Have we gone too far?

Can we return when we're torn apart?

In the darkness of night

In the ashes, I see the fading light

- Caught in the Fire by Klergy, Episode 4x7


Gone Too Far

Hell had cooked up a storm of monumental proportions, thrown off kilter by the loss of its king.

There was no way a domain could actually know that it had lost its master, but Hell was always a peculiar thing, nearly living in its own right. And, of course, after many millennia of housing Lucifer, it had grown attuned to his every move. When Lucifer had made it clear that he had no intention of ever returning, Hell had revolted as much as the demons. Now, Hell was lamenting Lucifer's loss yet again, matching Dromos' screams with its own rumbling thunder and storms of ash.

Dromos and Squee were not partial to the hellish weather, as they were still inside Lucifer's palace. They had scoured every inch of the place, hoping that Lucifer had managed to fly himself to another room, but no luck. He was well and truly gone. Which was how the two demons found themselves in the throne room, each sharing their despair in different ways. Squee found release in moping (no crying - definitely not crying) while Dromos shouted, threw things, and broke anything he could get his hands on.

There was a crown that sat on a pedestal atop a black velvet pillow, one that had been there since Lucifer first fell. It was crafted in the deepest forges of Hell by the master craftsdemons themselves, imbued with ancient darkness and a penchant to erupt into hellfire. Lucifer had refused to put the damned thing on his head, thinking it too gaudy even for his taste. Dromos took it and threw it against the wall, knocking a few rubies loose. It was the latest casualty in a long line. Dromos had already torn the drapes, the carpet, and shattered a few priceless statues. What good was a crown for a king that was gone?

Then, the doors to the throne room was thrown open with an almighty clang. Both demons stopped their skulking and turned to the intruder.

"YOU!" Dromos roared as soon as he caught sight of the man in what had to be the most obnoxious yellow sweat suit. He may not have been of Hell, but his aura was strong. It was celestial, but something poisonous lingered there as well, something that felt an awful lot like death. The man was cloaked in it.

Squee felt a chill run down his spine. Oh no.

"What have you done!"

Dromos, either unaware or uncaring of what exactly he was facing, charged at the man - not a man, Squee realized, but an angel - with fangs bared and claws ready to rip his throat out. Squee turned away, not at all in the mood to watch blood and guts be spilled so soon after such a devastating loss. No such fight ensued, however, as the angel moved with supernatural speed, dodging Dromos easily and sending him sprawling on his back.

"What have I done?" Michael asked, his tone carefully neutral as he took Dromos by the throat one-handed. He hoisted the demon up in the air just to prove that he could, and cast his vaguely disapproving eyes upon Dromos. "You were supposed to wait for my instructions."

Dromos gnashed his fangs, snapping at Michael. Michael did not even flinch.

"What did you do to our king!" Dromos demanded to know, thrashing to the best of his ability. Anyone or anything else would have tired and lowered Dromos by now, exhausted at the effort of keeping such a powerful demon under control. Not Michael. He kept his hold upon Dromos' neck even tighter.

"You were supposed to wait," Michael repeated, not even a hint of anger in his tone. If anything, that made the angel even scarier, and Squee found himself backing away. "Nothing is ready. So much careful planning, wasted. I can only blame myself for trusting a demon."

Dromos continued to clamor and claw at his captor, but it was no use. It was Dromos who was losing; he could see that now, his movements turning from offensive to defensive. He scratched at Micheal's hands, trying to pry them from his throat, but Michael's skin was as tough as diamonds. It did not break, no matter how hard Dromos' claws dug.

Dromos tried to plead with Squee, but his comrade was frozen in fear, cowering to avoid the same abuse. The more Dromos struggled, the harder Michael held, and while Dromos did not require air to breathe, it felt as though something was burning through his very core, like someone had set a match to his insides. He did not like this feeling at all, and it got worse the longer Michael held, his eyes blazing gold.

And that's when Dromos realized. Grace. Michael was using Grace against him, burning through Dromos' essence with the purity of Heaven.

The audacity! Dromos screamed insults and curses so foul that even the worst sinners in Hell would blush as the burning reached peak inferno, as his skin boiled off and his inside evaporated from the sheer nuclear heat of pure Grace. It was gruesome and violent, the perfect death for a demon if it was not so damn painful.

With a final yowl, Dromos' very existence was wiped from creation, his body turning to a fine grey dust in Michael's hand.

"Tell me, demon, Hell can only be ruled by an angel, is that right?" Michael asked Squee, letting the dust that was formerly Dromos sift through his fingers and fall to the cold, unforgiving ground.

