A few minutes earlier—
"I know how you must feel..." Francisca said gently, placing her hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. He barely reacted, just kept staring into his glass, the golden liquid inside swirling slowly.
"And now with the appearance of your brother... and him trying to kill her, you have to stop him. You need to hear what your mother has to say first. She must have her reasons," Francisca added softly.
Lucifer didn’t answer. His fingers just tightened around his glass until the rim cracked.
Ella sat nearby, silently watching him. She wanted to say sothing — anything — but the only thing spinning in her mind was the mory of his hands on her body. She missed it. She missed him.
Angel, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch, let out a dramatic sigh.
"Where the hell is Ken when the drama finally gets good?!" she said, annoyed that her brother wasn’t there to witness all this chaos.
Suddenly—
The room shifted.
The air grew colder, heavy like a storm was about to break.
From Mob’s shadow, sothing started pulling itself up. Slowly. nacingly.
It was Rey.
With one hand, he dragged soone up by the neck — Alessia, struggling in his grip — and with the other, he sucker-punched Mob straight in the stomach, sending him sprawling backward.
"Two demons in one place..." Rey said, his voice amused but dark. "That’s not sothing you see every day in the mortal realm."
He tightened his grip on Alessia’s throat.
"Now... which one of you idiots sent this little vamp to spy on ?"
Lucifer slowly turned his head, his eyes narrowing when he saw Alessia dangling there.
He imdiately knew.
She had been caught.
Worse—
Now he knew who had been stalking him from the shadows all these days.
Lucifer placed his glass down quietly and rose from his chair, his face unreadable.
"Let her go..." he said coldly, voice low and dangerous. "If you know what’s good for you."
Rey raised an eyebrow, still smirking.
"I see... So you sent her," Rey said. "Guess you’re not as dumb as I thought. But next ti, try sending soone who isn’t trash."
The words barely left Rey’s mouth before Lucifer’s aura exploded.
It wasn’t just killing intent.
It was pure, raw predator instinct.
Everyone in the room froze.
Their skin prickled. Their hearts raced. Instinct scread at them to run.
Even Rey tensed.
Taking advantage of the mont, Alessia twisted out of Rey’s grip and lted into the shadows, reappearing behind Lucifer, breathing hard but safe.
Lucifer didn’t even glance at her.
He was already moving.
With a burst of speed that cracked the floor beneath his feet, Lucifer appeared in front of Rey and drove his fist into his gut — hard.
CRACK!
Rey’s eyes widened as he was sent flying, crashing into the far wall and shattering it into pieces.
But Lucifer didn’t stop there.
Before Rey could even fall, Lucifer was already in front of him again — a blur of movent — grabbing him by the throat and slamming him face-first into the ground, the floor buckling under the impact.
THOOM!
Lucifer lifted him again, throwing punch after punch into Rey’s face, gut, ribs — not holding back.
Not caring.
Each hit echoed like thunder through the room.
Blood sprayed across the walls.
Rey tried to block, tried to swing back — but Lucifer caught his fist mid-air, twisted it till it snapped, and then smashed his knee into Rey’s jaw, sending blood and teeth flying.
Lucifer grabbed him by the hair and slamd him against the floor again.
And again.
And again.
Until Rey’s face was barely recognizable. His body was shaking, coughing blood, barely conscious.
But Lucifer’s rage wasn’t done.
He grabbed Rey by the collar, lifted him up effortlessly like he weighed nothing, and whispered coldly into his ear.
"You picked the wrong night."
Then he hurled him across the room, sending Rey crashing through the double doors and skidding across the hallway like a broken doll.
Silence.
The others just stared — wide-eyed, stunned — at the sheer brutality.
Even Mob, rubbing his stomach, whistled low.
"Remind never to piss him off..."
Lucifer stood there, chest heaving slightly, his eyes glowing like molten gold.
He wasn’t breathing hard.
He wasn’t tired.
He was just...
seething.
And looking at Rey’s broken form like he wasn’t even worth killing.
Alessia, standing behind him, watched with wide, awed eyes.
Her sire... was a monster.
But for so reason, she didn’t feel fear.
She felt safe.
Lucifer frowned.
He could feel it — trouble outside. His instincts scread at him just seconds before a loud crash echoed through the mansion.
Without wasting a breath, he walked to Rey’s battered body, grabbed him by the hair like a ragdoll, and dragged him across the floor.
With a grunt, he hurled him straight at the wall — BOOM! — destroying it completely, leaving a gaping hole.
Dust and broken stone filled the air as Lucifer slowly stepped through it, his figure cutting a cold, terrifying silhouette against the evening sky.
His eyes were burning red — glowing so violently it looked like they were bleeding light.
What he saw made his blood boil.
Ruka — his supposed brother — was impaled, slumped against the broken ground, bleeding badly.
Temmy lay nearby, unmoving, blood trickling from her mouth.
Lucifer’s hands clenched so hard his knuckles cracked.
It was as if the whole world had decided tonight was the night to truly piss him off.
His voice ca out low. Deadly.
"You touched... my brother."
He took a step forward, the ground shuddering slightly under his foot.
"You’re dead."
Before he could move again, a chilling laugh echoed through the ruined courtyard.
A figure stood there.
Golden eyes gleaming under the moonlight.
Fangs bared.
Blood dripping from her hand.
It was Vina.
She pulled her bloodied hand out of Ruka’s body and turned her head toward Lucifer, a wicked smile curling her lips.
"No," she said, her voice sharp and full of venom.
"You’re the one who’s dead."
She roared at him, the sound shaking the very air, her golden eyes flashing with madness.
The wind howled around them, kicking up dirt and leaves, as the tension between them reached a breaking point.
Lucifer said nothing.
He just smiled.
A cold, bone-chilling smile that showed no humanity at all.
Without warning — without a signal — he moved.
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