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The room was dim, lit only by the soft gold glow slipping through the curtains and the faint, unstable radiance flickering beneath Lucifer’s skin. He lay half-curled on his side, breath thin, sweat dampening his hairline. Every few seconds his glow fluttered like a candle fighting a draft. Charlie sat pressed against him on the bed, one hand stroking his forehead, the other holding his trembling fingers in both of hers, as if sheer will alone could keep him anchored. Vaggie hovered near the foot of the bed, arms folded so tightly it looked painful, her wings tucked close to hide the way they twitched.
The quiet was heavy—so heavy that even Lucifer’s soft, fevered murmurs sounded wrong in it.
The door clicked.
Baxter stepped in quietly, tablet clutched tight in both hands, his lure dim and unfocused—like it had been flickering nonstop since the moment he ran tests in the lab. He paused just inside the doorway, swallowing hard when he saw Charlie’s exhausted eyes lift toward him.
“Baxter?” she whispered. “Did you… find anything?”
Her voice made him flinch.
He hadn’t expected it to tremble that much.
Not wanting to speak yet—stalling on instinct—he approached the bedside. He checked Lucifer’s temperature first, out of habit more than anything. His hand hovered an inch above Lucifer’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating like a furnace on the edge of collapse. He glanced at the monitors. The readings were worse. Steeper drops. Unstable flux. A body and soul fighting something it was never meant to withstand.
Charlie leaned in, her fingers gripping the sheets. “Please. Tell me.”
Baxter stiffened, his throat bobbing as he tried to assemble the answer into something gentle—something digestible. But nothing about the truth was gentle. Nothing about it could be softened.
He exhaled shakily.
“I found the cause of his instability,” Baxter said quietly, forcing clinical clarity into his tone. “Lucifer isn’t just exhausted. He isn’t just drained.” He looked from Charlie to Vaggie, and for a moment the façade of calm cracked, panic flickering across his eyes. “He’s been poisoned.”
Charlie froze. The world seemed to stop moving.
Vaggie straightened sharply. “Poisoned? By what? Demonic toxins don’t—”
“Not demonic.” Baxter tightened his grip on the tablet. “Angelic.”
The silence was instant and suffocating.
Charlie’s mouth opened—then shut. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear her own breathing. “A—angelic? But—how—”
Baxter pressed a hand to the monitor as if grounding himself. “The machine Vox used on him… the conduits… the restraints embedded in his chest… They were forged from concentrated angelic steel. The real kind. The lethal kind.” He swallowed hard. “And the extraction wasn’t clean. Microscopic fragments broke off inside him. They’re in his bloodstream now.”
Charlie’s face went white.
Vaggie stared at him like she hadn’t processed the words. “Of course,” she said numbly. “Carmilla built the machine with Angelic Steel. It can kill angels— even Lucifer.”
Baxter nodded stiffly. “Yes. Even trace amounts are dangerous. Lucifer’s system is fighting it—but very slowly. Too slowly. The metal doesn’t dissolve. It doesn’t corrode. It doesn’t leave.” He inhaled shakily. “It accumulates.”
Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. “No… no, no, no… he—he’s Lucifer, he can handle—he’s strong—”
Her voice cracked open like something breaking.
“Strength has nothing to do with it,” Baxter murmured. His voice was steady only because if it wavered, he’d lose control entirely. “This isn’t fatigue. It’s poisoning. His fever spikes because his body is trying to burn it out. The collapses are his system reacting to toxic load. The instability in his glow—” he gestured to the flicker beneath Lucifer’s skin “—is because his essence is being disrupted by something incompatible with angelic structure.”
Charlie and Vaggie stared at him, unblinking. Waiting for him to say something, anything, that wasn’t horrific.
He didn’t.
“There is no Hell-born antidote for angelic steel poisoning,” Baxter finished quietly. “And if the fragments continue circulating… his condition will keep deteriorating.”
Charlie made a sound—small, strangled, the kind of noise that broke ribs from the inside.
Then she moved.
She pushed herself to her knees beside Lucifer’s limp form, both hands cupping his burning face, forehead pressed to his. “Dad,” she whispered, voice trembling so hard the word almost fell apart. “Dad, please—please wake up—”
Lucifer murmured something incoherent—weak, breathless. Charlie exhaled a sob.
She pulled back just enough to hover her hands over his chest. White-gold light began to gather between her palms, trembling violently, flickering like it wasn’t sure it should exist.
“Charlie—” Vaggie warned instantly.
“I can fix him,” Charlie said, trembling. “I can—I can heal angelic wounds, I’ve done it before—this is my power, I can do this—”
“Charlie,” Vaggie repeated, louder, stepping forward, wings lifting in alarm.
But Charlie didn’t hear her.
The magic burst to life between her palms—too bright, too fast, too desperate—like a star trying to force itself into existence. She lowered her hands toward Lucifer’s chest—
Baxter grabbed her wrists.
Charlie gasped.
“Stop,” Baxter said firmly. “Don’t use your magic. Not yet.”
“I have to!” Charlie cried. “He’s dying! I can feel him slipping—he’s too hot, he’s shaking—I can’t just sit here!”
“You’ll overload him,” Baxter said sharply. “Your healing is half-angelic force. His system is already fighting angelic metal. If you push more power into him right now, you could accelerate the poisoning.”
