Chapter 337: I’m Done Fighting For You
Lucifer woke up slowly.
Warm morning light spilled across his bare chest, slipping between thin curtains swaying gently in the breeze. The sheets tangled around his hips as he stretched, muscles rippling under pale skin. He let out a quiet groan, feeling old bones crack back into place.
His hair was a mess. Black strands fell over his eyes, and he ran a lazy hand through them, ruffling them further instead of fixing them. He sat up, staring at the polished wood floor for a moment, eyes half-closed, mind drifting in quiet nothingness.
Then he snapped his fingers.
Music filled the room instantly. Smooth jazz, warm and mellow, trickled from hidden speakers embedded in the walls. Saxophones melted into quiet pianos, each note brushing against his skin like soft fingertips.
He smiled faintly.
Swinging his legs off the bed, he stood, rolling his neck side to side until it popped. The loose black sweatpants hanging from his hips shifted with each step as he walked across the room.
The music shifted into something upbeat. A faint percussion kicked in, mixed with old-school funk basslines. He started humming along. Then he snapped his fingers again, and the volume rose slightly.
Lucifer began to dance.
Not in the way humans danced—awkward and self-conscious. But with fluid, perfect grace. Each movement rolled through his body like water flowing down a stone path. Hips swayed. Feet slid across the wooden floor in smooth arcs. Shoulders dipped with the beat, head tilting to the rhythm as the music swelled.
He spun once, arms stretching out, hands flexing in the warm air. His black hair floated around his face before settling back into place. The room seemed to glow around him, light catching dust motes in silent halos.
He felt... good.
Alive, in a quiet way. The old ache in his chest dulled for a moment under the warmth of music and sunlight.
Then he danced out of the bedroom, down the short hall lined with bookshelves packed with worn spines. He slid past the open study door, flicking his wrist to shut it with a silent gust of power. The music followed him as he stepped down the polished stairs, bare feet brushing against smooth mahogany.
He spun down the last two steps, landing lightly on the marble foyer floor.
And his mood died instantly.
They were waiting for him.
Michael stood near the front windows, arms folded, his tall frame dressed in black as usual. His dark hair fell in perfect neatness across his forehead, eyes calm but hard. The sight of him alone was enough to drag a scowl across Lucifer’s lips.
Beside Michael stood Raphael, quiet and solemn, his hands clasped lightly in front of him. His eyes flicked to Lucifer with faint pity, which only annoyed Lucifer further.
Uriel was near the bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of old poetry volumes. She glanced back when he entered, her lips curving into a soft smile.
And Exousia stood slightly apart from them, near the grand piano by the windows, her gaze unreadable.
Lucifer let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping as the music continued to play softly behind him.
"Really?" he said, his voice flat. "First thing in the morning?"
Michael didn’t reply. His gaze flicked down, taking in Lucifer’s bare chest and loose pants, then back to his face.
Lucifer sneered faintly. "Enjoying the view, brother?"
Uriel chuckled softly from the shelves. "It’s good to see you dancing again."
Lucifer’s eyes softened as he glanced at her. "Morning, Uriel."
"Morning," she replied, her voice calm and warm.
He flicked his gaze back to Michael, and his mood soured again instantly. "What do you want?"
Michael tilted his head slightly. "We need to talk."
Lucifer walked past him without a glance, heading to the kitchen counter where a fresh pot of coffee sat brewing. He snapped his fingers once, and a mug drifted from the shelf to his waiting hand. He poured slowly, the steam rising to brush across his lips.
"I’m not interested," he said simply.
Raphael stepped forward slightly. "Lucifer, please."
Lucifer took a sip of the coffee, eyes closing as the bitter warmth flooded his mouth. For a moment, he said nothing. Just stood there, letting the taste sink into his bones.
Then he lowered the cup and looked at Raphael.
"You I can tolerate," he said softly. His eyes flicked to Uriel. "Her, I cherish."
Uriel smiled faintly, brushing her hair back over her shoulder.
Lucifer turned his gaze to Michael, his jaw tightening. "But you..."
Michael stared back, unflinching. "This isn’t about us."
"It’s always about us," Lucifer snapped, his voice low but sharp. "Don’t pretend otherwise."
Silence fell across the room. The music continued to play softly, the mellow jazz weaving through tense air.
Exousia stepped forward. "Lucifer."
He turned to her, his gaze softening slightly. "Yes?"
"You know why we’re here."
Lucifer sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "The outerverse thing. Yes, I know."
Michael clenched his fists. "It’s adapting. Faster than we expected. If it stabilises fully—"
"Then your little playground burns," Lucifer finished flatly. He took another sip of coffee, his eyes half-lidded. "Not my problem."
Uriel stepped closer, her boots clicking softly against the marble. "Please. Help us."
Lucifer looked into her eyes, silent for a long time. Then he glanced at Michael again, the old anger burning behind his calm gaze.
"You know why I won’t," he said softly.
Michael said nothing. His jaw tightened, his eyes flicking away.
Lucifer downed the rest of his coffee in one long gulp, setting the cup down with a quiet clink.
"Get out," he said quietly.
Raphael sighed. "Lucifer—"
"Get. Out."
Uriel reached out and touched his arm lightly. "We’ll try again later."
He didn’t look at her. Just nodded once, his hair falling across his eyes.
One by one, they turned and left. Michael was the last to go, pausing at the front door to look back.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Michael turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.
Lucifer stood alone in the quiet room, the music still playing in the background. He ran a hand across his face, feeling the old scars under his skin—scars no one could see but him.
He walked to the window and watched them go, his siblings lifting into the sky like dark birds, their wings folding out against the pale morning sun.
He exhaled slowly, the glass fogging faintly under his breath.
"I’m done fighting for you," he whispered to the empty room.
Then he snapped his fingers, and the music shifted to something darker, something older. Heavy drums and low, humming voices filled the air.
He turned away from the window and walked back to the kitchen, pouring another cup of coffee.
Outside, the world moved on, unaware that salvation and damnation had shared the same room that morning.
And Lucifer drank his coffee in silence, eyes calm and empty, as the music rolled on around him.