Chapter Text
Charlie didn't understand. The man she knew as her hotelier, the frustrating, charming, maddening demon who had promised to help her, was gone.
In his place was a monster, hanging impaled on her father's sword, laughing like a maniac.
"Oh, Charlie dear! You are a blessing to your kingdom!" he rasped, his voice a wet, gurgling symphony of static. "You truly did give me the solution to our despair!"
She stared, horrified, at the bubbling pool below him.
It wasn't water.
It was his blood, flowing in an impossible, continuous stream, coalescing around a dark, misshapen core—the Apple of Eden.
Through its fractured surface, she could see designs, intricate and terrible, etching themselves into being, darkness leaking from every line.
She had been a coward, rushing forward in a blind rage when he seemed so preoccupied, so distracted. Her, the Princess of Hell, tricked by a cheap magic trick.
"You're insane," she screamed, yanking him by the collar, pulling his face close to hers. His skin was cold, clammy.
"Even as you're dying, you're laughing! Why, Alastor? Why did you do it, even if it meant your death?"
"Truly... I didn't see it coming to this..." he whispered, his smile finally, truly fading.
"But I think... it's for the best. 'They' will come... to tell me when... it's ready. After all... I kept... my part of the deal."
His eyes drooped, the light in them extinguishing like a candle in a hurricane.
The Apple in the pool below began to glow, the designs on its surface spinning faster, drinking in the last of his blood.
Charlie was too consumed by her own fury to notice the intensifying light until it erupted in a silent, blinding flash. The force threw her back, slamming her against the far wall. When her vision cleared, Alastor's body was gone, enveloped by the light.
The pool was empty. All that remained at the bottom was a single, red-and-gold apple, from which a faint, sentient darkness—Roo—was already beginning to seep.
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Alastor had miscalculated. One simple, arrogant mistake.
He had needed a link, a bridge between Hell and Heaven to stabilize the new Apple.
Amaris had been one, as were Lucifer and Charlie. He would not have dared to use them. So, he had thought his own demonic blood might suffice.
A tiny bit.
The blood Charlie had spilled during their first fight had done the job, but only a fraction. The profuse bleeding from his arm, a full litre of his essence, had completed a fifth of the necessary work. But the damage to Hell, the disintegration that was now reaching the gates of Heaven, was accelerating too quickly. He couldn't afford to waste time finding a more elegant solution.
So he had forced the final act. He just hadn't expected Charlie's sword to find his heart so precisely. He had thought she was out for the count. Well, she was indeed full of surprises.
Maybe he was really dying. Maybe this was the end.
But it didn't feel like an ending. He didn't feel the finality of oblivion. As the light enveloped him, as his very being fragmented into a million motes of dust, he felt only a profound sense of relief. Just a bit of sleep... He was so, so tired.
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Husk no longer felt the weight of his chains, the magical bond to Alastor's soul. But he didn't feel free. He felt hollow. The truth he carried was a heavier burden than any contract.
Flashback
He was just looking for booze, rummaging through Alastor's private stock, a habit he knew would earn him a sneer but not much else. He didn't mean to overhear the hushed, furious argument from behind a locked door.
"Alastor! You can't do this! Let me—"
"NO!" Alastor's voice was a low snarl, devoid of its usual theatricality. "I've stooped lower than this. I've done your tasks, I've played your games. This is NOTHING. Nothing I can't endure."
"It's all my fault! I should have—"
"No, it was our fault," Alastor cut in, his tone laced with a bone-deep weariness. "I should have tried harder to restrict the information from you. You did not have to fall to that temptation. And he... that person should never have been allowed to get to you."
"Who?"
"Oh, you'll know," Alastor's voice was cold, final. "You'll know when the gates of Heaven open again. If they ever do. Now, I need time to prepare. Without your bickering."
"You don't have to—"
There was no sound. Then, a tired sigh, and the soft thump of something flopping onto a chaise lounge.
"Tomorrow," Alastor murmured, more to himself than to Lilith. "Tomorrow, all of it will be over."
The other voice was Lilith's. Husk crept away from the door, his heart pounding. He finally understood. Alastor wasn't just being an asshole; he was playing a part, taking the blame, protecting them all from the truth of Lilith's mistake.
End Flashback
And now, the chains were gone. All he felt was a cold, gnawing regret.
The silence in the hotel lobby was a heavy, suffocating blanket, punctuated only by Charlie's quiet, broken sobs from the other room.
