Chapter Text
The King of Hell.
Sinners would see him from various magazines and statues around the Pride Ring, his presence forever embedded into the Pride Ring’s grounds. However, very few sinners have claimed that they’ve seen the King in person, but never near. They would describe him as someone who was practically untouchable as he was rarely found within the Ring sinners primarily resided in, strangely enough.
No one knew who he was other than the many stories and titles he went by.
Everything about the devil was a mystery. After all, he was a literal being straight from the bible, something many sinners believed to have been a myth.
That is, before dropping down in Hell.
They only had rumors and stories from his hellborn citizens to go off of as well as human depictions of him back on earth, but never did any of it quite fully capture just who the King was, even as the internet reached its peak where further speculations were shared, discussed, and concluded.
All the King who had created Hell and made it his Kingdom, and also the same fallen angel who had granted free will upon humankind by feeding Eve the forbidden apple, before being casted out and falling from grace alongside the first woman he had dared to pursue, into the depths of Hell that they call their kingdom.
Thus, fully contributing the existence of the rest of humanity in its entirety.
The concept was so surreal.
To be living in the same realm as humankind’s most warned about being.
The Morningstar.
The Tempter.
The Fallen Angel.
The Sin of Pride.
The Devil.
The King of Hell.
But surprisingly, in addition to that,
A husband and a father.
It was a revelation that caught every sinner as soon as they’ve arrived by surprise.
The entire existence of Hell, ruled by a monarchy.
Lucifer Morningstar was the center of it all. Lilith Morningstar, the first woman, ruling alongside him as the Queen of Hell. Charlotte Morningstar, their daughter and the Princess of Hell, heir to the throne.
There was little information about them too.
But the King.
His image was obscured by his lack of presence, primarily towards his citizens of sinners, leaving it to the speculations to find just who he was with to how little information there was of the king himself.
Time flew, and as it did, Hell changed overtime.
And the air of mystery remained, but the neutrality didn’t quite last.
Simply put,
Extermination.
Ever since the King of Hell had passed the bill to allow the extermination on sinners, sinners had despised him for it. Soon, the public rose to spread the word, sharing their found viewpoints of their so-called King.
A chain reaction transpired, and it didn’t take long for them to finally form a unified conclusion.
The King was a cold-hearted ruler, uncaring of the well-being of his citizens. Unlike the Queen, his beloved wife who had made it very clear that she would make it so that the sinners were to not lose hope and become empowered for their existence in Hell as their citizens, the King was nothing but disrespectful to her wishes despite claiming to be loyal and devoted to her.
It’s no wonder she’s disappeared from Hell completely, with many speculating whether the King allowed the extermination before the Queen left for it to be the main reason she did, or if he had truly lost his mind and allowed it after the Queen left him.
Truly ironic, to massacre the people he’s strived to create and take care of as the ruler.
It was a long riot of several petitions and lobbying for the past few months after that, voicing their outrage.
But as always, it all fell on deaf ears. And when the first extermination set down upon Hell, an unsettling silence followed.
To think sinners, beings who simply came back over and over no matter what they do, suddenly, truly die in a blink of an eye…
Despite this, it was a large mix when the entire mass of his citizens came together to form opinions about their King.
Praised. Feared. Worshipped. Hated. Awed. Scorned.
As always, silence was all the answer the King could give them.
One could only wonder what his majesty was up to at this very moment.
Lucifer sat up from his bed and stretched his arms. He released a pleased sigh as a satisfying pop of his bones produced. Then, he smiled to himself, bright.
He had a good feeling about today. That feeling was then confirmed as soon as Lucifer stole a glance at the calendar hanging on his wall, previous days crossed out as the current day was encircled in glaringly obvious golden ink to show for today’s significance.
Lucifer let the smile on his face stretch wider into an excited grin. Inelegantly, he kicked off the covers and hopped off out of bed, his magic automatically doing its wonders in tidying up the bed while he headed off to a single door that led him to his workshop, pep in his step present.
He had to do the usual morning routine before he could dare think of the source of his excitement ahead. He had to be patient. No rush.
After all, today was a happy day in Hell!
He was sure of it.
Because today of all days, his favorite show was going to be on later this morning.
Well, actually, one of many favorites. He had a lot, okay?
But this one in particular was airing out a season premiere. And it had been about four years since the last season aired so he was more than delighted about it when he saw a post on it from Sinstagram.
Entering the room, the early morning light of Hell welcomed him, lighting the large room that contained many treasures he had plans for.
