Lucifer trembled with rage, sneering viciously as he clenched his fist so hard his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms. He let out a low growl of frustration as he stared at the hole he created in the brick wall, his chest rising and falling rapidly in rhythm with his fast breathing. A dark, dangerous aura enveloped him, visualizing his rising fury and providing a warning for anyone to stay away if they don't want to accidentally face his wrath.
Lucifer has been on earth for about a week, maybe more. He isn't sure. Time is practically nonexistent in the Pit since it's dark everyday. Not even Tartarus or Nyx knew what time it was, and since they were Primordials, normal things such as getting eight hours of sleep aren't all that detrimental to them.
However, Lucifer was different.
He never knew how different he was from his father, much less pondered the thought. But at the moment, Lucifer was suffering what humans call "jetlag", when your destination has a much different time zone than your starting point. He hasn't slept in for what felt like hours and was beginning to feel the consequences. Lucifer felt weak. He couldn't stare at any light source without his eyes burning as though he was staring at the sun, and he would get a pounding headache that lingered for hours. Not only that, but he could swear he's being followed. Whenever he turned his head, he'd see that fisherman staring at him from afar. Lucifer has tried his best to lose him by running into alley's or entering buildings and teleporting to wherever, but no matter how hard he tried, he was always right there. Watching him. Always across the street and a couple of feet away.
Lucifer can hear the man's footsteps, even when he's not close by. The sound of them echoing up a narrow corridor sends a chill up his spine that makes him want to curl up into a ball and cry for his mother.
It is no secret that he wants to leave the upper world, to go back to the dark, terrifying depths of the pit that he calls home. He knows exactly what he'll do when he gets there. Lucifer will rush into his mothers arms and profusely apologize for not listening to her when she told him that the upper world was dangerous, and he'll swear on the River Styx to listen to her next time. Yes, that's exactly what he'll do.
Unfortunately, any hope of doing that has been squashed with each failed attempt to shadow travel home.
Lucifer doesn't understand. It was so easy the first time, and now, he can't make a portal larger than a dime! It was night and he was in the darkest alley he could find, there's no reason why this shouldn't work.
"Why . . . isn't . . . this . . . working?" He growled through gritted teeth, his green eyes turning an angry shade of purple as his sclera turned black, and his fist becoming bloody with ichor as he pummeled the wall.
Lucifer tried again and again to make the portal, his confidence dwindling little by little, being replaced by hopelessness. A lump formed in his throat, his pain growing from his broken hand and the tears he desperately tried to suppress. It didn't take long before he was sobbing in anguish.
"Work," he sobbed, slapping at the wall as he dropped down to his knees. "Please work."
The sudden revelation that he'd never see his family again has struck him like a bag of bricks. He wants to see them again, to be held by his mom as his father scolds him for leaving the Pit. He wants to eat his mother's cookies, to hear his father's boring and fascinating stories of the history of humans, and to be cradled by them as he was when he had a nightmare.
The consequences of his actions weighed heavily on him, crushing him with an overbearing weight that he couldn't lift. To know that he'd never experience these again, to see their face and feel their comfort, drained him.
Lucifer curled up into a ball, huddling in a corner like some scared, pitiful child, as he regretted ever leaving the Pit. His parents were right. He wasn't old enough and he wasn't powerful enough. He should've listened to them. He should've.