in origin. That means I have certain… needs and urges," the demon explained. Samael didn't think her smirk could get any wider, but perhaps it was possible with the maimed state of her cheek muscles. His eyes began to fall to gaze upon the rest of her ruined body, but quickly returned to her face.
"And?" Samael asked. He knew exactly what she was doing. The demon was trying to draw this out for as long as possible in order to study him, to study what he said. She was sizing him up, seeing if he would be a potential threat in the future. It all came back to the hierarchy, the game, the race to the top. But just when he was expecting her to continue to stall…
"I'm on my lunch break."
"You're…" Samael mumbled. He was at a loss for words and he knew it. He knew the demon knew that he knew it. Their short game had ended, and it wasn't in his favor. The demon crouched in front of him, his entire body stiff, and grasped his chin in her hand. The grip was firm, commanding. And then suddenly, he felt her lips on his.
The kiss lasted for less than a second, but Samael felt as if his brain had stopped working. He could feel the imprint of her smirk, the feel of her exposed muscle and bone against his mouth. Samael stared straight ahead at the wall, barely noticing when the demon pulled away and stood back up. He barely processed the small chuckle, and the telltale clicking of heels as the demon began to walk away.
The clicking stopped for a moment, but Samael did not take his eyes off that spot on the wall in front of him. He heard a quiet voice whisper, "Maybe I'll see you during my next lunch break, angel boy."
The clicking of heels resumed, punctuated by nearby screams that had felt dulled but had never quite stopped. Samael sat there, still as a statue, until the sound of the demon faded off into the distance. Once he could no longer hear her, he lifted his hand up to his lips, feeling the ghost sensation of her lips on his.
After a moment, Samael stood up, his burned and aching legs slowly getting used to carrying his weight once more. Instinctually, he ruffled his feathers ash flying up into the air. Half of it fell back onto his plumage, he reasoned, instead of the ground, but he tried his best to pay it no mind. Samael tucked his wings in close to his back and began walking in the opposite direction of the demon.
Hell, it seems, would be full of surprises.
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3
"Hey angel boy."
Samael froze mid step. Sure, he had felt the demon's presence and the heard clicking of her heels approaching him before she spoke, but that didn't make him any less wary. She was still a demon, albeit the only one in this forsaken place that hadn't tried to attack him yet. So he turned around and plastered what he hoped was a confident smile on his face. Samael forced his wings to open just a touch. His instincts screamed at the vulnerability it created, but he reasoned that the demon would've attacked already if that had been what she'd been planning.
"My name is not Angel Boy, Demon, and I would greatly advise against you addressing me as such."
She smirked, arms crossed across her chest and one hip cocked out to the side, "But you still responded to it, angel boy."
The corners of his mouth drooped for a second as he grasped for words. She took a step closer, obviously wise to his act of confidence. The demon took another step forward, and when he realized her hand was going for his wing, he took a step back. Samael instinctually hunched in on himself, but quickly realized his mistake and held his head high, but with his wings tucked closer to his back than before.
"Mazikeen."
"Maz… what?" Samael asked, caught by surprise at the foreign word. He knew the
"Mazikeen. But my friends call me Maze. It's my name. Something you have yet to give me," the demon, Mazikeen, said with gleeful smirk. Knowing her, she was probably enjoying this, "Isn't it rude to make a lady give her name before giving your own?"
"I'm not sure you noticed, but it's not like I asked you in the first place," Samael responded, attempting defending himself. The hardly a lady… was said under his breath. But he knew when he was bested, and he wasn't afraid to give in, "You can call me Samael. No nickname, I'm afraid."
"Oh, that's no problem," she replied without so much as a pause, "I'll just call you Sammy."
"Sam… Wait," Samael said, his eyes widening at her maniacal laughter. She really was a demon…
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!" she sang to an improvised melody.
"No," he tried to assert himself, "You will call me Samael."
She continued to chant the nickname despite his exasperation.
"Shut up!" Samael tried to yell, unable to keep the smile from growing on his face. Were demons supposed to be this carefree and… goofy?