Charlie froze. Her glow faltered.
Her breath hitched once—then again—and then she crumpled forward, burying her face against Lucifer’s chest, whispering his name like it was the only word she had left.
Vaggie moved to her immediately, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, grounding her with steady, gentle pressure. Charlie’s body shook under her hands.
Baxter stepped back, exhaling shakily. His lure dimmed to a low, sickly glow. “We need help,” he said quietly. “Help from someone who understands angelic materials. Someone from Heaven.”
Charlie forced herself upright, wiping at her eyes with trembling fingers. “Emily,” she whispered. “Emily will help us. She has to.”
Vaggie nodded, jaw tight. “Good. And while you try to reach her…” She took a breath, steeling herself. “I’ll go to Carmilla Carmine.”
Baxter looked up sharply. “Why her?”
“Because she built the machine,” Vaggie said, voice like carved stone. “If anyone in Hell knows how to counteract angelic steel—besides an angel—it’s her.”
Charlie grabbed her hand. “Vaggie, be careful.”
Vaggie kissed her forehead. “Always.”
She turned toward the door, wings unfolding in a sharp, controlled sweep.
Charlie looked back at her father—pale, glowing weakly, trembling under fever—and her voice cracked in a whisper: “Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’m gonna fix this. I swear.”
Lucifer didn’t answer. But Charlie held his hand anyway, gripping tight enough for both of them.
Carmilla Carmine’s tower loomed like a monolith carved from obsidian and neon, its sharp angles slicing the red sky. The closer Vaggie flew, the more the air tasted like ozone and hot metal—like something forged under pressure, meant to cut through worlds. It wasn’t a place built for comfort; it was a place built for invention, efficiency, and the precise brutality only Hell’s finest engineers understood.
Vaggie landed hard on the metal balcony outside the upper workshop, boots scraping sparks across the grate. She didn’t wait for permission—she shoved the door open with the flat of her palm.
Inside, blue flame hissed from a collection of welding torches. Dozens of screens flickered with designs—schematics of weapons, armor plating, power cores, algorithms meant to break or control or reshape. The air was hot, metallic, pulsing with mechanical heartbeat rhythms from the towering machines.
And in the center of it all stood Carmilla Carmine.
She didn’t even turn at the intrusion—just continued typing on a glowing holopanel with long nails, her composure perfect, her clothes immaculate, her hair pinned into a sleek, cruel arrangement that looked as sharp as her tech.
Only when Vaggie took two steps closer did Carmilla finally speak, voice smooth as polished chrome. “Well,” she drawled, shutting off the panel with a flick of her wrist. “If it isn’t the little moth.”
Vaggie stiffened. “We need to talk.”
Carmilla turned, smile faintly predatory—not hostile, just amused in that bored, too-powerful way that implied everything and meant nothing. “You’ve come all this way without an appointment. Must be serious.”
“It is,” Vaggie said, jaw tight. “It’s about Lucifer.”
That got Carmilla’s attention.
Her eyes sharpened in one clean, precise motion—like a camera lens locking onto a target. “The Morningstar,” she said, voice flattening. “He survived Vox overloading the machine. Impressive, considering.”
Vaggie stepped forward, wings flaring instinctively. “He’s dying.”
Carmilla’s expression didn’t change at first—but the pause was unmistakable.
“…Dying,” she repeated slowly.
“Your machine poisoned him,” Vaggie snapped. “Angel steel fragments got into his bloodstream. Baxter confirmed it. He’s getting worse every hour.”
Carmilla blinked once, slow and deliberate. Then she lifted her hand to her temple, rubbing it like she’d just been informed of a logistical headache, not a life-or-death crisis. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“It is,” Vaggie shot back.
Carmilla began moving—clicking across the metal floor in heels that echoed like gunshots, pulling up schematics with practiced flicks of her hand. “I designed the extraction conduits to pierce but not fragment. Angelic steel doesn’t shear under energy strain unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless Vox overloaded the output beyond safe tolerance. More than I even thought.”
Vaggie stared at her. “He was going crazy trying to kill Alastor. Of course he overloaded it.”
Carmilla’s jaw clenched—just barely, but Vaggie caught it. “I built the device to contain him. Vox modified the system for weaponization.” She hissed the word as if it left a bad taste. “He exceeded the calculated parameters by… quite a significant margin. I’m sure you remember he was going to kill us all.”
Vaggie’s wings twitched. “Carmilla—do you know how to fix it?”
Carmilla slowed. For the first time since Vaggie walked in, she looked less like a composed executive and more like a scientist confronted with her own creation's consequences. “I can’t fix angelic steel poisoning,” she said quietly. “No one in Hell can.”
Vaggie felt her stomach drop. “There has to be—”
“There isn’t.” Carmilla’s tone sharpened—not cruel, but honest. “Angelic steel is pure celestial alloy. It cannot be melted, dissolved, or removed by hellborn means. It was engineered to be lethal to angelic biology.” She paused, then added with surprising sincerity:
“I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
Vaggie’s voice broke. “He’s dying, Carmilla.”
Carmilla exhaled—a long, frustrated sound. “Then Hell can’t save him.”
Vaggie stepped forward again, fists balled, wings rising. “So what do we do?”
Carmilla’s gaze finally softened—just a fraction.
“You turn to Heaven.”
Vaggie went still.