"Y-yes, only an angel," Squee managed to say, still keeping his distance lest Michael lash out and turn him to dust as well.

Michael studied the dust, flicking the last bits of it away and stepping over the pile to reach the throne. It was not as big as the one that sat in the center of Hell; that spire of stone was meant to oversee the demons as a show of power, establishing angelic dominion over the creatures of Hell. This throne was smaller but no less intimidating - cut from the same polished obsidian with a high back, wide arms, and austere angles. Michael reached out and touched it, the barest glance of the tips of his fingers across smooth stone.

Squee wondered what this angel was thinking, what he felt when he touched the throne. A creature of such purity and divinity, and yet, drawn to the darkness as if he could not help himself. It was a terrifying thing to behold. What was more terrifying was the intensity at which the angel stared at the throne, as if he could will it to dust like he had Dromos.

"You serve me now. You and all the hoards of Hell," Michael said idly, still standing facing the throne, not sitting. "My hunt has ended too early, but I shall complete it all the same. The armies of Heaven would not come to my aid, but the armies of Hell shall do quite nicely for what I have planned."

"And what, exactly, is that plan? If you don't mind me asking..." Squee dared to say, hoping those world would not be his last.

Michael turned to Squee and smiled, his first show of emotion, but it was an empty thing. Squee would have preferred the angel stay stoic.

"You are demons. You wreak chaos, do you not?" Michael asked, and Squee nodded, curious as to where this was going. "Then I command you to do just that. Go to Earth. Wreak havoc on those closest to Lucifer. Make sure nothing remains."

"Yes, my king."

Squee bowed so deeply that his hog nose brushed the ground. Maybe working for this angel wouldn't be so bad. Only a few minutes in power and he was already giving the demons more freedoms than Lucifer ever had. Squee liked destroying things. This was going to be fun.

"Good. Now, go tell the others."

Michael turned back around and that was how Squee left him: looking at the throne as if he wanted to raze it all to the ground.

... _ ...

When Lucifer came to, he knew he was no longer in Hell.

No, the brightness that assaulted his eyes as soon as he opened them was enough to tip him off that he was no longer among the dark and dreary corridors of Hell. The brightness was nearly painful, causing his already aching head to throb.

Was he back in the Silver City? Was the light invading his retinas the holy essence of his beloved Father? If it was, Lucifer would sooner spit at Him than thank Him for prying him away from Hell in such a violent and sudden manner. Lucifer doubted he was in the Silver City, though. If he were, his siblings would not wait this long to poke and prod at him, to torment him. Besides, the ground beneath him was solid and rough, not soft and perfectly cool as everything was up there.

Concrete, his mind supplied. He was lying on concrete. There was definitely no concrete in Heaven.

Lucifer's mouth tasted like he had swallowed lead, bitter and heavy. His tongue was dry, but he could still feel the lingering drops of whiskey, could taste them as he forced down a swallow. Everything was painful. Each of his joints screamed in protest as he climbed his way to his feet, as feeble and unsteady as a newborn foal.

What the Hell had happened?

Dromos and Squee happened, that much was for certain. Whatever was going on was their doing, though exactly what that was remained a mystery. Strangely enough, the demons had seemed just as shocked as Lucifer felt, like they were not expecting what had happened to happen. Like they did not mean to send their king to this dingy, putrid-smelling alleyway on Earth.

Wait...Lucifer knew this alleyway. He knew the sounds and the smells and the shops across the street. It was all so familiar, and Lucifer would know this city - his true home - like the back of his hand.

Lucifer was in Los Angeles.

The first feeling was complete and utter joy. Lucifer's body lit up like the sun itself, flooded with gratitude that he was back. He was home. He had the urge to kiss the grime-coated ground and actually thank those no-good demons for sending him here.

Once the reality of the situation set in, his second emotion was fear.

This was bad. Oh, this was very, very bad. He was on Earth while the demons in Hell were running amok without a master. Lucifer had gone back to rule Hell for a very specific, incredibly important reason: to protect the Earth - mainly the few humans he cared for - from demonic dominion. Without him, said demons would start to revolt; they would break the rules. No one would be safe, and he would not stand for that.

As much as he wanted to stay, as much as his heart ached, he had to go.

Unsheathing his wings, which were just as sore as the rest of him, Lucifer closed his eyes and focused on flying downward through the concrete, deep into the mantle below. It was an easy trip, one he had made hundreds of times before, one he could do in his sleep. Once he got back, he would torture the demons responsible and treat himself to a nice bath afterwards. Perfect.

However, Lucifer opened his eyes, and instead of the shadowy landscape of Hell, he remained in the alley.

