Note: I'm blown away at the response the first chapter has received. Thank you so much for every comment, favorite and follow.

Title credit goes to Ardency.

It was a pleasure to punish.

It was a special pleasure to deliver punishment. Lucifer held on to Azrael's blade and its hilt fit right into the ridges of his hand as if it belonged there. The refined steel glinted in the soft glowing lights of Lux, giving it even more of an ethereal aura.

He could hear it calling his name.

Hours had passed since he had dug up Uriel's grave. His once shiny cufflinks and crisp coat were now caked with dirt but he couldn't care less even if he tried.

The club was empty like he had ordered. Rows of empty bottles dotted every table top in Lux, some toppled to the ground and others broken to pieces, making the place look like a violent fight had broken out. He sat behind the piano with racks of glass stacked on the instrument. The ashtray near him was full with cigarette butts and it still housed a half-lit stick lazily giving off smoke. Next to it was a full bottle of whiskey he had yet to go through.

He hadn't slept a wink that night after driving out of the city.

He had spent hours drinking. Thinking.

He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched as he tried to shut everything out. He didn't want to feel the pain and guilt anymore. He had had enough.
His headache had long subsided, but an ever-present pressure beat in his skull from the earlier emotional outburst.

His eyes stung from exhaustion. Lucifer examined the blade in his hand for the hundredth time, noticing every tiny detail carved into the handle. The clean, silver dagger against his dirtied skin felt wrong, like pristine silk splotched with ink. He grimaced at the sight; he hated dirt. It reminded him of the ash and sulfur in Hell, their disgusting presence and smell never leaving him alone. Carefully he set the blade on the polished surface of the piano and strode to the bathroom, stumbling under the influence of the alcohol in his system.

Cold water ran on his skin and soothed his nerves. He could barely register what he was doing, like a spectator watching events unfold from a glass room. He yanked several paper towels from the dispenser and scrubbed his skin with increasing pressure.

Maybe if he tried hard enough he could wash off the scarred tissue of his hands alongside the dirt.

His hands stung under the flowing water and the irritated skin gradually reddened from the constant harsh pulling of rough paper. Why was he even trying?

His feet carried him back to the piano and he watched his surroundings distantly, as if he had no control over his limbs anymore. He couldn't understand how he carried his body over or how he ended up drinking half of the whiskey bottle's content in one go. Shaking hands supported his weight on the instrument, but his mind was far away, fighting a truth he had subconsciously accepted but hadn't grasped at full force yet.

There was nowhere he could hide.

He could put as much distance between him and the truth as he wanted, but it changed nothing.

He pretended to be everything he wasn't; his own person, defying laws and bending rules to get his way.

But there was one unavoidable truth he had been running from for eons, trying so desperately to prove to himself otherwise. It was time he finally accepted it. And accepting the truth was painful, but that was what he deserved.

He could never change. He would always be a monster.

"I know," Lucifer whispered. Something in him snapped, like an anchor tethering him to reality breaking apart with a slight nudge. The gravity of what he had been running away from hit him full force and this time he didn't struggle against it. His breath hitched and his hands went to his hair, pulling at the strands.

The blinking LED of his phone next to the ashtray caught his attention. He had ignored it all night, but desperate to hold onto anything he picked it up, hoping that the texts he'd received were from Chloe. Even then he was searching for a sliver of reassurance, something to tell him that even when he believed himself a monster, she thought otherwise.

He gritted his teeth when he saw Linda's name flash on the screen. Reluctantly he opened the unread messages.

Lucifer, I'm worried for you. (20:11 PM)

Please call me as soon as you can. (20:16 PM)

They were from the night before.

With a grunt he set the phone back on the piano. He wanted to call Chloe and hear her voice one last time before he did anything else. Something in him fought against that desire before he could give up, throw the blade aside and hide again like the coward that he was.

So he didn't. He didn't want to change his mind now. Hadn't he caused Chloe enough pain? Hadn't he caused everyone around him enough pain?

"I bet you're having a field trip, Dad," Lucifer spat and looked up at the ceiling, imagining his father smiling sadistically at him. He stood in front of the piano and took Azrael's blade in his shaking hands, both palms enveloping the hilt. "Your most disappointing creation yet will be gone soon. Isn't that what you always wanted? Well, you got your wish, you bastard."

