Chapter Text
Sunlight poured through the open window, filtered through the leaves of the many trees surrounding the small cottage just outside of the village proper. Birds tittered and chirped loudly, signaling the beginning of a new day. You had been up that long? You were sure to get an earful from your mother if she caught wind of you not sleeping again. This time, you had good reason. It was eating at you.
Out of you, your mother, and your sister, you were the most prone to visions, prophecies, and foretellings. One would think that was a gift from the gods, but one would be wrong. Knowing what hasn’t happened yet is a curse. They plagued you most nights, especially in times of change, and a lot of them involved people you were closest to. Your family was the main target of the visions, and there was no changing them when your unwilling eyes saw them. Your father was the first victim, having foretold his death mere days before it happened. You thought it was a fluke, and spoke nothing of it, passing it off as a nightmare. You were so young and naive, then. The dreams never ceased after the first one, and you’d honed in on the ability a little bit to be able to see it for others, and possibly less dire situations. For the most part, it seemed to work. You did tarot readings at festivals to much success, as later down the line, you would almost always be proven right, for better or for worse.
The vision given to you during the night was particularly distressing. Equipped with the knowledge that the visions weren’t just oddly coincidental dreams or nightmares, the fact that the one you had was so horrific made you vomit the moment you woke. It was like the gods were laughing at you.
The little village you lived near was nice and quaint, everyone knew everyone, the elders made sure the village ran smoothly and everyone usually had a good time. However, with the recent, fervent push from outside forces to convert to this newfangled ‘Christian’ faith, times have been hard. Your family was a family of healers, children born of Ragana the healing witch who protected all who followed her teachings. Your mother healed the physical, having gotten training in wound-tending and tending to the sick in the plague-ridden city she hailed from. Your elder sister healed the mind, taking on the woes of the villagers for a small fee– she was most effective during times of great sorrow, which you saw took a toll on her more than she let on. And you, you were a healer of the soul. With your tarot readings, you gave people hope . When that hope was realized and their lives improved, they’d call you a miracle worker. Miracle. That was one of those newfangled words.
Men from all over the region came through to spread the gospel, the word of God, as they put it. You had taken one of the books they offered, figuring you’d read this ‘holy word’ to see if there was merit to it. It didn’t quite convince you, but the stories held within it were mesmerizing. You could understand how someone would become faithful to such tales, even if this ‘God’ seemed rather fickle and prone to violence. Not unlike other gods, you noted, but him being touted as the one God made you wary. Especially when you read the story of one of the great princes of the holy realm known as Heaven, Lucifer, the Morning Star. Your heart ached for him, reading about his dreams, his ideals being shot down as the rest of Heaven continued to create the world in the image they saw fit. For his one addition to the world, he gifted the newly created mankind the gift of free will, tempting the second wife of Adam with the fruit of knowledge in the Garden of Eden. It was viewed as a terrible act, wreaking havoc now that mankind had a right to their own thoughts and feelings. You would rather that than being a sheep among the masses, waiting for someone’s next move to follow. The fact that Lucifer was cast out with the first wife of Adam had you stewing the first time you read it, your mother and sister teasing you over reading the nonsense in the first place. You didn’t think it was real , but whoever wrote it didn’t like that a deity would want to give the people they just created a will of their own to grow and change with. You’re sure that if Lucifer were real, he wouldn’t like to see his gift spat in his face like this.
That thought brought you back to the thing that had you spiraling in the first place. The vision. It was horrendous, probably the worst one since your father’s death many years ago.
You, your sister, and your mother were all tied tightly to a large wooden pillar. One of the men of the Christian faith who was sent to ‘reform’ your village was proselytizing about the danger of dealing with the devil and unholy ways. People who you knew and trusted turned on you in an instant, watching as flames were lit under you and your family. Your sister screamed out about the injustice, yelling her heart out about how if their God was real, he wouldn't accept this. “How could you do this to us?” She cried. “We've been nothing but kind and helpful and this is how you repay us?”
She wasn't wrong in asking. Your family had served the village for as long as the village had been up, and yet, here you are.
Your mother stayed stoic, though with how her jaw clenched and her eyes welled with tears. You knew she was trying to keep a strong face, even if imminent demise was underway.
Looking out at the crowd, all you could feel was the numbness in your legs as the circulation had been cut off at the ankle from the rope bonds. Your heart thundered in your ears, and you felt like you were going to pass out.
The vision ends there, but you can only imagine what comes after.
Letting out a soft sigh, you go to start breakfast and tend to some of the herbal medicines your mother's been brewing, figuring since you're up you might as well be useful.
***
“Don’t tell me you stayed up all night again,” your sister whispered as you finished up making breakfast.
