My name is Lucifer. I am currently naked, standing in the middle of a place I do not recognize. I am reasonably certain this is Earth. It is just not what I expected it to be, after eons of being away.
Lucifer stood on the cracked asphalt of a dark, empty road. The air was warm and thick with the scent of distant rain and damp soil. She had no clothing, no possessions, and no understanding of her exact location. She knew only that she was, somehow, on the surface of the human world. An hour earlier, such a thing had been impossible.
That hour had been spent in a furious confrontation with Archangel Michael in the sulfurous depths of Hell. Lucifer, suffocating from millennia of boredom, had sought a passage to Earth. Michael had blocked her path, voice echoing with glacial authority, declaring that Lucifer's foot must never again touch the soil of humankind. But Lucifer had found a crack in the vigilance. A moment of misdirection, a burst of diverted power, and she had slipped through the seams of reality, arriving here. Wherever 'here' was.
She began to walk, her bare feet silent on the pavement. Her eyes, accustomed to eternal fires and cavernous gloom, scanned the surroundings. The change was profound, almost disorienting. She remembered this world from a different age.
The trees are so much smaller than they used to be, she thought. I see no great shapes moving in the shadows of the bushes. I hear no deep-throated roars shaking the leaves. Did the great beasts all perish because of that long-ago cataclysm?
She looked up. The sky also does not illuminate the night as it once did. The celestial tapestry is dimmed. Should I just burn these trees down to create my own light?
Lucifer shook her head, the motion sharp.
No. That would be unwise. Michael is likely already pursuing. If I use my power, it will shine like a beacon in the void. They would track the disturbance, and I would be dragged back to the pit before I have even taken a proper breath.
A low, growing hum disturbed the heavy silence. Ahead, two points of bright light appeared, cutting through the darkness and moving toward her. Lucifer squinted, a faint, curious smile touching her lips.
Is that the *sóh₂wl? Has humanity learned to craft its own captive suns?
The lights belonged to a boxy, metallic vehicle. It was speeding down the road. Not understanding what it was, but drawn to the light it emitted, Lucifer stepped directly into its path. She stood firm in the center of the lane, a pale, unclad figure in the blazing glare.
Inside the car, a man named Cain was distracted, his eyes flicking between the road and the screen of his phone. When he finally looked up, the sight ahead made his blood run cold. A tall, naked woman was standing perfectly still, right in front of his vehicle. He gasped, the phone tumbling from his hand onto the passenger seat.
"Holy shit!" he yelled, his voice strangled.
He slammed his foot onto the brake pedal. The tires screeched in protest, a long, harsh sound that ripped through the night air. The car skidded, shuddering to a halt just inches from Lucifer's knees. The engine idled roughly. Cain sat for a second, his heart hammering against his ribs, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
What the hell is wrong with that woman? I almost killed her!
Lucifer did not flinch. She examined the vehicle, her head tilting. She saw the panicked human inside, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. The construction was fascinating. A chariot of some sort, but without beasts to pull it. And the light… it was so bright, yet so cold.
The driver's door was flung open. Cain stumbled out, his legs feeling unsteady. He stared at her, his initial fear quickly being overtaken by shock and confusion.
"Hey!" he shouted, his voice ragged. "What are you doing? What is wrong with you? Standing in the middle of the road, naked, at this hour? Are you out of your goddamn mind? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Lucifer looked at him. Her expression was one of calm assessment. She smiled then, a deliberate and practiced gesture, and raised her hand in a slow, graceful wave.
"Greetings, human."
The wave was so bizarrely polite, so utterly disconnected from the situation, that Cain's anger stuttered. He blinked. The lady was clearly not right in the head, but she didn't seem aggressive. Almost without thinking, he gave a stiff, awkward wave back.
He let out a long, slow breath, trying to regain his composure. He moved to the passenger side, opened the door, and pulled his denim jacket from the seat. He walked back toward her, holding it out.
"Look, I'm sorry I yelled," he said, his tone softer but still strained. "But what are you doing out here like this, miss?"
Lucifer blinked at the offered garment. She took it, holding it up by the shoulders, studying its seams and buttons as if it were an artifact from a lost civilization.
"Honestly," she said, her gaze returning to his, "I do not know where I am. My arrival was… recent. I am new to this version of the world. Would you mind assisting me?" She leaned forward slightly, the seductive smile returning, a weapon she had wielded for millennia. "I can grant you anything you desire within this realm." He is still a human, she thought. He will succumb to his earthly desires. It is their nature.
Cain looked at her. He looked at the smile, at the poised, expectant posture. His face remained utterly blank, unmoved. He simply turned around and started walking back to his car door.
Huh? Lucifer's mental voice was pure, stunned silence. Did he just refuse me? Me?
