Chapter Text
Oh, where did it all start?
When failure after failure became his daily fight?
Once, he was Heaven’s pride and joy—one of its brightest lights. A bringer of illumination, a herald of wisdom, and the Archangel of Knowledge. The titles were endless, as dazzling as they were hollow. Paradise’s eye candy, the darling of creation, burdened with little more than maintaining his radiance.
Perhaps that was the problem—too much time to dream. That precious sliver of freedom, so rare among angels, allowed him to think, to imagine beyond the rigid boundaries laid out for them. It gave him room to question. And wasn’t questioning supposed to be his role? To ask, to learn, to seek knowledge?
But questioning always led to trouble, and everyone knew it. Angels didn’t ask. They didn’t wonder. They didn’t dare bend the rules for fear of retribution. The weight of Heaven’s order bore down too heavily, crushing curiosity before it could take root.
Yet the question still lingered in him: what if bending the rules was for the greater good?
What then? Where was the justice if no one stepped forward for the sake of others? Weren’t they the guardians of the weak? Protectors of the innocent?
If so, then why was it so wrong for him to offer the ladies of Eden the apple of Knowledge? The fruit that would give them choices?
That shouldn’t have been wrong… right?
The same question had plagued him for eternity, its answer ever out of reach. He sighed and leaned back against the jagged stone behind him, his wings drooping with exhaustion.
“Ya okay, Babbo?”
The tiny voice came from the young spider-demon clinging to his arm. Lucifer’s lips twitched into a tired but genuine smile as he gently patted the boy’s head.
“Hmm, I’m fine, just a bit tired. Done with dinner, Mamsy?” he asked.
Mammon, still hanging onto him, hummed. “Satan said ya didn’t have your share yet. But that bitch Bee asked for seconds—why’d ya let her?”
Lucifer chuckled at the green demon’s fiery indignation. Dismissive, perhaps, but not unkind. “Angels of my rank don’t exactly need food, Mamsy. Didn’t I tell you that before?” His tone was fond, teasing but soft.
Mammon scowled harder, clearly unimpressed. “Idiot,” he grumbled. “Ya don’t starve, sure, but you’re always more exhausted when ya skip meals. And ya skipped breakfast too, ‘cause that brat Paimon was hogging ya!”
Lucifer’s chuckle deepened, even as his body ached from his own martyrdom. He had reasons, of course, but they hardly seemed to matter under Mammon’s stern gaze.
If it were anyone else, Mammon wouldn’t have cared. He’d call them idiots and leave it at that. But Lucifer? Lucifer was different.
This angel, the one who had pulled him back from the brink and even shown him that joy—however fleeting—was still possible in this wretched wasteland, wasn’t allowed to falter. Not in Mammon’s book. Not ever.
“Well, I’ll try to hunt more for us next time, hmm? Maybe then you can have seconds too.” Lucifer’s smile was soft as he ruffled Mammon’s hair, his fingers trailing with care over the small demonling’s head. The boy scowled, muttering under his breath, but leaned into the gesture nonetheless.
Lucifer’s other hand lifted, his fingers flickering with faint, golden magic as he shaped the earth around them. The ground trembled slightly under his command, rising and twisting until a dome began to take form. It wasn’t just any shelter—it was something he had perfected through necessity. The structure sealed tightly, blocking all light once the entrance was closed. Vents curved elegantly into the dome’s walls, allowing air to flow freely while ensuring no debris—or worse, an attack—could slip through.
Inside, a makeshift bed awaited, crafted from salvaged materials collected during their treks through the wilderness, layered with the softened hides of slain monsters. Each stitch, each element, carried the weight of his exhaustion and his care for these little lives entrusted to him.
The exertion left him slightly breathless. Conjuring magic had always demanded effort, but today it felt like carving through stone with his bare hands. A rough day indeed.
His energy reserves, already stretched thin, were split between two monumental tasks.