Carmilla continued, walking closer, lowering her voice. “Your only hope is someone with access to celestial antidotes or purification magic—something potent enough to separate angelic essence from contaminated metal.” She held Vaggie’s stare.
Vaggie’s breath hitched—because she knew it was true and knew how impossible it would be. “You’re telling me Lucifer’s fate depends on Heaven giving a damn?”
“I’m telling you,” Carmilla replied, “that if Heaven does nothing… he dies.”
The words landed like a blow. Vaggie’s wings folded slowly against her back. Her throat felt tight, her grip on her spear trembling despite her effort to remain composed. Charlie was going to break. Vaggie didn’t waste another second.
“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.
Carmilla nodded curtly. “Bring me updates. If anything changes, I want to know.”
Vaggie didn’t respond—she was already sprinting down the walkway, boots striking the metal with furious speed.
She was halfway down the exterior staircase when her phone buzzed violently against her hip. She almost didn’t answer. But the second she heard Charlie’s voice—ragged, shaking, terrified—Vaggie’s blood ran cold.
“Vaggie—Vaggie, please come back—please—” Charlie sobbed, the words tumbling over each other as though she couldn’t breathe between them. “He’s getting worse—I don’t know what to do—Vaggie, I’m scared he’s—he’s—”
The sentence didn’t finish.
It dissolved into a cry.
Vaggie’s wings snapped open with so much force the railing rattled.
“Charlie, I’m coming,” she said, already leaping into the air. “I’m coming right now.”
And she flew—fast enough to leave a burning trail of feathers in the sky.
Because Lucifer wasn’t just deteriorating. He was slipping. And if Heaven didn’t answer…
They were going to lose him.
Lucifer’s room smelled like heat and fear.
Charlie hadn’t left his side since Vaggie returned—wings disheveled, hair wind-tossed, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. The moment Vaggie stepped through the door, Charlie knew everything Carmilla had said was useless.
And now… now she was out of time.
Lucifer lay half-conscious, glow flickering weakly beneath fever-damp skin. Every breath shuddered. Every twitch felt like a countdown.
Charlie’s heart hammered so hard it rattled her bones.
Vaggie stood beside her, hand on her back, voice low. “Charlie. Use the device.”
Charlie nodded, swallowing hard, and reached into the drawer of Lucifer’s bedside table.
Her fingers closed around it immediately—small, warm, pulsing faintly with its own divine light.
A little feather-shaped charm.
Emily had pressed it into Charlie’s palm during the chaos of the finale—hands shaking, wings twitching nervously, whispering:
“Just—just in case you ever need me, okay? Don’t tell anyone I gave you this. Especially Sera. Seriously. Don’t. But if you’re in trouble… break it.”
Charlie hadn’t meant to use it. She hadn’t wanted the day to come. But now Lucifer’s chest rose in another uneven, ragged breath, and Charlie’s hands moved on their own.
She held the charm tight in both palms. “Emily,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Emily, please—please hear me.” The feather warmed. Soft golden threads of light began to swirl off it like tiny filaments of a torn-up star.
Vaggie stepped closer, wings half-open in alarm. “Charlie, brace yourself. We don’t know what it’ll do—”
But Charlie didn’t hear her. Her eyes were locked on the charm. On her father. On the way his glow sputtered like it was losing the fight. She crushed the feather between her palms.
Light exploded. Not violently—no heat, no blast—just a sudden rush of brightness, a harmonic hum that cracked the air like something celestial had been forcibly routed through Hell’s atmosphere. The room bent around it, folding inward with a sound like bells under water.
Then—A portal snapped open at Charlie’s feet. Not a clean one. A panicked one.
Emily stumbled through it, arms full of scrolls and loose papers, wings half-flared and off-balance, halo rattling so loudly it was practically vibrating. She squeaked as she tripped onto the floor, parchment exploding everywhere like divine confetti. “—I’M HERE! I’M HERE! I’M— oh jeez, that was way too fast—”
She scrambled upright, brushing soot off her white robes and forcing an awkward smile. “Hi, Charlie! Long time no—”
Then she saw Lucifer. Emily went still. Completely, utterly still. “Oh… oh stars…” She drifted forward, eyes wide, hand flying to her chest. “Charlie… what happened to him? Why does he look—he looks—”
“He’s dying,” Charlie whispered.
Emily gasped—loud, sharp, like her breath got punched out of her. “No. No, no, that’s—Charlie, angels don’t just—he can’t be—”
“He’s poisoned,” Vaggie said, stepping in quickly. “Angelic steel. From Vox’s machine.”
Emily’s wings drooped so fast her feathers rustled. “Angelic steel!? But—he shouldn’t even be touching that kind of alloy—let alone—oh gosh, no wonder his glow is all wrong—oh Sera’s gonna kill me—why didn’t I see something—why didn’t—”
“Emily.” Charlie grabbed both her hands, gripping tight. “Please. Help him.”
Emily looked into her eyes—and all the frantic babbling, the panic, the flustered horror melted into something steadier. Something brave. She nodded once. “I’ll do everything I can.”
She knelt at Lucifer’s bedside, wings folding neatly in concentration. Her hands hovered an inch over his chest, and her expression softened with a grief Charlie had never seen on her before. “Oh, Mister Morningstar…” she whispered. “How did you get yourself into this…”
Lucifer murmured faintly, turning his head toward her voice. “Yer not… supposed’a be in Hell…” His words slurred together. Emily’s breath shook.
