I stood in the shadow of the skyscraper across from the Lux club, watching its neon sign flicker in the predawn gloom. A real storm raged inside me—not the righteous fury I'd wielded in the First War, but something far more… human. Nervousness. Uncertainty.
Michael. Archangel of the Lord's Hosts. Right hand of the Most High. The one who cast Samael into the abyss and sealed the gates of Hell. And here I was, standing like some teenager before a school dance, rehearsing in my head what I'd say to my younger brother.
"Hey, Lucifer. It's me, Michael. Remember? The one who sent you to Hell on our Father's orders."
No, too blunt. Sounds like confessing to murder on a first date.
"Lucifer, old pal! How's life in… uh… not Hell anymore?"
Worse. Now I sound like an insurance agent trying to sell a policy to a demon.
"My brother, time has healed our wounds…"
Oh, God. Even I wouldn't believe that lie.
Maybe just: "Long time no see"? Though a few million years is a pretty specific definition of "long time."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling the start of a headache. Though my head couldn't actually ache. Who'd have thought family reunion could be harder than commanding legions of angels or banishing demonic hordes? At least with demons it was simple: they attacked, I destroyed them. No awkward talks about feelings. No dialogue.
The club doors swung open, and I froze. Lucifer stepped onto the street, dressed in an impeccable black suit that probably cost more than most people make in a year. In his hands, he spun something shiny—a coin. But not an ordinary coin. Even from a distance, I felt the aura of Hell emanating from it, dark energy making the air around it shimmer.
My younger brother looked… tired. Not physically—angels don't tire in the human sense. But there was something in his posture, in the way he gazed at the night city, that spoke of deep, existential weariness. Weariness of being.
He tossed the coin into the air, let it hover above his palm for a few seconds, caught it, then tossed it again. A ritual that clearly helped him think. What was he pondering? His refusal to return to Hell? What it meant to be free for the first time in millennia? Or maybe the same thing I was—how we'd come to this?
Now. The moment. Just cross the street, walk up, and say… anything. The important thing was to start the conversation. The rest would follow.
I stepped forward, emerging from the shadows, but stopped immediately. A black car pulled up to the club—expensive, elegant, clearly belonging to someone from Los Angeles high society. A young woman stepped out, and I recognized her instantly.
Delilah. Pop star whose name the whole world knew. I'd seen her once before, observing city life—she'd performed at a charity concert for orphanage kids. Back then, her soul burned with bright light despite the dark stains that inevitably accumulate in celebrities' souls.
Now that light was dimmer, but not gone. It fought against gray shadows of addiction and despair I'd seen in many souls in this city.
Lucifer pocketed the coin and smiled—that disarming smile that once won over a third of Heaven's host.
"Delilah, darling," his voice carried across the street to me. "You look… troubled."
The girl stepped closer, and I saw her hands trembling. Not from cold—the night was warm. From nerves, fear, or maybe the struggle with her demons—very human addictions.
"Lucifer," she wrapped her arms around herself, as if holding something inside. "I need to talk to you. About what you did for me. How you helped me… get out. We need to…"
"Oh, darling," he stepped closer, his voice softening. "You did it yourself. I just… showed you what you truly desired."
I frowned. Lucifer's ability to draw desires from human souls was one of his signature talents even when he was the Morning Star. But using it to help someone overcome addiction? That was… unexpectedly noble of him.
"I couldn't have done it without you," Delilah stepped closer. "These three months… they were hell, but I've been clean for sixty days. Sixty days without…"
The sound of an engine cut her off. A dark sedan with tinted windows crawled slowly down the street. Nothing unusual for Los Angeles, but something about its movement put me on edge. Too slow. Too deliberate.
Lucifer sensed it too. I saw his body tense, saw him instinctively step forward, shielding Delilah.
"Lucifer?" She looked at him with concern. "What…"
The passenger window rolled down.
Time slowed, as it does in moments of extreme danger. I saw the muzzle of an automatic weapon emerge from the window. Saw the flash of gunfire. Heard the deafening crack of air tearing apart.
Lucifer lunged forward, trying to cover Delilah with his body, but he was too far. The bullets pierced the night air with cruel precision.
Three shots. All to the chest.
Delilah fell, her eyes wide with surprise more than pain. Blood spread across her white dress, turning it into an abstract painting of death.
The sedan sped off, leaving only the smell of burnt rubber and smoke.
Lucifer stood over Delilah's body, unharmed and motionless. His face bore an expression I hadn't seen in millennia—complete, absolute shock. Not physical—the bullets had passed through him like mist, doing no harm. But the emotional shock was almost tangible.
He slowly sank to his knees beside the girl's body. His hands, usually so confident, trembled as he touched her face.
"Delilah," he whispered. "No, no, no…"
In his voice was something I'd never heard from Lucifer before. Pain. Real, deep pain. Not anger, not the rage he was used to, but pain from loss.