One part struggled to sustain the vessel he had fought so long to maintain—centuries of strain etched into his very essence. His wings, once grand and unyielding, remained fractured and incomplete, a testament to the Fall decades ago. They were a persistent reminder of a battle he still had not won, draining strength with every flicker of motion.
The other part—far more precious—fed the fragile, growing life nestled within him. It consumed him in ways that both frightened and humbled him, a quiet, relentless pull on his waning vitality. Yet, even as it demanded more than he thought he could give, he offered it freely.
How could he not, when it was the only thing left that gave his existence meaning?
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself as the light from the dome’s entry dimmed, leaving his face shrouded in shadow. That was intentional; he didn’t want Mammon worrying more than he already was.
Yet, even now, the boy’s small hand tugged at his sleeve, a silent plea for reassurance.
“How about you tell the others to get inside once they’re done, hmm?” Lucifer murmured, his voice soothing despite his fatigue. “Nighttime’s almost here, and you know what that means.”
Mammon hesitated, but he seemed to be thinking about it.
It was hard to differentiate between day and night in this forsaken land, but Lucifer had set markers for them—when the monsters began to stir, it was ‘night.’ When the air grew still and quiet, it was ‘day.’ It wasn’t perfect, but it gave the children some semblance of structure.
One day, he’d restore their sense of time properly.
For now, the truth of angelic biology—that he didn’t need sleep, only used it as a faster means of recovering energy—felt too burdensome to explain.
Thankfully, Mammon could be obedient when it counted. With a huff, the boy slipped out to gather the others. Lucifer watched him go, his gaze softening as the small figure disappeared beyond the dome’s threshold.
For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to lean against the tall rock he’d been using as support, the weight of his exhaustion pulling him down like a stone into deep waters. His hand moved instinctively to trace over his abdomen, where—ironically—the fruit of his defiance lay nestled.
The thought brought a bitter twist to his lips, his mind wandering unbidden to that day. The day he unwittingly set events in motion that culminated in the life growing within him.
Lilith. That had been her name.
Unlike Eve, who first succumbed to Wrath—marching with righteous fury against her partner for every slight and indignity she had unknowingly endured—Lilith’s transformation had been far swifter. Her first step into sin was Lust, raw and all-consuming. It was the most taboo and reviled sin in Heaven, paradoxical as it was. Other so-called sins thrived within their ranks under the guise of ambition, pride, or resolve, but Lust? It was condemned, whispered about only in the darkest corners of divine teachings.
Lilith’s descent was almost immediate. One moment, she was the curious, questioning soul he had guided, the one who longed for freedom and choice. The next, she was consumed, her gaze alight with something feral and untamed.
Sammael—that naïve, untainted version of himself—had barely grasped what was happening before he found himself pinned.
Even now, he shuddered at the memory, the ghost of her hands pressing him down as he hesitated. It wasn’t fear of her strength—no human could overpower an angel. It was his unwillingness to harm her. Despite the power he wielded, despite his divine birthright, he could not bring himself to strike her, to halt her with force. He liked her too much for that. Perhaps too much.
At one point, he was almost convinced that he was capable of loving…
She had spoken of wanting to know what it was like—to hold the power, the dominance Adam had claimed over her. To take what was denied her by divine design. And Sammael, in his own endless curiosity and misguided empathy, had relented. With a murmur of magic, he had given her the form she craved, allowing her to reverse their roles in a way no human could have imagined.
He hadn’t understood then what he was inviting.
It wasn’t gentle.
Lilith hadn’t simply explored her newfound sin; she had wielded it like a weapon. Her frustrations, her anger, her defiance against Heaven’s constraints poured out in every touch, every action. She had clawed at his skin, torn at his wings, and taken all that she could, as though punishing Heaven itself through him. And Sammael—he had allowed it.
Not because he was powerless, but because he believed it was the only way to help her. Lust was volatile, he knew, and he had thought—naively—that by offering himself as a vessel, he could contain it, soothe it, guide her through it. But Lilith had seen it differently. To her, he was a symbol of everything that had shackled her. Her rebellion was not just against him but against all he represented.