“Yeah, well,” she whispered, “neither are you.” She placed both hands gently against his fever-hot chest. Celestial light poured from her palms—warm, soft, shimmering softly like early morning sun.
Charlie held her breath. Vaggie did too. Baxter—who had been silently standing in the doorway—pressed a hand over his mouth. Emily’s light flowed through Lucifer’s skin in slow ripples… then stalled. Flickered. Stuttered.
Emily’s face fell. “Oh no…” she whispered.
Charlie’s heart plummeted. “What? What’s wrong?”
Emily pulled her hands back, shaking them as if they burned. “It’s… inside him,” she said, voice quivering. “The metal. It’s… it’s reacting to my healing. It’s pushing back.”
She looked up at Charlie, eyes glowing with fear. “Charlie… this is more serious than I thought. I’m not strong enough to purge angelic steel alone.”
Charlie’s breath broke. “Emily, please don’t say that—”
“I’m not giving up!” Emily said instantly, grabbing Charlie’s shoulders. “I’m not. But this isn’t just a wound. It’s not just essence depletion. This is a full systemic poisoning. I’m not high-ranking enough to handle something like this.”
She hesitated. Then she whispered the words Charlie dreaded: “We need Sera.”
Vaggie stiffened. Charlie’s blood ran cold. “Sera won’t help him,” Charlie said, voice small, cracking. “She hates him.”
Emily winced. “She… doesn’t hate him. She hates what he did. That’s different. Kinda.” She flinched. “Okay, not very different. But still!”
Charlie shook her head violently. “She’ll never agree to come here. Not for him.”
Emily hesitated only a second before taking Charlie’s hands again. “Then you talk to her,” Emily said softly. “Make her see you’re not asking as the Princess of Hell.” She squeezed Charlie’s fingers gently. “You’re asking as her friend. And as Lucifer’s daughter.”
Charlie’s breath trembled.
Lucifer’s glow flickered again. Slow. Weak. Fading. Emily turned toward him, voice barely above a whisper. “If we don’t get Sera…” Her wings lowered. “…he might not make it.”
Charlie broke. Not loud. Not screaming. Just a soft, choked breath that shattered her composure. She looked at her father—the strongest person she knew—and saw how small he looked under the sheets, how pale his glow had become. She wiped her tears with shaking hands. Then nodded once, fiercely. “Okay,” she whispered.
“We’re getting Sera.”
The room dipped into a soft gold glow as Emily worked, her magic rippling through the air in gentle waves—nothing forceful, nothing intrusive, just enough to steady the flickering light beneath Lucifer’s skin. Charlie had squeezed his hand once more before leaving, Vaggie guiding her out with a hand on her back and Baxter close behind them, head bowed and lure dim. The door shut with a quiet click, leaving Emily alone with the Morningstar.
Lucifer’s eyes were half-open, fever-heavy, unfocused—but not unaware. His gaze tracked Emily with a guarded stiffness, like every instinct screamed for caution. For distance. For walls he didn’t have the strength to maintain.
Emily noticed immediately.
She softened her posture, sitting beside him instead of standing over him, lowering her glow so it didn’t overwhelm the room. “You don’t have to look at me like I’m about to smite you,” she whispered.
Lucifer huffed a small, humorless breath. “Force of habit.”
Emily’s smile wobbled into something sad. “I… guess I understand.”
Her magic pulsed softly over his sternum, easing the chaotic flicker in his glow. Lucifer winced at the contact—not because it hurt, but because it felt foreign. Celestial. Heaven was the reason he’d been cast out. Heaven was the reason he fell. Heaven had been a wound in his chest for eons before Vox ever carved new ones.
He swallowed, voice rough. “So Heaven sends a child to… what? Monitor me? Make sure I’m dying properly?” He tried for snide but it came out weak, cracked.
Emily didn’t flinch. She simply shook her head, gentle but firm. “Heaven didn’t send me.”
His brow twitched.
“Charlie did,” she said with a tiny shrug. “And she’s my friend. So I came.”
Lucifer blinked slowly, as if the answer didn’t fit any of the ones he prepared himself for. “You just… came. Alone. To help me.”
“Of course,” Emily said, confused by his confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Lucifer let out a soft, disbelieving breath. “Because… I’m me.”
Emily tilted her head. “Charlie’s dad?”
Lucifer snorted. “Try ‘traitor to Heaven,’ ‘the fallen,’ ‘the one who walked out,’ ‘the reason the pearly gates installed triple locks.’”
Emily made a small, startled sputter. “Lucifer! I—That’s not… I didn’t…”
He arched a brow, though even that looked like it drained him. “Not wrong though.”
Emily pressed her lips together, gathering courage like someone knitting a sweater too big for her. “Look… I’m not Sera. I’m not one of the old guard. I wasn’t even… hatched? born?—whatever angels do—when all that happened.” She fluttered a hand. “Ancient angel drama isn’t mine.”
Lucifer blinked.
Emily’s face softened. “I only know you as Charlie’s dad. And she loves you so much. So I want you to live. That’s all.”
The silence that followed wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t heavy.
It was fragile.
Lucifer stared at her—not trusting yet, but shaken by how simply she meant it. His voice, when it came, trembled. “You’re very strange for an angel.”
