"You dimwit!" Euryale screeched. "You're not supposed to tell him that! He won't eat the wieners if you tell him they're poisoned!"
Stheno looked stunned. "He won't? But I said it would be quick and painless."
"Never mind!" Euryale's fingernails grew into claws. "We'll kill him the hard way— just keep slashing until we find the weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we'll be more famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!"
Percy gripped his sword. He'd have to time his move perfectly.
But as Percy sidled closer to Stheno's platter, a powerful gust blew past the murderous Gorgons, sending the Cheese 'n' Wieners into the air. His eyes tracked the orange flurry of stale, cheesy poison, taking in how most of the deadly morsels just fell to the ground—and how some of them caught the wind, blowing further and further until they were right in front of the Gorgons. Stheno's hair snakes were lashing about in confusion, and even Euryale was blinking rapidly to remove the orange, powdery coating from her eyes.
Percy knew this was his chance—he'd never have a better distraction. Percy darted forward, sprinting towards Stheno as his exhausted body let loose its final spurt of strength.
Stheno was ranting now, and Euryale had started to slowly limp towards him, but Percy wasn't paying attention to any of that. All his focus was narrowed in on the platter as he closed in on Stheno, coming so close he could see his gasping face on its polished surface. Yet as his arms tensed to snatch it out of Stheno's hands, and he sucked in a quick, revitalizing breath, he caught a glimpse of orange coming right towards his platter-self.
In the blink of an eye (literally: Euryale was still blinking during all this), before Percy could react, he'd sucked in the Cheese 'n' Wiener. Stheno bared her canines in delight at that, then slammed her platter up into Percy's jaw, forcing the poisoned morsel down his throat.
As Percy staggered back, his ears ringing, a cackling cry surrounded him. Stheno was chortling, crazed with joy.
"Yes, yes, yeees! I am the greatest of the Gorgons now! Not ugly Medusa, not that buzzkill Euryale, but Stheno— slayer of Perseus Jackson! Our patron shall reward me richly! And best of all, I'll finally be Mother's favorite! Bwahehehehehe!'"
Percy felt a haze begin descending over his body, could almost sense his heart pumping the poison through his veins. He tried to think through the ringing, through the weariness that was everywhere now, even as his body started slumping to the ground.
I… I need to heal… I need water.
His eyes almost unable to open anymore, an uncomfortable heat building in his chest, he caught a glimpse of the sea's distinctive green-blue tones. It was obscured by some sort of misty fog (or was that just his eyes failing), and when he reached towards it, the water felt so very far. But he had no other choice.
Percy pulled on the sea, wrenching it towards him with all his will, the tugging in his gut almost unbearable but still somehow lesser to the force the water bore down on him with. Somehow in those brief seconds the mist had vanished (had he pulled it with the sea?), and Percy saw the wave bearing down on him. The Gorgons weren't laughing anymore, or if they were, the sound had vanished under the rush of the wave, but they were still there, the sensation of Euryale desperately clawing at the back of his neck all too distinctive.
Percy laughed at that, his body painfully shaking at the hilarity of their dedication. Him with finding Annabeth, them with serving their patron—they were all just chasing what they wanted, and woe unto anyone in their way.
The wave was all too close, mere seconds from swallowing him up into its still-growing mass, but the burning was growing too, forcing a scream up and through his laughter until Percy was sure he seemed utterly deranged. A crumpled, blood-soaked teenager in front of two old ladies, his throat torturing itself to somehow produce laughing screams even as a tsunami bore down on him—who wouldn't doubt his sanity?
Then at last the spray of the tsunami sprinkled across him, but though the heat's growth slowed, it didn't stop, and the inferno crawled its way up through his spine.
Then the wave hit. The impact should have crushed his body into so much pulp, that he knew, but this tsunami was his, and so it refused to hurt him.
Now that he was in the water, the heat had lessened incredibly, but somehow it was still there, creeping through his veins even though they were filled with a substance that was probably more water than blood at this point.
Combined with the damage he'd already taken from the Gorgon blood, Percy knew he didn't have much time. Soon, he'd black out, and the Gorgons could reform and hunt him down again at their leisure.
But even if he couldn't stop them, he could at least make their hunt more difficult. Twisting his face into a grin, Percy propelled his body through the water, unsure of what direction he was going, but sure that it was at least away. And with that last spit in the face to those that were hunting him, the greatest demigod of the modern age was out cold.
Lucifer Morningstar was grieving.