She giggled ( giggled!) at him before saying, "I'm sure you're creative enough to think of a couple ways to get me to shut up."
Samael would swear he wasn't thinking. That he was clearly goaded and was running purely on autopilot. It was his only justification for why he grabbed a handful of shirt, pulled her close, and lightly rested his lips on hers.
They stood like that, awkwardly attached at the lips, for a second, and then another, before he pulled away. Samael's eyes were wide open as he questioned what exactly he was thinking. His mouth bobbed open and closed as he tried to say something, anything. But he was at a total loss for words.
Mazikeen, on the other hand, was smirking like a predator that had just found its prey. She pushed him against the wall and captured his mouth again. This time was rough, almost desperate, and utterly unlike the last two times. He could feel her nipping at his lower lip before she pulled away.
"Open your damn mouth," she panted into the side of his neck.
A bit breathless himself, he responded, "Apologies, I'm quite new—"
She cut him off mid-word. It took him a moment to adjust to the feeling of her tongue invading his mouth, exploring his teeth and the insides of his cheeks. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as her body pressed against his. He soon understood what to do. Before long, their tongues began to move in an intricate dance, each battling for dominance.
Samael felt her smirk against his mouth before doing this absolutely beautiful… thing with her hips that had him seeing stars. He knew that he was losing this battle as he moaned absolutely filthy sounds into her mouth. Samael almost groaned at the loss when her tongue retreated, but let out another moan when he felt lips on his neck. She left open-mouth kisses in her wake, trailing from just below his jawline down to where his neck met his shoulders. His eyes shuttered closed at the sensation.
Hands let go of his shoulders, and he almost missed the contact before he felt them combing through his wings, still sensitive from freshly grown in feathers. Samael tilted his head back at the sensation, his wings opening just a little bit to grant access to curious hands. The mouth was ruthlessly sucking at the base of his neck and these devilish fingers were carding through his feathers, and those hips were grinding against his in just the perfect way and it was all too much and then—
And then it was gone.
Samael let out what could only be described as a squeak. He leaned forward in an attempt to find the warmth of another mouth before his eyes fluttered open. Samael had never seen any being as smug as Mazikeen in that moment. His face began to heat up as she tapped the side of his face twice.
"You really are new to this, aren't you," she said, the self-satisfaction positively bleeding through her voice. She added, "Lunch break's over."
Samael was positive that his face was, well, redder than it probably should've been. He panted, breathless, unable to form words. He could only watch her, clearly pleased that she the ability to reduce him to this.
And then Mazikeen, the absolute demon, turned around and left him there, desperate and needy without the faintest idea of what to do.
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4
He brightened up the second he realized she was coming his way.
"Mazikeen! To what do I owe this pleasure!" Samael exclaimed, standing up from his sitting position against the wall. The rest of Hell was still giving him the silent treatment, clearly avoiding him because of the incident on the first day, so he was always excited to see his favorite resident demon.
She walked up to him confidently, with purpose, and pulled him into a quick kiss. Learning from last time, he instantly opened his mouth and melted into her hands. The moment was unfortunately over before things got heated and she pulled away. Samael licked his lips before giving her a smile, much more confident than their last meeting.
"Lunch break?" he asked.
"Day off, actually," she responded, "Boss says I'm working too hard, making everybody else look bad."
"You seem to be quite hard working at… everything that you do."
Mazikeen paused for a second and Samael questioned if it was something he said. Then, out of nowhere, she put her hands on her hips and let out the most real laugh he'd ever heard out of her. Tears start to form in her eyes and she had to lift a hand to wipe them away. Samael just stared.
"Was that..." she tried to say through her laughter, "Was that you're attempt at an innuendo?"
"It was… um," Samael tried, but was, once again, at a loss for words. His face started to feel warm and he was positive that a healthy blush was forming across his entire face. Samael was starting to figure out that she had that effect on him a lot.
"Because if it was," Mazikeen was starting to calm down just a little bit, "we are definitely going to have to work on it."