Emily grinned. “Thank you!”
He closed his eyes, too exhausted to maintain even mild amusement. “How bad is it?”
Her smile fell away, replaced by focused, trembling worry. “Bad. But… not hopeless. I’m stabilizing you the best I can. I can slow the fragments’ effect—keep your essence from collapsing—but…” She hesitated. “I can’t cure it. I’m not strong enough to purge angelic steel on my own.”
Lucifer took that without a flinch. After millennia in Hell, he’d learned not to fear pain. But the idea of Charlie crying over him—it flickered across his expression like a knife.
Emily’s hand hovered over his heart again, glow dimming as she worked delicately. “I can keep you steady while we talk to Sera,” she said softly. “She’ll know what to do. She has to.”
Lucifer opened his eyes again—slowly, deliberately. “Sera doesn’t know I’m dying, does she.”
“No,” Emily whispered. “Not yet.”
His lips parted just slightly, not in fear—but in resignation. “…She won’t want to help me.”
“Maybe not at first,” Emily admitted. “But she will. Charlie’s asking. And… I’ll ask too.”
Lucifer stared at her for a long, quiet moment. The distrust was still there.
But beneath it—cracking through like sunlight under ice—was the first flicker of hope he’d let himself feel since the machine. “Emily,” he murmured, breath shuddering, “don’t… let her face this alone.”
Emily’s eyes softened with a fierce, quiet determination.
“I won’t,” she said. “Neither will you.” She tightened her magic around his heart like a protective cradle of light. And for the first time since the poisoning began, Lucifer’s glow stopped flickering.
Emily led Charlie down the hallway, her wings fidgeting with every nervous step. The hotel was unusually silent, as if holding its breath. When they reached an open, empty stretch of the hall, Emily set her staff down and inhaled slowly.
“Okay… okay, stand back just a teensy bit,” she said softly, wringing her sleeves. “Sera can… um… be a little intense when she materializes.”
Charlie nodded, though her hands shook.
Emily pressed both palms together and whispered a prayer so old it felt like it hummed. A soft gold ripple formed, widening into a tall oval of concentrated celestial energy—stable, precise, controlled in the way only Sera’s authorized portals ever were.
The glow sharpened. Wings unfolded within the light. And then Sera stepped through. Her armor glowed faintly with restrained radiance, her expression carved from cool marble. She took in the hallway with one sweeping glance… then saw Charlie.
Her posture softened immediately. “Charlie,” she said, voice firm but no longer cold. “You summoned me. Is everything all right?”
Charlie opened her mouth—then burst into tears so fast it startled even her. Emily made a small squeak beside her. “She’s—um—not okay.”
Sera’s brows lifted faintly. “What happened?”
Charlie struggled for breath, gripping her shirt, trying to stay upright. “It’s my dad. He’s—he’s really sick. Emily tried helping but—he’s—he’s not getting better.” Her voice cracked painfully. “He’s dying.”
Sera’s eyes widened—just a fraction, but enough to betray genuine shock. “Lucifer… Morningstar,” she repeated slowly, as if tasting the weight of the words. She glanced at Emily. “Is this true?”
Emily wrung her sleeves tighter. “Y-Yes. Angelic steel poisoning. It’s… it’s super bad.”
Sera let out a long, controlled exhale. Centuries of discipline held her expression still, but not unreadable. There was hesitation. Wariness. And something like old hurt flickering behind her eyes.
“Take me to him,” she said.
They entered Lucifer’s room quietly.
Lucifer lay propped weakly against the headboard, barely conscious, breath thin and shallow. His glow flickered in unstable waves under his skin—pale, flickering, wrong.
Emily stepped back instinctively as Sera approached the bedside.
Lucifer’s eyes fluttered open. The moment he saw Sera, his breath hitched—more from instinct than surprise. Old, familiar tension pulled through his shoulders, a reflex he didn’t have the strength to conceal. “…Sera,” he rasped.
Her expression shifted—not warm, not soft, but no longer the harsh judgment she once held for him. “Lucifer,” she answered quietly. “I was told you’re unwell.”
He scoffed under his breath, or tried to—though it came out half-choked. “Bit of an understatement.”
Charlie took a stumbling step toward the bed, but Sera lifted a gentle hand. “Give us a moment.” Her tone was calm. Not commanding—requesting. Charlie hesitated, heart pounding. Emily touched her elbow and nodded.
“It’s okay,” Emily whispered. “She won’t hurt him. I promise.”
Charlie swallowed hard, then stepped out with her and Baxter, leaving the door half-open. When the room finally fell quiet, Sera exhaled and pulled a chair close to the bed.
Lucifer watched her through fever-blurred eyes, mistrust woven into every unsteady breath. “So,” he muttered, “Heaven finally noticed me.”
“That’s not what happened,” Sera replied gently.
Lucifer huffed. “Isn’t it? You always did enjoy arriving late.”
Sera didn’t rise to the barb. Instead, she folded her wings neatly and studied him—really studied him. His exhaustion. His trembling hands. The way he hid his fear under a thin veil of sarcasm. “You look terrible,” she said softly.
He barked a weak laugh. “Ever the diplomat.”
But the smile faded quickly. The fever tugged at him, pulling him off balance. Sera lowered her gaze, voice quieting further. “I didn’t know you were suffering like this. Truly.”