A spark of genuine surprise, then indignation, flared within her. Before he could reach the car, she closed the distance in two swift steps and grabbed his forearm. Her grip was firm, cooler than he expected.
"Wait," she said, the playful tone gone, replaced by one of blunt insistence. "I am an Angel. I am telling you the truth. I am lost. Even though my status is… altered… the ancient curse, the one that turns a being to stone for speaking falsehood, can still bind me. I swear it. I am genuinely without direction here."
Cain turned, looking from her hand on his arm up to her face. She was tall, taller than him, and her expression held a piercing sincerity that was hard to dismiss as mere insanity.
But…
An angel? he thought. What is she talking about? Is she schizophrenic? Did she escape from some facility?
He looked down the long, dark, empty road. The image of someone else finding her here, someone with cruel intentions, formed unpleasantly in his mind. He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.
"Fine," he said, pulling his arm gently from her grasp. "But first, put that jacket on. I am not driving with a… shirtless person in my car. It's a rule. And second, you have to be quiet while we're on the road. No more strange talk until we're somewhere else."
Lucifer tilted her head, the motion bird-like and curious. "What is a jacket?" she asked, holding the denim out slightly.
Cain froze, his hand on the car door handle. He stared at her, his mind blank for a full three seconds.
What do you mean, 'what is a jacket'?
Two hours later.
After what felt to the driver like the most excruciating car ride of his life, they finally arrived at his small, single-story house on the outskirts of the town. The journey had been a relentless barrage of questions. Every new sight that flashed past the car window—a brightly lit fast-food sign, a stray dog, another vehicle, a motorbike with a loud engine—prompted an immediate and urgent inquiry from Lucifer. She had even demanded he stop and reverse the car twice because they had passed a sleeping cat and a flickering streetlamp before she could ask what they were. He had refused, his jaw tight, and kept driving, while she stared out with the rapt attention of a newborn.
He sighed deeply, the sound carrying all his frayed nerves, as he pulled into the short driveway and turned off the engine. The relief was short-lived. The moment Lucifer stepped out of the car and saw his modest home, her curiosity ignited all over again. She pointed at the corrugated metal roof, the concrete walls, the plastic patio furniture, and the glowing bulb above the front door, firing off questions about each one as he fumbled with his keys.
He managed to usher her inside, directly into the small, tidy kitchen. He pulled out a chair for her at the laminate table. Lucifer sat, but then slipped down to the floor, hugging her knees. She was staring, enchanted, at the white ceramic tiles.
"They are so pure," she murmured, tracing a fingertip over the grout. "They capture and reflect the light so perfectly. Were they forged in heaven?"
The man watched her from the doorway, rubbing his temple.
She seems harmless, even kind in a clueless way, he thought. But it's too suspicious. She doesn't know anything.It's like she's from another planet. He shook his head. Anyway, I need to get some answers.
He walked to the sink, filled a glass with cold water, and turned back. He froze. Lucifer was now lying flat on her back on the kitchen floor, arms spread wide, staring blissfully at the ceiling.
"Uh… what the hell are you doing now?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and exhaustion.
Lucifer turned her head to look at him, her cheek pressed against the tile. "This ground feels astonishing," she said, her voice full of genuine wonder. "It is a clean, solid cold. I have not felt a sensation like this in countless ages."
Forget what I just thought, he corrected himself. This woman is a total airhead.
"Please," he said, trying to sound firm but patient. "Get off the floor. You'll get sick lying there. I haven't swept in days, so it's probably covered in dust."
To his surprise, Lucifer immediately complied. She rose with a fluid, graceful motion that seemed unnatural for someone just sprawling on the ground, and settled back into the chair. She looked at him, beaming a bright, expectant smile.
She's obedient, huh? he noted. That's something.
He set the glass of water in front of her. "Drink if you're thirsty," he said. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Now, let's get some information. I need to know who you are."
Lucifer peered at the glass. She picked it up, holding it delicately as she examined the clear liquid and the condensation on the outside. "Did this water come from the ocean?" she asked.
"No," he said, raising an eyebrow. "It's mineral water."
"Mineral? So it originates from rocks?" Her eyes widened with amazement. "Can humans now transmute stone into water? That is remarkable progress."
The disappointment on his face was so profound it was almost comical. He slowly brought a hand up and covered his eyes, sighing a long, deep sigh that seemed to come from the very core of his being.
"No," he said, his voice muffled by his hand. He lowered it. "It's water that has been cleaned and treated in a facility. It's safe to drink. That's all."
"I see," Lucifer replied, as if storing this technical data away. She took a small, careful sip, then set the glass down.
"Okay," he said, deciding to take control. "Let's cut through all this. Who are you, ma'am? Really."
