[ Hey readers. I would just like to say a quick apology before you read this chapter. It's... um... intense. ]

Lucifer tapped the butt end of his cane down on the concrete floor beneath his polished boots. The tap triggered something; all of the humming static that surrounded Alastor's body vanished, evaporating away into an invisible mist.

For a moment, Alastor did nothing but stand there like a mannequin, confusion written into his features. He let his hand fall limply to his side. You expected him to smile with relief, then wrap his arms around you in a loving embrace, but he did nothing of the sort. His bright red eyes didn't even flicker in your direction.

Instead, he turned to glare at Lucifer, a menacing grin showing off his razor-sharp canines. His ears twitched, and you wondered if he always did that when he was mad.

"Lucifer," he spoke through clenched teeth.

"Alastor."

For a moment, the room went dead silent. Nothing but the fiery glares of the two most powerful demons in hell filled the air. You could have heard a pin drop.

"Well, you heard my terms. Please, let us carry this out like gentlemen." Lucifer ran his thumb over the smooth length of his apple-topped cane, not breaking eye contact with Alastor. "If you wish to surrender, I will spare your life. If not, I will simply kill you."

"You can try to kill me, but I don't think you'll have much luck." Alastor winked. He seemed as carefree and vivacious as ever.

"You haven't changed a bit since I last saw you, Al. You're still as stubborn as ever," Lucifer sighed. You wondered what happened the 'last time' they saw each other. "So... we're doing this the old-fashioned way?"

Alastor chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "No, my dear friend. We're doing this my way."

Then the air began to turn. Alastor's eyes closed, and when they opened again, they contained a hue of yellow that hadn't been there before. Radio dials, etched into the place where his pupils should have been. He began to hover in the air, his tail coat swirling in a nonexistent breeze. His antlers grew like saplings in a time lapse, his grin widened, and the old microphone on his staff glowed, casting a reddish light over the floor below him. There was a black cloud swirling around his head, but it was so thin that you didn't know if it was even real.

You look a step back, eyes wide, and lost your breath, as if you were the one Alastor was trying to kill. Although, that wasn't true at all—he was aiming to kill Lucifer. Nonetheless, you were still nervous. Nervous for Alastor's life, and nervous for yours.

As you continued to walk backwards, the wall rushed to meet you, providing support for your shivering legs. Your hands clenched into pale fists, and you leaned against the cold stone behind you.

There was nothing you could do but wait. This wasn't your fight to win.

"Kill him, babe," you whispered. There was no way either of the demons heard you, but you said it anyway, unconsciously reassuring yourself. "You can do it."

☆ Alastor's POV, present tense

"No, my dear friend. We're doing this my way."

All I have to do is close my eyes and embrace the feeling. It's sitting in my gut, coursing through my veins, flourishing in my heart. The pure thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of the death. I killed all of those other demons: Rosie, Adam, and Eve. What's stopping me from killing the one standing before me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch (Y/N) backing away. Probably a good idea.

I love her. I'm doing all of this for her, so that she can stay in hell with me. I'm doing this for us.

I hope she knows that.

Lucifer's eyelids glimmer a pale purple as he closes his eyes, his black lips pursed with concentration.

Wings, black and feathered, sprout out from the center of Lucifer's spine with a splintering crack. The devil grimaces as the back of his pristine white suit jacket is split open, allowing the wings to extend to their full glory. They arc up and outward, sort of resembling the wings of a crow.

His eyes shoot open. They look bloodshot, but not with red. With black. It's as if someone took black food coloring or liquid eyeliner and let a bunch of it fall into edges of his eye sockets.

(Y/N) probably thinks the sight is horrifying. I would too if I could feel such a thing like horror. All I feel when I look at this creature—the fallen angel known as Satan, Lucifer, the King of Hell—is hate.

"I wanted to play fair, and give you a decent chance to win this fight, but I can see that you're too immature for something like that," Lucifer scoffs. His wings beat once, sending him up in the air. The ceiling suddenly extends upward, providing at least 4 more floors worth of space.

It's an illusion, but a real one. Lucifer has the power to control this room. It's... how do I phrase this... bonded to him in a way that it isn't bonded to me. I cannot control the room in the ways that he can, which is a disadvantage on my end. But I have no doubt in my mind that I will be able to kill this pathetic little thing easily.

"As you can see, I don't like to play fair."

"I don't want to kill you."

"Yes, you do," I say, flashing my best smile. "You want to kill me just as much as I want to spread your guts all over these walls."

Lucifer makes a sound, like a one-syllable laugh or a curt dismissal. His knuckles grip the handle of his staff, and suddenly, it transforms into a silver sword. I'm unsure why he has done such a thing—that is, until I see the sharp edge of the blade. It glows bright red, as if it's already covered in blood.

My heart beats a bit faster, and something similar to fear sparks up inside of me.

"Don't forget what's at stake here." His eyes, streaked with the strange black matter, shift in the direction of (Y/N).

I know that I won't be able to kill Lucifer with a snap of my fingers, like I did with Eve. He is what some might call immortal, in the same way that I am. Each of us have our weaknesses, and each of us have a specific way that we can die.