Lucifer’s hand stilled on his abdomen, his breath hitching as the memory tightened its grip. The scars were gone, but their echoes remained, buried deep in his light.
A sudden tug on his arm jolted him back to the present. He flinched, his head snapping to the side, where a small hand grasped at him, anchoring him firmly in the now.
“Babbo?” a soft, almost hesitant voice called out to him. One of the young demons he had rescued, Beelzebub, looked up at him with wide eyes, concern plainly written across her face.
Lucifer exhaled slowly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hmm? What is it, my little troublemaker?” he murmured, his voice steadier than he felt.
The past could wait; for now, the present demanded his attention, and the devil straightened himself, his duty far from over. For their sake—for all of them—he would endure.
“You didn’t taste good… so tart,” the child mumbled, scrunching her nose in distaste.
Lucifer blinked at the blunt remark before forcing a smile that he hoped seemed genuine. “Ah, my apologies, little bumblebee,” he replied softly, his hand moving to caress her back in gentle circles. “I’ll do better next time, hmm? At least I’ll be fine now that I have all of you~”
The words weren’t a lie, not this time. The children’s presence had indeed become his anchor, soothing the gnawing loneliness that had threatened to consume him since the Fall.
The exile had been the worst experience of his existence—being ripped away from the celestial heights and condemned to this barren wasteland, utterly alone. He’d convinced himself it was only just that neither Eve nor Lilith shared this punishment. After all, despite the fact that they had each made their choices, he’d argued at length in the courts that they bore no responsibility for his manipulations.
The blame was his, entirely his.
Still, there was solace in knowing that even in this wretched, damned place, there were creatures who needed him. Helpless, fragile beings who relied on him in ways no one ever had before. That thought warmed him, gave him purpose, and even allowed a flicker of pride to bloom whenever he managed to bring comfort or safety to their small, frightened lives. It was enough to keep him going, enough to bring a genuine smile to his lips.
The children, however, were not reassured. One by one, they began to shift closer, their small forms brushing against his legs and arms, their eyes reflecting a worry they didn’t yet know how to articulate.
“Babbo,” Satan whispered, tugging gently at his sleeve. “You’re tired… don’t pretend.”
Lucifer’s lips parted, a soft chuckle escaping despite himself. “Oh, come now. I’m not pretending—”
“You’re always tired,” another voice piped up, Leviathan, the accusation spoken with childlike bluntness. “And you never tell us!” her other head added, crossing her arms with an exaggerated pout.
Lucifer sighed, the weight of their concern settling over him like a heavy blanket. “I just don’t want you all to worry,” he admitted finally, his tone quieter, gentler.
Leaning forward, he allowed his wings to unfurl, wrapping them around the younglings to keep them warm. He was prepared to carry each of them to their beds, but instead, the children huddled closer, as if refusing to be moved at all.
“But we do worry,” Belphegor murmured, her small hands clutching at Lucifer’s sleeve. “And we’re not leaving you alone.”
“we no leave…” Paimon chirped quietly, highlighting Bel’s words.
The others nodded in agreement, wordlessly pressing themselves against him, one curling under his arm, another leaning against his side, and two more snuggling against his legs. Soon, he was completely surrounded, their tiny forms wrapped around him like a cocoon of warmth and determination.
Lucifer exhaled a slow breath, his resistance melting away in the face of their earnestness. Resting his stiffened back against the cool stone behind him, his eyes turned half-lidded in contentment, allowing their closeness to ease the tension in his chest. With a soft rustle of his wings, he sealed the entrance of the dome, ensuring his little gremlins were safe inside with him.
“Fine,” he murmured with a fond sigh, wrapping his arms around the closest of them. “Thank you, everyone. I suppose I can let you all stay like this… just for tonight~”
Their delighted giggles were muffled by his robes, and despite the ache in his wings and the weariness in his bones, a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. Yes, this was enough. For now, this was more than enough.