With the throne room behind him, he had left feeling far more confident than he truly felt, plagued by his doubts. Seeking solace within those familiar walls, he let his steps guide him through the Pandemonium.

  Thus, his loss of power was not a personal feeling. Sitri had taught him nothing: he had felt this decline but had always found an explanation for it. Until his departure from Hell, he had attributed it to the stress of his reign, which was particularly energy-draining. Perhaps that had contributed to his departure, Lucifer reflected, walking through the corridors. Within Humanity, far from Hell, he had justified the decrease in his strength by his distance from his kingdom. Alas, beyond all these reasons, only one truth remained: he was no longer as powerful as he once was. Was he still worthy to rule over the fallen? Could he even protect Abigail, a frail human who had arrived there because of him?

  Lost in thought, he nearly collided with a gigantic jar in the middle of a crossroads. After first trying to figure out where he was, Lucifer discovered he had made his way back to his old quarters. At the intersection of the corridors, this jar had been placed there by his successor. Made of dark onyx, far too large to serve any purpose other than decoration, the urn was engraved with Samael's seal and adorned with a photorealistic and intricate painting of him and his legions. After a moment of contemplation, the Devil looked down the corridor leading to his former abode, torn by the thought of going there. Would he truly find solace, or would it only lead to guilt over his departure?

  Though he ventured forward, the glass door opening onto Pandora stopped him nonetheless. Observing the capital from above, he felt a strange unease, uncomprehending, that troubled him. Both drawn and intrigued, Lucifer reached a nearby balcony and launched himself down to glide toward the streets of his city. Gliding through the air to the central square, at the heart of the avenues that encircled the capital, he landed on its dark cobblestones and surveyed his surroundings. Alas, he soon understood what disturbed him in these all-too-familiar streets.

  Like a dreamlike nightmare, no soul disturbed the tyrannical silence reigning over Pandora. No laughter, no raised voices, not even the slightest sound of activity. Whether in the parks, the squares, or the houses, everything had been abandoned, and a layer of dust was already settling, sheltered from the wind. What had been, a decade earlier, the prosperous Capital of Hell was now nothing more than a ghost town.

  And yet, wherever he searched, Lucifer found no trace of a battle, as if the inhabitants had simply deserted the infernal city, driven into exile by the new regent. Like pious men, Beelzebub's words returned to him: all this was his fault, the evils of Hell were his doing. Had he remained, he could have prevented all this; preserved the peace of his kingdom, stopped his former General from seizing power.

  The truth crashed down upon him, heavier than a pall of osmium, more oppressive than the strongest gravity. His legs trembled, his throat tightened, his stomach heaved. Lucifer trudged back to Pandora's central square and sat down against the obelisk piercing it. "Am I truly the source of all this? The source of the Evil that Humanity calls me? After all, Hell, the torture of souls, the sins of humans… All of this came about only because of my existence. Without me, no rebellion; without rebellion, no perdition of the angels," Lucifer thought, clutching his legs. Suddenly, a thought more nihilistic than the others seized him. "Perhaps I would have been better off perishing fighting the Darkness?"

  Raising his eyes to Heaven, the Devil sought a sign from his adversary but found only the tip of the immense column behind him. Like a dagger of providence, he recalled the erection of the obelisk in the early days of Pandora. Raising it as much as a promise of a better life as an affront to their original Heavens, Lucifer had sworn to the fallen people that he would always protect them. At its summit, a metaphorical testament to his failure, a hollow adorned it, where once there had been a gem, whose twin now adorned the throne occupied by Beelzebub.

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  Surrounded by evidence of his defeat, Lucifer simply gave up and buried his head between his legs, his eyes closed.

  Time flowed over him, holding no more sway than the seconds that crushed him with the weight of his mistakes. Were the Sun to burn out, were the Universe to expand until the sky was emptied of stars, were the planet to return to the dust from which it sprang, Lucifer would not move. Alas, condemned to endure the slow passage of time, he could only wait, feeling the world turn, one second at a time.

  His ordeal, however, did not end there: not far from him, he perceived three demons exchanging words and shouting as they approached. Although he heard them notice him and then call out to him, questioning him about the reason for his presence there, the former monarch chose not to answer them. Unfortunately, his silence attracted them, and they questioned him once more. With a kick, one of them sought an answer from him, but his lack of reaction only angered him further. The sound of a summoned weapon resonated in his ears, and while in the past Lucifer would have seized the opportunity to rise majestically and sweep them aside with a flick of his scepter, today he doubted he was still capable of it. Did he even have enough strength left to do so? Or, as the demons had abandoned him, would that too fail him? After all, did he even want to defend himself? Even with such obviousness, as he felt the heat of the blade settle on his head, Lucifer doubted his own answer.

  Suddenly, the wind rose; the gust transformed into a tornado and unleashed its fury upon the demons in a cacophony of screams and clanging metal. As abruptly as it had arisen, the storm subsided, and Lucifer sensed a newcomer approaching him. Strangely, this being knelt; Lucifer could tell even with his eyes closed. Whether out of respect or curiosity, the Devil raised his head and observed this strange fallen being, prostrate before him. His memory failing him, he couldn't recall the angel's name and questioned him.

  "Forgive my ignorance, fallen one, but I do not remember your name," he confessed, apologetically.

  "Nitha?l, Monseigneur," replied the still prostrate being. "As for your lack of recognition, it is quite natural: I am... I was a primordial angel; I fell during your absence."

  "Nitha?l," repeated the Devil, memorizing the name. "Thank you for your gesture, strange as it was."

  "You are the sovereign of the fallen, Sire," Nitha?l proclaimed. "It is an honor to lend a hand to you."

  “Nithael, you did not live under my rule, nor were you deposed because of me,” declared Lucifer, struggling to understand the fallen king’s motives. “In retrospect, it was even my fault that you had to fight your brothers and sisters during the First Heavenly War. You have no obligation to consider me your King.”

  “And yet you are, Sire,” Nitha?l insisted. “It is true that I participated in the First Heavenly War against Hell and that I do not know what kind of sovereign you are; but my fallen peers do. And it is through their tales of your exploits, of your kindness, that I knew I wanted to serve you.”

  “So you have wasted your time, Nitha?l,” judged the Devil. “Today, my power is gone. I am but a shadow of my former self; the ghost of the proud madman who once imagined himself the equal of the Creator. Beelzebub knows it, the fallen know it, and I doubt that God is unaware of it.”

  “Sire, I beg your pardon, but you are wrong,” the fallen king insisted, kneeling before him. “Will you truly believe the words of the false king Beelzebub? Will you allow the Creator’s will to influence you, you who signed the Pact in the name of the Adversary? You were the brightest of the archangels, greater even than Michael, than Gabriel. You stood equal before the Almighty.”

  “And all that belongs to the past,” Lucifer countered. “But where does this trust in me come from, Nithael? I have done nothing to deserve such devotion…”

  “You may consider all of that behind you, but not the fallen,” Nitha?l explained, straightening his back. “You created Hell, where beings like me, weary of following His commands without understanding, without choosing, can be welcomed. A place for the banished, the rejected, the fallen. You created Purgatory, humanity’s chance for redemption, allowing them to reach Paradise. And these are but two of your deeds. How many other fallen would testify in your favor? My devotion is but a reflection of their loyalty. Your exile is irrelevant; Beelzebub’s devastation and the deaths he caused are irrelevant… To the Fallen, you remain Lucifer, Lux Fero, the Light-Bearer. The one who allowed them to live when the Almighty condemned them. Rise, My Lord, so that I may lead you to your people.”