Epilogue
Lucifer
I'm lounging on my throne, one leg draped over the armrest in a way that would make proper demons clutch their pearls if they had any sense of decorum.
But I'm Lucifer, King of Hell, and I'll sit however the fuck I want.
My tail swishes lazily behind me, the pointed tip flicking back and forth as I stare at the picture in my hand.
It's sappy as hell—no pun intended—and I love it.
Esme is dancing with Duske in what appears to be their living room, her orange hair flying as he spins her around.
His face, usually so stoic and controlled, is split into a genuine smile that makes him look almost human.
Almost. Milo is in the background drinking a cup of hot chocolate with that stupid pumpkin head he adores so much, the carved mouth somehow conveying contentment.
And Vesper is stoking the fire, his back to the camera, but the relaxed line of his shoulders speaks volumes.
They look so stupidly happy two years later, tucked away at that small cottage in the mountains.
I had no idea Duske even had emotions beyond grim determination and occasional annoyance, but this is good for him.
Good for all of them, really. Finding their mate, keeping her despite the cosmic rules that should have prevented it, and building a life together.
It's disgustingly sweet, and I'm oddly proud of them.
Not that I'd ever admit that to their faces.
I sigh, setting the picture down on the armrest and stretching. Hell has been boring lately. Sure, there are always souls to torture, deals to oversee, demons to manage, but it's all become so routine. I need something fresh, something entertaining to break up the monotony.
My phone dings, the sound echoing through the throne room. I glance at it and frown. One of my lieutenants has sent a message: Boss, there's a package specifically for you.
A package? I don't receive packages. Souls, yes. Complaints, constantly. But packages? That's new.
I wave my hand. "Send them in." The words will get to the right person, and soon I’ll be given my package. Hopefully, it’s a present.
The massive doors at the end of the throne room swing open with a dramatic creak that I maintain specifically for effect. And there, stumbling through the entrance with wide, terrified eyes, is Liora Dove.
Oh, this is delicious.
I stand from my throne, my tail swishing behind me with barely contained excitement.
A grin splits across my face, showing just a hint of the predator beneath the charming exterior.
"Oh, you're a little spitfire, aren't you?
Duske kept his promise to me, although I thought I'd have to wait an eternity. "
Liora looks around wildly, taking in the obsidian walls, the flames that burn without heat or smoke, the various instruments of torture displayed like art pieces. "Is this hell? What the fuck!"
I laugh, the sound rich and genuinely amused as it bounces off the walls. "Welcome home, sweetheart."
Liora's face contorts with confusion and rage. "Duske did this? He's an exorcist or maybe just some low-life demon! What the fuck are you going on about?"
I descend the steps from my throne slowly, letting her see every inch of my true form.
My suit is impeccable as always—I have standards, after all—but my tail is fully visible, my eyes glowing with infernal light.
"Sweetheart, he's Death. The Grim Reaper, all of that.
And the other two men are demons, my demons.
And they saved your sister, something more than you did.
" I pause, letting that sink in before delivering the killing blow.
"How did selling your soul work out for you? "
Liora takes a step back, her voice rising to something shrill. "This is bullshit! I didn't even get the men I paid for! I paid for my crime with all that being scared and shit. I don’t belong here."
I tsk, shaking my head like a disappointed teacher.
"That's not how deals work. Love can't be forced, can't be manufactured through demonic intervention.
Any demon worth their horns knows that. Unfortunately for you, you dealt with an amateur who was more interested in the chaos of granting an impossible wish than in explaining the fine print.
" I circle her slowly, my tail dragging across the floor behind me with a soft scraping sound.
"However, I did a little dealing myself.
And as it so happens, you're now mine to play with. "
Liora's eyes flash with defiance despite the fear radiating off her in waves. "I don't fucking want to play with you."
I stop in front of her, leaning down until we're eye level. My grin widens. "Too bad, sweetheart, because I've been making plans for the last two years and I can't wait to get started."
Two years. Two years of watching Esme and her mates build their life together while knowing that eventually, Liora's terror-filled heart would give out and she'd end up here.
Two years of planning exactly what I'd do with a sister-killer who thought she could cheat the system.
Two years of anticipation building until this perfect moment.