She was on him in an instant, mouth on his, hand cupping his chin. Samael opened his mouth, allowing her entrance. He let out a small moan as he felt his tongue against hers.
Privacy was nonexistent in Hell. Samael learned that little fact in the first couple days, when he was looking for a space where he could hide and lick his wounds. While there were numerous corridors that were devoid of all life, there was nowhere, save for perhaps the rooms trapping damned souls, that was safe from prying eyes. That is why when Mazikeen snuck her hand into his pants, right then and there, Samael was hesitant but not wholly surprised.
Mazikeen leaned into him and licked his neck, leaving a strip of moisture all the way up to his jawline. Samael let out a breathy moan when he felt teeth lightly nip his earlobe. She whispered seductively into his ear, "Did you figure out what to do? After I left you last time?"
"I… I figured it out," Samael said after a sharp intake of air, reacting to the tongue on the shell of his ear, "eventually."
"That's good to hear," she mumbled sensually, "But I don't plan on leaving you like last time. I'm gonna take care of you myself."
Samael moaned again at the thought. He almost forgot about the hand in his pants until it moved, holding him in a heavenly grip. When he had to take care of himself, unsure of what to do, he had been sloppy and desperate. He got the job done eventually, but it had felt nothing like this.
Samael was convinced that the act of jacking off was a damn artform that ought to be cherished.
Mazikeen's mouth migrated from his neck to his lips and soon they were battling in another open-mouthed kiss. Tongue and teeth clashed and he moaned greedily into her mouth every time she did what he could only describe as magic with her fingers and her wrist.
Her hand moved down to hold his hips down, in a failing attempt to stop him from getting too excited too quickly.
Samael, too sensitive and pathetically easy to please, was soon grunting out in ecstasy. He rode the high for as long as possible, his body soon becoming limp as he became fully relaxed in the afterglow. Mazikeen supported his full weight and sat them both down, backs against the wall.
"You like that? Was that good?" she asked him, obviously knowing what the answer would be.
"Q-quite," he sighed, completely out of breath, "But don't you want me to…"
"Nah, next time," she said back, tucking her head in the crook where his neck and shoulder met, "You probably wouldn't even know what to do anyway."
He let out a small chuckle, "You're probably right."
They sat there together in silence, cherishing each other's presence.
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Eventually, Mazikeen broke the silence.
"Hey. What are you the angel of?" she asked.
"Light," he answered.
"What do you… do as the angel of light," she mumbled, "other than, you know, vaporize demons with energy blasts."
He hummed at the memory. It seemed so long ago that he had fallen and found himself on that rocky, fiery shore. His fall felt like it happened in another lifetime.
"I may have had a hand in making the stars," he responded.
"Hm," she pondered thoughtfully, "Guess that's pretty cool."
"I guess so."
In that moment, Samael found himself wishing that Mazikeen had days off more often.
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5
Samael was bored.
It was a feeling he was getting quite used to, however. The souls of the damned were absolutely no fun, and the demons were all very keen to ignore him. All except for Mazikeen, of course.
He thought of his friendly demon and of their relationship. If their frequent encounters could be called that. Samael wasn't sure what they were, or what she thought they were. Was he just a distraction from the monotony of everyday life? Perhaps.
Or did she actually care for him beyond being the odd discussion (or, ahem, physical) partner during lunch breaks?
Samael had a sudden urge to see her. He had never sought her out before, as she was always the one to find him. Samael thought back to their first conversation.
"Down on Nine," she had said.
Samael had never been to the Ninth Circle before. Truthfully, he had never ventured any further than Six, and that was just one time. It surely couldn't be very different, he thought to himself, from the upper levels. The souls, after all, never saw the hallways themselves, and the demons that occupied them weren't all too interested in interior design. Either that, or they all really liked the color blue.
He found his way down to the level easily enough. Samael had then found a demon that was very clearly trying to avoid him and extracted information regarding the location of Mazikeen specifically. The demon sneered at him, but Samael paid him no mind. Door 9523, the demon said. They were all organized numerically, even on one side of the hallway and odd on the other, with each hallway holding a hundred rooms.