You rolled your eyes. There was never getting anything past her. “And what difference does it make if I did?” you asked.
Your sister let out a deep sigh, a concerned expression painting her face. “This is the fourth time in the span of a fortnight, sister,” she said. “Are you… is it the visions again?”
“No,” you lied. “I think I just need to use one of Mother’s sleep remedies.”
“I’ll have to start brewing one up after breakfast, then,” your mother chimed in as she made her way over to the table, setting the makings of tea onto it before coming over to help you set everything out.
“Thank you, Mother,” you said, a lopsided grin taking over your features. “I made your favorite this morning since I saw Miaphine bought everything for it at the market the other day.”
“You’re such a sweet girl, my darling,” your mother said, bringing you in for a side hug and pressing a kiss to your temple. She soon released you so that the three of you could go sit and dig in at the table.
A pounding knock on the hardwood door made you jump in your seat, your mother and sister looking at one another across the table. You'd been trying desperately to stay awake enough to be present in the conversation your family was having, but nearly failed until the knock sounded and perked you right back up. Your mother stood and shuffled to the door, unlatching the locks and turning the knob to reveal one of the men you'd seen in your vision. You swallowed, hairs on the back of your neck standing on attention as you could actively feel the warmth drain from your body. Usually, you had a few days before your foretellings became true, what was he doing here so early?
Your sister looked at you, almost as if she knew. “Sister,” she whispered, “a vision? What of?”
You pressed your lips into a tight line as you tore your eyes from the burly man trying to remain pleasant despite his disgust to look at your sister. Concern, a common expression for your sister, took over her features as it did earlier in the morning, only this time with a hint of fear. The fear was well-earned with what you were about to tell her.
Her eyes went wide once you'd explained it all. “Could you… could you be mistaken?” she asked, knowing it was useless to ask. You were never mistaken.
“I wish I was,” you whispered, trying to keep the tears burning at the back of your eyes from pooling at your waterline.
“Can we do anything?”
The desperation in her voice nearly killed you right there.
“No.”
They'd hunt you if you ran. They'd kill you on sight if you fought. There was no escaping this fate you'd foretold, dying at the hands of men who preached the word of their God with an iron fist and intolerance.
You heard a command to arrest the three of you. This was starting too soon. You didn't have enough time to prepare as you were manhandled and dragged out of the cottage with your wrists bound behind your back. You wanted to fight back so badly, you wanted to scream and shout, but there was nothing to be done. A moot point. Your mother's eyes found yours in the chaos, a silent question. Was this foretold? All you could do was look at her solemnly, earning a sad smile and nod from her.
She was never once mad at your ability. She called it a gift, although you felt it to be your fault that your father died. She always told you that it wasn't your fault that the gods and goddesses saw you fit to be entrusted with the knowledge of what would be. She was proud that they had bestowed her children with gifts like you and your sister's, meaning her family was blessed. Even now, you're sure she was trying to find a way to spin this. You'd be martyrs for all of the ‘witches’, as they called you, that came after you. You're probably not the first set of women they've done this to, and you certainly would not be the last.
The three of you were being led to your deaths, and all you could do was ruminate on the fact that you didn't understand: why you ? Was it because you never showed up to the Sunday masses that they held? Was it because other people in the city told them you were healers? That you did readings for people and had inherent knowledge they didn't? There was no trial, there was no explaining yourself. Just immediate punishment for merely existing.
The time between being arrested and being bound and hoisted upon a large, log pillar was a blur to you. The steps you stood upon were moved from under you, leaving your feet to dangle as they began to add kindling beneath you. This was it. It was coming to fruition.
“Before you are three wretches who turn their backs on God, our Father in Heaven, for sin,” here starts the proselytizing. “They cure ailments that have never been cured before, they claim to see the future, to read people's hearts. All blasphemy.”
You stare off blankly as your mind goes numb. What do you do here? Your fate has been written and sealed, how could you defy that? The man was spitting out nonsense that the people you'd known for so long were willing to let be because they bought into this man's lies and trickery disguised as faith. They were making an example out of you. Believe in us, or end up just like these witches . That was no way to instill faith, faith had to be earned by devotion, not fear.
“Do not heed this man's words!” Your sister screamed. “We've done nothing wrong! We see to it that his village is safe and protected and this is how you repay us?”
She was crying. She had been this whole time. Tears and snot streamed down her face, face red and splotchy.