For a moment, Lucifer couldn’t speak. Not because he was moved. Because he didn’t believe her. “You’re Heaven’s Archangel,” he rasped. “Keeper of Order. You know everything that happens in this realm.”
A pause. Sera looked down, guilt flickering like a shadow across her composure. “I… have tried for eons not to watch you,” she admitted. “Out of respect. And because looking at you… has never been easy.”
Lucifer blinked—slowly, disbelieving. He didn’t expect that. Didn’t know what to do with it. So he looked away, staring at the wall to keep from unraveling. “And now?” he whispered.
Sera’s voice softened—even more cautiously now. “Now I am here because your daughter begged for help.”
A beat.
“And because… you are still one of us.”
Lucifer’s throat tightened, a tremor rippling through him. He tried to mask it with a crooked smirk that didn’t quite form. “One of you?” he echoed weakly. “Don’t flatter me.”
Sera shook her head. “Not fallen. Not forsaken.” She hesitated only a heartbeat. “Just… lost.”
Lucifer’s breath stuttered. For the first time in centuries, Sera wasn’t judging him. Not smiting him. Not condemning him. She was just… seeing him. Seeing the pain. The fear. The fragility he never let Heaven witness.
Lucifer looked away sharply, jaw tight. “I don’t trust you,” he said, voice trembling.
“I know,” Sera murmured. “But I am still here.”
Lucifer closed his eyes. Sera’s gaze softened even further, wings tucking close as if she were trying to make herself smaller, less threatening. “Let me examine you,” she said quietly. “I won’t do anything without your consent.”
Lucifer opened his eyes again—slow, exhausted—and after a long moment…He nodded. Just once. Barely more than a breath. But Sera took it as the permission it was.
She reached toward him, her hand glowing with restrained heavenly warmth. And for the first time in centuries, Heaven touched Lucifer without hatred.
Sera approached the bedside, extending her hand. A small sphere of light gathered in her palm—soft, white-gold, humming gently like a heartbeat. She held it just above Lucifer’s sternum, not touching him.
The reaction was immediate. Lucifer’s glow stuttered violently beneath his skin, fighting the foreign signal. He winced. “Careful—your magic feels like sandpaper.”
Sera’s mouth tightened. “I know. I’m sorry.” She adjusted the spell, lowering the intensity. “Your system is rejecting direct celestial resonance. The contamination is worse than I expected.”
“Comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Her tone was dry. Almost familiar. Lucifer exhaled a trembling breath. Sera studied the fluctuating light patterns across his body, watching the places where his glow dipped or faltered. Her gaze hardened—professionally, not coldly. “Baxter was correct,” she said quietly. “The angelic steel fragments are disrupting your essence on a cellular level. They’re… embedded.”
Lucifer looked away, jaw clenched. “Of course they are.”
Sera paused—just for a moment—before speaking again. “Lucifer… I don’t want you to die.”
It was flat. Honest. Unadorned. Lucifer blinked at her. For the first time since she entered, something inside him eased. Not trust. Not forgiveness. But a thread-thin sense that maybe she wasn’t here out of obligation alone.
Sera continued, her voice softer. “The contamination has spread through your bloodstream. Traditional healing won’t remove it. Not mine. Not Emily’s. Not your daughter’s.”
Lucifer swallowed. His throat felt tight. “Then what will?”
Sera took a slow breath. “A transfusion.”
He stared at her. “…With what, exactly? Holy water?”
She didn’t smile. “Your blood must be replaced in sections. Diluted. Cycled. The angelic steel fragments need to be flushed out faster than your system is failing.”
Lucifer let his head fall back against the pillows, closing his eyes. “Wonderful. So I’m being recalled like a faulty toy.”
Sera stepped closer, her voice low. “Lucifer. Listen to me.”
He opened his eyes again. The sternness was still there. The authority. But underneath it—hesitation. Fear. Regret she didn’t know how to express. “We don’t know if my blood will be compatible with yours.”
Lucifer blinked. “We’re both archangels.”
“You’re not purely celestial anymore,” she said gently. “Your essence has been altered by Hell’s environment. Your body functions differently now. Heaven’s energy could stabilize you… or burn through you.”
Lucifer breathed out sharply. “…So I’m either saved or vaporized. Love that for me.”
Sera didn’t rise to the sarcasm. She simply looked at him—really looked—like she was cataloguing every flicker in his glow, every tremor in his hands, every fragment of the brother-in-arms she once knew.
“There is another option,” she said quietly.
Lucifer stiffened. “No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Lucifer—”
He glared at her with what little strength he had left. “You’re going to say Charlie.” Sera’s silence was the answer. Lucifer forced himself upright, chest heaving with the effort. “Absolutely not.”
Sera’s wings shifted faintly, her expression unreadable. “Lucifer, listen—your daughter shares your celestial signature. She is the safest donor. The likeliest match.”
“I won’t risk her.” His voice shook, not with weakness, but with raw, protective fury. “Not for me. Not for anything.”
Sera’s voice gentled, almost imperceptibly. “I haven’t suggested we ask her. Only that it is an option we must acknowledge.”
“There is no ‘we’ in this,” Lucifer snapped. “And there never will be.” The effort drained the strength he had left. His glow dimmed sharply, a cold wave passing through him that made him grip the sheets.
