'Queer name for an equally queer man,' that is what Galen thought when the man introduced himself. And Lucifer was an odd man indeed, almost more childlike than a grown man. Easily excitable and prone to sudden bouts of what he could only consider manic laughter.

Alright, maybe it was not manic laughter, but he was biased against his abductor.

The origin of the name was not lost on Galen. Lucifer Morningstar was quite an infamous character in muggle Abrahamic religious stories. A character in a story, yes. That is what Galen thought of religions, nothing but stories to compel and corral people into a structured belief through which a small minority of people can exert power.

The man in front of him styled himself as one of that character now. Lucifer Morningstar — Satan, Devil, Lord of Hell, the Serpent and Red Dragon were just some of his names and titles. The more information he received, the more he was inclined to believe he was part of something very supernatural and post-mortem.

"...as in the Devil?" Galen could not help but ask.

Lucifer merely scoffed, "Mortals and their feeble minds. They can't comprehend the immensity of God's creations."

"Guilt is the driving factor to seek out spiritual aid, wouldn't you agree?" Lucifer asked. "Of course you'd agree. I am never wrong, you see, and I never lead anyone astray. I am beyond petty deceptions." The man said puffing up his chest with pride.

'Odd man indeed,' Galen could not help but think that. But he latched onto one fact. Beyond petty deceptions, eh?

"And those with guilt... oh those mongrels! They would make up stories about me! And blame me for their greed and lust. Their vainglory and envy. Their sloth and gluttony," Lucifer exclaimed in disdain, his lip curled into a snarl.

"ME! Who is the guiding light of all creation!"

"Everything that tempts them is somehow my fault and everything good that happens to them is God's grace," the man scoffed at the ridiculousness of it.

Galen could not help but think that the line of thought was quite correct. A simple act of pushing blame onto others to absolve yourself of the responsibility. You did not have to be a part of a religion to partake in such a convenient method of ridding yourself responsibility.

'That's the way of the society,' he thought.

He was not that well versed in muggle religions but he knew that his own kind was not so different. While the wizards did not worship conjured deities, they did worship great wizard and witches of old. It was a different kind of worship, not religious, but somewhat fanatical in their own ways. There were no prayers or rituals, but people like Merlin and Morgana enjoyed celebrity-like status. So famous were they that phrases like, 'Merlin's beard!' or 'Morgana's mercy!' were quite common within the wizarding households.

Where muggles had their religion to inspire zealotry to fanatical proportions, the wizarding world had their own kind of institution to inspire the same kind, if not greater zealotry. The Wizengamot—an assembly of wise wizards, who had the burden of making laws for their community. A burden to care for their kind; or so it was ideally thought of.

What Wizengamot really was—a dark chamber with staired seats for Lords of prominent houses based on their importance and how heavy their moleskin pouches were. Truly, an assembly of wizards, so far detached from the real community, debating, and creating laws that would only empower themselves further. They had truly centralised the power into few chosen families based on their purity of blood. The families that held the Wizengamot seats hereditarily. The only elected official to get a seat in those hallowed halls were the Ministers of Magic, who coincidently, were always in pockets of one of more families.

The pure-bloods despised the muggle-born, or mudbloods, as they liked to call them. They blamed them for corrupting their culture; their way of life. While, the muggle-born misliked the pure-bloods, as they saw them make laws and run their wizarding nation in a way which they believed to be archaic. They blamed purebloods for all the wrong they had to suffer; the discrimination, the segregation, and the humiliation.

Both arguments, factually, were not wrong.

When a child was accepted into Hogwarts, it was not just the child that entered the Wizarding world, it was also their parents. Parents who had lived all their life in a mundane world, taught mundane things, lived by the mundane moral balance. They taught their children to see the Wizarding world to be a backward society, archaic even. They were influencing the next generation of wizards in a way that would bring ruin to wizarding culture. The culture they strived to protect when they went into hiding after the Statute of Secrecy was announced. It did not help that the driving factor of the Statute was mundane religious fanatics who saw wizards and witches as abominations and devil worshippers, and they burned them alive on a stake.