Well, perhaps grieving wasn't quite the right word. Yes, someone he'd known well was dead, but Lucifer had been the one to kill him, and he hardly regretted it.
But then again, he was mourning a death, if not the death of a person. Lucifer Morningstar was grieving the death of his relationship with the person in his life that mattered most to him—the death of his relationship with Detective Chloe Decker.
For after he had gladly plunged a demonsteel dagger into Cain's heart for daring to hurt her, and ensured that Cain's soul would condemn itself to the fires of Hell, Lucifer's devil face had returned, burning through his face's human flesh to show the tormented monster he truly was. The Detective had returned to rescue her partner from Cain, and had instead found that partner looming over Cain's still-warm corpse, revealed to truly be the Devil at last.
Now, the Detective had fled not merely the city, but the country, with no indication that she would ever return. And so Lucifer, the man who had never spoken a lie, mourned the loss of what he had with her in the most honest way he knew—through song.
Lucifer's hands glided across the keys of his grand piano, the limbs' graceful dance illuminated by a steady blue glow from the lights above. It was a slow night for Lux, but for a nightclub that was usually filled to the brim, that only meant there were a few spaces tucked away where couples could romance each other privately, rather than in plain sight. All that meant for Lucifer was that his performance's audience of pitying eyes would be slightly smaller tonight.
Lucifer knew that his three piece suit was dirty and askew, that his hair was a rat's nest compared to its usual state of perfection, and even that his body as of the moment could not help but emit a pervasive stench.
He simply couldn't bring himself to care. Would adjusting his suit bring the Detective back?
Instead, Lucifer crooned out his loss to the world, the despair evident in every note. He'd finished his current song, and now Lucifer knew it was time for the final song of the night—the climax to a night already filled with lamenting ballads.
He began it slowly, the lyrics all too painful.
When you were here before… Couldn't look you in the eye. His eyes tightened. It was true. When the Detective had seen his face, she'd frozen completely. But even in that frozen fear, her eyes had darted away from his. Was he that horrible? …You're just like an angel. She wasn't. Angels were petty and fallible and broken and all the things the Detective wasn't. The Detective would be a better angel than he'd ever been. …Your skin makes me cryyy. You float like a—
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Lucifer snatched his phone out of his pocket, all his melancholy forgotten at the sound of the interruption. Sparing barely a glance at the Caller ID to ensure it was indeed from "Detective Douche", he picked up the call, stood up from the piano, and headed towards his penthouse.
Speaking as smugly as he could in the state he was, Lucifer talked into the phone. "Hello, Daniel. I take it another murder has fallen onto our plate?"
Daniel Espinoza was, indeed, a total douche. And in compliance with this Way of the Douche, Daniel spoke to Lucifer with a voice of utter hatred. "Lucifer, it's fallen onto my plate. You're hardly part of cases anymore. After all, how useful is stopping by crime scenes to search for Chloe, then driving off to mope about Chloe leaving when the rest of us are trying to catch a murderer!? But wait— I forgot. You don't care about catching criminals at all, do you? After all, you never cared to bring Marcus in until after he'd hurt all-too-many people."
Lucifer grimaced at the sheer vitriol, but powered through regardless, putting on a voice of mock surprise as he tried to force their conversation back onto the tracks of their typical friendly back-and-forth. "If I'm of no use to you, then why would you ever be so kind as to call and inform me of these cases?"
Then, of course, His Doucheness responded. "You know why. You're an official LAPD consultant, and I don't have the authority to get rid of you. Just get yourself over here so I can get this over with. We're right by the second lifeguard station on El Segundo Beach. Don't feel like you have to come, though. You really don't."
Lucifer was in his penthouse now, and cradled the phone in his shoulder as he plucked one of his cleaner suits out of the wardrobe. "Lovely, Daniel! I'll be there soon."
As Lucifer strode down the beach, he at first seemed like his normal, confident self. His suit was crisp, his hair was styled, his previous stench was gone, and a light, confident grin rested on his face. But internally, he was still in dire straits, his destabilized psyche barely held together by obsession and grief.
Squinting, Lucifer spotted the distinctive crime scene tape of the LAPD, and immediately quickened his stride. As he got closer, his shoes crunching on the sandy beach, he saw that Ms. Ella Lopez had stepped over to the edge of the crime scene to retrieve something from her bag of forensics items. Lucifer changed his course, intercepting Ms. Lopez as she (presumably) began to head back towards the body.
