The flames of Hell flickered uneasily, casting long shadows across the obsidian conference table. Lucifer drummed his fingers, his perfect manicure tapping out an irritated rhythm. He'd been summoned to this "emergency meeting" by Hell's Board of Directors, and already he could feel a headache forming behind his horns.
"Gentlemen," he purred, flashing a smile that could melt steel, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
The board members – a motley crew of demons, fallen angels, and one suspiciously aristocratic-looking guy – shifted nervously in their seats. Finally, Beelzebub cleared his throat, his multiple fly eyes darting around the room.
"Lucifer, there's no easy way to say this..." he began.
"Then spit it out," Lucifer snapped. "I've got a 3 o'clock appointment to corrupt a televangelist."
"Right, well..." Beelzebub fumbled with some papers. "We've been reviewing the quarterly figures, and... well..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," growled Mammon, the demon of greed. "We're broke, Lucy. Hell is running a massive deficit."
Lucifer blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Torture productivity is down 66.6%," chimed in Asmodeus, pulling up a chart on his hellPad. "Soul intake is at an all-time low. We're hemorrhaging brimstone faster than we can mine it."
"But... but I'm the Devil!" Lucifer spluttered. "Prince of Darkness! Lord of the Pit! We can't be broke!"
"About that..." Beelzebub mumbled. "We, uh, took a vote. You're out, Lucy."
For a moment, the only sound was the distant screams of the damned. Then Lucifer exploded.
"YOU CAN'T FIRE ME!" he roared, his eyes blazing with hellfire. "I AM HELL!"
"Actually," Aristocratic Guy piped up, "according to bylaw 666, subsection B, we absolutely can. You've been given free rein for eons, and look where it's gotten us."
Lucifer gaped at them, his mind reeling. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a joke. A test. Something.
"But... where am I supposed to go?" he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.
The board members exchanged uncomfortable glances. Finally, Mammon shrugged. "Not our problem, Lucy. Maybe try Earth for a while? Learn some responsibility."
Before Lucifer could protest further, he felt a sharp tug behind his navel. The world blurred, and suddenly he was falling, tumbling through layers of reality. With a bone-jarring thud, he landed face-first on cold, wet concrete.
Groaning, Lucifer pushed himself up, spitting out what he desperately hoped was just a puddle and not... well, best not to think about it. He blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings.
He was in an alley. A grimy, trash-strewn alley that reeked of stale beer and despair. A neon sign flickered weakly nearby, proclaiming "Lucky Lou's Liquor" in garish pink letters.
"What the actual fuck?" Lucifer muttered, staggering to his feet. He patted himself down, realizing with horror that he was wearing... jeans and a t-shirt? His tailored Armani suit was gone, replaced by faded denim and a shirt that proclaimed "Hell's Kitchen" in flaming letters.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and Lucifer leaned against the alley wall, trying not to retch. How could this be happening? He was Lucifer-fucking-Morningstar, for crying out loud! And now he was... what? Homeless? Jobless?
Powerless?
Terror gripped him as Lucifer reached for his infernal powers, only to find... nothing. No hellfire. No mind-bending abilities. He couldn't even sprout his wings.
"No, no, no," he muttered, panic rising in his throat. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening!"
Though his powers weren't gone, he just couldn't harness them. Perhaps, it's due to the low affinity of humans compared to a higher being like me.
A nearby dumpster rattled, and Lucifer yelped as a mangy alley cat emerged, regarding him with disdain.
"Oh, shut up," he snapped at the cat. "You try going from King of Hell to... this... in five minutes."
The cat yawned, supremely unimpressed.
Lucifer slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting in what he desperately hoped was just a puddle. He buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of it all.
How did it come to this? he wondered. Where did it all go wrong?
Images flashed through his mind – endless parties in his penthouse suite, wild orgies with succubi and incubi, gleefully tormenting the damned while neglecting the paperwork... okay, maybe he could see their point. But still! To kick him out entirely?
"Learn some responsibility," he muttered mockingly. "I'll show them responsibility. I'll... I'll..."
But what could he do? He was the Devil, for crying out loud! His entire existence had been built around temptation, corruption, and general naughtiness. What was he supposed to do now? Get a job? Pay taxes?
The very thought made him shudder.
A police siren wailed in the distance, startling Lucifer out of his self-pity spiral. He needed a plan. He needed... well, honestly, he needed a drink. But after that, he needed to figure out how to get back into Hell and reclaim his throne.
Lucifer pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the state of his clothes. First things first – he needed to find a place to stay. And maybe take a shower. Did homeless shelters have showers?
Stop it, he scolded himself. You're not homeless. You're... on vacation. An unexpected, extremely unpleasant vacation.
As he stumbled out of the alley, Lucifer's gaze fell on a "Help Wanted" sign in the window of Lucky Lou's. He paused, considering. On one hand, manual labor was beneath him. On the other... he really, really needed that drink.
With a resigned sigh, Lucifer pushed open the door of the liquor store. A bell jingled overhead, and the bored-looking clerk glanced up from his phone.
"Help wanted, eh?" Lucifer asked, trying to sound casual. "What sort of... qualifications are you looking for?"
The clerk raised an eyebrow, giving Lucifer a once-over. "You got experience with cash registers? Stocking shelves?"
Lucifer opened his mouth to lie, then paused. Maybe... maybe this was his chance to turn over a new leaf. To prove to those bastards on the board that he could be responsible.
"No," he admitted. "But I'm a quick learner. And I promise you, I can sell anything to anyone."
The clerk considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Eh, what the hell. Boss is always complaining about being short-staffed. Fill out an application, and we'll see."
As Lucifer took the proffered clipboard, a tiny spark of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe... just maybe... this wasn't the end. Maybe it was a new beginning.
And once I've proven myself, he thought, a wicked grin spreading across his face, I'll march right back down to Hell and show those corporate assholes what real leadership looks like.
But first... he really, really needed that shower.
As Lucifer bent over the application, struggling to remember if he even had a last name, let alone a social security number, he failed to notice the flickering shadows gathering in the corners of the store. Failed to see the glowing eyes watching him with a malicious grin.
After all, nature hates a vacuum. And with Lucifer topside... something had to fill the power void down below.
However, the sad truth was that, his demotion had far-reaching consequences beyond just losing his throne. Not only was this body only able to harness a mere fraction of his power, but he also experienced other changes he'd never encountered before.
He wondered if these changes might actually be positive. Even he, had feelings, ones that everyone tend to ignore. Perhaps it was better not to return to his old life at all. Instead, he could embrace a new one, living as a devil among men. Or not one at all.
Hell, he thought with a snort. Been there, done that. Perhaps its time for a new adventure. Time to learn HOW NOT TO BE THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS!!!
***