Both sides took reactionary actions to their problems, which only caused the rift in the society to widen.

Voldemort saw this divide and used it for his own ambitions. He had enlightened the pure-bloods of how everything that is wrong with their community is because of mudbloods, and how, only he could save them all.

'Mad as a hatter,' a shiver ran though his spine as he remembered Bellatrix's blind fanatic faith in Voldemort.

The first time Voldemort was vanquished by a toddler no more than a year old, all the mighty purebloods who were initiated into the death cult were quick to pass blame of their actions on the vile and treacherous Dark Lord who had them all under imperious curse.

Logically, why wouldn't they? Voldemort had promised them a new world. He had over-powered almost all the greatest wizards of their times. Even Dumbledore, who had defeated the previous Dark Lord, could only battle the Voldemort into a stalemate. Why wouldn't they throw their support behind him? A pureblood like them, and Heir to Salazar Slytherin to boot.

But what would happen if the so called undefeated Dark Lord suddenly finds himself less than living because of a babe of barely a year? They had ditched Voldemort the first chance they could.

'Makes sense, a snake would only recruit more snakes,' Galen thought.

He sneered at the thought of the snake's posh posse and what had happened to some of them during the war. He had personally slain a few of them in what others might consider brutal manner. He did not enjoy brutalizing them — no, it was war, and he needed information. He did not care about what others thought about him, he never did.

Galen came out of his musings when he heard Lucifer continue, "God is the creator of all. Of me and you. Of your world and countless others. And everything he has created — he has created a destiny for all of them as well."

"You mean my life and this unexpected death was… pre-destined?" Galen asked with a frown. “All there is or ever will be, all the lives on Earth, be it sentient or not, mundane, or magical, everything is meant to happen in a way that was…what? Fate?” Galen could not help but ask searching Lucifer's face for deception.

Lucifer's smile stilled and he clenched his jaw tightly. This did not go unnoticed by him and he prodded further, "You would not resort to lying, right? After all you are beyond petty deception." He threw Lucifer's own words back at him.

With a strained smile, Lucifer replied, "Of course I would not lie. And yes, your miserable life," Lucifer coughed, "...was indeed predestined."

Galen glared at the man in front of him. If what he says is true, then all he has ever done and all that he would have achieved was meant to happen. Choices — they had no meaning left. Lives — has no meaning left. It is as if they are not even living but part of a story. If it was all true, then God wanted him to suffer as he did.

"Then your so-called rebellion was pre-destined as well?" Galen asked with scathing tone. A revenge against his captor for insinuating his life has basically been on auto-pilot since the beginning. He was always meant to be born sick. He was always meant to join Hogwarts. He was always meant to travel the world in search for a cure. And he was always meant to die after ridding the world of a Dark Lord. If his life was being questioned, how could he not question that of his captors?

'I'll have you taste your own medicine,' Galen thought. If Lucifer was going to make light of his suffering and achievements in life by saying all that he has ever done was already going to happen no matter what he did, then the man had another thing coming.

It worked like a charm. Lucifer's face contorted into a grimace but he did not respond to his bait. Instead, he took out his mislike again on the muggles.

"Rebellion?!" Lucifer scoffed. "It was a mere disagreement between me and my siblings," the man said imperiously. "It is moronic to even consider someone rebelling against Creation itself. You'd not even exist in reality if you had even thought of that."

"No, just like you have now, I had come to realization of how Fate and Destiny reduce the meaning of life to nothing."

"Enough about our past sufferings, let's talk about what's in the store for your future. Yes, yes! Let us look for what new adventures await you," the man said joyfully, nodding his head.

"Right... you said something about a task only I could accomplish?" Galen asked with a glint in his eyes.