"My name is Lucifer," she said, her smile returning. She extended her hand across the table in a formal gesture. "It is a genuine pleasure to meet you."
"Lucifer?" He couldn't help a short, disbelieving laugh. He didn't take her hand. "Like the devil?"
"Exactly!" she said, her hand still hovering. She seemed delighted he made the connection. "Though my official title remains 'Fallen Angel,' most beings across the various planes do indeed refer to me as The Devil. It is a moniker I have grown accustomed to."
"You're not on drugs, are you?" he said, the laugh bubbling up again, a release of tension. "You have to be on something. The devil? Seriously?"
What is this woman bullshitting about? he thought. Is she a drug addict?
His mind was made up. The night had officially slipped from bizarre into delusional. He needed to figure out who to call, maybe the local police for a wellness check.
As he thought this, he turned his gaze back to her. Lucifer's cheerful expression had shifted into one of mild frustration. She leaned forward slightly. Her right hand came up, her thumb tucking under her middle finger, the tip of it pointing directly at the center of his forehead from across the table.
"I believe a demonstration is required for you to comprehend," she said, her tone suddenly matter-of-fact.
And in the next moment, she flicked her finger.
"Bang."
It was not a loud sound. It was a soft, percussive pop, like a light bulb bursting inside a pillow.
The man did not even have time to blink. His entire body exploded. It was not a fiery blast, but a violent, instantaneous dissolution. His flesh, bone, blood, and organs erupted outwards in a wet, red mist, painting the kitchen walls, the ceiling, the table, and Lucifer herself in a grotesque tapestry of gore. The chair he sat on clattered over backwards, now empty.
Lucifer's eyes flew wide with shock. A single drop of blood traced a path down her stunned, porcelain cheek.
Oh, no! Her internal voice was a shriek of panic. I thought I drastically decreased the output! I only meant to explode his hand! Just his hand, so he would believe me!
She snapped her own fingers in a frantic, reflexive gesture.
Time itself seemed to stutter, rewind, and snap back into place with a soft whoosh of reversing air. The splattered viscera sucked back from the walls, coalescing into a swirling cloud of matter that funneled with impossible speed back into the shape of a man sitting upright in his chair. The blood on Lucifer's face vanished. The overturned chair was righted. The kitchen was pristine, silent, and clean once more.
The man gasped, a raw, sucking sound, as if his lungs had just been refilled for the first time. His hands flew to his chest, his face, his arms, patting himself down frantically. A cold, existential sweat instantly soaked through his shirt. A phantom, all-consuming pain echoed in every cell of his body, a memory of an annihilation that had just been undone.
"What the fuck happened?" he whispered, his voice trembling violently. He looked at his hands, expecting to see them gone. "I felt… I felt like I died."
"You did die," Lucifer said, her voice returning to its previous, cheerful tone. The shock was gone from her face, replaced by a look of mild, apologetic satisfaction. "It was an accident. A miscalculation of force. So I brought you back." She gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Hehe."
She seemed to be enjoying his palpable, soul-deep terror. It was, to her, clear and definitive proof.
The next morning.
Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, landing directly on the man's closed eyelids. He groaned, rolling away from the light and burying his face in his pillow, chasing the last scraps of sleep. Then his alarm clock erupted, a harsh, electronic buzz that demanded attention. He grunted in irritation, slapped a hand clumsily until he found the button, and silenced it.
9:00 am?
It's that late already?
Did I stay up too late last night?
Ah. Right. I got fired yesterday. I drank. I drove home late...
The hazy events of the previous evening floated up through the mental fog. He stretched, the sheets tangling around his legs.
"I had the weirdest dream," he mumbled into the pillow, his voice rough with sleep. "I met a tall, stunning, beautiful woman. Brought her home." He slowly turned onto his other side, facing the empty space beside him in the bed. "She had really nice long hair. How I wish that was…"
His sentence died in his throat. His vision was still blurry with sleep, but it cleared just enough to register a shape standing motionless beside his bed. A person-shaped silhouette.
He blinked slowly, raising his head from the pillow. Standing there, perfectly still, was Lucifer. She was no longer naked. She was now dressed in a crisp white long-sleeved polo shirt and a pair of black trousers that were a little too long for her, the cuffs pooling slightly over her bare feet. She was beaming at him, her expression one of serene patience.
"Good morning," she said. "What happened last night was real, you know."
The memories crashed back in with the subtlety of a falling anvil: the naked woman on the road, the bizarre car ride, the impossible conversation in his kitchen, the fleeting, indescribable sensation of his body coming apart and being put back together like a jigsaw puzzle.
