City of Lights
The street was alive.
Even past midnight, it breathed—cars humming low, neon signs flickering like tired gods, puddles rippling under the slow rhythm of passing feet. The scent of rain lingered from earlier, mixing with exhaust and hot peanuts from a cart that never seed to close.
Lucifer walked with no destination.
No coat. No glamor. Just a loose shirt, sleeves rolled, black slacks, and tired eyes. Hands in pockets. Hair a little tousled. If anyone passed him, they wouldn’t recognize him. Just another man in the city that forgot nas faster than it rembered faces.
He liked it that way tonight.
The club still echoed in his chest. Khaos’s words. That look in her eyes. Her disappointnt felt heavier than any throne ever could.
He stopped at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to change.
Then he heard it.
A voice. Loud. Passionate. Unapologetic.
"...Repent! For the end is already here! Do you not see it? The wars, the floods, the hunger—this world was warned, and it ignored the trumpet’s cry!"
Lucifer turned.
A preacher stood under a streetlamp, holding a worn Bible in one hand and raising the other to the sky. His robe was thin, probably secondhand. The skin around his eyes wrinkled, not from age but from sleeplessness. His shoes had holes. But his voice? It bood with conviction.
A small crowd lingered. So listened. So mocked. So fild. Most just walked past.
Lucifer crossed the street, slow.
He stopped near the edge of the crowd, watching.
The preacher’s eyes burned with fire.
"...And the Devil," he shouted, "walks among you even now! Not in horns! Not with fangs! No! He walks in suits. In power. In perfu and lies. He’s in the boardrooms. In the studios. On your screens. He smiles, and you follow blindly!"
Lucifer smiled faintly.
"Could be anyone," he murmured to himself.
A mont later, the preacher locked eyes with him.
Just a second.
But it stretched.
Lucifer didn’t flinch. He just watched.
The preacher’s voice stilled for a beat, then returned.
"But God watches still. His throne will not remain empty. His children will not be left leaderless. The world may fall, but Heaven does not yield."
Lucifer tilted his head. That struck sothing in him.
After a few more declarations, the crowd thinned. A woman tossed a crumpled bill into the rusted donation tin and walked off. The rest filtered away like smoke.
Lucifer stayed.
The preacher sat on the crate he’d been using as a pulpit. His breath was shallow. Tired. But he didn’t complain. Just rested.
Lucifer stepped forward.
"You believe what you said?" he asked, tone calm.
The preacher looked up, surprised. Then nodded. "Every word."
Lucifer sat on the edge of the curb nearby, elbows resting on his knees. "Even the part about the Devil walking among us?"
"Yes."
"You think he’s here right now?"
The preacher chuckled. "No. Not here here. I ant... in the world. In the systems. The hunger for power. The abandonnt of faith. He’s not a shadow hiding in alleys—he’s in culture. In silence. In forgetting God."
Lucifer nodded slowly. "That’s poetic."
"You mocking ?"
"No. I an it."
The preacher narrowed his eyes. "You’re not like the others. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t film."
Lucifer smiled. "I’ve heard better sermons."
The preacher smirked. "You so kind of preacher too?"
Lucifer paused. "I’ve... held sermons before. Not quite like yours."
"You believe in God?"
Lucifer looked up at the sky. "I know He exists. That’s not the sa thing."
That caught the preacher’s attention. "You speak like a man who’s been there."
"Maybe I have."
The preacher studied him. Sothing about this man didn’t sit right. He was too calm. Too still. Eyes too old for his face.
"You a priest?"
Lucifer laughed. "No."
"Then who are you?"
Lucifer didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch. Then said, "I’m soone trying to understand why people like you still shout into the wind."
The preacher tilted his head. "Because soone has to. Even if no one listens. Even if they mock . I believe the end is coming, and I can’t just stay silent."
"You think your God will return?"
"I know He will."
Lucifer’s jaw tightened slightly. "And if He doesn’t?"
The preacher looked at him, firm. "Then I’ll still be here. Watching. Praying. Because I’m not here for rewards. I’m here because faith ans nothing if it’s only kept when things go right."
Lucifer looked down.
"You really believe the Devil’s the cause of everything bad?" he asked, voice softer now.
"Not everything," the preacher said. "People have their own hands, their own choices. But the Devil... he whispers. He tempts. He twists. He loves seeing people fall."
Lucifer stared at the street.
"What if he’s tired?"
The preacher blinked. "Tired?"
Lucifer nodded slowly. "Tired of being blad. Tired of holding everyone else’s sins. What if he just wants peace?"
The preacher tilted his head, curious. "That’s not how evil works. Evil doesn’t tire. Evil waits."
Lucifer looked him dead in the eye. "And if he regrets it?"
The preacher’s face softened a little. "Then... maybe there’s hope for even him."
Lucifer chuckled bitterly. "Hope, huh."
A long pause followed.
Then Lucifer asked, "Do you think the throne is still empty?"
The preacher looked at him. "It won’t be for long."
Lucifer turned his gaze back to the flickering streetlamp above them. The preacher stood, brushing his robe clean.
"You’re not like the others," he said. "Whoever you are, you’ve seen too much. You carry sothing in you. I don’t know if it’s sorrow or guilt, but it weighs."
Lucifer rose slowly. "It does."
The preacher extended a hand. "Brother Elijah. I preach here every night."
Lucifer took his hand. "Luc."
"Just Luc?"
"For now."
Elijah smiled faintly. "Well, Luc... if you ever need to talk again, I’ll be right here. Even the devil deserves soone to talk to."
Lucifer’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "He might take you up on that."
They parted ways.
Lucifer walked into the fog, deeper into the city. The preacher lit a candle near the crate and knelt to pray.
As Lucifer disappeared, his voice echoed, soft as a thought.
"...Maybe there’s hope for even him."
And above, hidden by clouds, a single star flickered — like it was trying to stay lit.
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