Samael found the fifth hallway and darted down it. He was excited to see Mazikeen, the only person he could call friend in all of Hell. He thought then about the… physicality of their relationship and smiled to himself. Surely would have more tricks up her sleeve. More things to have him experience that he'd never even dreamed of. Samael imagined that he looked like he was smiling like a child, and made quick work of finding 9523.
He opened the door to find—
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To find Mazikeen plunge a knife directly into a man's neck.
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Time seemed to slow down. Samael saw her there, his friend, with one curved knife in the man's neck, the other carving up the skin on his face. Thin strips of flesh hung still connected to his face (red, red, red) flew through the air as he thrashed. The man screamed, more piercing than anything Samael had heard through the many doors he passed every day. Then, he was hit by the energy.
The only way he could describe it was pure evil. Samael was reminded of the thick, demonic energy he faced directly after pulling himself out of the Lake of Fire. That, of course, was nothing compared to what he now felt pulsing through the air. It was dark and oppressive, like he was surrounded on all sides by thick sludge. He could barely breath and couldn't move and felt like he would get pushed to his knees at any moment.
Mazikeen pulled her knife out of the man's neck and blood spurted out, catching part of her face. A long, pointed tongue snaked its way out and licked the blood off as she slowly turned around, no doubt from the noise he had made in opening the door.
Time screeched to a halt when they made eye contact.
Samael saw her eyes widen the slightest bit, her tongue still hanging out of her open mouth. Neither of them spoke, and it was silent save for the screams of the brutally tortured soul.
"Sammy…" Mazikeen whispered as she began to process just who it was at the door, but he barely heard her over the blood pounding in his ears. Samael saw an emotion that he'd never seen on her face. The usual smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced with a look somewhere between fear and concern. Her knives, still dripping with blood, dropped to her sides, and then onto the ground.
Samael turned around and ran. ("Sammy, wait!") Coming down to the ninth level was a mistake. It was foolish of him to think he could find camaraderie in a… in a demon of all things. She was ruthless and efficient with a knife, that much he had clearly seen.
Running faster with the help of his wings, Samael realized that he could fool himself no longer. He had seen the demon in her element, laughing as that desperate soul screamed as he was ripped apart. Only to be healed and ripped apart again, over and over and over.
Samael's feet left the ground as he fully supported himself with his wings, flying through the air at top speed. He flew through the gates, taking the shortcuts that Maz—the demon had shown him to reach what he had been using as his shelter.
Up in the Fourth Circle, he had found a spot where the ash didn't fall so hard, where the screams weren't quite as piercing. He hit the ground and quickly curled in on himself, his wings blanketing around him in a way they hadn't done since the first few days.
In his little hidden spot, he finally let heavy tears fall out of his eyes and, for the first time in quite a while, he wished with all his heart that he was home.
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+1
He knew he was a blinding, white spot in a sea of cold, blue corridors, and that he was terribly easy to spot. So Samael wasn't surprised when he felt Mazikeen's energy rapidly approaching him. He felt her before he heard her. Samael knew she was walking slowly by the click of her heels, as if he was a flighty animal she was afraid of scaring off.
He sat there silently, and she did the same for a moment. But then she spoke.
"Do you remember what I told you, when we first met?" she said quietly. Samael looked up at her. His eyes felt puffy and he knew they were red. She, on the other hand, looked calm and collected. Her smirk was gone. Samael realized that she cleaned most of the blood off herself before chasing him. But he could still see a few red specks blended in with the red of her cheek muscles, staining white bone.
"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that," he muttered. She moved closer and he tried not to flinch. He hated to think that he might've lost her, that she was now an enemy like the rest of them.
"You asked me what my job was. Remember?"
And he does remember. He had been replaying the conversation over and over again in his head.
"You said you're a torturer," he says. Samael feels his voice crack and internally berates himself for his weakness, "And I can say that's certainly what it looked like."