Ms. Lopez was staring down at some metal shard in her left hand, muttering to herself, when Lucifer greeted her. "Hello, Ms. Lopez. How goes the crime solving?"
"Huh?" Ms. Lopez said, then glanced up. "Oh! Hey, Lucifer! Good to see you!" For a moment, Ella's face lit up, and the cheer was as infectious as ever. It's times like these I understand why Azrael likes her so much.
Then, her happy expression flagged, and the joy vanished. "Honestly, the crime solving's been a bit of a slog. Without you and Chloe, the whole thing just doesn't feel right."
Lucifer sighed. "I take it the Detective isn't here, then?"
Ella shook her head. Lucifer's entire body sagged, and for a couple of seconds, the two shared an awkward silence.
Lucifer began to pull himself together to leave the crime scene, setting his shoulders and turning away. At that, Ella forced a smile and started chattering once more, attempting to brighten his mood. "But hey, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade! Or, well, lemon cocktails in your case. But still! You just gotta look on the bright side of things! Like with me and my latest weirdness while you and Chloe are gone. Sure, some schmuck gave me a bunch of bad needles— but when one of them broke on this guy's skin, guess what? Didn't hurt me, didn't damage the body, didn't even go flying all that far! Sure, it sucked at the time, but…"
At that point, Lucifer stopped listening. One of Ms. Lopez's needles had broken on her latest corpse's skin? That was something he'd seen before, and it wasn't due to some shoddy supplier. It was what happened when a needle was forcefully pushed into an angel, and the angel's immutable flesh refused to give.
Roughly two years ago, when Lucifer had tested what enabled mortal weaponry to harm him, Maze had somehow obtained a full set of mortal medical equipment to test. And when she jabbed the needles against his flesh, they'd shattered.
Interrupting Ella's chatter, Lucifer turned to face her, then gently set his hand upon her shoulder.
Carefully and quietly, all the craze of the situation and power of his rage constrained under his fear for Ms. Lopez's life, Lucifer spoke. "Ms. Lopez?"
Ella was quiet too now, Lucifer's drawn face and wild eyes obviously having warned of the situation's seriousness. Quietly, all attempts at humor gone now, she replied. "Lucifer, buddy, what's wrong?"
With the utmost seriousness, Lucifer responded. "Ms. Lopez, how certain are you that this man is dead?"
At that, Ms. Lopez raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I'm pretty sure, Lucifer. The guy may not have a mark on him, but he's also got no movement, no breathing, and no pulse. He's dead."
But the thing was, none of that mattered. Angelic bodies had no need for oxygen, and so Lucifer rushed towards the corpse with all his angelic speed.
In an instant, he was there. The body was young for one of his siblings, and his green eyes, black hair, and tanned skin were entirely unrecognizable to Lucifer. But that meant nothing—this was likely one of his younger siblings, one of those that Lucifer had never truly familiarized himself with.
Looming down at the angel, Lucifer spoke. "I'm here now, brother. You can drop the charade."
The body didn't move.
"Nothing? Well that's alright. I don't need your answer to speculate as to why you're here. I broke Father's law forbidding the killing of mortals, and now you're here to punish me for it." Lucifer spread his arms invitingly, his expression annoyed. "Now, shall we get this over with?"
The body still didn't move.
Lucifer's voice grew louder and louder, his unstable emotions easily breaking through what feeble self-control had prevailed through the past two weeks. "So you want to draw it out, do you? Sorry to tell you, but there's no point! I'm already in pain. I'm already suffering. So go on, send me to Hell permanently this time, cripple me, torture me for millennia! I! DON'T! CARE!"
Still, the body did not stir.
By now, he was bellowing, unapologetic and unrelenting even as Ms. Lopez attempted to pull him away from the body. "Go on, do it! Finish your task so us angels trouble the mortals no longer! I can go to Hell, you can go to the Silver City, and the mortals need not fear us any longer!"
But then he fell upon the next part, and Lucifer couldn't help but fall quiet. The pain was too fresh, too real. "I'll go away to Hell, back to my prison, and the Detective… the Detective will be freed from her fear of me. So… so just get on with it. Please."
But even despite Lucifer's emotional words, his brother refused to move. And that, more than anything else, incensed him beyond belief.
Furious, Lucifer hauled the supposed corpse up to eye level, his hands clenched in a vise grip around the body's shoulders. "I bare my soul to you, and I get nothing? Not a twitch from you, you miserable sod? Oh, you will regret this once I'm through with you. I will drag an answer from your lips! So tell me, dearest brother—what do you desire?"
