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He senses her.

The moment her soul crosses into his domain, he senses her. Feels her. A familiar ache in his chest accompanied by a spark so warm it nearly throws him off kilter. The demons around him, below him don’t know what to make of it, but Lucifer pays them no mind as he spreads his wings before another thought could stay his hand.

She’s about to enter a Room. Like her husband's, it's a terrible thing that built itself the second her heart stopped beating and she plunged below, when Lucifer grabs her. The fog in her eyes clears at his touch, eyes so familiar and kind it hurts too see. A lump forms in his throat, an iron ball that he can’t swallow down. He didn’t expect this, didn’t want this. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was good.

“Hello Doctor,” he says, hoping his voice is as smooth and buttery as ever. It’s not, but he knows she won’t mention it.

“Lucifer?” Even in Hell, she looks professional. Her hospital gown maybe generic and tasteless and utterly tacky, and her hair is limp and greasy, but she still holds herself with the same air and grace as she did in life. The comfort of familiarity is almost too great for him, but he persists. He stands, but barely.

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing else he can say to her. No modicum of peace he can give her. She’s here. She’s in Hell with Lucifer.

“Hey,” She touches his face and the demons snarl, ready to defend their lord. However, they still as he leans into the touch. “It’s okay, Lucifer.

There are tears in her eyes and it strikes him that she thinks he’ll let her be tortured, punished as the countless souls shriek around her. But he can’t—he won’t—let her be. She’s Dr. Linda Martin. She’s his therapist. His friend. And no one will harm her.

And when he turns to face the demons who wait with bated breath for their master’s command to do as they always have, he lets them know.

/

It was quick, the Doctor assures him. Fast acting and malignant. Nothing could’ve been done for her, but she wasn’t in pain and she was happy they didn’t have to see her suffer. Her last memories were of Maze, Amenadiel, and Charlie’s incoherent baby-babble arguing over whether she wanted Maze’s blue hospital Jell-O or Amenadiel’s green. The Doctor didn’t know how she knew, but a moment stuttered to a stop and she just…knew. So, she sent them away with a comment on how she loved both their Jell-Os regardless and that she felt like she needed to rest.

When the door closed, Dr. Linda Martin laid back in her hospital bed, let her eyes drift shut, and died.

And she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

He wants to ask. About her. His doctor is a perceptive one, so she speaks without prompt. That the Detective is still grieving. That she’s trying to move forward, but the pain is still real and fresh. He doesn’t bother asking how long it’s been, he can’t bare to know. So he distracts himself, taking the Doctor in his arms and flying her back to his palace. She’s never flown before—while conscious anyways—but even through the terror, he can tell she enjoys it.

/

At first, the demons are weary of the human who follows their lord around. Then they are baffled at how she talks to him. Simple and direct and if not a little condescending. Then they watch as he listens to her, talks to her. How she always seems to take his council.

“Because,” he tells a particularly brave demon. “She’s my damn therapist.”

They don’t know what that means, but they try to piece it together between their own shattered knowledge of humans. One believes it’s another term for rapist, but that theory is quickly smothered by the fact they know how their master treats such creatures. Another thinks it’s a lover, but no one has seen him take her into his chambers.

Then one comes to the conclusion—after a session with a medieval scholar—that the human must be someone he seeks counsel with on human affairs, ones that demons cannot comprehend. They titter and toy with the idea for sometime, keeping a careful eye on the human and they way their king treats her, before finally confronting her with the notion.

“His adviser?”  she says, blinking behind her glasses and head swiveling to their sire. “What are they talking about?”

“Seems they’ve decided you are go-to source in all things human.” Lucifer says with a smile both equal parts sad and coy. “Which, let’s be honest with ourselves here, you are.”

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. Then purses her lips together before an understanding sight eeks past her lips.

“Huh. That actually makes sense.”

The demons are proud.

/

Like Maze before, the demons love her. They talk with her, like children before a storyteller, about human affairs and emotions. She even says that they have emotions, a concept so shocking to them that they can’t seem to even comprehend that until she begins holding sessions for them. One on one to work through the emotions they didn’t know they had.