"No," she responded quickly, forcefully, "I said I was a punisher. There's a difference."
"Then please enlighten me," he said, the hurt from betrayal clear in his voice. Mazikeen moved closer once more and crouched not an arm's length away from him.
"A torturer, they cause pain for no good reason. They do it just cause they can. A punisher, they cause pain to people who deserve it," Mazikeen steeled her eyes at him, "That's the difference."
"And…" Samael's voiced cracked, and he couldn't finish his thought. He couldn't help but think of the soul down on Nine in agony, blood everywhere, flesh hanging from his face…
"His name is Nicholas. He… killed some people. In a really bad way," Mazikeen says in a soft voice, far too soft to be coming from a demon as capable of those acts as she is.
"How bad?" Samael begs, because he needs to know. His eyes feel full to the brim with unfallen tears, "What could he have possibly done to deserve… this?"
Maze touches Samael's face, right next to his eye, and he flinches once more at being under those hands. Hands that had been bright red not too long ago. Hands that had touched him and brought pleasure… Hands that had caused pain, had destroyed…
"This is where he would make the first incision," she whispers, lightly tracing a finger around one eye, and then the other. She then moved her finger up to his forehead, tracing it down the side of her face, "After separating the skin around the eyes, he would cut them around the edge of their face."
Air caught in Samael's throat and he found it difficult to breathe. Tears fell down the still wet tracks down his cheek as she continued, "He would meticulously separate the skin from the muscle, starting from the top of the forehead and working his way down."
He froze as her fingers rested upon his throat, "Once the face was separated, once he had a perfect mask made of skin, he would kill them. A sharp jab to the throat. He would watch them squirm until they bled out."
"How many?" he asked.
"Too many," she muttered, almost as if to herself.
She rested her hand on his Adam's apple, no doubt feeling it as it bobbed in his throat, never once breaking eye contact. She then pleaded, "Please understand, Sammy. I don't make anybody do anything. I only punish them for their own actions, their own sins."
Mazikeen chose that moment to smile. It wasn't that smirk that seemed to be constantly plastered to her face, but it also wasn't that seductive expression he'd seen on her face three times now. She almost looked sad, her eyebrows scrunching as if searching his face for approval. It was probably the most sincere he'd ever seen her. He brought his hand up to rest it on hers and gave her a small smile.
She leaned forward and sat next to him, moving to rest her head on his shoulder. He shifted his wing, moving it to wrap around her like a blanket. Samael stared at the wall straight ahead as she felt her latch onto his arm.
Mazikeen spoke up again, "The other demons, they say I'm the best at what I do. I'm able to drain the dark energy out faster than anyone else, able to send damned souls back into the cycle quicker."
Samael let out a small chuckle, "You make it sound like a bloody job description."
"You know, I guess it is."
They sat there on the cold ground. Samael regarded the demon sitting in the protection of his wings, almost disregarding the ash that was surely getting in between his feathers or the distant, ever-present screams.
"I… I think I understand," Samael broke the silence.
"Hm?"
"Dad always has a plan. Michael, the sanctimonious little shit, he always said so," Samael said, reminded once again of the still fresh betrayal he suffered from his own flesh and blood, "I won't pretend to like those hairless apes. I won't but… they suffer and make others suffer. If everything is a part of Dad's plan, then why is there so much suffering?"
"Sammy—"
"No, don't call me that," he cut her off sharply.
"Samael—"
"That's not what I mean. Samael. My Dad gave me this name. My Dad, who is responsible for all this unnecessary suffering. I… I refuse to use it. I refuse to play his game."
"Hm, what should I call you then? Light… Star?" she said, mischief leaking into her voice.
"That might just be the most idiotic thing I've ever heard you say."
"But you said you created the stars in the night sky, remember?" she whined, trying to justify herself. Lucifer snaked his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to himself.
"What about Morning Star?"
"Hm… Lucifer. I like it."
They sat on the cold floor in a blue corridor in a strange world covered in ash but with Mazikeen in his arms, Lucifer almost felt like he was home.