“We've been nothing but kind and helpful! Please, see reason and see that this is just utter nonsense–”
You stopped listening as you watched them light the kindling underneath you. This was it. You were doomed to be roasted alive. The heat licking at your heels only became more intense as the fire started to roar to life, stinging at your exposed skin. You looked to your right to see your mother trying to hold a straight face, just as in your vision. You saw tear tracks lining the skin of her cheeks, her jaw set in determination to keep it together. She always tried to be strong for you and your sister, but in this instance, she should have allowed herself to grieve. Dying with dignity was underrated.
What seemed like hours of agony dragged on, the pain being almost too much to bear, but you held on tightly to life. A thought crossed your mind, deciding to do something you thought might be pointless, but it was worth it to see if someone would hear you. You began to pray, your head hanging in respect to any deity who would listen.
“Hear my plea, gods and goddesses, deities across the world over. Help us. We are undeserving of this punishment for not serving a god that is not our own. I pray unto thee, I beseech you, lend your ears to my prayer, lend your hands to our salvation. Make not us martyrs, but survivors of a terrible fate that has been cast upon us.”
You repeat this over and over again in your head, mumbling it to yourself as you start to intake the smoke surrounding you. Your lungs burned. Everything burned . There was no escaping the fire’s wrath. You were going to keep praying until your soul was ripped from your body. It could not end this way.
***
Lucifer was a prideful man. Cast down to a realm of his own creation after gifting the world free will, he decided meddling in the affairs of the living wasn't his thing anymore. He focused on his wife, Lilith’s, dreams of making a utopia for those who did not meet the requirements to see Heaven’s light. He tinkered, he built, he created, all for her. Hell was becoming a bustling place, as sinners came down in batches, or trickled down. It depended on what was happening up top. There were a lot of souls down here already, but he tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about the fact that the free will he bestowed onto them was being used for deeds he didn't even care to repeat.
He guessed unintended consequences were bound to happen, but he was still bitter about it. He tried not to be, especially in front of Lilith. He just couldn't help but feel scorned.
Toiling away in his workshop at a project he and Lilith had collaborated on, something to improve the quality of life for sinners, he almost didn't hear the faint voice filtering through the sounds of his tools clambering and making a ruckus. He stopped when he felt a faint whispering.
“ ...I beseech you… lend your hands to our salvation… make us not martyrs, but survivors… ”
That brought pause to the King of Hell. Were they reaching out to him ? That couldn't have been right. He listened in again, hearing the full prayer in its entirety. The voice seemed hoarse, raw like whoever was screaming into the void had been doing so far past their limits. They were calling out to everyone. Anyone . No one had heard them? Had no one even thought to assist them? Of course not, Heaven only thought of themselves. He couldn't speak to other deities, having never encountered them, but he knew one thing for sure: Heaven was perfectly fine martyring a soul for their gain.
“Lilith!” Lucifer called as he abruptly stood from his chair, grabbing his coat from the back of it to hastily pull it on. “I'm heading out on an errand, I’ll be back in a bit.”
Lilith appeared in the doorway in all of her glory, an eyebrow arched. “What errand do you need to attend to so badly that it's got you in such a tizzy?” She asked softly.
He debated on telling her the whole truth, knowing she'd probably try to stop him, but he was running out of time, he could feel it.
“A soul on Earth is calling out,” he admitted. “If it's reaching all the way down here, that means Heaven’s ignoring it. I might be bitter at humans, but not enough to let a soul calling out die without getting a chance to live.”
Lilith's expression softened. Seeing her husband so impassioned by this made her reluctance die on her lips. “Go, I'm sure whoever it is may not have much time. Just know, if you help them, they're doomed to become a sinner.”
Lucifer wavered a second. He didn't exactly want that, but… Heaven wasn't helping. He could hear that. The desperation in the voice got worse in his head. “That will have to do,” he said, looking up at his wife. He brought her down to his level for a kiss, keeping it chaste and quick before opening a portal. “I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll be back,” he said softly.
“I know, dear. Now go,” she said, ushering him through the portal.
Lucifer didn't even know where he was going, using the intensity of the voice inside his head as a guide, pulling it like a string to keep him tethered to the source. Eventually, he portaled straight into the scene. It was gruesome, to say the least. Two of the bodies were limp, lifeless. They were most likely dead, considering their souls were missing. The third, the third was in bad shape, but holding on by a thread. He came down in a mess of wings, taking the form he took when he first crashed down into Hell. The crowd that was still there cowered, and the man who seemed to be the leader in all of this looked absolutely petrified with fear. Good.
“What is that thing??”
“What is it doing here?”
“Is it a demon?”
The leader shook in his boots as he took in the sight of the new figure, taking steps back only to stumble and fall on his rear. He continued to scoot back a far ways. He stuttered and stumbled over what he was trying to pry out of his own trembling lips, finally able to get a clear–
“Lucifer!”