Strange.

Lucifer knelt down, placed a hand on the concrete, and closed his eyes again. He poured all of his power into searching out a path below, any route that would open back down to Hell. For the first time since he fell, he found none. The gates to Hell were closed to him, just as the gates to the Silver City had been for thousands of years.

He snatched his hand back as if burned.

This...this was impossible. He was the Devil, for Dad's sake! He ruled Hell! And now it was closed to him? What kind of sick cosmic joke was this?

Lucifer needed answers, and he needed them now. The longer he stayed away from Hell, the more he risked an uprising. Perhaps Amenadiel could be of some use. He always seemed to know all sorts of obscure information. Sure, Amenadiel had a baby to look after, but Lucifer's problem was far more important.

One step out onto the street and Lucifer realized just how sticky his situation was.

This particular alley, as Lucifer so astutely recognized but quickly forgot, was just around the corner from the Los Angeles precinct. And judging by the sun in the sky, it was roughly the end of the work day, which meant that all of his favorite faces would soon be filing out. He could already see a few of the rookie officers making their way down the street towards the parking garage, chatting, smiling. Like they didn't miss Lucifer at all. How rude!

How long had he been gone? Time was so hard to tell from down in Hell but he still recognized the officers and no one had any new wrinkles or geriatric features. They would certainly recognize him if they spotted him, and then they'd ask questions, and that...that would be very bad for someone trying to keep a low profile. Very, very bad indeed.

Daniel was the first face Lucifer truly recognized, his unfortunate mug coming into view as he loitered at the bottom of the steps of the precinct. He stuck his hands in his pockets and cocked his head upward, looking nonchalantly around like a real douche. Not that he meant to; Lucifer knew that Daniel couldn't help his douchey instincts. That begged the question: who was he waiting for? It wasn't like the man had friends.

Maybe Daniel could help shed some light on this situation. Maybe he knew something that was going on top-side, something that could have drawn Lucifer here, something that would make the demons keen on kicking him out of Hell. Something like civil unrest or the sky bursting into flames. It wasn't Lucifer's best idea, but it was worth a shot. Besides, it wasn't like Daniel would mind a little interruption. Clearly he wasn't doing anything imp-

Detective.

For a moment, Lucifer's heart stopped. He forgot how to breath. Because there she was: Chloe Decker, his Detective, a vision in denim and sensible brown shoes and her hair pulled up like it always was. She smiled and said hello to the officers she passed, but even from this far away, Lucifer could tell that something was wrong. The corners of her mouth were pinched, her eyes looked a little too red-rimmed, and she seemed distracted.

And she was going the wrong way, into the precinct when she should have been exiting. She stopped to talk to Dan, a quick exchange of words on the steps before they went their separate ways. Lucifer assumed the meeting had something to do with the spawn, as he had witnessed such exchanges before. That still did not explain her going against the flow.

Did she not go into work today? How long had that been happening? Was that the reason she looked so distressed? Did someone do that to her? Who was it so Lucifer could rip the offending maggot limb from limb.

Lucifer wanted to follow her, wanted to hold her and tell her whatever was wrong would be okay. But he could not do that. He could not be so cruel to her, not again. To show up only to leave again...even that was too torturous a punishment for the Devil to inflict, and Chloe deserved nothing but good things.

As much as it pained him, he had to go. He had to leave before -

- Michael?

At first, Lucifer did not believe his eyes. Had he hit his head on the way up? It had been so long since he had seen his brother, his twin, but there was no mistaking it. That was Michael: tall and broad shouldered with golden hair and blue eyes that were the envy of the Silver City, clad in what had to be the world's ugliest yellow track suit. Despite the eyesore, he was still beautiful. So beautiful, all the angels had lauded, so pure. Only Lucifer could ever see through him.

All that beauty was designed to hide a monster.

Phantom pains millennia old ached at Lucifer's throat now. He reached to touch them as he tracked Michael's movements...towards the precinct?

Strange enough that Michael was on Earth at all, but to head towards a police precinct...? That made even less sense. Lucifer knew enough about Michael to know that some things never changed, and that there was no way Michael was going to heed the words of human law enforcement, not when Michael thought himself the embodiment of God's law.

It was not until Lucifer followed Michael's gaze to find it fixed on Chloe's back, watched Michael trace her exact steps as he wound his way to the front of the precinct, that his stomach began to sink.

A light bulb went off inside Lucifer's head - a terrible, horrible explanation for his current insanity. Lucifer blanched as it all clicked into place, and his desire to remain unnoticed vanished.

Lucifer followed after Michael, praying that he was not too late.