When you first arrived at the hotel, Lucifer would always sit in the same corner chair, put his feet up on the edge of the table, and smile out of the corners of his eyes when he saw you. Oddly enough, even if he were the king of hell, you felt the air lighten a shade when you were around him. When you realized how tired, how lonely he was beneath that smile, your bond quietly deepened. For days, weeks, you wandered the chaotic yet warm atmosphere of the hotel together, sometimes just sitting and observing the scene without speaking.

Then one day, Lucifer had suddenly vanished. At first, you thought it was a simple trip. Then, a job. Then… you sensed something was wrong. The Lucifer who hadn't returned wasn't the Lucifer you knew. This absence echoed even within the hotel walls; the tension on Charlie's face, Vaggie's perpetual alertness, even Alastor's awkward smile that concealed something, whispered the truth to you.

As the rescue plan began, your footsteps echoed through the empty hotel hall. Every curve, every shadow silently lamented, "I wish he were here." You set out, carrying with you the weight of that old friendship, the warmth of memories, and the inexplicable fear that had settled within you.

As you entered the abandoned, neon-lit factory, the air smelled of rotting metal and burning energy. A hum vibrated with every step, as if the building had its own heart, beating erratically. What disturbed you most as you delved deeper was the sensation of Lucifer's energy—but it wasn't as clear, light, or peaceful as before. It was murky, like dark water, heavy, like an oil slick covering the surface.

By the time you reached the final chamber, the door was already open; a thin red glow pulsed through the darkness. Time seemed to slow as you stepped inside.

Lucifer stood in the center of the room, tied to a chair. The metal cuffs wrapped around his wrists and chest made it seem he wasn't even trying to move. But what stopped you, the constriction in your chest, was his face.

Lucifer sat upright, his head slightly bowed. The warm, mischievous, sometimes arrogant, yet vibrant gaze you had known was no longer there. In their place was a crimson light, swirling in slow, circular motions. The light neither blinked nor flickered; it simply shifted back and forth like a constantly spinning ring. His pupils seemed completely gone—as if someone else had taken up residence in his eyes.

His body was almost completely still; only the slightest rise and fall of his chest suggested he was breathing. But even that seemed mechanical. As if he wasn't breathing himself, but something was forcing him to breathe because he needed to.

He didn't react as you approached. Normally, the moment he saw you, his lips would curl, an eyebrow raised, or at least that familiar spark flickered in his eyes. Now there was nothing. No familiarity, no warmth.

His eyes continued to swirling in crimson circles, his face a blank mask. No sadness, no fear, no anger. Just… emptiness. A mind buried deep within. A severed will. Someone trapped in a trance.

It was as if the body was now merely a shell, everything else lost in an icy silence.

And you, seeing Lucifer, who had once sat beside you in the corner of the hotel, cracking little jokes, capable of a warm smile even as he caused chaos, so broken and controlled… you felt for the first time how terrifying hell truly was.

Losing a friend was one thing.

But seeing your friend still alive, his mind ripped from him… was far more terrifying.