Sera caught his shoulder—steadying, not restraining. “Easy,” she murmured. “Don’t waste energy.”
Lucifer sucked in a shaky breath. “Don’t… you dare… drag her into this.”
Sera’s expression softened in a way she rarely allowed. “Lucifer… I admire your daughter. I do. She’s kind, and brave, and reckless in ways you once were. I would never harm her.”
He looked away, trembling. “But you’d let her bleed herself dry for me.”
“No,” Sera said firmly. “Not unless there is no other choice. And I would not permit that without certainty.”
Lucifer swallowed, throat tight. “There has to be another way.”
Sera’s gaze lingered on him—pained, conflicted. “I’ll try my blood first,” she said finally. “Carefully. In controlled intervals. If your body rejects it, we stop immediately.”
Lucifer exhaled shakily. “…And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we keep going.”
A long silence settled between them.
Lucifer’s voice cracked, softer than he meant it to be. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
Sera looked at him with a rare, fragile honesty. “She already has.” Lucifer’s breath trembled. Sera straightened slowly. “Rest. You’ll need your strength. When we begin… it won’t be easy.”
He let out a weak laugh. “Has anything ever been?”
Sera almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she stepped back, wings folding neatly behind her, face settling into calm resolve. “I’ll prepare the infusion,” she said quietly. “Lucifer…hold on a little longer.”
He closed his eyes. “I’ve been holding on for millennia,” he murmured. “What’s a little longer?”
The hallway outside Lucifer’s room was too quiet.
Charlie stood with her back pressed against the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest, fingers digging into her sleeves. She kept glancing at the closed door like it might suddenly swing open and reveal—what? That he was getting worse? That he’d collapsed again? That he’d said something wrong to Sera and somehow made everything worse?
She exhaled shakily. “I just…” She rubbed at her temple. “I hope he doesn’t annoy her. Or freak her out. Or— or make her want to leave. Or insult her. Or—”
Emily gently took hold of Charlie’s forearms, stopping her nervous ramble with a soft flutter of wings. “Charlie,” she said, voice quiet but warm, “it’s okay. Sera’s… well, she’s a lot sometimes. But she is here to help.” She offered a small smile. “And your dad can behave. Probably.”
Charlie let out a thin, broken laugh. “That’s exactly what I’m scared of.”
Emily giggled — that little breathy, slightly-too-loud giggle she always made when she was trying to reassure someone even though she was just as nervous. “Hey — if he starts being dramatic, I can bonk him with my staff.” She paused. “Gently. Very gently.”
Charlie laughed again, wiping at her eyes as Vaggie and Baxter approached from the other end of the hall. Vaggie slipped a hand around Charlie’s waist, pulling her close.
“He’ll be fine,” Vaggie said, firm and grounding. “If he gets snippy, Sera can handle herself. And if she gets snippy—”
“Don’t hit her, Vaggie,” Charlie whispered.
Vaggie clicked her tongue. “I wasn’t going to hit her. Just… glare.”
Baxter stood beside them stiffly, his lure dim. “She, uh… does have full smiting capability. I recommend no glaring.”
Emily snorted. Charlie managed the smallest smile—
—right as a ripple of darkness spread across the floor, seeping outward like spilled ink.
Vaggie immediately stepped in front of Charlie, spear in hand before she even consciously summoned it. Emily yelped, wings fluffing up like a startled parakeet. Baxter took three steps back on instinct. The shadow stretched… deepened… and then Alastor rose out of it like a puppet lifted by invisible strings, cane tapping delicately against the marble as he straightened.
“Goodness!” he said cheerfully, adjusting his tie. “Quite the somber gathering out here. I thought someone might have died!”
Everyone froze.
Charlie’s shoulders tensed, heart hammering. Vaggie stepped forward, spear angled directly at him. “Stay. Away. From that room.” Her voice was low enough to scrape stone.
Alastor smiled pleasantly, completely unfazed. “Now, now — no need for hostility. I’m merely observing!” His eyes flicked toward the door. “Though I will say… if the Heavens have sent someone down to little old him…” He gave a bright, crackling laugh. “Oh, it must be very serious indeed.”
Emily huffed, puffing her cheeks like an offended bird. “It—it’s not funny!”
“Oh, on the contrary,” Alastor said, leaning lightly on his cane, “I find the chaos delightful. The Morningstar on death’s doorstep, an angelic rescue brigade, a panicked princess, a trembling scientist—”
Baxter jolted, “I’m not trembling—”
“—and a very territorial girlfriend with a spear,” Alastor finished with a smile.
Vaggie took a step closer, spear tip nearly brushing his vest. “If you take one step toward that door—just one—I will drag you outside myself.”
“Oho, fiery!” Alastor laughed, delighted. “Relax, dear Vaggie. If I wanted to visit the patient, I would not be standing out here.”
Charlie glared at him. “Why are you even here?”
He blinked innocently. “Why, to see how things unfold, of course!” His grin widened. “After all… when angels and demons meddle with life and death—things become interesting.”
Emily bristled. “You are so creepy.”
Alastor bowed lightly. “Why thank you.”
Vaggie took another step, spear now definitely touching his coat. “Last warning.”
Alastor lifted his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Very well, very well. I’ll behave.” He took a graceful step backward, letting the shadow pool widen behind him like a doorway. “Do carry on with your heavenly intervention. I’ll simply… observe from afar.”