He pointed the blade towards his chest. He could hear the blade whispering his name. Even with the divine resistance he had against the dagger, he could still comprehend its beckoning, telling him to take the one person's life he hated the most. It emanated a tempting spirit, composed of voices he couldn't hear but could feel.

"Humans are going to have the time of their lives when they hear the Devil's pitiful existence has ceased. I'm sure you'll twist the story to your narrative, of course you will. Perhaps you'll fool them into thinking someone else got the deed done. Azrael herself maybe? Or maybe you'll say you sent Gabriel. I'm sure the Silver City will rejoice once I'm gone," Lucifer said with a strained voice.

What was the point of trying? Eons of him struggling to be his own person all vanished into nothing. It was useless rebelling against his father. He was created to question and desire, to want. What kind of a sick, twisted fate was this that his father had given him? Be given the purpose of desire, only to have it destroy him from inside and out? His entire life was one big celestial bird, wasn't it?

The blade in his hands caught on fire, hungry embers licking the air.

He repositioned the blade.

"My dearest brothers and sisters," he said softly, "I hope you all go to Hell. I know I am a monster, but," his eyes stung, "I am your monster no longer, Father."

And with that he sucked in a sharp breath, hands shaking violently. He raised the flaming dagger and struck down. It pierced the layers of clothing with the slightest pressure.

But he stopped himself before the razor edge tip of the blade tore through his flesh. It hovered just above his skin.

Something shuffled in the distance and the blade's fire went out.

The sound set off a frenzy of panic in his mind. No one was supposed to be there. Ice cold terror set in his body, spreading through every inch of his being like poison. His heart beat wildly against his ribs like a crazed animal clawing at its cage.

"Lucifer?"

He turned to face the person standing in the staircase.

"Detective?" His hands shook harshly, thoughts and emotions racing in his mind and he was failing to get a hold of any of them. "Why are you here?"

Chloe was standing in the stairway, clutching her gun in her hands. Her eyes were wide open, refusing to believe the scene in front of her. Her awestruck expression sent a chill down Lucifer's spine. Was she surprised? Scared?

"Lucifer, please put the knife down." Her voice shook.

She took a step down the stairs towards him. And he took one step back.

"Detective, don't come near me!" Lucifer's voice cracked. His breathing picked up and he took in shallow, panicked breaths.

Chloe immediately backed down. She slowly put her gun away in its holster and raised her palms up in defeat. "Okay, okay. I'm here, Lucifer, please…"

He recognized the look in her eyes finally. She was scared.

Of him? For him? He couldn't tell.

"Oh Detective, I know you want to help," he said. The adrenaline pumping in his veins triggered the pressure in his head to turn into a headache. "But it doesn't matter, nothing matters." He bit his lower lip to stop the tears from spilling.

"Lucifer," she spoke softly, afraid that the tension between them would amplify if she raised her voice any higher, "I know you've been going through a lot recently. Things will get better, but please, let me help you. We'll get through this together." Her steel blue eyes pleaded him.

"I do want to believe that, Detective."

"I want to help you, Lucifer. Let me. But I can't do it without you." Her voice was threatening to give way to a sob. "This punishment you're seeking, it's not going to fix anything. People care about you. I care about you."

A tide of worry churned his guts. He hated how the detective looked at him, begging him to drop the blade and stop what he was doing. She wasn't supposed to be there. She didn't deserve to be put through this. He wasn't worthy of being cared for, and the worry turned into self-hatred in a second for making her suffer. His thoughts raced in his mind.

"But I can't allow you." The blade was still pointing at his chest. The carvings of the handle left imprints on his skin as he gripped it with his might. "If you know the other side of me, all of me, I-" he swallowed, contemplating his next words before continuing, "It's hideous. It's monstrous, Detective. You don't deserve to see it."

"I know that's not true."

Lucifer looked at her, puzzled. How could she think that, when the truth was so blatantly in front of her eyes?

"I've worked with you enough times to know that's not who you are Lucifer. You might think of yourself the Devil, but I don't believe that. I know that deep down you're a good man, no matter how much you want to deny it," She said. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears that were about to fall.