Lucifer knows how to kill me. The sword is surely tainted with the blood of an angel, which is poison to me. It's poison to all demons—except for Lucifer, of course, since he used to be an angel.

But I also know how to kill him.

In a flash, I decide that if I can pin Lucifer down, he won't get the opportunity to strike me with the lethal blade, and I can snap his neck. I hone in on him, staring him down like he's my prey, then proceed to slash my staff through the empty air. Even though I am far away from him—and the tip of my microphone goes nowhere near him—he still goes flying backwards. His wings smash against the flat, gray wall behind him, allowing the sound of bone smashing against concrete to reverberate through the room. The ceiling literally shakes; bits of stone come crumbling towards the ground.

I fly towards him and swing my staff once more. This time, it connects with his cheek. His face flicks to the side, spit flying past his dark lips.

I'm rearing back to hit him again when a blistering heat blossoms out from my stomach, reaching out to cover every inch of my skin. I then see Lucifer's empty hand, which is aimed in my direction, his fingers splayed outward like a baby's. I wince. The pain is so harsh I can feel it cooking my skin off.

Lucifer takes this chance to lunge at me. He kicks off of the wall, sword in the air. Just in the nick of time, I grab the tip of my staff with my empty hand and hold it up in front of my face, blocking the blow that surely would have killed me.

Lucifer's wings pump against the air as he bears down on me, pushing his sword hard against the shank of my staff. His face is distorted in a terrible sneer. "One hit with this sword and you're done, Al."

"Guess I just can't let you hit me then," I say, grinning up at him.

Then, with all of the power my arms can bear, I thrust my staff forward. Lucifer is pushed backwards, but not far. I use the split second of time to fly above him.

He looks up, ready to attack, when I swing my foot hard into the side of his head.

"He shoots, and he scores!" I tease. "C'mon, Luci, come get some more."

Lucifer growls, and suddenly, the ceiling starts lowering—and quickly. I don't have enough time to get to the ground safely, so the concrete whams hard into my shoulder and sends me flying down. My eyes snap shut, and I clench my staff into my body out of instinct.

My back hits the floor first, then my tailbone, then my head. I hear multiple bones snap as they bump against the ground. A splintering pain shoots into my skull, like pins and needles, but one thousand times worse.

I groan and open my eyes.

Lucifer is right above me, his sword poised to kill.

I roll to the side, trying to dodge the blow. I succeed. Lucifer's sword crashes against the ground. The piercing shriek of metal against concrete makes my head pound even harder.

"Get over here, you little rat," Lucifer growls, preparing to strike again. I jump upwards, making it about three feet into the air, and, yet again, barely missing Lucifer's blade.

I stay in the air, hovering with my powers. I point my staff in his direction and do the only thing that I know will disorient him.

It's like a dog whistle, but for angels. Being a radio demon, I'm able to channel those soundbites and use them at my leisure. The sound shoots out at him in waves, curling through the air.

Lucifer shouts a few colorful words and grabs at his temples. His hat falls off and tumbles to the ground, and not long after, he falls to his knees.

I watch as the crawling strokes of black in his eyes grow, leaking to the center of his pupils until his entire eyes go black.

Just like Rosie's.

What a pleasure it will be to kill Lucifer; to snap his neck and end this all.

Keeping my staff aimed at the collapsed fallen angel, I glide to my feet, then walk towards him. The sound of my shoes clacking against the stone is audible for me, but it must be silent to Lucifer, who can hear nothing but the painfully loud ringing in his ears.

"Not so high and mighty, are we now, Luci darling?"

"You can't kill me," Lucifer barks, his eyes glistening. Pools of darkness.

His lips pull back with disgust. His fingers grasp feebly at his previously combed blonde locks. His eyebrows twitch with pain.

"You stupid fucking heathen. You can't kill me!"

I raise my other hand and, with my pointer finger, use an invisible force to draw his hands away from his head and position them behind his back. His neck is now exposed.

"Oh yeah? Watch me." I smirk down at him. "Stand up."

He obeys.

I step forward, grab the front of his shirt in my fist, and pull him towards me.

I drop my staff. I have to. To kill Lucifer, I can't use magic. I have to use my bare hands.

The next few moments appear to me in slow motion.

My hands are on Lucifer's jaw, ready to snap his neck and finish him off, when (Y/N) screams something at me.

It sounds like she's telling me to wait.

I turn to look at her, and that is my mistake.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a pulsing stab shoots through my core, sending rockets of pain through my abdomen. It is so hot and so intense that my vision flashes white.

I stumble backwards, eyes wide with shock. I look down. The blade is in my stomach.

"Oh my."

When I look back up at Lucifer, he is shaking his head, as if he's disappointed in me. "You almost did it. You almost killed me."

I can feel my own blood rising into my throat, pooling in my mouth, and dripping down my lip. I reach for the hilt of the sword with my shaking hands, but Lucifer grabs onto it first.

He smiles. His breath is heavy, as if he just ran a marathon. "Oh, you silly, pathetic creature."

He twists the blade, and I groan one last time. My knees buckle and I fall to the ground. The content feeling that was coursing through me only moments ago is gone. I almost did it. I almost killed Lucifer, but I fucked up. I did the one thing that you can never do when fighting to the death.

I hesitated.