One demon takes a shot at her, angry at a mere human having their lord’s ear. They’re subdued almost instantly by no less then ten demons, another ten already furiously apologizing to her for letting even the possibility of an attack occur.

Two demons even ask Lucifer if they could marry. A novel idea and a one that would undoubtedly be spitting in the eye of Dear Old Dad. So, the ceremony is loud, lavish, and absolutely demonic. Lucifer is quite sure neither demon truly knows what the concept means, but afterwards he notices their closeness and how they only seem to make each other moan.

It makes his chest ache.

/

When the doors to his palace opens, Lucifer does not look up. He’s bent over a map, a few demons of a higher stature surrounding him as they discuss plans for governing a few of the more…intense sections of his domain. The Doctor is surrounded by her eager entourage, still not grasping the concept of personal space just yet. But if there’s anyone who can handle a gaggle of demons, it’s her. She’s in the middle of explaining the concept o personal responsibility in regard to why you shouldn’t rip someone’s eyeball out for accidentally stealing your favorite sickle because you didn’t leave it where you were suppose too.

“Lucifer!”

There are voices he never wants to hear in Hell. The Detective of course. Linda another, but that clearly did not work in his favor. The Douche, because…it’s the Douche. Ms. Lopez.

But there is one he never expected to hear. Her’s.

The Doctor gasps, the demons preening to attention at the new voice and the soft patter of shoes against the marble. A demon, a guard really, reaches for her with a twisted claw and an ugly grimace. Neither Lucifer nor Linda liked that demon much, and the action is basically a death sentence as they scrap a single hair from her head.

Lucifer’s eyes burn. His wings unfurl. And then he’s there. She grasps onto him, tears and choked sobs staining his pristine suit. And for the first time, he does not recoil but holds her close and tight and promises himself that he will never, never let harm come to her ever again.

“Beatrice.” He whispers, the word heavy and dark and soaked with enough promised anger that all of Hell knows someone will pay.

/

“She is a child!” he yells at Peter, ignoring the shrieking from the lucky goody-goody souls behind him. “She is a child!”

Peter nods, his usually cold eyes softening into something that looks almost like regret. His beard ruffles as he opens his mouth and it takes every ounce of strength in Lucifer’s eternal soul not to raze him, the gate, and the Silver City to the ground. Children were not supposed to be in Hell. They go to the Silver City or Purgatory for repentance if they’re particularly nasty. But not Hell. Never Hell.

“Beatrice Decker was granted access to the Silver City,” the sainted Peter says. “She arrived at the gates and asked if she could see Lucifer Morningstar.”

Fear, cold and dark grips Lucifer’s every inch.

“And the request was granted as she entered the Silver City.”

When faced with eternal happiness, joy beyond compare and anything she desires at her fingertips, she asks for him.

“Why?” The word is broken and wet and angry.

“Because,” Peter intones, voice dropping into something much more serious. “She knew you’d keep her safe.”

Peter can say no more. Neither can Lucifer.

/

They called it lucky. One dead. Six injured. Shooter apprehended without incident. Politicians praised Dear Old Dad for keeping everyone safe, that it wasn’t as bad as it could be. That the citizens of LA could go back to normal, go back to being safe and that this isn’t another national tragedy. That it was just one lost soul when it could have been so much more.

But that one soul was Beatrice.

Lucifer rips through entire sections of Hell in his rage. Linda asks the demons to construct more creative punishments for those who dared make Beatrice a martyr.

When he comes, the demons find their sire as he instructed. But they come with a message.

“He asks for you.”

The door to his Room is not bare like the rest. It is red and ugly with deep claws marks slicing through the metal. The demons wanted him as much Lucifer does.

He cowers as he should, filth already coating his naked body. White Nationalist tattoos dot his body and the anger that rises in Lucifer is unparalleled.

“You asked for me.” His eyes burn, his face peels and his skin reddens. And he’s ready to make this creature writhe.

He screams, he thrashes, he wets and shits himself. But he still manages to speak a single phrase that stills him.