From an early age he had learned to value his own worth. He had realized, everything in the world is transactional. It did not just relate to material stuff, but also with any kind of relationship, be it intimate or professional. Knowing self-worth was very important and for Galen, who had nothing, it was crucial.

So, when it came to making deals, he aimed to take everything he could from his employer. It was not just how he valued his own worth, but also how he sold it to others as well. Basics of haggling really, set your worth high, so after negotiations, you would probably get what you are worth.

Now he had already set the bar high. There was a job only he could do, and this time, he did not even have to convince his employer that. He expected nothing less from his queer abductor.

Lucifer rubbed his brow with a sigh, "Well the job basically is babysitting really. Not so hard, probably even like a vacation."

"I would appreciate if you provide the details instead of going in a round-a-bout manner. Who am I guarding? Where, when and for how long — in that order." Galen said plainly.

Lucifer acquiesced with a grunt, "Very well. I am an... overseer of sorts. A manager. Yes, I manage stuff—"

"Get to the point please."

Lucifer coughed, slight pink tinging his cheeks.

'He's embarrassed?' Galen thought curiously. 'I wonder what about.'

"There is a world that's in danger. A world under my jurisdiction. I'd like you to prevent it's fall." Lucifer explained bluntly.

‘Of course, he manages worlds.’ Galen thought.

He stared at Lucifer as if he had red skin and horns jutting from his head, his eye twitching with annoyance.

‘Basically babysitting, he said. A vacation. He scoffed mentally. How is saving world from its fall a vacation?!’

"Now, now; I know what you are thinking... How can saving a world be a vacation, am I right?" Lucifer asked with a smug face. "My dear boy, it will be a smooth sailing for you, for you are mighty, are you not?" He said with a deep laugh.

"Details," Galen said while grinding his teeth. "Give me details."

"I cannot," Lucifer said with shame. "If I do, where, when and how you would be reincarnating, the fate would adjust for you and the destiny would still be fulfilled."

"Now hold on a moment," Galen raised his hand up, "Reincarnating? As in rebirth?" he asked to which Lucifer merely nodded.

"No, no, no. I am not going to be born anywhere, to anyone. This is me," he said pointing towards his body.

"I will not accept being born anywhere. For all I know, I would lose all my memories and all my magic."

And lose all my suffering. He left that unsaid, for it was his suffering that made him…him. No, he would not allow it.

His mind whirled as he focused on his occlumency to recall every bit of information that would help him during the negotiation.

He remembered the whole conversation he had with the man in front of him since he had been brought here. Lucifer had talked about his life, and how he had died. The man had showed him how he had died.

Galen’s eyes widened, ‘He did not show me how I died.’

He narrowed his gaze on Lucifer and asked, “How did I die exactly?”

"I showed you how, must we go through that again?" Lucifer answered easily.

"No, you showed me what happened after I passed, you never showed me how that came to be… how I came to be here, with you." Galen said with his tone full of accusations.

"Tell me everything, and remember, no lies."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Lucifer's face went through many changes. From amusement, to irritation and finally to resignation.

"I might have expedited the process," Lucifer said with both his hands up in mock surrender.

"I confess, I plucked you from your world before your time was up, but in my defence, I did say you were the only one who could accomplish my task."

'He killed me,' single thought ran through Galen's mind. 'The man in front of me just admitted to murdering me.'

He did not know what to feel.

'Anger, for snuffing him out? Sorrow, for abducting him from everyone he knew?'

'Or joy, for ridding him of all his pains?' his traitorous part of mind whispered.

Among all emotions, Galen stuck to the anger bubbling inside of him. He looked at the man responsible for cutting his life short in righteous fury.

"Would you like something to drink?" Lucifer asked, ignoring the furious look.

"Coffee? or perhaps you're a tea man," Lucifer offered. "No, perhaps something strong to drown these feelings you are experiencing."

"Fire whiskey or brandy?"