I stepped forward, forgetting all my doubts about how to approach my brother. In moments like these, words aren't needed. Only presence.
But police sirens slicing through the night made me stop and melt back into the shadows. The first patrol car arrived, then two more. Officers cordoned off the area, moved Lucifer away from the body, began asking questions.
And then she arrived.
Detective Chloe Decker. I recognized her immediately. Tall, slim blonde with sharp gray-blue eyes and a face that said she'd seen enough in life to be surprised by nothing. If humanly speaking, poker face.
She stepped out of her car, dressed in a practical gray suit, and immediately took control. Her movements were precise, professional. She directed people, had juniors cordon off the scene, and got everyone moving.
"What do we have?" she asked a patrol officer.
"Drive-by shooting, Detective Decker. Victim—Delilah Thompson, pop star. Witness—this gentleman here."
She turned to Lucifer, who still stood near where Delilah had fallen. His face held a strange expression—a mix of shock, curiosity, and something else. He was studying his own emotions like a scientist examining a new bacterium.
"Did you see the shooter?" Chloe approached him, notepad ready.
Lucifer looked at her, and I saw interest flash in his eyes. Not the predatory interest he usually had for humans, but something more… human. Curiosity.
"Dark sedan," he answered, his voice calmer than I expected. "Tinted windows. Fired from the passenger side."
"License plate?"
"I'm afraid I was too… distracted," he gestured toward where Delilah lay.
Chloe nodded sympathetically.
"I understand. It's always a shock. Your name?"
"Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar."
The detective glanced up from her notepad for a moment, as if checking if he was mocking her.
"That's… an unusual name." Seeing he was silent, she accepted it.
"My parents had a peculiar sense of humor," he replied dryly.
"What was your relationship with the victim?"
"I helped her… with some personal issues. We collaborated professionally."
I saw Chloe studying him, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. Her eyes held innate skepticism—the result of years in law enforcement, where lies outnumber truth.
"Mr… Morningstar," she closed her notepad. "I know this is a difficult time, but we'll need a more detailed statement. Can you come to the station tomorrow morning?"
"Actually," Lucifer straightened, and his voice took on the familiar notes of charm I knew well, "I'd like to assist with the investigation."
Chloe frowned.
"Sorry, but this is work for professionals. Civilians can't…"
"Oh, Detective," he stepped closer, his voice taking on that velvety, hypnotic tone that once enchanted angels. "Tell me honestly… what do you desire most?"
I smiled. This was his signature ability—making people confess their deepest desires. No human could resist it. None.
Chloe looked at him with extreme irritation.
"What do I desire most?" She crossed her arms. "For eccentric rich guys to stop getting in the way of my work. Go home, Mr. Morningstar. We'll contact you."
And she turned away, heading to the other officers.
Lucifer stood frozen, mouth slightly open in surprise. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to process what just happened. His ability hadn't worked. For the first time in millennia. I wasn't surprised. After all, she was no ordinary mortal. It seemed Lucifer would have to figure out her nature before I did.
Intrigued, he followed her.
"Detective, wait," he caught up at the police tape. "I'm serious. I have connections in the city, people who can provide information. Delilah was my… client. She had enemies."
Chloe stopped and turned.
"Client? So you're in show business?"
"You could say that," he smiled that smile that usually melted hearts. "I'm a consultant on… special matters."
"What kind of special matters?" Chloe asked, rolling her eyes.
"Helping people get what they truly desire."
Chloe rolled her eyes again. Twice in one night. My brother was on a roll.
"Of course you do. Listen, Mr…"
"Lucifer. Just Lucifer."
"Mr. Just-Lucifer," sarcasm dripped from her voice. "I know losing someone close is traumatic. But you can best help the investigation by giving a statement and leaving the professional work to professionals."
But Lucifer didn't back down. I saw that stubbornness in his eyes I remembered well—the same resolve he'd once used to challenge the Father Himself.
"Detective Decker," he said her name, reading it from her badge, "I have information on possible motives for the murder. Aren't you curious why someone would want to kill a pop star who just got out of rehab?"
That made her pause. I saw her weighing options—professional necessity versus irritation with a pushy witness.
"Fine," she said finally. "Five minutes. But if you try to interfere with the investigation or stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I'll personally put you in a cell until morning."
"Deal," Lucifer smiled victoriously.
For the next few hours, I followed them at a distance, watching this strange partnership unfold. Lucifer used his connections and charm to open doors usually closed to police investigations. Chloe applied her professional skills and intuition to sift truth from lies in the flood of information.
They were surprisingly effective together, despite constant friction. I was astonished. Lucifer kept trying to use his ability on Chloe, and she remained immune, which clearly only fueled his interest.
Their path led to Eddie Deacon, Delilah's former producer, who was throwing a party at his Beverly Hills mansion. Lucifer blended seamlessly into the crowd of celebrities and elites, charming people and extracting information with an ease bordering on art.
"Tell me," he said to a socialite in a dress worth thousands, "what do you desire most?"