“I’m Mazikeen’s!”

And Lucifer knows. He sees it as if he were there with her. The prison bus crash, the injection and abduction, the rousing into consciousness where no one can here him scream. The Detective is there, her eyes red and face swollen with fury and sorrow. She looks a little older, but she does not stay. She looks at Maze beside her, the knife ready and sharp, and leaves with a single, cracking cry.

Maze takes him apart. Piece by bloody piece, only saying a single phrase through the slow, agonizing months as she snipped off his toes and carved through his jaw and pierced needles through the paper thin skin of his eyelids.  “When you get there, tell Lucifer Morningstar you’re Mazikeen’s.”

He leaves him for her. And when he tells Linda and the demons, they all clamor to watch.

/

Where Lucifer is feared and respected by virtue of being King, Linda is respected because she earned it from the demons after so much nervous give and take

But Beatrice? They don’t respect her. They adore her.

Most are vaguely aware of what a child is, but none truly understand the concept even after Linda explained in painstaking detail. They know humans are different, but this is different in a whole new way. So they keep their distance at first, content to watch this new addition who hangs off their king like a clamp

But it’s when Beatrice reveals that she was trained by Mazikeen, do the demons suddenly start to take notice. However, brief it was, demon training is demon training and the fact that Mazikeen not only approved to this little human, but liked her enough to voluntarily keep in her company speaks volumes. Suddenly the demons want to talk with her, hang with her, converse with her.

Despite the Doctor's reservations, Lucifer allows it. The child is already dead—a fact that still strikes an anger in both of them that cannot be contained—and the demons know that if they harm even a single hair on her head, the consequences—as one demon saw—are worse than dire. Still, he appoints a more trusted demon as her bodyguard, a temporary fixture until Mazikeen returns obviously. And they keep her away from the more…gory aspects of Hell. At least until she’s a little more grown.

The little human even get’s herself elected President of Hell. Despite Lucifer’s insistence that it’s a puppet position, that she was the only name on the ballot, and he is still King, it does little to deter her from going with him and Linda to meetings before running off with the demons. She knows not to enter any rooms and the demons are more then willing to keep her safe in exchange for her knowledge of things like “Go Fish” and “Monopoly.”

Soon, Beatrice is talking to Lucifer about her new friends and their problems. This demon needs a new knife. This one is unhappy with the amount of twisting they have to do. Linda may handle their personal issues, but Beatrice is half way to unionizing the demons before Lucifer agrees that he’ll try to listen more to the demon’s grumblings.

Linda speaks for humans, but it’s Trixie that speaks for the demons.

Unless it’s late at what she considers night and she crawls into Lucifer’s bed, where she speaks about how much she misses her mom.

Lucifer tells her he misses her too. They cry together and never tell a soul.

/

The Douche enters a Room and though Lucifer can pull him out, he does not. Not because of his own personal vendetta against the man, although that might be the reason, he didn’t stop him from going in there in the first place, but because he needs it.

Dan, for all the good he may have done, was a crap husband and a crap father. Beatrice barely mentions the man.

His room is a Loop, a constant replay of his worst moments. When he misses a birthday party, when he drags out a simple case because he doesn’t want to see the Detective, the way he spirals after Beatrice’s death, the dumb mistake that got himself knifed during a mugging.

Beatrice sees him, the real her not the one in the Room. And while Lucifer can tell she’s sad, she knows he belongs there. She’s smarter than most, that one; knows Detective Douche would never be happy here, would want to take her away without listening to her. So, he pauses the Loop at times, letting Beatrice worm her way into his fake life and plant the seeds he’ll need to leave. It’s a long shot, parents rarely listen to their children regardless if they’re right or not, but it’s something.

People do leave the Rooms, but it often takes centuries for them to do so. Too see the easy outs placed before them and just…take it. He knows the Douche sucks, but he also knows he wants to be better. So Lucifer has faith he’ll find his way out soon.

/

Lucifer is there to greet Ms. Lopez when she arrives. He’s sad she’s here—sad they’re all here really—but he hopes he hides it well enough.