Slowly she took a step down the stairs. Lucifer didn't move.

She continued, "I wanted to call you earlier today."

Lucifer eyed her carefully as she came forward again.

"I was worried when you didn't show up. I thought I'd give you some space since-" She swallowed her words. "since you needed to be alone. I wanted to ask you to spend time with me today. But you didn't show up, and I got worried, so I came here."

Did she now? Did she really care for him or was it just meaningless words to coax him out of this situation?

Who in their right mind would ever want to have him around?

He took a deep shaky breath. This couldn't be right.

"And it's not just me who cares for you. There are so many other people."

"Like who?!" He yelled. The tension between them was so thick he could slice it with the blade if he tried. His voice was like sandpaper against his throat. "The only reason you, or anyone else cares about me is because you don't know me! You have no idea what I've done!" He screamed. His voice echoed in the empty club.

Chloe looked terrified.

Tears fell from his eyes. He couldn't control himself anymore.

The air between them was tense, like a string pulled to its threshold.

"What about your family? Your siblings-"

And with that, the string snapped.

"My family?!" He screamed. She had no idea did she? "This- all of this is their fault! Uriel, he's- he's gone! And it's all my doing! And don't even bring my brothers and sisters up!" He let out a harsh laugh, "What did they do when I was thrown out of the Silver City?! None of them did anything! Why would they ever care for Lucifer, the one brother who dared question their father's will!?"

Chloe's eyes darted from the blade to him and back.

"Lucifer, I'm sorry-"

"I am too, Detective." His throat burned and for a moment he felt like he was going through Hell all over again.

Maybe he was.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw embers of fire flicker on the dagger's steel.

That was his cue.

"Chloe," he spoke softly again, "I want you to know that none of this is your fault. But you deserve better than this."

Better than me.

For a moment everything seemed to pause. Chloe froze in her place and for a brief second Lucifer was terrified he'd changed his mind and backed out like he always did. Or if he was none the wiser, he'd think Amenadiel was there to ridicule him at his lowest point.

He blinked. Once, twice. Then the world hurled at him. He snapped out of it and jerked his hands to his chest.

The angelic metal of the blade tore his skin and bones and he couldn't help but let out a shriek as he fell to the floor. The shard of glass coating the floor cut his hands but the pain didn't match up to the dagger jutting out of his chest. His vision went blurry and he heard a scream, but he couldn't understand the words.

He could feel his blood seeping out of the wound and his energy being sapped away, pools of red liquid forming beneath him already.

The room spun around his head.

A phantom of a smile traced his lips. Maybe where he was headed was nothing but a dark void where his father couldn't control him. He liked the idea.

His eyes fluttered. An abnormal cold was taking over his body but he could do little to stop it.

He felt a foreign pressure on his arms and his eyes flicked open. His vision was dark but through the fuzziness he saw Chloe's terrified face above his. Tears streamed down her cheeks and he felt a pang of regret for forcing her to experience this torture.

She was sitting next to him. "No, no, no, this can't be happening!"

"I'm- sorry, Detective." He sucked in a breath which set off a violent cough. Drops of blood coated his dry lips.

A terrifying thought settled in his mind.

He brought a hand up to the dagger, mustering every last drop of energy he had to power through the task. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and he pulled the blade out with a sickening wet sound. His sight swam and he gasped at the pain. He heard Chloe yell his name.

Before he could allow himself to succumb he threw the blade over his head. He heard the metal clang somewhere on the floor.

He couldn't let Chloe touch it. That was the least he could do for her in his state.

"I'm going to get help, please hang on," He heard her say through sobs. He could feel her hands on his chest, ripping open the shirt to treat the wound. He wanted to make a quip about her undressing him, but his vocal chords gave up on him. The searing pain of the open wound forced him to hold onto the closest thing nearby, which was Chloe's arm.

He let his eyes close. He could feel the darkness enveloping him slowly. Soon, nothing would matter.

"Lucifer, Lucifer- please stay awake!"

He didn't want to.

Flashes of Hell appeared in his vision but they faded to nothing as abruptly as they started.

The last thing he remembered was her wide-eyed, innocent face, then the dark cloud of nothingness swallowed him whole.