When the radio demon loves

Chapter 2 (Fallen king)

(Normal pov)

As the days stretched into months, Alastor's grip on Lucifer tightened. What had once been subtle manipulation had now morphed into full-blown control. The Radio Demon no longer masked his cruelty with charm; his sadism was laid bare for Lucifer to see, and yet, despite everything, Lucifer stayed.

The abuse had become relentless. Alastor's words were venom, cutting deeper than any blade could. He would mock Lucifer's rule, laughing at his decisions, deriding him as a "fallen king." Physical attacks followed his verbal torment. Slaps, punches—sometimes even worse. Alastor reveled in pushing Lucifer to the brink, feeding off the terror and confusion he inflicted.

But it wasn't just the beatings or the words that kept Lucifer bound—it was the isolation. Alastor had methodically cut Lucifer off from everyone who might have helped him. His closest confidants, even his daughter, Lilith—Alastor made sure they drifted away, poisoned by lies or pushed away by Lucifer's growing distance. Hell, the kingdom he had ruled for millennia, no longer felt like his. He was king in name alone.

Alastor knew what he was doing. He understood that without his support, Lucifer had nowhere to turn. It became clear in the quiet moments, when Lucifer would sit on his throne—empty, cold, devoid of the power he once wielded so effortlessly. His pride was shattered, replaced by something he never thought he'd feel—fear.

He knew Alastor would never stop, that the abuse would only worsen with time. But the thought of leaving, of severing whatever bond they had left, terrified him. He had nobody else. Alastor had seen to that.

One night, after an especially brutal outburst from Alastor—one where Lucifer had been thrown across the room, his jaw bloodied and ribs aching—Lucifer sat alone in the dark, his crown discarded beside him. The grand palace that had once been a symbol of his dominion now felt like a prison.

He pressed a hand to his face, trying to still the shaking. His pride told him he could still win this, that he was Lucifer Morningstar, the most powerful being in Hell. But pride was no longer enough. Deep down, he was afraid.

Alastor found him sitting there, his figure casting a long shadow as he approached. The Radio Demon's smile stretched wide, his eyes gleaming with that same malevolent energy. Without a word, he knelt beside Lucifer, his hand gentle as it caressed his face.

"I don't like it when you make me do that," Alastor purred, his voice soothing, almost affectionate. "But you always push me, Lucifer. You always challenge me, and I have to remind you who's really in control."

Lucifer's throat tightened. He wanted to fight back, to tell Alastor to get out, to reclaim his throne, his dignity. But he said nothing. Alastor's hand felt cold against his skin, his touch leaving a trail of dread that seeped into his bones.

"You're nothing without me, Lucifer," Alastor whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "Nobody would care about you if I wasn't here. They don't respect you anymore. They laugh behind your back. Without me, you're just... weak."

The words hung in the air, sinking into Lucifer's already fragile mind. He tried to reject them, to push the thoughts away, but they took root, growing like thorns inside him. Alastor wasn't wrong. He had become weak. He had let this happen, allowed himself to be reduced to a shadow of the demon he once was. And now... now, he was too far gone to change it.

Who would even care if he left? Lilith had grown distant, and the others in his court had lost faith in him long ago. Alastor had ensured that Lucifer stood alone, his allies turned into enemies, his kingdom in disarray. Without Alastor, without the presence of the only one who still remained by his side—even in this twisted, horrific way—Lucifer feared he would disappear entirely.

So, he stayed.

Each time Alastor's fists found him, each time his cruel words tore at his soul, Lucifer reminded himself that he had no other choice. Every time he found himself at the mercy of the Radio Demon's sadistic games, he convinced himself that it was better than being alone.

But the truth gnawed at him, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. There were moments, fleeting and painful, when Lucifer would catch his own reflection in the mirror and see a stranger staring back at him. The once-proud ruler of Hell, reduced to nothing more than a prisoner in his own home. A demon who had once inspired fear and reverence, now trapped in a toxic, abusive relationship with a monster who fed on his suffering.

He hated himself for it—hated that he couldn't bring himself to leave. Hated that Alastor's words, as cruel as they were, felt like the only validation he had left. Alastor had convinced him that nobody else would ever understand him, that nobody else would ever love him.

Lucifer had always prided himself on being untouchable, on standing above everyone else, but now... now, he was nothing. Nothing but Alastor's puppet. And the worst part? A small, shattered part of him believed he deserved it.

Alastor, ever the manipulator, knew exactly when to pull back just enough to keep Lucifer hanging on. After every brutal encounter, after every moment of violence, he would comfort Lucifer, weaving sweet lies into his ear.

"You're mine, Lucifer," he would whisper. "And I'm the only one who'll ever love you. Don't forget that."

Lucifer stayed silent, his heart heavy with the weight of those words. He didn't believe them. Not completely. But the fear of what lay beyond Alastor's twisted love—the fear of being alone, of being truly abandoned—kept him tethered to the Radio Demon.

And so, the cycle continued. The abuse, the apologies, the fear, the helplessness. Lucifer, once the unshakable Prince of Pride, had become nothing more than a victim in a story he couldn't escape.

End of chapter