☆ ??'s POV, present tense

Lucifer is stupid if he thinks he can just give (Y/N) away.

Neither Alastor, nor Lucifer, are any match for me. I am immortal.

And (Y/N) is so pure, heaven would do anything to get her on their side of the clouds. They would pay any price for her, for she would be the perfect angel.

That price? It belongs to me, and I plan on taking what's rightfully mine.

☆ Second person POV, past tense

The air didn't feel right in your lungs. It felt too thick, too stuffy and too musty, like you were breathing through a dusty cloth. Your eyes were watering, as if smoke had floated into your tear ducts and clogged them, but there was no smoke.

Am I crying? You touched your cheek. It was cool and wet. I am crying.

You wiped the tears off on the front of your shirt and blinked a few times. You couldn't look Lucifer in the eyes—for you were scared of what you would see in them. The truth. It sat there, cold and raw. Lucifer would kill Alastor, and then he would send you to heaven.

Maybe it would be better in heaven. Maybe Alastor was toxic for you, and this would be for the best. Maybe it would all work out in the end.

Cupid must have hated you. Why would he strike you with the arrow of love if the man you wanted most was out of your reach?

You took a deep breath, but the sensation of breathing through a clogged air filter was still there. The fogginess made you sick, but instead of vomitting, you spoke. Staring down at Lucifer's polished, black leather loafers, you uttered with as much confidence as possible, "You can't kill him."

Lucifer was examining the way-too-shiny apple atop his cane when you said it. He remained silent, but the silence lasted too long. Eerily long.

"What makes you say that, dear?"

"Don't call me that, you fucking heartless reptile."

Lucifer's loafers didn't move, but suddenly, he was an inch in front of your face. With a gentle touch, he cupped your chin and lifted it, so your eyes could align with his. His mouth was so close to yours that you could feel the gentle heat of his breath floating through the already stuffy air and landing over your skin. Now that you were staring into his eyes from such a short distance, you realized that they shimmered with much more than just the truth.

In his bright orbs, you saw power. You saw feelings and emotions, like lust, hatred, disgust, anger; most of which were considered sinful emotions in the bible.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I don't think I have done anything to deserve your pathetic insults. I have been nothing but kind to you." With the hand that wasn't under your chin, he touched your arm. "The least you can do in return is allow me to call you dear. Tell me, what's the problem with that?" he asked. His voice was quiet, and if you didn't know any better, you would think he actually cared about your response.

"You just said that you're going to kill the man I love," you said, hoping that if any spit flew out of your mouth, it hit him right in his stupid yellow eyes. "And now you have the audacity to call me that—"

You stopped talking.

Because the pain on your skin was so burning hot that you could barely breathe.

He wasn't trying to make his grip on your arm seem comforting anymore. It became a death grip, locking you in place, hurting you. His fingers were as hot as burning metal, sinking through your epidermis and into the flesh and bone below. The pressure and heat was so great that your head went dizzy. You didn't even have enough energy to scream, but you totally would have if you were able.

Lucifer was still way too close for comfort. He leaned into your ear; his voice like a feather brushing against your hair. "I am Lucifer, young lady. Talk to me with some respect, if you would."

Black dots swirled through the air, so near and so real looking that you thought they were flies for a moment. But that was just your brain talking. All you managed to say in your muddy daze was, "Sorry."

And just like that, the pain was gone.

Lucifer brushed both of his palms off on the front of his suit and cleared his throat, as if he had just given you a handshake rather than the third-degree version of an Indian burn. "Your apology has been accepted. I don't think any more back talking like that will happen again... in fact, I don't think you'll even get the opportunity to speak to me again."

You blinked. The black dots melted away, granting you the luxury of clear vision and normal thinking once again. Lucifer's black lips formed a nearly straight line, like the thick stroke of a Sharpie over his fair skin. "What do you mean?"

"Alastor is here. Once he is dead, I will take care of you. There won't be any more time for talk."

"He's here?"

"Yes, dear."

Your fist clenched into a little ball, but you said nothing about the nickname. Instead, you snapped, "Good. Then prepare to get fucked in the ass, Fallen Angel."

☆ Alastor's POV, present tense

It appears as nothing more than a crumbling basement, but I know that it is much more. It's the Chasm, the magically protected underground stronghold were Lucifer sends the Purebloods to heaven with an intricate ceremony. The cracked concrete walls and old-fashioned wall torches do nothing to fool me. I know Lucifer and (Y/N) are here—I can feel it in my body the same way I can feel my urge to kill.

I don't like the way Lucifer glorifies his little method of sending Purebloods to heaven. Yes, I am an insane man, and I sure is hell am as much of a demon as the next sinner, but the way Lucifer deals with the Purebloods is unnatural.

It seems especially so now that (Y/N) has to go through it.

The room changes quickly, not at all gradual. The floors and walls turn white in a flash, morphing from something old and falling apart to something new and untarnished.

Lucifer and (Y/N) appear. There's no smoke or special effects. They're nowhere to be found one minute, standing right before me the next.

(Y/N). She's right there. Her wide purple eyes flicker over to meet mine, and for a moment, I see nothing but her.

"My love—"

☆ Second person POV, past tense

Alastor stopped talking mid sentence. He stopped moving, too.

One of his hands was halfway outstretched towards you, but it was blurry, like someone took a picture of him while his hand was still moving. The edges of his suit coat were blurred, too, and his hair. You thought you could see the strands buzzing around, like they were suddenly made of a million tiny dust particles.

"Alastor?"

"I froze him." Lucifer's voice was so chipper and carefree. You turned to face him, anger bubbling up through your veins, and fought to hold back your fist, which was begging to punch him right on his smirking mouth.

"Why?"

"So I can go over some things with him."

"Go over some things with him? He's frozen, how is that supposed to work?" was what you so desperately wanted to bark at Lucifer, but instead, you asked, "Can he hear us?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"Now listen up, Alastor, because I'm only going to say this once. I would absolutely love to keep you frozen while I commence the ceremony, but I am unable to do so. My powers have limits. I can't do more than one thing at a time, like most demons," he explained. He started walking in a circle around you and Alastor, his loafers clicking against the white tiles like high-heels. "It would be very kind of you if you chose to let the ceremony go on without any difficulties, but I know that won't happen. So I will kill you, and then I'll send (Y/N) away. Do you agree with these terms?"

Of course, Alastor said nothing. His body was still dancing like static. You stepped towards him and curiously poked a finger at his torso. It still felt like his body, firm but squishy at the same time.

"I don't think he agrees," you said, unfiltered sass laced into your tone.

Lucifer chuckled. "I didn't think so either," he drawled before raising his cane, "but this is just the way it has to be."

He slammed the butt end of his staff on the ground, and the tiles below it cracked. Suddenly, you were all in a new room, one with a circular pentagram drawn on the center of the dark concrete floor with red chalk. This room was bigger, and, unlike the last two, there was no door that led to the exit hallway.

You kept your palm pressed against Alastor's torso, as if touching him would give you the same warm, safe feeling that touching Eve had. "Where are we?" you mumbled, only half expecting an answer.

"The Chasm; the place where Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, will be slaughtered, and the place where you, the cleanest Pureblood of them all, will be sent away."

Your mind reeled, trying to find a way out of the situation. Could you kill Lucifer yourself? Obviously not. Could you escape? No, there were no exits. Could you just let Lucifer's plan run it's course? Yes, but why in the name of Satan would you do that?

You were fucked.

You were up and down, left and right and straight up fucked.

At least, that was what you thought.