Lucifer paced like a caged tiger, his golden boots leaving scuff marks on his own pristine floor. Every fiber of his being screamed with a chaotic mix of grief, rage, and a profound, bone-deep helplessness. His world was ending, his daughter was heartbroken, and the architect of it all had just vanished in a flash of light.
His eyes landed on Husk, hunched in an armchair, the cat demon's shoulders shaking with silent, gut-wrenching tears. It was the spark that lit the fuse.
"Why are you crying for that?" Lucifer's voice was a low, dangerous growl, the sound of a king who has lost everything and needs someone to blame.
"He's gone. The chains are broken. You're free."
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Husk.
"He was a monster! A manipulative snake who used you, who hurt my daughter, who played you all for fools for his own sick entertainment!"
"He was an asshole, yeah, but he was our asshole!" Angel Dust's voice cut through the air like a shard of glass.
He immediately stepped between Lucifer and Husk, his multiple arms spread in a protective stance. "You didn't know him! You didn't see the shit he did for us, the chances he gave us when no one else would!"
Lucifer scoffed, a bitter, ugly sound. "Chances? He held your soul in his hand, Husk! He tormented you for sport! And you," he sneered, turning his full attention to Angel, "he saw you as a joke, a passing amusement!"
"Maybe!" Angel shot back, his voice cracking with a fury that was born from love and loss. "But he was still here! He was part of this! He gave a damn when it counted, which is more than I can say for the King of Hell, who only shows up when it's time to start a war!"
The accusation struck Lucifer like a physical blow. He reeled back as if slapped. But it wasn't Angel's words that finally broke through his rage. It was Husk.
The cat demon slowly lifted his head. His face was a mess of tears and grime, but his eyes... his eyes were clear. They weren't filled with anger or fear, but with a deep, weary pity. It was the look of someone who knew a terrible truth, a truth that Lucifer, in all his power and grief, had been blind to. Husk didn't say a word. He just looked at his king, and in that silent, knowing gaze, Lucifer saw not a subject, but a witness. He saw a man mourning a friend who had sacrificed everything, and he felt a wave of shame so cold and powerful it extinguished the fire of his anger.
The King of Hell, a being of immense power, looked suddenly small and lost. His regal posture failed, his shoulders slumping. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. What could he say? He had raged at a man for grieving his friend, a friend who had just died to save Lucifer's own kingdom. He had been so consumed by his own pain, he had dismissed the pain of others.
"I..." he began, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I... didn't..."
Husk just shook his head slowly, then looked away, the conversation over. He pushed himself out of the chair, his movements stiff.
"I... I need to be alone," Husk rasped, his voice rough with emotion. "I need to see Rosie. I can't... I can't be here."
Lucifer didn't stop him. He could only watch as Husk trudged away, a solitary figure leaving the wreckage of a battle he'd never wanted to fight.
Angel watched him go, then turned back to Lucifer, his own anger now cooled to a simmering sadness. He pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly. "Yeah... well, I gotta make sure Cherri's okay." He shot Lucifer one last, lingering look—a look of profound disappointment—before turning away to make his call.
Left alone in the center of the room, Lucifer stood in the suffocating silence. The weight of his own words, his own blindness, crashed down upon him. He wasn't just a king who had failed his kingdom; he was a father who had failed to see the loyalty right in front of him. And for the first time in a long, long time, Lucifer Morningstar felt utterly, completely ashamed.
It didn't take long to get there. The emporium was quiet, a somber stillness hanging over it. Husk carried a fuzzy, red blanket under his arm—the one Amaris had always loved.
He pushed the door open quietly. Rosie was still asleep on a settee, her face peaceful despite the chaos. But on the floor, in a patch of moonlight from a grimy window, was a small, sleeping form.
Husk's breath caught in his throat. He knelt, gently draping the blanket over the girl. She stirred, her red-tufted ears twitching, but didn't wake. She was solid. Real.
Amaris had returned.
.
.
Lucifer had gone to open the gates of hell to heaven and was surprised to see sera Emily Adam.. And someone he had not seen a long time ago.
"Eve?? But how?"
"Beleive me I was as shocked as you are"
.
...
Lute had followed sera and Emily at a loss.
Why weren't they allowed to go down to hell. It was time wasn't it? Why the sudden change in plans?
Sera was far ahead holding the arm of someone who was struggling.
"let go of me. You didn't try to free me so what's the deal"
She recognized the voice..
"Eve??"
.