Like a Prayer

King Lucifer, which art in Hell

Lucifer woke up with a start, Chloe's voice still ringing in his ears as he took in his surroundings.

Granted, the King of Hell had no real need for sleep. Rest was nothing but a human weakness, a necessity of the flesh and bones he used to inhabit - but that body was just a memory now, replaced by the burnt, marred skin of the Devil.

Damned be thy name

So, no. He had no logical reason to sleep.

And yet, he did.

He slept, under the excuse that it made time go by faster. That the hours of unconsciousness allowed him to recharge after a full day of mind-numbing, boring torture. That it was the only thing keeping his anger at his Father at bay.

He slept.

And if any demon dared asking, he'd say it was because sleeping helped him forget.

Thy kingdom rise

The truth was, it wasn't oblivion that he craved. As a matter of fact, the Devil's deepest, darkest desire was remembrance - something that seemed to only be within his reach when he was asleep.

Because with sleep, came the nightmares.

And in his nightmares, he'd always have Chloe.

Thy wish be fulfilled in Earth

The irony wasn't lost on him: he was the one who'd invented nightmares, intent on giving humanity a sample of the kind of torture that awaited for them in the depths of Hell. For years, he'd watched his Father's toys, their anguish and distress bringing him insurmountable pleasure as, time and time again, they were faced with the distorted allegories of the sins and fears that haunted their souls.

As it is in Hell

He'd already been in Hell for what felt like a whole millennium - therefore, barely a month had passed on Earth - before things changed.

It started with her voice, echoing in faintly in the distance, reverberating in the ashes that lingered in the air. Then, it was her perfume, invading his nostrils as if his surroundings didn't reek of sulphur and despair.

He was on the verge of thinking he was hallucinating when the tingling began.

Bring us now our due punishment

Lucifer wasn't all that familiar with the mechanics of prayer. In fact, given the number of self-proclaimed satanists that littered the confines of Hell, he was pretty damned sure that Father Almighty had been intercepting most of the calls for him, under the guise of celestial errors or human stupidity.

What he did know was this: the weirdly pleasant tingling down his spine meant that a human was trying to get his attention, and it was up to him to decide whether a prayer would ever be heard.

Blame it on boredom, curiosity, or an irresistible wish to grant favours - either way, no prayer to the Devil had ever fallen on deaf ears.

Let alone, those that tasted like the Detective's lips.

And grant us all our wishes

In all the years of his Dad-damned existence, few days had brought him the sharp, all-consuming pain that he felt when, after countless nights of muted echoes, her prayer gained enough strength that he could truly hear her.

The souls in Hell would never forget the day when the Devil finally got to hear her voice, the power of his fury hardly a match to the lacerating pain brought upon him by the overwhelming sensation that she was, once again, within his reach.

Which we shall repay in favours

Two more nights passed before the all-consuming ache subsided and he found it in himself to listen to the words she said.

On the third night, for the first time in two thousand years, the pits of Hell heard the Devil laugh.

For the prayer that left the lips of God's miracle child was but a subverted version of the Lord's Prayer - the one introduced to humankind by the Father's bastard.

And help us fall into temptation

He wasn't sure how he found the strength to endure that sweet torture, but fifteen more nights passed before he gave in to his own desire and, once again, donned the skin and bones of Lucifer Morningstar.

Surely, Hell wouldn't break loose if he went to Earth for just a few moments at a time.

And show us all that's evil

He found her asleep, her hands clutching the bullet pendant he'd given her as tightly as a nun would grasp a rosary.

And she looked beautiful, heavenly, in that way that always made him feel inadequate. Inferior.

Damned.

For thine is sin

He wanted to touch her - needed to touch her.

But as much as he longed for one more chance to kiss her lips, one more chance to hear her laugh, he doubted that his immortal soul would survive the pain of breaking her heart one more time.

Instead, he left.

And pride, and desire

Unlike his Father, he wasn't keen on treating his worshippers to radio silence and twisted signs, and the Detective wouldn't be an exception.

Before he spread his wings and vanished, he'd made sure she'd know that he'd been listening.

When she woke up the next morning, the first thing she'd see would be his obsidian ring - square-cut, black as his soul.

The second most valuable thing in his whole world.

For ever and ever

Amen

A/N: The idea for this story came as I read BrilliantLady's "A Child's Prayer", and I just had to write this. I got it all done in a day or so, so I hope it's not awful!

As usual, reviews are always welcome!