Helping Hand of the Fallen

Chapter 5: Lovely Routine

By the third day, Lucifer began to realize he was starting to enjoy this new routine of his. Cooking in the morning, indulging in a sugary treat, and then diving into various activities until dusk—it was a welcome change of pace for the former shut-in. Even if part of that routine involved chatting with and tolerating the absolute troll known as Alstarian.

"Well, good rising, sire. I don't reckon my shadows reached out for you, did they?" Alastor greeted him as Lucifer stepped in with a tray of food: Jambalaya, the special black coffee, and a jar of candied fingers, which he'd covered with a black veil since the sight repulsed him a bit.

"I'll be extremely busy with the hotel today, so you'll just have to settle for these until my return," Lucifer said, placing the tray on the nightstand.

"Don't worry, if there's an emergency, Whispie can eat this to alert me." As he said 'this,' Lucifer conjured a golden butterfly made of light, which fluttered around as if it were monitoring the room. "It certainly won't be tasty for Whispie, which is why it's better not to give it a lick unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Noted, sire. You can run along now," Alastor replied, making a cheeky gesture with his hands, to which Lucifer huffed without any real malice.

Lucifer's expression softened when Whispie nuzzled his face before turning its attention to play with—terrorize—the poor butterfly. At least he truly enjoyed one of his guest's company, even if that guest was just a summoned creature.

"Yeah, anyhow. Before I go," Lucifer said, his tone shifting, "Charlie asked if I managed to find you. I told her I did. But then your... underlings wanted to know more, especially since they bear my markings now."

Lucifer turned to the previous owner of those sinners' souls with a complicated gaze. He'd always despised dealing with matters like this. Before Alastor, he'd never had to meddle with this sort of thing. And even now, the conversation was one he wasn't eager to have.

But even so, Lucifer knew what had happened without needing to spell it out.

If Alastor were any lesser, would he have even been able to rise to power?

"So, what do you want me to tell them?"

Technically, Lucifer could just say that their souls had been freed, that he was now the rightful owner of the two, which meant nothing since he had no plans for any of them. But what would that mean for Alastor?

The overlord had been cheated by his one-sided decision, after all. So if telling those sinners lies, as Alastor might, could help untangle the mess they were in, he'd do just that.

Yet, much to Lucifer's surprise, Alastor simply said, "Just tell them as is."

"What?"

"Putting aside the obvious,"—Alastor gestured to himself, indicating his current condition—"You can tell them that you own their souls or whatever happened. Niffty would definitely stab you, though."

The thought of darling, vicious Niffty seeking revenge on his behalf made Alastor's grin widen. She'd always been eager to be his helping hand, and he was hoping she might give Lucifer a bit of trouble, at least enough to entertain him in the midst of everything.

"You, uh, would that be okay with ya?" Lucifer asked, surprised by Alastor's apparent calm. He had expected the demon to riot. Why the hell was he being so submissi—

"OUCH!" Three of Alastor's shadows bit down on Lucifer's neck and arms, their sharp teeth sinking into his skin. "Whispie!" he scolded, grabbing them and yanking the shadows toward their master.

—yeah, okay, he's absolutely pissed.

That made more sense.

"Alright, fine. I'll get going now. See you later then, fucker."

After healing the injuries caused by the shadows—of course, something like that couldn't harm him—Lucifer took his leave, missing how the shadows spat out his blood and desperately tried to pull the golden liquid away from their teeth.

"He tasted so damn sweet," Alastor muttered, making a disgusted 'bleh' sound as if he'd been the one to take the bite himself. The shadows glared at him, their expressions conveying the burning sensation they felt from the devil's blood.

'It stings! So, so bad! We no like!' one of the shadows growled, still trying to rid itself of the lingering burn.

"Well, I suppose he is a different breed of angel, even among angels," Alastor sighed, shaking his head in self-pity. "Seems like we can't devour him like those tasty exorcists."

The shadows let out disappointed rumbles, their conversation coming to a reluctant end.