For an instant, Lucifer could hear nothing but the ominous hum of his mojo echoing through his mind. And in that instant, his doubts began to surface. What if this is just a corpse? What will Ms. Lopez think?
Then his sibling heaved in a breath, the action startlingly loud in the silence that had fallen over the crime scene. Waiting for his brother to suck in enough air for a reply, Lucifer diverted his attention away from his mojo for a moment. And as soon as he did so, his heart seemed to stop in sheer terror—for he could sense his devil face building up. It was an instinctive response to his utter rage, and it pushed at the edges of his human form, almost inevitable in its progression as it began to burn through his flesh's edges. But Lucifer, even overcome with fury as he was, still had enough control for this. He shoved the transformation away with the very same rage that was inciting it, then brought his attention back to his fellow angel as they finally sucked in barely enough air to answer.
Even as he struggled for air, his sibling could not prevent himself from gasping out their answer. "I… I want… to sur… survive."
Well, that was no help! That was hardly an answer at all! Though it could only have been an accident, the superficiality of his brother's surface desires had frustrated Lucifer's own desire to learn his unnamed brother's darkest secrets.
Infuriated yet further by this, Lucifer intensified his gaze until the humming was nearly a physical force, such that Lucifer could sense it beginning to rattle his teeth. Lucifer's mouth was open, his teeth predatorily bared, and he could not help but rub the temporary nature of his brother's victory in his face. "What more do you hide, foolish brother of mine? Whatever it is, you know I'll discover it."
Lucifer could feel his mojo working, could sense as yet deeper desires were brought forth. By now, his brother had air aplenty, and all that he was waiting for was for any complexities in this level of his brother's psyche to be overcome.
Impatient, Lucifer encouraged him, glowering down at the little wretch as he did so. "Go on, tell me. You know you want to."
And eventually, his brother's will gave in, the humming force rushing forward like a dam had been broken down through Lucifer's eyes and into his brother's mind.
In a wild shout, a noise which echoed endlessly across the water, his sibling answered. "I want to find Annabeth!"
Again, useless! Lucifer knew nothing about anyone named Annabeth, and even if he did, they were hardly relevant to whatever his sibling's task was! Still, this information did at the very least seem personal. Ripping it out must have been far more impactful than revealing a mere will to survive.
Still, none of this was enough pain for such a man. Lucifer would pain his brother for refusing to answer him, for mocking Lucifer in his desire to protect the Detective from himself.
Lucifer's grip tightened, his angelic strength making the bones of his sibling creak. The humming sound resumed for a final time, all of Lucifer's will fueling his mojo. This was a far more complex layer of the angel's desires to conquer, a base layer hidden away beneath the sheer size of the other desires. But this was where everything originated, and Lucifer knew he would reach his goal if only his mojo would move FASTER than a CRAWL.
The rage coursed freely now, his devil face only seconds away. Lucifer tried his hardest to divert the rage to the mojo, to the muscles which were causing his fellow angel's bones to creak yet further, but it was of no use. The red, tortured eyes would soon shine through, and after that the rest of the face was only a matter of time. So Lucifer accepted the inevitable, and focused all that he was on speeding his way through the complexity of his sibling's base desires.
But then the enraged Devil was startled out of his single minded focus, as three utterly bewildering things occurred near-simultaneously.
First, a loud CRACK sounded through the air, the clavicles of Lucifer's captive having shattered completely when the force of Lucifer's grip increased beyond their body's limits. Lucifer had been exerting an amount of pressure that even the weakest of angels could easily endure.
Second, Lucifer's mojo flooded out through barely human eyes, and into the cracks in the injured being's mind, the pain having lessened the difficulty of retrieving the man's desires a hundredfold.
And lastly, the being screamed out their answer. Their basest desire, that which drove their every want and action, had shrieked its way out through their vocal chords and escaped out into the air in a painful, howling cry.
"I just want to understand this crazy world of gods and monsters I've been thrown into! I..."
And with that, Lucifer dropped him onto the sandy shore in shock, the waves lapping at his now merely unconscious body.
He wasn't an angel at all. He was some byproduct of those half-baked, faith-based pantheons that had been thrown into the deep end. He's confused. He doesn't understand what's happening to him. His world has been turned upside down.
Was that how the detective felt when she learned of his true nature? Lucifer didn't really know. He'd been in the dark before, sure, but a revelation of this magnitude? No. He had no reference point for that.
But maybe this person did.