“Dude,” she knocks him in the shoulder with no small amount of awe in her voice. The demons barely flinch at the human that touches their master. They’ve grown use to it by now. “Lucifer? Is that you?”

He spreads his arms, wide and inviting to this whole new world.

“Are you dead?” she asks. “I mean, I know I am. The second I saw the headlights coming towards me I thought ‘the speed and the trajectory of that car combined with the force of the airbag will totally snap my neck on impact.’ And it totally did. What a bummer, right?”

“Indeed.” He says. Then he waits for it to hit her.

“Wait is this…” she trails off as the screams and the ash begin to turn the gears of her mind. She may have lost her religion with Charlotte, but the knowledge is still there. Rattling around in that great big brain of hers. “Is this Hell?”

The fear in her voice is commonplace, but it’s duller. Less of a terrified realization and more of a worry that she got the answer wrong on a test.

“Yes.” He answers simply. Then waits again.

When understanding clouds her vision, her hands fly to her mouth. “You’re shitting me. You’re really the Devil?”

Ms. Lopez is not stupid—a trait Lucifer greatly admires in her—so he appreciates the suspicious amount of questions she lobs at him. Is he really evil? Does he eat babies? Dante: hot or not? Her natural suspicion wars with the joy of seeing her friend.

The Doctor and Beatrice help ease the tension and time passes without a hint of torture, Ms. Lopez eventually grows comfortable enough in Hell to get bored. And when Ms. Lopez gets bored, she gets ideas.

Ideas that Lucifer rather greedily listens to. Ideas about increasing demon presence in certain sections. How to make the Loops more effective, the outs a little more obvious. How to craft more creative tortures. She uses words like rebranding and infrastructure, coordinating with Beatrice in all things Hellish.

Ms. Lopez understands that this is a job, not who he is.

But she doesn’t understand as much as the Detective did.

/

Mazikeen enters his palace like she never left. A serpent ready to strike, leather and chains and her half-face on full display for all of Hell to see. Her shoes click in the quiet chamber as the candle flames flicker in the airless tomb. She readies herself to kneel before her lord only for his voice to freeze her solid.

“No.” Lucifer says. Momentarily, Maze falters and a brief flash of worry rushes through her body. Had she displeased him? Part of her, the demon one writhed at the possibility. The other part, the…human part thought him utterly stupid. She had to wait to return. For his sake.

And for hers.

“You do not have to do that,” he says. “You have done more then enough to stand with us.”

The lights in the chamber flick to life and a chorus of voices shout “Surprise!” Maze reacts on instinct, readying her knives for a fight only to be blindsided by something wrapping itself around her waist.

“Maze!” Trixie says. “We missed you.”

Her knives clatter to the floor. If this was a different situation, any other situation she’d chide herself for being so careless. So sentimental.

But it is different. So she doesn’t care as she wraps herself around her little human. She’s just as she remembered. Baby teeth and all.

“What are you doing here?” Maze whispers in to her hair.

“She’s the president,” Lucifer says, his tone bored, but eyes swimming with pride. “Not that means anything, when I’m king and she’s the only person who ever runs.”

“Undefeated high-five.” Ella shouts, holding her hand out for Trixie to slap. A low growl escapes her throat, but Trixe high-fives without breaking her hug. Maze is grateful.

Dr. Linda is here too, and her hug is far less gentle but far more emotional. Maze’s first loss, different from the bounties who offed themselves to escape justice or the nameless coffin fillers. She knew Dr. Linda. She loved her. And then she was just…gone. And there was nothing she could do about it.

How she wished Dr. Linda was there as she experienced grief. She’d be so proud of her process.

It made her feel more human then anything ever had before.

“Why are you back?” Trixie asks. The question would send chills through the room if such a thing were possible. Maze glances at Lucifer, who gives a single shake of the head.

“I was done up there.” Trixie’s been gone for a long time, but Maze is thankful she still a kid in some regards as she takes the answer as easily as anything else.