Yeah, right, it was real, he thought, the reality settling into his groggy mind. I nearly hit her with my car. She was standing in the road naked. And then she said she killed me. And for some insane reason, I think I believe her.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, rubbing his face. "You woke up early. Did you get enough sleep?" he asked, his voice still thick.
Lucifer's gaze drifted, and she suddenly blushed, a faint pink coloring her cheeks. He realized he was only wearing his boxer shorts. "I do not require rest," she said, her eyes flicking back to his face with deliberate politeness. "So I have been standing here since you began your sleep cycle."
I see, he thought. That's not weird at all. Completely normal.
He wiped his eyes and yawned, then did a double-take. He looked at her clothes again, properly this time. Recognition dawned. "Why are you wearing those?" he asked, pointing. "Those are my favorites. The good ones. Didn't I give you other clothes to wear last night?"
He had, in fact, dug out an old, oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for her before collapsing into bed himself.
Lucifer blushed again, deeper this time. She began to twist a strand of her golden hair around her finger, looking suddenly nervous. She pointed a shy finger toward his dresser, where a small framed photograph sat. It was a picture of him from a friend's wedding, wearing the exact same white polo and black trousers.
"Well," she began, her voice quieter, "while I was observing you in your repose, I explored the room. I saw an alternate, miniaturized version of you imprisoned in that small, squared box. He was wearing these garments. So I theorized that if I… if I wore them as well, I might… appear more human. Like you."
He stared at her, at the nervous twirl of her hair, at the utterly sincere and slightly hopeful look in her eyes. He felt his own face grow warm.
Damn, he thought, the word echoing in his still-waking mind. Her expression is so… cute.
"Should I remove them?" she asked, her hand moving to the shirt's buttons.
"No, no," he said quickly, standing up and turning his back to her to hide his own blush. He waved a hand vaguely behind him as he headed for the door. "If you like them and they suit you, you can wear them. Just… take care of them, okay? They're my good clothes."
He heard a small, delighted intake of breath behind him. "I will take excellent care of them!" Lucifer beamed, her voice full of promise.
He is so kind~, she thought, her heart feeling strangely light.
In the kitchen, the man, still in just his boxers, stood staring into the barren landscape of his refrigerator. The interior light hummed, illuminating a single stick of butter, a half-empty bottle of soy sauce, and a near-empty egg tray. He pulled the tray out. Two eggs. That was it. He hadn't been to the grocery store in over a month, a fact his now-empty pantry loudly confirmed.
If I cook both of these, there won't be any left for her, he reasoned. I should ask her what she wants. Maybe she isn't even hungry.
He turned around. "Hey—" he began, and then jumped, a startled "Hooo!" escaping him. "What the hell! Are you standing there the whole time?"
Lucifer was indeed standing right behind him, silent as a ghost, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. She tilted her head. "Were you going to call for me?"
"I… yes, I was about to." He took a steadying breath, holding up the egg carton. "Are eggs okay for you for breakfast? But I should warn you, we'll have to split these last two. One each." He gave her a lopsided, apologetic smirk.
He wasn't used to having another person in his space. His life was a rhythm of solitude, and her presence, while strangely compelling, made the air feel different. He had no script for this.
Lucifer's eyes widened in genuine alarm. She stared at the two pale ovals in the carton as if they were live grenades.
"Eggs?" Her voice was a flustered whisper. "Why would you attempt to consume those? What if the progenitor locates you? That creature would eviscerate you! Do you have any conception of how large those beings are?"
What the fuck is she talking about? he thought, utterly baffled. Is she worried a chicken is going to kick my door down for eating its eggs?
He watched her, the sincere fear on her face as she stared at the innocent chicken eggs. A slow, dawning comprehension began to click into place. She knew what an egg was. But the context was wrong. Horribly, historically wrong.
Wait a minute, he reasoned. Is she talking about a dinosaur egg? That's why she thinks the mother would come and kill me?
"Hey, um," he said slowly, setting the carton on the counter. "You think these are dinosaur eggs, don't you?"
Lucifer lifted a perfect eyebrow, her expression one of polite confusion. "What," she asked, "is a 'dinosaur'?"
Of course, he thought, a smile tugging at his lips. If she knows the creatures but doesn't know the human name for them, and she doesn't know what a car is…
His smile widened. He reached over to the counter and picked up his phone. "Okay, hold on. Let me show you something." He tapped the screen, pulling up a search. "You're talking about the eggs of the big things you used to see, right? The giant reptiles? With the big teeth and tails?"
He showed her the screen, displaying a vivid artist's rendering of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Lucifer leaned in, her curiosity immediately captivated. She studied the image, then nodded once, decisively.
"Yes. That is a closer representation. Though," she added, pointing a critical finger at the illustration, "some of the smaller varieties possessed feathers. Your pocket universe is lacking in anatomical accuracy."