Helping Hand of the Fallen

Chapter 1: Finding the Injured Fawn

'Where could that tacky piece of shit be?' That thought kept resounding in the Devil's mind as he soared high above the ruins, his eyes scanning the debris for a certain radio demon who had gone missing. According to his darling daughter, Charlie, the demon had been fighting Adam and appeared to have lost—the only conclusion Lucifer could draw, considering he had been the one to berate that pompous bastard, though not the one to end his life.

He'd seen how Charlie had been on the verge of tears after losing one of her precious hotel patrons, the snake guy. That had been heartbreaking enough. Lucifer wasn't about to let the radio demon be the cause of more of her tears.

'Especially not for that prick!' he grumbled, still harboring resentment toward the sinner.

According to Maggie, the radio demon had disappeared for seven years without explanation. The timing was rather suspicious, to say the least, but now wasn't the time to connect all the dots. While sinners weren't supposed to be able to escape the Pride Ring, there might be a hidden agenda that had slipped under his radar once the demon managed to hide himself properly.

'Like hell I'd let him get away with that.'

Descending to the ground, Lucifer took a deep breath, "Now then~"

'Find me that pitiful little fawn,' he commanded, tapping his staff lightly against the earth. Red and gold dust swirled out, seeping into the rubble, filling every nook and cranny in search of the eldritch magic user.

As his magic set to work, Lucifer surveyed the aftermath of the battle, grimacing at the mess left behind. His gaze lingered on the cannibals scavenging the corpses—both sinners and angels alike—likely preparing their next meal.

'Would they eat their own?' he wondered darkly. The radio demon was one of them, after all. If he died, would they dismember him like the little deer that he is?

Shaking his head, Lucifer pushed away the gruesome thought. The last thing he wanted was to see his little girl mourn another of her people—

"Oh?" His brow arched as he felt a response from his magic less than a minute away. "I guess he's not so keen on hiding himself," or perhaps he had failed, caught off guard by Lucifer's light.

Spreading his wings once more, he departed, now with a clear destination in mind. He headed toward another ruin, one that seemed to have been a radio station—'Of course it is,' he mused, assuming it must be the demon's home.

Golden butterflies, the manifestation of his magic, fluttered around him as he landed. "Lead the way," he instructed, following the glowing swarm with a quickened pace, sensing their urgency.

Kreaaaaak...!

"Oof, is this where he's hiding?" Lucifer muttered as he stepped into what could barely be called a room.

The place reeked of death, the air thick with a chill that seeped into his bones. The pungent stench of gore clawed at his senses, making him want to retch.

It didn't take long to find the source of the nastiness. "Oh my, what do we have here?" he remarked, eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

The radio demon lay in a glitchy mess, a massive gash marring his chest, the rotten smell unmistakably wafting from it.

"Oh, yeesh. That's bad," Lucifer grimaced, the understatement doing little to mask his concern.

'Bad' didn't begin to cover it. Upon closer inspection, Lucifer realized the wound was no ordinary injury. It was clear now why Alstater was dying despite his formidable strength.

'Just what kind of weapon did those old pricks give that bitch?' he grumbled internally, recognizing the potent angelic energy radiating from the wound. Adam's weapon held a power far beyond that of typical angels.

Thankfully, it didn't seem to be the weapon designed to punish archangels. Lending that to someone as bloodthirsty as Adam would have been madness.

But if it wasn't that, did Adam use an archangel's weapon?

Had one of his siblings lent the bitch their gear? Or worse, was it Sera's? Though to his knowledge, Sera didn't own any weapon—the council itself was her weapon.

Putting aside the nagging thoughts about whose weapon had caused this mess, Lucifer knew he had to act fast. Precision and delicacy were paramount. With a flick of his wrist, his staff disappeared into his subspace, and he knelt down, sharp eyes scanning the wound as he devised a plan.

After a moment of contemplation, the solution became clear: he needed to absorb the raw angelic power first, drawing the imitation light into the pure source—himself. Only then could he treat the wound properly. The rotting flesh would need to be excised, and the wound stitched up.

He sighed heavily. It had been ages since he'd been around anything truly divine, nothing like the half-baked holiness the exorcists wielded. And now he was going to absorb it? What a vile 'meal' this would be. But unless he planned on delivering bad news to Charlie, he had no other choice.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out with one hand, attempting to absorb the angelic power into himself.

'Ugh... what the hell is this?' The sensation was nauseating, a foul energy pooling in his gut and growing more overwhelming by the second. As the feeling intensified, Lucifer gagged, jerking back from the body and vomiting a slick, black goo onto the ground.

'The fuck is this?' He glared at the dark substance, his gaze hardening.

"Impurities?" he muttered. He'd expected something like this, but not to the point of it becoming a tar-like ooze.

His face twitched, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, twisted with dark excitement. "Ohoho, you wanna go, cheeky bastard?" Rolling up his sleeves, he jeered at the wound as if it were challenging him.

Determined, he placed both hands on the wound, channeling his power. First, he needed to draw out the angelic energy poisoning Alfonzo, no matter how nasty it got.

"Well, crap." Lucifer muttered, finally piecing together the problem.

The Eldritch magic, with its insatiable hunger for energy, was now desperately trying to absorb the angelic power coursing through his body, even while the radio demon was unconscious. Ordinarily, Alsator might have been able to manage it, but in his current state, the energy was wreaking havoc on his vessel—the body of the busboy.

'So it's trying to absorb the angelic power and make it its own?' Lucifer thought, feeling his frustration bubble over.

"Of course it is. For fuck's sake!" As if dealing with angelic power wasn't difficult enough, now he had to wrestle with this?

With a low growl, Lucifer allowed his form to shift, six wings spreading and eyes glowing with infernal light. It seemed he would have to go all out after all. No holding back, not if he wanted to save this stubborn demon—and keep Charlie's heart from breaking any further