Later, when Ella takes her away prattling on about demon vacation time, Maze faces Lucifer and Dr. Linda.

“Was it—” Lucifer’s voice breaks and Linda’s hand is on his shoulder in an instant. Rubbing up and down in a slow, comforting gesture. He suddenly looks so much messier. Eyes red and raw and hair disheveled and sloppy.

“In her sleep.” Maze reports, a soldier reciting her final mission. “It was as peaceful as it could be.”

She doesn’t say anything as Lucifer collapses, Dr. Linda falling with him.

He never wanted to see her down here, and now she never will.

And oh how God hurts.

/

Chloe Decker waits in line. It’s the only thing she does in the Silver City, where she can literally do anything she wants. Expect make the line move.

She didn’t feel bad for stepping into line the second she was allowed into the Silver City, her old bones and wrinkled skin knitting itself back into something less creaky. Peter said they will look how they feel inside—cracking some joke about beauty no longer being skin deep—so she takes silence in the fact she looks the cool thirty-five she did when her world went off kilter. So many people rush to find loved ones, parents and grandparents and children who have all made it here to paradise.

But not Chloe. She knew better.

“Be at peace,” Amenadiel commanded, his voice low and sweet like syrup as she gripped her hand in the hospital as she wept and wept and wept for her daughter. “Trixie is in Hell.”

And the relief she felt at those words knew no bounds.

Her father sees her in line, visits her as often as any good father could. Her mother too. As do Charlotte and Eve. She even talks with Amenadiel and Charlie, welcoming their company when they can get away from their Celestial duties. She knows they miss Linda—both are not ready to brave the depths of Hell to see her, their grief still very much too new to beings who exist for eons.

Time is less important here, where the denizens don’t need such a concept. So, the only way of knowing the passage of time is by talking to people.

Which she does.

She was told only the most devout wait in line, as it’s not a requirement and they have all of eternity to do so should they choose. And yet Chloe found that to be a little untrue. Yes, her line mates are devout, but some get out of line—the wait just too much for them. As such, she has a new person to talk to every couple of decades, chatting about their pasts, presents, but never the future. Rarely do those in line plan beyond what waits at the end. Perhaps that’s why the get out, to plan for a future that is literally eternal.

But Chloe does not. She waits in line. Even as generations pass, she waits.

Then she’s next.

The grandmother who Chloe was sure spent the last few years ignoring her on purpose has just finished kissing His feet, shuffling as fast as she could as low to the ground as possible, continuing to speak her reverences. As she moves, His eyes following her with a fond little smile on His face, Chloe steps forward finally here.

If her heart still beat, it would be quiet and steady as ever.

Her line mates liked to brag about how they'll show their respects to Him. Who can grovel, prostrate, worship the best at the being who made them and the world. Chloe never joined in as she never knew exactly what she’d do when she reached the front.

But when Chloe—after all the waiting—lays her eyes on Him. The Divine Creator. God himself, she stares right into His eyes and knows.

Then His gaze pulls away from her, the line erupting in a chorus of angry, indulgent screaming. Her knuckles are throbbing and wet, but she will not look away from Him as He holds His hands to His nose even as she speaks the words that shake the Silver City to its core.

“I will never forgive you.”

/

“Alright, listen up everyone,” Ms. Lopez says, her voice loud and harsh as she addresses the demons. “I know we all have better things to do, so you help me, I’ll help you. We got a few announcements, a few grievances and then you’re free to go. Cool? Cool. First order of business, the Tyrant Wing is currently under renovations, please refrain from assuming Stalin has somehow escaped and mauling him. It’s unfair to the demon on duty. If you’re currently assigned to the Tyrant Wing and think you have been reassigned, you have not. If you forgot the location of your client, please review the latest newsletter. Secondly—” she drags the codeword out a second longer than necessary, giving Mazikeen enough time to distract Beatrice with a new knife as Ms. Lopez continues to speak. “I would like to remind everyone the scum in the red room is strictly Maze’s only. Seriously guys, I cannot be held responsible if she does something to you because you didn’t listen.”