Galen had enough of this charade. He erupted with all his fury, like a simmering volcano finally dishing out his grievances to the world.

"Drinks? This is what you offer after you have taken everything from me?" Galen bellowed, "No! I shall have everything and then some." With that, Galen unleashed all his magic targeting directly towards his murderer.

The man in question sat patiently as he was being suffocated with his guest's magic. He did not move, neither did he try to defend himself. He merely ignored all that was going around him and only waved his hand to produce a small barrel of liquor. It was an odd sort of barrel. It had sharp spikes of steel jutting from its side, making it look like a pufferfish.

'Or a head of a morningstar,' he thought, 'If it was not spherical and looked like a barrel.'

Draught of Dragon's Demise, it read. Galen's body froze when he read that. He looked at Lucifer, who in turn was staring at him with malice. Gone were the human eyes of his abductor, instead, he had yellow draconic eyes that glowed with surging magic as Lucifer pinned his gaze onto Galen.

'Red Dragon,' he remembered, one of Lucifer's names, or titles— he cared not what it was. And just as he did, he realized why Lucifer was looking at him with all that malice and hate.

He remembered, when one of his colleagues had dared him to find another use of dragon's blood, stating, 'Dumbledore had investigated the blood of dragons and theorized all a wizard can. It was his paper on Twelve uses of Dragon's Blood had what made him a celebrity overnight. Now, if one, such as you, could find another use—even a single-one—that would not only elevate your fame, but also display your depth of knowledge at such a young age.'

And he had done it. Theoretically, he had introduced a way to infuse magic in its raw form inside any sort of beverage that needs to be aged. Blood of any magical creature outside of its body contained miniscule amount of magic, it was well known fact. To achieve infusing magic inside a beverage, a wizard would require copious amount of drained magic blood. This would only increase the cost and the product would be subpar at best. It was also a fact, that emotions were directly connected to magic. Joy, sorrow, hatred, and love all had impact on the output of magic itself.

He proposed an idea where the barrel of a beverage need not be aged in blood of dragons outside of the said creature, but inside. Not only it would save the cost of hiring multiple wizards and witches to regularly stun multiple dragons to drain them of their blood, but also since it was inside the body of the dragon, the quality and quantity of magic in the blood would be much higher. Added benefit was that, the magic infused in the blood of the creature would be higher than it would have been normally—why? Simply because the creature would be in pain. His colleague had jokingly mentioned this process to be harvesting emotions.

It would have been difficult, if not impossible, to harvest magical blood when the creature was joyful or in a happy state, because for once, the wizards did not know what a happy dragon looked like. Pain and sorrow on the other hand was quite easy to harvest.

A barrel made of Elder wood; which absorbed magic tainted with negative emotions like a sponge. Added to it were spikes jutting from the barrel made from common steel but were enchanted to increase their durability. Process was simple. Fatten up a dragon, then when the time is right, stun it. A wizard or witch who has specialty knowledge of dragon’s biology would then later open its gut and place the spiked barrel in its small intestine. This was important as after the procedure, the dragon instinctively would reject consuming anything. It would not even accept medicines like Blood-Replenishing Potion. That was an added benefit, to be honest, as any medicine of any kind would only interact with the ageing process and alter the taste of the finished product.

The spikes would puncture the intestine whenever peristaltic movement occurred. From the punctured wounds blood would flow and pool around the barrel. As dragon would not be under any anaesthetic, the pain would only grow, increasing the magic in the blood and in turn, deepening the flavour of the beverage. The process would last for about seven to nine months, depending on how much the dragon could outlast his internal injuries. After the dragon perished, the barrel would be extracted, labelled, and sold for a very high price.

Galen gritted his teeth as he remembered his past mistake. All the swirling magic that he was directing towards Lucifer for an attack quickly shifted more towards defence.

‘So, this was all about revenge then,’ he thought bitterly.