The woman melted instantly, her eyes taking on a dreamy look.
"I want my husband to look at me the way he did twenty years ago. To see me not as an accessory for business meetings, but as the woman he fell in love with."
"I see, but what about…"
Information flowed like a river. Lucifer learned about Delilah's debts, her ties to shady people, that she might have witnessed something someone didn't like.
Chloe watched it all with growing surprise and, I sensed, respect. Her irritation with the eccentric "consultant" gradually gave way to professional interest in his methods.
"How do you do it?" she asked when they stepped aside.
"Do what?"
"Get people to open up. Tell such personal things to a stranger. Do you have some secret?"
Lucifer paused, as if he didn't fully know the answer himself.
"I just… listen," he said finally. "Really listen. Most people are so desperate to be heard, they'll tell everything to someone who truly pays attention."
It was a surprisingly insightful answer, and I saw Chloe reevaluating him. My brother was fibbing, of course—his charm was a gift from the Father—but it was true that Lucifer knew how to listen. I remembered us talking for hours about the Father's creations, their flaws and virtues.
Sighing mentally, I continued watching. The investigation led to 2Vile, a rapper and Delilah's ex-boyfriend. They quickly cuffed him when drugs were found in his house. A simple pretext, but convenient for the detective. The interrogation took place at the station, and I watched through the one-way glass as Lucifer took a more… direct approach.
"Tell me," his voice took on a commanding tone, "what do you desire most?"
2Vile, a large man with tattoos and gold teeth, instantly deflated.
"I want everyone to know I didn't kill her," he muttered. "I dealt drugs, yeah. But I'd never hurt Delilah. She was… she was good."
The drug dealing info led to new suspects, but when 2Vile tried to lie about his suppliers, Lucifer lost patience. He grabbed the rapper and hurled him through the interrogation room's glass door with such force that he flew several meters before crashing into a wall.
Chloe stood frozen, watching this display of inhuman strength.
"What… how did you do that?" she breathed.
"Adrenaline," Lucifer answered quickly, but I saw he was surprised by his own burst of anger. "Sometimes I don't know my own strength."
After smoothing over the misunderstanding with the police—in Lucifer's case, by paying off the damage—the investigation finally led to the real killer: Delilah's bodyguard, Johnny Morales. It turned out he worked for a drug cartel and was ordered to kill the singer after she decided to break from her dark past.
The final confrontation took place at a warehouse in the port district. Johnny was waiting with several armed accomplices. A shootout began.
And then something incredible happened.
Chloe took a bullet to the shoulder, collapsing behind cover and bleeding. Lucifer, who until that moment had seemed invulnerable to any weapon, suddenly felt sharp pain in his side.
A bullet. A real bullet had pierced his body, leaving a real wound.
I saw the shock in his eyes as he looked at the blood on his shirt. For millennia, he'd been immune to human weapons. But now, in this woman's presence, he was bleeding like any mortal.
Ha-ha-ha. I barely held back laughter. Seeing my brother shocked that his human shell had been pierced by metal was pretty funny.
Despite the wound and confusion, he managed to draw the shooters' attention to himself, allowing Chloe to take a better position. Together, they arrested Johnny and his men.
Later, when medical help arrived and the crime scene was secured, I watched Lucifer sit on the hood of a police car, examining the bandaged wound on his side.
"Thank you," Chloe said, approaching him. Her own shoulder was bandaged, but she was holding up well. "You saved my life."
"We saved each other's lives," he replied thoughtfully. "Though I still don't understand how…"
"How what?"
He gave her a long look.
"Nothing. Just… an interesting evening." What did he figure out?
"Not bad for a first time working together," Chloe admitted. "Maybe if you really do have useful connections in the city…"
"Are you offering me a job as a police consultant?" Interest rang in Lucifer's voice. I smiled.
"Unofficially," she hurried to clarify. "And only if you behave."
"Detective Decker," he stood and adjusted his suit, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Watching this scene, I realized my meeting with my younger brother was postponed indefinitely. Lucifer had found a new passion—helping solve crimes and the mystery of the one person immune to his charms.
And I had the chance to learn more about what my brother had become during his time on Earth. Tonight's events showed me a new Lucifer—not just a fallen angel playing nightclub owner, but a being capable of genuine attachment and pain from loss.
Delilah's death had touched something in his soul, something he didn't fully understand himself. Human emotions, for one who'd existed without them for millennia, were new territory.
It would be interesting to see how this partnership developed. And perhaps, through Detective Chloe Decker, I could better understand who my brother had become and whether he was ready to talk about the past, present, and future of our broken family.
For now, I remained an observer. I wanted to watch my brother longer. But unfortunately, I'd have to pause the games with this unusual mortal.
I sensed demons, somewhere across the oceans. They stood out like beacons in a dark sea. Decided to disobey me?
Fine. Time to pay a visit to the Kami of Takamagahara.
***