Sipping his cognac, Lucifer waited, waited and waited for something to happen as the golden elixir pooled out of the lifeless body. This was the third angel he had killed today, and yet his father had done nothing. No sending his Godly forces, no banishing him. He didn’t even send Lucifer’s long-suffering goody-two shoes brother Gabriel to try and reign him in.
With a sigh, Lucifer pushed his thick, heavy boot into the being’s shoulder blade. He almost wished he were back in Hell, almost. At least in Hell he was respected; in Hell he was number one. Everyone worked their asses off to please him. Heck even in Hell his brothers had visited every so often.
His father had officially cut him off. Lucifer rammed his shoe forcefully over and over again till he heard the sweet pop of dislodging the being’s wings from its shoulder.
His father truly did not care anymore; as per usual, he had abandoned him. The thought caused a throbbing in his head, creating that insufferable emotion he detested. As Lucifer’s anger grew, his grip on the glass grew tighter and tighter till it exploded in his hand, shards cutting deep into his skin, amber liquid combining with the silver blood seeping through the cuts. Lucifer grumbled, trust his Dad to find a way to take the fun out of killing and torturing, the one thing that he was good at.
There once was a time his father actually loved him. His brother might have said that Lucifer was the favourite, but of course if his father loved him so much, he wouldn’t have banished him from Heaven and made him the ruler of Hell.
Digging the shards out of his hand, he thought, so what if he had been rebellious? What teenager isn’t? Besides, he needed an escape from his father’s ongoing rules and the pressures that came with being an archangel. He needed a way to cope and there’s something therapeutic about killing a lesser being, something therapeutic about plucking their wings, removing their power, taking their immortality and making them beneath you.
Lucifer absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder blades. Slowly and slowly, one by one with each wing he plucked from their withering bodies, he felt the tension leave him, allowing the calmness to seep back in and control to return to his body. But now that he was out of the watchful eye of his father, nothing he did mattered anymore, not even the one thing that calmed him could help anymore.
It had been two months since Lucifer had last seen his father. Since his father had requested a meeting in his big cushioned cloud. Since his father told him that he would no longer indulge in Lucifer’s actions.
Two months since, Lucifer had resigned from ruling hell. If his father didn’t bother with him anymore, why should he still do the job that was forced upon him? When his father gave up on him, Lucifer decided that he would find a new family, living among those disgusting humans who would surely realise his great potential and fawn over his mighty presence. And he must admit even though the people were insufferable, he was really enjoying the earthly liquor.
Everyone portrayed his father as this great man, all loving, all powerful, forgiving, caring but they don’t know the real man behind the myths. The only thing his dad was was a workaholic who put on a facade to everyone, who put his job above everyone else, including his family. Behind closed doors he was nothing like what you’d read in the dreaded book, which he wrote himself. How conceited.
Okay so maybe in reality his father could be loving, cherishing, and forgiving – to everyone else other than his children, the ones who truly needed it. Lucifer and his brothers often worked night and day, doing his bidding, anything he asked, in order to get some form of attention, even if it was just a pat on the back. Lucifer craved any type of gratification from his father. And the more Lucifer strived to please him, the more rules his dad put in place.
Don’t embarrasses me. Don’t go to the Garden. Don’t socialise with the humans. Don’t Answer back.
No more, Lucifer thought. He had to stop letting his father control him. Adjusting his cuffs and fixing his tailored-made designer suit, Lucifer regained his posture. He let the depressed feeling that always emerged when he thought about his dad pass. This was his time to shine. HIs father would rue the day he ever decided to cut him off.
Walking over to the chair and picking up his coat, he prepared to leave. Lucifer gazed at the bruised and battered corpse on the floor. Giving the angel one last kick, he left.
After all, he was still the Prince of Darkness, wasn’t he?