"Right...I am sorry about—your kin—but you must understand, I only theorized the practice. I did not partake or profit from this trade whatsoever. You know everything about me, you said so yourself, so you would know I am not lying." Galen tried to explain.

"Have you ever tasted this?" Lucifer asked with dangerous tone.

"No, absolutely not." He firmly replied.

"Would you like to?"

"Huh?" The question threw Galen off completely. Was Lucifer asking him genuinely? or was this a trap?

'No, why would he care about setting a trap for you, when he has already confessed to have committed something far greater without you even realizing it? Your murder? Remember?' A voice in his head hissed.

"Would you like to have a taste of this—Draught of Dragon's Demise?" Lucifer asked again, this time his tone sounded genuine. He noticed the man's malicious gaze was gone as well.

Galen swallowed thickly and replied with a little crack in his voice, "S-sure."

“Good.” Lucifer clapped his hands and two whiskey glasses were conjured on the table. The man poured three-fingers of the liquor from the spiked barrel into the glasses. It was a golden liquid with a swirl of red diffused into it. He had never seen anything like that.

‘Surely that is not dragon’s blood diffused into the drink.’ He thought hopefully. Dragon’s blood was extremely toxic and was fatal if even a single drop was consumed.

“You know, I was quite wroth when I found out what you did onto my kin…with such brutality no less,” Lucifer confessed while swirling the red-gold liquid in his glass. “But when I sampled this,” he said lifting the glass, “All I could do was cry.”

“Go on, have a taste.”

Galen looked at the contents of his glass with hesitation. He brought the glass to nose and gave it a light sniff. It burned his nose, and then his throat, and then his tongue. He had not even tasted it, and it was already so strong. There was a lingering smell of sulphur and smoke that remained, like an aftertaste.

‘Bitter,’ he thought as he sipped the drink. It was not the taste—well it did taste bitter—but it was what he felt. He felt bitter, and he the sorrow. He felt the pain—the same pain that had wracked his body when he was still alive. He felt the hopelessness, and the weakness. He felt the dread of death, and then he felt despair. Then he felt wetness on his cheek. Unknowingly, his tears streaked his face. The emotions were raw and pure. Heat lingered in his throat. It burned, and when he exhaled—he exhaled a plume of smoke.

The tears were not because the drink was phenomenal. It was not because it tasted exquisite. It was because it felt bitter. He had tasted…an emotion. He just realised why others called it harvesting emotions now. His work had led to something incredible. Using his theory someone had truly harvested something intangible, something so intimate, and something personal. He had theorized a way to translate the emotions of a dying dragon onto the canvass of a mundane fermented beverage.

He had tasted a dragon’s despair. He had done something that no one has ever imagined, and he was not proud of it.

‘Draught of Dragon’s Demise—what an apt name.’ he thought ruefully.

Galen placed the glass back on the table with disgust and pushed it away. He ran his occlumency again to reign in his emotions. Now he knew why it was so precious to many of the lords and ladies. These men and women were the most powerful and influential people in magical world. At their stage, feeling despair, was an experience. A precious experience.

Not for him though, he intimately knew what despair was for most of his life. He hated it. He abhorred it. For him, the single sip had brought back all the memories of his dire life. Moments he had chosen to forget and seal it away in far corners of his mind. A single sip had uncovered them all.

“I understand why you would not…appreciate this,” Lucifer said raising his glass, “But for me, who had only ever known despair once, this brings back memories, and the pain that had made me who I am. For that I am thankful to you.”

“To be honest, it is not just feeling despair, but just feeling…it has been so long since I have felt anything.”

Galen only stared at Lucifer with blank face. He did not like getting praised for something like this, but this also gave him assurances that the motive behind his present condition was not revenge after all.

“Right…” Lucifer began after taking another sip, “You will reincarnate into—”

“No.” Galen interrupted firmly. He was afraid, but if he was going to do this, it was going to be on his own terms.