Various posters of Vox were hung and plastered around the walls, some were pictures Lucifer had printed from socials, reaching up as high as the ceilings made possible if there was some sort of ladder or a literal angel with wings for it to be there. Some notable ones were particularly stored in intricate frames far expensive than anyone’s life, all handcrafted by his majesty’s artistic effort.
Items of official merch were lined up along the few shelves that were planned to be moved to a vacant room today, as well as several boxes delivered by VoxTek that were ordered yesterday evening, just waiting to be opened.
Truly the perks of being VIP. Vox must be flattered of his purchases over the years, surely.
Lucifer walked past it as if it was the most normal thing to ever grace Hell, and opened another door.
Stepping through and closing it behind him, he was met with a long and wide hallhallway, which led to those elegant red striped double doors of his workshop.
Lucifer passed through an entire-library’s worth of high shelves on for his collection, all lined up perfectly on either side, but still somehow comically spacious for six people to walk through all at the same time.
It was a treasured hobby of his, making Vox sculpted statuettes with his own artistic expertise.
Statuettes. You know, the miniature ones. Of course he could just as easily sculpt much bigger, life-sized statues made up of the most valued marble but, oh, that was information best reserved for Lucifer himself.
Sure, he purchased every official merchandise primarily of Vox, which consisted of those acrylic standees, shark plushies, and cards. But it was never quite enough for Lucifer.
So, with that thought in mind, he made ones for himself.
Not the simple flat standees, but an entire sculpted figure of Vox. Lucifer was very persistent in capturing every curve and sharpness a 3-dimensional artwork could only achieve, as well as painting with patient precision.
After all, Vox’s brand was perfection. The man said so himself.
And Lucifer, of course, would not fail him.
Eventually, that strive evolved into something much more, and soon, he was making works inspired off of Vox with all his free time and effort.
Every day was proof of that.
Back to the present, where Lucifer continued in striding over through the shelved walls of trinkets behind a special glass shelf door.
His sharp eyes trailed over sculpted Vox figures that presented themselves in all their significance, all varying with different poses and outfits from the many shows, episodes, or events Lucifer’s seen of him. Others were a very direct three-dimensional form of those 2D acrylic stands as direct reference, just like he had mentioned earlier. And every time, Lucifer would feel that gratifying satisfaction at making and seeing the Vox figures in all their beauty made by his own skillful hands.
He crossed the workshop, gaze dead-set on the item settled on his workbench, illuminated by the two open windows on either side as a spotlight. He stood like that for a moment. Taking in the way his unfinished artwork stared back at him, before turning on the lights.
There was another one he was working on, actually. A very recent one. Lucifer was very keen on getting every angle and shape perfectly without fail.
Which was why he was here.
He approached his workbench, and there it was, the sculpture of Vox in a trench coat that Lucifer found himself admiring since the official merch— which was the original reference— of it first dropped last June.
He crouched down slightly and leaned towards the sculpture, turning it slightly with his hands, his gaze analyzing.
Once he was satisfied, he nodded to himself, plans already running through his mind on what to do once he had the time to work on the sculpture again.
Seeing as that was done and settled, he simply opened a portal back to his room and went through.
As proper, after a delicious breakfast cooked by yours truly, Lucifer came out of his room looking spiffed up in his usual attire and naturally refreshed.
And so, he moved on to tending to his kingly duties.
Nothing too stressful, of course. That weight’s been lifted off his shoulders seven years ago.
He took his time with it, booting up his PC and playing a video about praising a show that he had also liked and played it as background noise while he worked.
He reviewed papers sent from the other Rings, receiving invitation letters and deciding whether or not he should go. He wrote formal letters to other Rings for his instructions or word on the matter if necessary, occasionally chuckling and nodding along in agreement as he listened to the video while his hand swiftly signed off papers that only need his signature of approval.
Although, after a couple of papers signed, Lucifer caught something at the corner of his eye. A particular thick piece of paper wedged between piles of paperwork, sticking out like a sore thumb.
Lucifer picked it out swiftly, paperwork plopping down like puzzles fitting and slotting back in place.
“A letter?” Lucifer muttered quietly, taking in the very special letter with a familiar wax seal.
He turned the letter to the writing on its back.
And right he was. This specific letter was addressed to him by the Ars Goetia. There was also a date written on it, confirming Lucifer’s suspicions of it being an invitation letter.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Lucifer popped off the wax seal and opened the letter, taking out the paper and skimming through the contents.
