Caught in the Fire

Chapter IV: I am the Damned

Lucifer was kneeling on the beach with his head down at the break of dawn, hugging his midsection, watching as his tears fell and stained the sand. His twin brother, Michael, had just condemned him to an eternity in Hell as punishment for killing a human, and would be returning at the crack of the upcoming dawn to take him to that hellish prison. He felt like his life was over.

"This can't be happening to me," he told himself, trying to will his tears to stop, "No, I can't be banished to Hell for eternity. This is quite obviously a dream."

Lucifer started chuckling, and then he let out a full-blown laugh. "Of course! I'm actually still in bed. It's just a horrible dream." He laughed some more, but the tears kept coming. "I'll wake up any minute now. Any minute now..."

And that's denial—he could almost hear Linda saying.

"I'm not in denial," he denied. No matter how many times he tried commanding himself to wake up, his knees remained firmly planted on the sand, and the rising sun shined down on him. This wasn't a dream; this was his new, harsh reality. He felt tears running down his face again, and he stared at the rising sun helplessly, feeling completely lost, thinking about how he would never see another tomorrow on Earth.

Lucifer stayed there for a while, struggling to understand all these emotions he was feeling. Fear, anger, anguish, helplessness, among others he couldn't begin to describe. He felt like he only had twenty-four hours left to live. It was similar to how he felt when he was bleeding out on the floor in that hangar, believing that he would never see another tomorrow and that he would be trapped in Hell forever without his wings to carry him back to Earth.

There had to be something he could do; someone he could reach out to. He needed to stop crying, get back on his feet, straighten his shirt and suit jacket, wipe the tears away and make plans for tomorrow, because he refused to believe that he would never see another day. He pushed himself back to his feet, feeling like the entire world weighed heavily on his shoulders, and went back to his car. He stared down at his car, remembering how he got it on the day he landed in Los Angeles, and then his eyes went wide when he noticed the small scratch on the hood of his beloved Corvette. It was tiny, barely noticeable, but it made his eyes burn with rage.

"You scratched my car." Lucifer laughed in disbelief, an almost-manic laughter at everything he was going through. "Wasn't enough to banish me to Hell for eternity, hmm?" The laughter died in his throat. "Well, brother, now I'm definitely going to grab you by that hideous mullet and slam you face-first into the bloody sand."

He climbed into his convertible, started the engine, and drove back to Lux. He had to find a solution to deal with the Sword of God problem because he refused to accept that in one day's time, he would be trapped in Hell forever.

***

Lucifer made it to his penthouse and the first thing he did was to brusquely rip off his jacket and toss it on the couch, not caring where it landed. He glanced at the phone, seeing what time it was. It was only 7 AM. He put the phone away and rushed to the bar and poured himself a drink. He held the glass with a shaking hand, and he stared at the liquid swishing around in it, thinking that this could be his last glass of whiskey. With a roar, he tossed the glass away, hearing it crashing against something and breaking into a million pieces.

Lucifer told himself that he had to calm down. Anger was an emotion that was just as useless as sorrow when dealing with Michael. No, he had to focus on finding a solution. But what could he do? Obviously, Michael would not be dissuaded, but maybe there was someone else who would be willing to make a deal. Maybe Amenadiel? He was the First Born, after all. Maybe he could intercede on his behalf somehow and save him from that horrible fate that awaited him with the rising sun.