“Sorry? I thought you were going to do as I say.” Lucifer asked confusedly.

“No,” Galen responded, “I appreciate you not…I do not know, erase me? But you said when you broached this topic, that I was the only one who could do it, and it was only then you plucked me from the living world.” Galen stated to which Lucifer only nodded in affirmation, still confused.

“Then you deigned the me—as I was, when I was alive—and not the one that would be reincarnating, to be perfect for this quest.”

“Sure, I have to save a world,” again, he left that unsaid, “But it will only be, as you said, babysitting, if I were at my peak as I was, when you decided to undo me.” Galen explained.

“So no, I would not be reincarnating into an unknown world with unknown destiny. I will not go through with this no matter how much you push it. I will not do it. Even if you force me onto this world, into another family, I will abandon the quest. I will abandon this new family. I will abandon the people and I will let the world burn.” Galen exclaimed with force.

After a few moments of silence, Lucifer said, “Very well.”

‘V-very well?’ Galen thought is confusion. He was prepared to fight for it, he was prepared to die for it—well, he was already dead, so he was prepared for whatever came after death.

Lucifer only chuckled at the sight of confusion that marred Galen’s face.

“It is not like you will budge from your point, so it is moot to debate further.” Lucifer said.

“Know this, where and when I send you, I would not know. It is important, if not, fate will alter itself to make amends for your…insurgence.”

“No details then,” Galen said, “What of my body? Magic?”

Lucifer nodded, “No details. And as for your physical state—it will be created from scratch. It will be painful.”

“Pain is a friend.” Galen stated as a matter of fact.

“We will see.” Lucifer said with a mischievous smile which caused Galen to have a mild panic.

Seeing Galen squirm, Lucifer continued, “As for your quest to save the world, all I can say is look towards the North.”

With another wave, Lucifer vanished the glasses and the draught, conjuring another bottle and a single shot glass.

The bottle was transparent, made of mundane crystal glass, though what it contained piqued Galen’s interest. Philosopher stones—a lot of them, and much bigger than the one he had created. They also had much darker red colour denoting they had much higher concentration, or efficacy. The bottle had a simple label.

‘Luci’s Lingual Liquor of Life,’ Galen read the label, ‘What is this now.’

Lucifer un-corked the bottle and poured its contents in the shot glass.

“This is my own concoction. I had the drink you created, now it is only fair that you get to have one of mine.” Lucifer said proudly.

“I think I am good, thanks.” Galen quickly declined the offer. He was still reeling from the emotional adventure the draught had taken him on. If Lucifer was offering him his own creation while comparing it to the previous drink, then he knew it was more than just mundane alcohol. To be honest, his little hurl with this man had much more profound effect on him. He had now come to appreciate how simple the mundane things really were.

“Come now, you do not have to tell me how it tastes. This is a gift,” Lucifer pressed, “For your trip. You will need it.”

“Drink it all in a single gulp. Not a single drop should remain.”

Galen picked up the shot glass with dread. He looked up at Lucifer who was waiting expectantly for him to drink. With a sigh and a swift motion, he downed the contents of the glass with gulp.

It was spicy…oh so very spicy. Immediately he felt redness creep up on his cheeks, making his face flushed and hot, and he felt the tingle inside of his ear.

“Good, right? The flavour is Valyrian.” Lucifer explained.

Valyrian? What is that? Some fruit? Why does his explanation feel like I should know what it means?

Then he felt it. Pain. Burning pain. Starting from his throat, going all the way to his stomach. He felt his insides getting roasted. The heat concentrated at his core and started radiating outwards, to his extremities. Galen clenched his teeth and looked up to see Lucifer smiling.

“It is done,” Lucifer said, “It will be painful, but I am confident you will overcome it.”

Galen looked down and found himself fading. He wanted to ask what was happening, but could not ask because of the mind-numbing pain he was enduring.

“Oh, and before I forget, remember these words, Galen, all-men-must-serve,” Lucifer said, “Hey, are you listening?”