I straighten up, clasping my hands behind my back. "Now, do you want to start with the toenails or the eyeballs? Personally, I think the toenails are more fun, but the eyeballs bleed more."
The horror on her face is everything. Absolute, pure, unfiltered terror. Her skin goes pale, her pupils dilate, and I can actually see the moment her brain tries to process what I've just said and fails spectacularly.
"You're... you're going to torture me?"
I laugh again, the sound bouncing off the walls.
"Oh, honey. Torture is such a crude word.
I prefer 'creative rehabilitation.' You killed your sister out of jealousy and selfishness.
You made a deal with a demon you didn't understand.
You spent two years in a psychiatric facility, driven mad by the terror Vesper implanted in your soul.
And now?" I spread my arms wide, encompassing the entirety of my domain.
"Now, you get to pay for it. For eternity. "
Liora stumbles backward, her legs giving out beneath her. She collapses to the floor, shaking. "No. No, this can't be real. This is just another hallucination. The doctors said I was getting better."
I crouch down in front of her, my tail curling around to rest on my knee.
"The doctors were wrong. You weren't getting better.
You were dying. That terror Vesper gave you?
It's been eating away at your heart for two years.
Every moment of every day, you've been terrified of shadows, of silence, of your own heartbeat.
And finally, mercifully for you, your heart gave out three hours ago. "
The information hits her like a physical blow. She sways where she sits, her hands clutching at her chest. "I'm... I'm dead?"
"As a doornail," I confirm cheerfully. "And now you're mine. Forever and ever and ever. Doesn't that sound fun?"
Liora's breath comes in short, panicked gasps. She's hyperventilating, which is amusing considering she doesn't actually need to breathe anymore. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
"Please," she whispers, and oh, that's music to my ears. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll make it right. I'll—"
I hold up a hand, silencing her. "There is no making it right. You killed your sister. You sent her tumbling down those stairs to break her neck, all because you were jealous that some demons didn't want you. Do you have any idea how pathetic that is?"
Liora flinches like I've struck her.
I continue, warming to my theme. "Esme was kind.
She was loved. She had friends who would have moved heaven and earth for her—and they did, by the way.
They literally broke cosmic law to keep her with them.
And you? You're a petty, selfish little creature who thought the world owed you something just because you were 'normal. '"
I stand, looking down at her crumpled form with something approaching disgust. "So no, there will be no deals, no bargains, no redemption arc. You're here to suffer, and I'm here to make sure you do it creatively."
My tail unwraps from my leg and extends toward her, the pointed tip hovering just inches from her face. She flinches back, but there's nowhere to go. The throne room is vast, but my power fills every corner of it.
"The toenails, I think," I muse, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "We'll start there and work our way up. I have millennia of experience in making pain last, in drawing out suffering until time loses all meaning. And you, my dear Liora, are going to help me refine my techniques."
Liora scrambles backward, her hands scrabbling against the smooth obsidian floor. "You're a monster!"
I laugh, the sound echoing through the throne room.
"Finally, she gets it! Yes, Liora. I'm a monster.
I'm the monster. I'm the original, the template, the one all other monsters aspire to be.
And you sold your soul to one of my subordinates, which means you sold it to me by extension.
" I lean down, my face inches from hers.
"Welcome to eternity, sweetheart. I hope you enjoy your stay. "
With a snap of my fingers, chains materialize around her wrists and ankles. They're not just physical restraints—they're bound to her soul itself, impossible to break or escape. She screams as they tighten, pulling her upright despite her struggles.
"Don't worry," I say conversationally as I walk back toward my throne. "We'll start slow. Just the toenails today. Maybe a few fingernails if you're particularly entertaining. I like to build up to the really good stuff. Anticipation is half the fun, after all."
Liora's screams fill the throne room as my attendants—lesser demons who live for this kind of work—emerge from the shadows to escort her to the preparation chambers. I settle back onto my throne, picking up the picture of Esme and her mates again.
"Thanks for the gift, Duske," I murmur to the image. "She's going to be fun."
My phone dings again. A message from Duske: Enjoy your new plaything. She's all yours.
I grin, typing back: Already am. Send Esme my regards. And tell Milo to send me pictures of his pumpkin patch. I'm considering adding some Halloween-themed torture implements.
The response is almost immediate: Absolutely not.