“Lastly, remember if you had a break through please do not barge into the Good Doctor’s office in the middle of a session and proclaim, ‘DOCTOR I HAD A FEELING.’ It’s distracting.” The Doctor groans into her hands at the memory. “Okay, I think I got everything, so if Lucifer has anything to say, the floor is yours.”

He opens his mouth to dismiss the gathered crowd, every demon in Hell gazing up at him as if he held the answer to every question in the world, when Hell begins to shift.

The ash that never stops falling seems to freeze in place and the dark, murky sky rumbles like a giant. Lighting dances between the clouds as they twist and crash and bowl across one another. Lucifer feels his fingers grip the arms of his throne as the cloud spit out a shooting star. It’s upside down, bright against the grayness of Hell, and all too familiar to Lucifer—who never witnessed the event himself.

Someone was falling.

It’s not divinity, the glow is far to dim for an angel. A human then, a dull but bright spot that hurls toward the ground so fast Lucifer almost doesn’t catch them. He knows what the fall is like. How he wished there was someone to catch him. But he’s here for this person. And maybe that’s enough for now.

/

Lucifer has no heart. But it stops none the less.

“Detective?”

/

“Lucifer.”

/

Lucifer stands, his legs likely to give at any moment but he can’t touch her a second longer. She here. She’s in Hell. The lump in Lucifer’s throat threatens to swallow him as panic rushes through his body. She’s here. She can’t be here. She got in. She was in the Silver City. Heaven. She shouldn’t be here.

Doesn’t deserve to here. None of them do.

Expect him.

“Mommy!” Beatrice hits her like a rocket and Chloe smothers her, tears and snot and all. On Earth, Lucifer use to watch those soldiers reuniting with their pet videos. This is nothing like that, it’s far more sticky and loud and…emotional. Lucifer smiles, something full and real breaking through his thought for a split second before he remembers it’s happening because she’s here. Because she Fell.

“Chloe,” the Doctor says. “Are you okay? You…fell.”

The Detective looks up, a quiet, wet huff escaping from her lips. “Yeah…I guess I did.”

“Didn’t think you had it in ya, Decker.” Maze says, her eyes glossy. The Detective smiles at her and even accepts the excited hug from Ms. Lopez, squeal and all. He’s not prepared for the look when Ella lets go, though. Technically, there’s nothing special about it, but it’s hers. It’s the Detective looking at him. Here and now. In Hell.

“How?” His voice cracks and breaks and even with every demon in his dominion staring at him, he can’t bring himself to care. “Why?”

The Detective huffs as Beatrice adjusts herself on her mother’s lap. “I…I was waiting. In Heaven. In line.”

“There are lines in Heaven?” Ms. Lopez asks as Lucifer skin crawls and writhes over his bones.

“Only one.” Mazikeen says. “To see Lucifer’s father.”

The demons hiss and howl and the mention of the Creator, as Lucifer taught them so beautifully. But it brings him no joy. Only a cold sense of dread that claws into the depths of his soul. She was there. Happy in the Silver City and ready to praise her Creator as some humans are wont to do. He must have known her, seen her when she came to give thanks and remember Lucifer’s betrayal.

And Dear Old Dad kicked her down.

He damned her. Ruined her eternity simply because she existed in Lucifer’s life.

His touch is poison, rots the ones he loves. Corrupts them. Damns them here to be miserable forever because they dared care about him.

Lucifer Morningstar is a monster.

/

“What’s that?” Trixie asks. It is so good to hear her voice. After so long, after centuries of waiting it’s still the same as she remembered. High and warm and so full of love. She wants to hold her, wrap her in her arms and ever let go.

And after this is over, she will.

Chloe looks at the back of her hand, the knuckles still throbbing and sees the smear of liquid light. It glitters and shifts and seems to be every color at once. She moves her hand a little and the iridescent shift is almost blinding.

“Blood?” Linda guesses.

 “Divinity.” Mazikeen breathes, her words small and awestruck. A stone forms in Chloe’s gut, but she won’t feel guilty for it.