Immediately, he placed it into the paper shredder, turning the letter into ribbons of paper to be recycled for Lucifer’s other project on paper mache clay.
They really had to stop setting up a time and date that he obviously wouldn’t be able to come through.
Certainly not with his busy schedule.
Lucifer merely glanced at the large whiteboard on the wall on his right. A schedule board to organize and manage his very busy schedule. It always helped him when it came to his crappy memory.
Though if anything, it eventually turned into a schedule board of his favorite television programs across different channels he frequented in. Sticky notes were plastered on several parts of the whiteboard, reminding him with exclamation points and arrows to remind which ones to prioritize.
Well, not that it mattered much. Lucifer found himself easily memorizing the TV schedule without the need for the reference these past few years.
So, he turned away and returned with his work.
It took about three hours before Lucifer succumbed to the exhaustion of sitting in one place for too long. He checked the monitor, playing a video on how sharks were misunderstood creatures, and then the duck and shark-themed clock on his table.
Two hours left before his show, Lucifer registered with a deep sigh, completely slumping down on his office throne armchair.
Suddenly, he didn’t feel like finishing the last few piles of paperwork left on his desk. He could more than likely finish it all by the hour but right now? He didn’t feel like it at all.
Lucifer straightened slightly from his chair, arms bracing on the armrests. He checked the time again.
He stared, and as soon as it hit the next digit, timing a good 1 hour and 55 minutes before his show, a thought clicked into place.
A decision has been reached, it seemed.
Lucifer huffed, satisfied with himself.
He could perhaps progress in working on that Vox figurine for the time being. He had progressed with his kingly duties long enough, so he certainly deserved it.
Paintbrush in his hand, he went for delicate strokes, painting the perfect shade of midnight blue of on the miniature Vox’s trench coat, using a bit of his magic to remove any paint that went beyond their assigned base.
Lucifer sat on his stool, having taken off his gloves as he does every time he works on these. It was a wonderful feeling. Sculpting the clay and feeling it, instead of any sensation barrier of his gloves. That goes for every art medium too. He always preferred a hands-on approach with his creations, and he enjoyed every moment of it, giving his current artwork his full undivided attention.
Bringing the sculpture up in front of his face with his own two hands, he held it with delicate care. His eyes stared intensely without blinking, gaze calculative.
A few seconds passed, before he hummed, and swiftly materialized a loupe in his hand, closing one eye to focus on the smaller details of the figurine. He looked carefully for any flaws he might have missed, and immediately fix it right after.
Lucifer grabbed the tweezers from his workbench. He narrowed his eye in concentration, and with surgical precision, adjusted the flow of the trench coat from the lower half with a touch of his magic.
The end result was just as he had hoped. The adjustment finally made sure to show off the pretty vibrant inner color of the trench coat.
The entire outfit resembled a beautiful galaxy. Lucifer knew much. With shades of purple, blue, and pink. That thought in mind, Lucifer took the genius liberty in smattering some faint glitter, resembling stars.
He gently placed his tools back down on his workbench, stood up from his seat, and took a step back.
Lucifer gazed at his newest masterpiece, and as always, felt a swell of pride rush through him as he took in the sight of what he had made.
Just like the original reference figure stand, Vox was all pouty and nonetheless completely gorgeous with his outfit. Lucifer knew damn well how embarrassed the man must be having taken that photo for the merch— he had the official poster for that as well!— and he found it cute.
Yet here the sculpted figure was, singling out only Vox in three-dimensional form, presenting him in his full glory.
And of course, just as how Lucifer envisioned him.
In his eyes, Vox was the brightest star to ever appear in this plane of existence.
And Lucifer was not at all immune to that. In fact, he’d say himself that Vox shone so bright that he somehow guided Lucifer back to the light he thought he would have never regained.
The metaphor had always stuck, especially with how much Vox proclaimed those words in various of his interviews.
To be a star.
The brightest one.
Ambitious. Proud. Stunning. And oh so beautiful.
Among the vast darkness and surrounding dump he chose to live amongst, Vox was the one that truly made an exceptionally place for himself that was impossibly hard to ignore, standing out and living in a lifestyle he felt he deserved.
Lucifer would say it as much as the man himself wanted, whether or not he was physically here. Although, artistically speaking, words alone could not simply describe Vox.
Lucifer blinked, and was staring at the sculpture again, the displeased expression of the miniature Vox still present, and almost annoyed at how long he had been staring doing nothing.