The crowd began to panic as Lucifer began to act, using his wings to put out the fire. It didn't necessarily hurt him but he knew if he didn't, the human he was saving would be fork-tender after too long. Making quick work of the bonds, he was able to lift them up into his arms, turning to the scrambling crowd.
“ Let this be a lesson to those who think that Heaven will ever accept the likes of you: all of you will die sinners. The pearly gates will not accept those who forsake the lives of Innocents, no matter in what name. ”
Lucifer’s voice came out booming, shaking the very ground he stood on. He rarely ever used that intonation, but it needed to be said. They would not be getting into Heaven, least of all the man who called for this sort of thing. Flying high, he opened a portal back into his manor and quickly passed through it, immediately getting to work on reforming the charred but alive body in his arms. He didn't make life much anymore, but he could at least fix it as best as possible.
Not caring about the sheets of his bed, he laid them down and began ripping what was left of their clothing off to get to the burns. “Lilith!” He called again. “Lilith I'm going to need your help with this one.” He felt like retching. He'd seen his fair share of shit, but this was insane. Were they barbaric? Burning people in the name of his Father?
Lilith hurried in, Lucifer looking back at her with wide, distraught eyes. Her eyes darted from his to the body on the bed and swallowed. Nodding, the two of them got to work on healing where they could. The extent of the damage was greater than they'd seen in a while, and had Lucifer gotten there a moment too late they would have surely joined the other two bodies wherever they ended up.
The body's back suddenly arched as it took in a gasping breath, their eyes shot wide open as it sucked in as much air as possible in the middle of the healing process. Terrified, pained whines and cries escaped them as they tried to move, but as soon as they did, Lucifer summoned restraints to keep them tethered to the bed.
“Heyheyhey hey it's okay, it's okay,” soothed Lucifer, smoothing some of the caked-on hair out of their face as Lilith administered a sedative. “You're doing great, deep breath for me,” he cooed, taking one with the human to steel himself as well. The sedative slowly worked its way through their system so they could continue to heal where they could, the human’s breathing now leveled out.
Lucifer let out a sigh of relief once they were mostly finished, Lilith wrapping the last bits they couldn't quite heal all the way in bandages after a thorough cleansing. The couple looked at one another, both of them horrified at the implications of what happened to this poor soul.
“Get them to a guest bed while I fetch some clothing for them,” Lilith said softly, getting up to do her part. Lucifer nodded and gently picked them up to transport them to the guest wing.
Lilith appeared not too long afterward with clothing and some water for them to drink when they finally came to. She did the honors of dressing the poor soul and tucking them into the bed, stepping back to stand with her husband as they watched the little human sleep.
“I can see why you went, this is horrendous,” she said after a moment.
“There were two others with them, but they were long dead before I got there,” Lucifer said. “I should have heard sooner, maybe I could have saved one more or–”
A soothing hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up at his beautiful wife, who was giving him a sad smile.
“Please don't beat yourself up over this, my love,” she said. “You saved one, and that's better than none. They'll be grateful to be alive either way. Now, come, let them get some rest. We've got a mess to clean up.”
Lucifer nodded slowly, turning to watch the figure on the bed for a moment before following his beloved out of the room. They cleaned up the mess, the charred bits of flesh and newly created blood were swept away, the sheets were changed, and baths were had. Lucifer couldn’t help but think about the human in the guest wing. How had they gotten into that situation, how did they know to call out like they did? It was obviously a last resort, which meant they’d probably thought of everything they could before they even thought to ask for a higher power’s help.
He laid in bed, awake, not being able to take his mind off of this whole debacle. Why did it matter to him so much? Was it because he was also thought of? He wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t thought of him directly. Why him? Too many questions swirled around in his head. He needed to check up on them.
As gently and quietly as possible, he slipped from his shared bed with his wife and threw something on to make the trek over to the guest wing. He eventually opened up a portal to not wake the poor thing with the door. He didn’t need them scaring like they did earlier with the whole healing thing. He saw them in the same position they were left in, only their head had lolled to the side and they had an arm draped over their eyes. His worried expression softened at the site before him, smiling softly. The King of Hell pulled up a chair beside the bed, watching the little thing as their chest rose and fell at a slow, steady rate. He’d never really dealt with living souls, mainly because humans tended to freak out when an otherworldly presence popped in to give some words of wisdom, but also, he just couldn’t be bothered with them. He had his own people to deal with, and he barely wanted to do that.
But this one, out of all the humans on the planet Earth, had been the first one to call out for him specifically. Even if it was a last-ditch effort to not die, it was still something Lucifer didn’t think anyone would expect, least of all him. He was ‘the most hated man in creation’, after all.
He just hoped this one didn’t hate him like everyone else did.