His eyes glimmered like twin red static-filled screens. “And I do hope for your sake,” he added softly, “they’re not too late.”
The shadow swallowed him in an instant. The hallway fell deadly silent.
Emily turned to Charlie. “I—I really don’t like him.”
Charlie exhaled shakily. “Yeah,” she whispered, staring at the door behind her. “He’s changed.”
The door opened with a faint celestial scrape of metal-on-light — a sound none of them in the hallway had ever heard before.
Sera stepped out, posture straight, wings tucked, expression composed…but with a crack of something uncertain at the edges. Emily straightened immediately, hands clasped in front of her. Charlie surged halfway to her before remembering herself and stopping short.
“Is— is he okay?” Charlie asked, voice tight.
Sera didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked briefly to Alastor — lurking at the far end of the hallway, smile thin and hands folded neatly over his cane. Her feathers puffed slightly, a subtle sign of distaste.
Vaggie stepped instinctively in front of Charlie, blocking Sera’s line of sight to the Radio Demon. “We can move this conversation away from him, if you’d prefer.”
“Oh, I’m quite invested in family matters,” Alastor crooned.
“Radio Demon,” Sera said sharply. “Leave.”
“Not my jurisdiction,” he replied pleasantly. “But do go on.”
Vaggie’s hands tightened into fists, but Sera inhaled slowly, choosing not to dignify it further. She turned her attention back to the group.
“I need you inside,” she said simply. “All of you.”
Charlie paled. “Is something wrong?”
Sera hesitated. “Not…wrong. But the situation is complicated.”
That was enough to send Charlie flying into the room before anyone else.
Inside, Lucifer lay propped weakly against the pillows, breathing shallowly, glow fading in soft, stuttering pulses. He looked at the group with bleary, half-focused eyes, but his posture sharpened when Charlie reached him, her hands immediately on his face, smoothing back his hair.
Sera stood beside the bed, arms folded, wings half-fanned — not threatening, but commanding. Emily hovered just behind her, wringing her hands anxiously.
Baxter lingered near the foot of the bed, clutching his notes so tightly the paper crinkled.
Sera cleared her throat.
“There is…potential good news,” she began cautiously. “Lucifer’s blood is too contaminated to sustain proper grace regeneration. Filtering his system manually is impossible without harming him further.” Her tone softened a fraction. “A transfusion could help keep him alive long enough for angelic healing to take properly.”
Charlie perked up, hope trembling in her voice. “So we can do that? We can transfuse?”
Sera exhaled slowly, eyes flickering to Lucifer. “It depends.”
Lucifer’s gaze sharpened despite his exhaustion. “On what?” It came out rasping, guarded.
Sera met his eyes — uneasy, uncertain, but earnest. “You and I were both archangels once. Our grace structures may still be compatible.”
Emily brightened. “Like cousins sharing a type! …Oh, wait, is that—sorry, ignore that analogy!”
Sera continued. “However… you are not what you were. Your essence is now a hybrid of Heaven and Hell. I do not know if my blood—my grace—would stabilize you or…cause unpredictable complications.”
Charlie swallowed hard. “Unpredictable how?”
Sera didn’t sugarcoat it. “He could destabilize further. He could reject the transfusion. He could…burn through it too quickly. Or it may do nothing at all.”
Charlie’s voice broke. “But it could save him.”
“…Yes,” Sera admitted softly. “It could.” Silence fell like a weight. Then Sera looked at Charlie. Really looked. “There is another option,” she said.
Charlie stiffened. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. Sera’s wings folded neatly at her back, her voice gentling. “Charlie… you are half-angel. Half archangel. Your grace is closer to Lucifer’s current state than mine is.”
Charlie blinked. “…Me?”
“It is possible,” Sera continued, “that your essence would integrate more cleanly. Your blood may be uniquely compatible.”
Charlie took a step forward — hopeful, frightened. But Lucifer reacted first. “No.” His voice cracked, but the force behind it was unmistakable. His hand shot up, trembling, gripping Charlie’s wrist. “No,” he repeated, harsher. “Absolutely not. I am not risking you.”
Charlie shook her head, tears forming. “Dad—”
“I said no.” He struggled to sit more upright, breath hitching. “You’re not giving your blood. You’re not giving your grace. I will not allow it.”
Charlie cupped his face, voice tremulous. “Dad, if this can save you—”
“I’ve already taken enough from you,” he rasped. “I am not taking your life too.”
The room went still.
Vaggie touched Charlie’s shoulder, grounding her. Emily sniffed softly, wiping at her eyes. Baxter stared at the floor, chest tight. Sera remained silent a moment — respectful of the emotion, but aware of the urgency. Then she spoke, voice calm, even. “We don’t have to decide this second. But we must decide soon. Lucifer’s bloodstream is destabilizing faster than anticipated. He may not last the night without intervention.”
Charlie trembled violently.
Lucifer leaned his forehead into her palm, shutting his eyes, whispering: “I’m not losing you. Not like this. Not ever.”
Sera’s expression softened — still unsure, still uneasy — but for the first time, openly sympathetic. “We will find a way,” she said quietly. “But we must act quickly.”
Outside, down the hall, a faint crackle of static rolled like distant thunder.
Alastor was still listening.