When Lucifer fell to Hell, his form changed. That much was to be expected anyway.

He never thought much of the new hooves and bits of fur, or the tail and horns that came in whenever he was agitated.

Until the fall came around.

It was confusing at the start. Feeling his body growing hotter and hotter and mind plagued with a million thoughts, barely in his control — but in such a different way.

He felt like a buck in a rut. Well, that's probably what was going on.

At least then he had Lilith to help. And ohohoo boy she did. But now he was alone. And in his daughter's hotel no less. By Satan he would be petrified if Charlie found him like this, or that old-timey prick Alastor.

Now he just laid on the bed alone watching movies to distract his hazy mind, his body ablaze with the need for relief.

He tried to ignore the burning sensation spreading through him. It was unbearable. He knew he couldn't go on like this, but what choice did he have? He wouldn't stoop low enough to ask someone for help. Satan no. He was the king of Hell after all... and what kind of king struggles with a rut?

But by Satan the heat was too strong. They made every moment of his existence pure agony, groaning and writhing in bed.

Until he heard a knock on the door, snapping him up from bed on shaking legs.