Suddenly, a familiar ringing— the cheerful theme song soundtrack from Shark Week — resounded in the room. Quickly, Lucifer took out the phone from his pocket and dismissed the alarm.
Ten minutes before the premiere.
With a soft smile, Lucifer waved his hand and teleported the figurine into the oven of his workshop, setting the timer as proper without risk of the sculpture breaking from extreme heat or unable to dry from the lack of it. Wordlessly, he also arranged the tools back into their proper places by the workbench, and of course cleaning the mess with a crisp snap of his fingers.
Lucifer stared at the sight, his accomplishments praising him for a job well done, and found himself huffing out a breath of satisfaction.
He should probably get the popcorn now.
Lucifer would make sure he would watch the premiere with utmost comfort and satisfaction. It would be perfect.
“Popcorn prepared!” Lucifer yelled out to no one in particular, triumphantly holding the bucket of popcorn into the air like he was presenting it to an invisible crowd. His voice echoed into the large empty room of the kitchen. Nevertheless, Lucifer ignored it, already walking out the room with mighty resolve, the newly acquired snack held securely in his arms.
Suddenly he was walking through the wide and imposing corridors of the castle, singing a cheerful song with a wide grin plastered onto his face.
Truly a happy day in Hell!
He arrived at the TV room. His most frequented room. He turned on the lamps of the room to create a proper warm and homely atmosphere, lighting up the once dark room.
Despite himself, his strides were confident and steady, exaggeratedly enough, approaching the lone TV, coffee table, and couch in the middle of the room.
Lucifer sat down on the couch with the grace of a swan, the bucket of popcorn settled onto his lap. He took off his coat, draping it over the armrest of the couch. Wordlessly, he turned off the lights in the room, and at the same time, a remote materialized into his hand.
With impressively contained excitement, his thumb pressed on to the power button, booting up the intricate television to life.
On cue, the title of his show appeared, the premiere counting down from five.
As soon as it hit zero, the title screen finally played—
Only to get hopelessly cut off by a Breaking News segment.
Lucifer immediately straightened from his seat, a sharp complaint already at the tip of his tongue as well as a curling burst of fire.
But before he could, he was greeted by the sight of none other than Vox.
His Vox.
What a pleasant surprise.
“Breaking News?” It took only a fraction of a second, and it was comical how quickly he leaned back against the sofa, acting as if an outburst wasn’t about to happen a moment ago. “Haven’t seen him cover the news in a while.”
His body easily relaxed, and he propped one leg over the other as Vox from the TV, actually live instead of reruns of shows Lucifer’s already watched after so many years, start off informing the news with that smooth singing voice of his.
A high baritone. Lucifer knew much.
He popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing as soon as Vox started rambling over some deer sinner.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” of course, “but who the hell…” Not that Lucifer could care. What was important was the fact Vox was on his screen, live.
Looking brighter than ever.
It’s been such a long time too. These past few months, all Lucifer had of him were reruns and video footage of already filmed content. And every time, Lucifer wished he would watch the man perform live once more.
The Media Overlord was just as entertainingly animated as Lucifer remembered him. Body moving like a perfectly choreographed charismatic mix of dance and professionalism. The sight made Lucifer let out a fond huff.
Compared to other shows he’s been in that Lucifer had diligently watched, Vox looked much more alive and upbeat here. Wide eyes that lit up brightly, and an arrogantly smug look plastered on his face looking like a someone who had already won.
It was charming. And Lucifer, of course, was charmed.
This was Vox.
Always so engaging to watch. Always looking lovely and sharp as ever. Always so handsome in every angle—yes, even the back and side angles. Lucifer loved everything about the man. He’s sculpted the man enough in the many years he’s spent watching him as a testament to that.
He listened, but of course as the lyrics registered, a thought immediately flashed through his mind’s eye, one by one, recalling very vague memories not so distant.
Then, all at once.
“Wait a minute. Radio…” Lucifer narrowed his eyes, momentarily looking away from the television to divert his attention to his left, already thinking of the imagery beginning to clear in his mind’s eye. Easily enough, he found memories that related to that specific word. “That’s the guy Vox has been referring all throughout his shows.”
The more he thought about it, the more it just pissed him off.
So, he thought nothing of it.
He was better than that.
And surely, better than some random sinner that Vox was very clearly trying to expose of his lack of relevance in this current day and age. A good call on Vox’s part.
“Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Lucifer shrugged, turning back his full undivided attention back to his Vox. He allowed himself a somewhat evil and self-satisfied grin to settle on his face. “Like I’d ever be concerned over some random sinner.”
Lucifer was sharp as he switched from channel to channel, Lucifer following the man with his swift intuition—no less from the most powerful being in all of Hell—and impressive speed, flicking through channels with his trusty remote.
“Things are just getting good too. I mean, damn,” Lucifer grin brightened, the live feed soon showing off Vox switching several outfits Lucifer had seen the TV man wore from other shows he’s been in, and he flicked through another channel to see Vox, “he looks good in everything! I could watch him all day!”
He chuckled light-heartedly, watching Vox put on a show like he always did for Lucifer.
This day turned out to be better than he expected it to be. Lucifer found himself naturally nodding his head along to the music and the melodic sound of Vox’s rich voice as he sung.
How easy it was for Vox to have an effect on him like this.
He rooted for Vox, just like he always would. And it didn’t really matter just what Vox was making propaganda for, Lucifer already knew that factually, in all his lifetime since the dawn of creation, that Vox was the obvious winner.
But then, another voice joined in.
“Salutations! Good to be back on the air.” Lucifer blinked, startled.
It wasn’t planned or an expected guest either, judging by the look on Vox’s shocked and irritated expression. Vox glared at something to his side.
No, someone.
Lucifer was very mindful of his clairvoyant magic. And it seemed to have subconsciously activated to receive a vague read on where Vox was through the television.
The intruder spoke again.
“Yes, I know it’s been a while, since someone with style treated hell with a broadcast. Sinners, rejoice!” The unwelcome voice vocalized, and suddenly, everything clicked into place.
Oh, so this was the radio guy?
“What a dated voice—”
“Instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast—” Lucifer eye twitched at that, anger flaring at the words of the arrogant liar. “Is Vox insecure? Pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?”
“Ignore his chirping!” Lucifer did not, stubbornly enough. Every word that came out of the bastard’s mouth was fueling the list of reasons as to why Lucifer should simply find him and damn him further down the depths of Hell until damnation has reached the unexplored parts of the Pride Ring.
The voice was smug. “Every day, he’s got a new format.”
“You’re lookin’ at the future,” Vox exclaimed, to which Lucifer immediately agreed without a doubt, both biased and factually sincere, “he’s the shit that comes before that!”
“Is Vox strong as he purports, or is it based on his support? He’d be powerless without the other Vees.”
“Oh please!”
“And here’s the sugar on the cream, he asked me to join his team.” Instantly, Lucifer lifted himself from his lounging position, and from how fast he moved, sat up with a snap.
“I said no, and now he’s pissy, that’s the tea!”
Lucifer felt his heart drop.
He held his breath as he watched in horror at the following sequence of events that followed. His hand clutched at the cushions under him, and it nearly tore off the fabric with how tightly he did it along with his elongated claws that summoned from instinct.
“You old-timey prick! I’ll show you s-zzz!-zssuffering—!” Vox’s voice glitched and slurred in struggle, and Lucifer immediately knew this was going to end badly for him. He couldn’t see Vox from his screen, but he very much sounded like he was clutching to the last remains of his pride despite the visible decline.
“Uh oh, the TV is buffering!” Lucifer heard and scowled, finding the voice incredibly unbearable and irritating.
It was hard to watch, really.
Despite himself, Lucifer sat still in anticipation, staring at the screen while words of his most beloved star sing a duet with some bastard that Vox clearly knew—
Vox was losing too. Vox hated losing.
Vox would have likely wished for him to look away from an utterly embarrassing loss like this on live television.
Lucifer should listen to that and respectfully look away.
And yet,
Lucifer couldn’t help but watch in silent horror.
“I’LL DESTROY YOUU—zZz!-YOOoou-Zzz!—y-youuuuuuuu….“
“I’m afraid you’ve lost your signal!” The radio sinner’s triumphant voice was clear as day, before the television screen completely switched off to play that sandy looking moving black and white static.
Lucifer, with his magic, sensed a flicker, before it all turned off all at once.
He blinked, his eyes remaining glued to the static-filled screen.
The power had gone out.
Unwillingly, he could also hear the radio prick’s voice resounding on every radio speaker all throughout Pentagram City. So wordlessly, Lucifer immediately turned his magic off from there before his mood could worsen.
There was a long stretch of silence that invaded the room. The only noise that could be heard was the static coming from the television.
And then,
“A red, deer—WHAT, WHY!?”