“All-men-must-serve, remember it. It is the last gift I have for you. Nod if you understand.”

Galen’s eyes were unfocused. He was clenching his teeth so hard that it felt they were starting to crack. He could feel steam escaping through his teeth as he exhaled. He was burning from the inside. Even still, and with great effort, he nodded in affirmation.

“Then—this is good bye, Galen Greyhaven.” Lucifer said with a calm smile. He stood up, vanished the furniture between them and strode towards him.

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” Lucifer said with a smirk looking right into his eyes.

----------------------------------------

Lucifer watched as his guest fade and vanish from the existence. He did not know when and where he would appear, and he could not look for him in the world he had sent his agent, lest he alert Fate.

“It is done.” Lucifer stated firmly.

“Others will not like it,” a feminine voice cut through the silence, “Why must you always aggrieve our siblings, dear brother?”

“Others will never like it, for they do not know how important it is what I do.” Lucifer replied plainly.

‘Oh sure, they will huff and puff at him, accuse him of tampering with Fate, and when that will not work, they will whine and whinge to their Lord Father, like the little children they are.’ Lucifer sneered in disdain at the thought of his siblings throwing fits and tantrums like little children. ‘That will not work either, since what I did, and what I do, all of it is sanctioned by the Creator himself.’

That is all they can do—complain. They would dare not chose violence to reign me in. They know they will lose.

The woman revealed herself from the shadows. She was as tall as him and as pale, if not more. She had long and full red hair that reached her back. Her eyes were round and gold. She wore a simple white silk dress that hung to her curves perfectly. She was Seraphina, the burning one, his jailor, and, his sister.

His current confinement was not because he was defeated, but because he had surrendered willingly, when he had realised rebellion would not change anything. His siblings were so scared of his power and prowess, they had confined him on a desolate world and assigned their sister, Seraphina, as the warden. They had declared that as long as creations exists, they must not be seduced by Lucifer’s charm, for that, Seraphina was allowed to do what she could to make lucifer as hideous as possible.

She moved closer to him and ran her hands against his cheek. A look of pity ran though her eyes.

“Why must you insist on talking to your agents in person? You know what I must do afterwards.” The woman asked with sorrow.

“Spare me your pity, sister,” Lucifer replied with no emotion, “I know you don’t dislike it.” He waved and conjured a chair and proceeded to sit on it. The woman walked behind him and took out a small skinning knife.

“Go on, do your duty.” Lucifer said.

The woman hummed melodiously as she ran the blade across his forehead, just below his hairline, then to the side just before the ear, down to his neck. Streaks of blood seeped through his open wound marring his face. The cut was just deep enough not to damage any muscles underneath the skin.

He heard the knife fall and felt Seraphina’s hands run through the back of his head towards the front, through his hair. As her hands reached the cut, her fingers curled and her nails dug into his skin. Slowly and deliberately, she peeled of his scalp off his head while humming a tune she was fond of, and then with a swift tug, removed it completely.

He felt the air tingle on his exposed head, and then he felt the sharp pricking pain all over.

She moved and stood in front of him. Red stained her previously perfect white dress. Her hands were blood-stained too. She crouched in front of him and pressed her bloody hands on his cheeks.

“I did not ask for this, brother.” She sighed in pity.

“No, but do not deny that you don’t enjoy it.” Lucifer retorted. His face was emotionless, denying his sister the pleasure of watching his face contort in pain.

Her frown quickly turned into a sadistic smile. She hooked her fingers into his forehead skin and pulled it downwards. Fresh blood flowed freely ruining his attire. His pale, handsome face was gone. What remained was a bloody red face with muscles and tendons. A proper horror.

“Now there is the brother I love.” Seraphine leaned in and kissed his cheek, staining her lips red.

He was Lucifer Morningstar, Lord of Hell. The Devil—and now, he looked the part.