“Damn Decker, did you deck an angel on the way down?” Ella sounds impressed and when Chloe’s gaze shifts over to Lucifer and sees him—really sees him—she knows what she has to do. She lifts Trixie off her lap, enjoying the childish giggle that erupts from her body and stands to face him.

“No,” she speaks to Ella, but stares at Lucifer. He won’t look at her, but he wants to. She can see it in his shoulders, the tilt of his head. She knows him. After all this time she knows him and she won’t let him feel guilty for her choice. “Lucifer. Look at me.”

He’s eyes are two dark pools, and the sorrow that swims at the surface pierces through her chest like a perfect arrow.

“I saw Him,” she says. “I waited for centuries for the chance to see Him.”

“Please don’t.” Lucifer begs. Behind him the demons rumble, but Maze silences them with a single sweep of her arm. Chloe ignores it.

“I saw Him and all his glory,” she continues. “All I could think of is what He’s done. He created the universe. He made me in his own image. He brought life into existence.”

She faces Lucifer and the demons who stand behind him and wonders what this looks like to them. A single human talking to their king like this. But she doesn’t care about them. She cares about Lucifer.

Lucifer trembles, a full body shake like he’s seconds from falling apart. She takes a step forward and he takes one back, fear and loathing so thick it feels like it could strangle her.

But she persists.

“And when I looked into His eyes, all I could think of was you. How He made you feel weak. How He made you feel worthless. How He made you feel powerless,” she says. “And I thought how He made sure you’d never make him pay.

She holds her hand up, the smear facing him and the hoard of demons behind him. Tears stream down his face, fat and sad and they twist something so deep inside her the pain almost overwhelms her. But he has to know.

Like every evil in the world, this is not his fault.

“I hit Him.”

Hell falls silent. The screams cut away, the bells and horns and clink of metal on metal vanish. The demons freeze in place. Even her steps make no sound as she approaches him.

Chloe says, her voice clearer and stronger than ever before. “I made God bleed.”

She did.

Chloe Decker.

Mortal.

Detective.

Mother.

Daughter.

Friend.

The First Love.

And she made God bleed.

She holds his face staring up at the Devil she knew long ago and has thought about every day since.

“Why?” He asks in her hands, his voice the only sound in all of Hell.

There is no thought behind the answer. No question of motive. No long-winded story explaining her decision. Just a single fact. Truer than anything ever uttered before and after.

“Because I love you.”

Lucifer crashes to his knees, forehead pressing into the ground as he sobs at her feet. The demons follow suit and Hell comes to life. Maze cackles and Linda nearly faints into her arms. Trixie laughs, a single joyous note in the entire domain, as Ella cheers. Souls scream. Demons beg. The Devil weeps.

And the throne that governs them all splits itself in two.

/

At the center of Hell, stand the thrones. Lucifer Morningstar sits on the oldest one, suit pressed and pristine. Not a hair out of place. He is King. Lord of every demon. The Prince of Lies. Old Scratch.

To his left is his adviser, Linda Martin who sits slightly below him as heights make her queasy. She talks, dispensing advice on anything from the benefits of sharing to the greater dangers of self-loathing. She helps make Lucifer a better king. A better man.

To her left is Ella Lopez. She calls herself Creative Director of Hell, although Lucifer detests the name. She has ideas, improving on the desolate landscape they all share. She sees the best in people and wants people to be able to move on and out of Hell. It hasn’t happened yet, but she’s positive Dan will find his way out any day now.

Perched on the arm of Lucifer’s throne, sits Trixie Decker. President of Hell running for her 666th consecutive term unopposed. Her job is largely conceptual, but she’s the best person to talk to if a demon needs something. She has infinite favors from Lucifer and is all to ready to trade for something she desires. Lucifer couldn’t be prouder.

Seated at his right hand on a near-identical throne, save for the single inch he knows it has over his own, sits Chloe Decker. She is not his queen; he is hers and nothing more. But her title is Queen and her job is simple. She loves the Devil for all he is and expects nothing in return.

And there they are. The King. His court. And the Queen.

Who all lived a damned life for happily ever after.