Scene 1: Vacation? In This Economy?

Horatio Caine was supposed to be on vacation. Supposed to be. He was supposed to be basking in the lazy sun of Los Angeles, sipping on a glass of something fruity and potentially alcoholic, with his feet propped up like the cliché detective he wasn't.

Except, Horatio Caine didn't do relaxation. Not when there were things to investigate. Not when his phone—his work phone—was buzzing from somewhere deep in his pocket. It was probably Chief Barnes or one of those Miami cases he kept trying to forget.

He sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that only a man on his forced vacation can pull off.

"Caine," he answered, his voice calm, smooth, and slightly irritated—like he could've been somewhere else. He was somewhere else.

"Horatio," the voice on the other end crackled, and sure enough, it was Barnes, his ever-enthusiastic boss. "I know you're on vacation, but we need you back. There's a case here in Los Angeles, and the LA team requested your expertise."

"A vacation's a vacation, Barnes." Horatio's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the balcony, staring out at the Pacific, as if he could somehow teleport the case into something he could ignore. "I don't do 'vacations.' You know that."

"I know you don't like taking breaks, Horatio, but this is important. There's been a string of murders. They've got a copycat on their hands—well, a copycat who's too close to the real deal. A serial killer called Azazel. Thought he was dead, but now... well, you've got to see it for yourself."

"Azazel?" Horatio's eyebrows twitched. That name. It was one of those things from the past that didn't quite stay buried. "Fine," he said, tiredly. "I'll be there. But if this turns out to be some kind of... circus..."

"We'll make sure you get all the details. See you soon, Horatio."

Horatio stared at his phone for a moment, before tossing it onto the couch with an exaggerated motion that could've been a little more dramatic, but it was enough. Los Angeles had to wait for an hour.

He called his friend Karen Hayes, a woman who knew exactly how to give him hell without looking like she was doing it. "Karen, I have to go. Something's come up."

She didn't even blink. "Murder, right? You're always on a case."

Scene 2: The Case That Shouldn't Exist

By the time Horatio arrived in LA, he wasn't expecting much—except for the sunshine, which he didn't really enjoy, or the beach, which he found overrated. What he was expecting was Detective Chloe Decker standing outside a warehouse, looking like she was already doing battle with a ghost of her own.

"Detective Caine," Chloe said, offering him a brief handshake. "Glad you could make it."

"Let's cut to the chase, Detective," Horatio said, his voice still calm, controlled. He had learned that some people didn't deal well with too much sympathy. "What are we dealing with?"

She led him inside the warehouse, where the air was thick with that familiar scent of death. A woman's body, late thirties, arranged unnaturally on the cold concrete floor with strange markings around her. It was grotesque in that signature way only serial killers understood.

"It's the same pattern as Azazel's kills from ten years ago," Chloe said, her voice tight, her eyes cold. "Except... Azazel died in prison. These are different, but—"

Horatio kneeled beside the body, glancing at the markings, then down at the victim. "But this is his work."

"Exactly."

He was about to say something else when a smooth, almost musical voice broke the tension.

Scene 3: A Devil In the Details

"Well, well, what do we have here? A very tidy crime scene, if I do say so myself," said a man who was clearly not part of the team, striding into the warehouse with an air of ridiculous confidence. Tall, dark, and impossibly charming, he stood with a playful grin, his hands in the pockets of his impeccably tailored suit.

Horatio didn't flinch, didn't react, didn't even acknowledge the man as anything more than another distraction. "Not now."

"Ah, the ever-cool Horatio Caine," the man said, flashing a smile that could've turned anyone else to jelly. "I'm Lucifer Morningstar, detective. I consult on cases like these, especially when they deal with the darker side of life. You might say I'm an expert on the subject."

"You're... what?" Horatio's eyes narrowed.

Lucifer stepped closer, unbothered by the cold reception. "Consultant for the LAPD. A very special consultant," he said with exaggerated flair. "They call me in for cases where... let's say the criminal is more than your average garden-variety psychopath. More otherworldly. Azazel, for instance."

Horatio didn't blink. "Supernatural consultant. Great. Just what I need."

Chloe sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Lucifer, please. Can we get through one case without you... mocking everything?"

Lucifer ignored her completely, turning his full attention to Horatio. "I can tell you're skeptical. You always are. But you'll see, Caine. You'll see. Because Azazel, the real Azazel, doesn't just leave behind blood and carnage. He leaves behind... a signature. And I'm the one who can help you read it."

Horatio wasn't buying any of it. "I deal with facts. Evidence. No 'signature' of the supernatural. So let's get back to the case."

Lucifer smirked, clearly enjoying the banter. "Always so charming... and logical. Fine. Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Scene 4: Solving the Unsolvable

As the investigation continued, Horatio was meticulous. Each clue, each piece of evidence, was carefully examined. Lucifer, for his part, remained a thorn in his side, offering increasingly absurd supernatural theories every time they stumbled upon something odd. Meanwhile, Horatio simply followed the physical evidence with cold efficiency.

"So, Lucifer," Horatio said one day as they combed through a set of security footage from a local pawn shop. "You say Azazel made a deal with the devil, came back from the dead—whatever you call it. But these prints?" He pointed at the footage, where a man was clearly seen purchasing occult supplies with cash. "They belong to someone very much alive. A man named Victor Thorne. No demons involved."

Lucifer, with his usual over-the-top theatrics, threw his hands up in mock frustration. "Oh, please. Again with the logical explanations. Can't we just admit that some things are beyond human comprehension?"

Horatio ignored him. "This man, Thorne, must be the one behind this. And I'll bet you anything the markings are a copy of Azazel's, meant to mislead us into thinking it's a supernatural event. But it's not. It's just another sick mind trying to revive a killer's legacy."

Lucifer continued to sulk in the background, clearly not convinced. "You really can't let go of that pesky little fact, can you?"

Scene 5: The Big Reveal

They tracked down Thorne to a decaying apartment complex where he had been living under an alias. Inside, they found the occult books, the markings, the remnants of ritualistic tools. The truth was as plain as day: Thorne was an obsessed occultist who had been trying to resurrect Azazel's image, using drugs and psychological manipulation to fool people into thinking he had powers.

The final piece of evidence was found by Horatio: a small vial of rare poison mixed with a set of handwritten notes detailing Thorne's failed "resurrection" attempts.

Lucifer was stunned—completely flabbergasted. "I can't believe it. You really did it. You solved the case using actual evidence."

Horatio shot him a sideways glance, leaning against the doorframe. "You did find the supernatural angle, Lucifer. I just made sure the facts fit. But nice try. You did get the ball rolling."

Lucifer stared at him, blinking a few times as the sarcasm hit him. "You're... complimenting me?"

Horatio smirked. "For once, the supernatural wasn't needed. The criminal was just a man—albeit a very disturbed one."

Lucifer's face twitched. "I'm not sure whether to be insulted or... amused. But you know what, Horatio? I think I'll go with amused. It's more fun that way."

Horatio nodded. "See you around, Lucifer. Next time, try not to overcomplicate things. There's always a simpler explanation."

Lucifer couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head as he walked away. "You're a strange one, Horatio Caine. But I think we might make a decent team—for once."

As they walked out of the apartment, Horatio allowed himself the faintest of smiles. Maybe—just maybe—there was something to this whole "supernatural" business after all. But only if it really helped solve the case.