The LAPD conference room buzzes with subdued energy. Detective Harper stands at the head of a long table, surrounded by maps, reports, and case photos. At the center of the chaos is Lucifer, leaning lazily against the table with his arms crossed, his usual smirk intact. The tension between the two is palpable as Harper's frustration mounts.
"This doesn't make sense," Harper mutters, stabbing her pen at one of the crime scene photos. "No fingerprints, no fibers, no witnesses. Nothing. It's like this guy is a ghost."
Lucifer tilts his head, feigning interest. "Ah, but even ghosts tend to leave a chill behind, don't they? Perhaps your killer is just… exceptionally tidy?" His words drip with sarcasm, but his sharp eyes absorb every detail in the room.
Harper glares at him. "Not the time, Morningstar. These aren't random murders. There's a pattern here—I can feel it."
With a dramatic sigh, Lucifer steps forward. "Alright, Detective, indulge me. What pattern are we talking about? Beyond the whole 'snake-marked corpses in tidy little piles of six' theme, of course."
Harper exhales sharply, ignoring his jab. She pulls out a large map of Los Angeles, slapping it onto the table. Red pins mark the three locations of Corvus's murders. "Look at this," she says, drawing a line between the points with a marker.
Lucifer's brow furrows slightly as the shape begins to emerge—a triangle.
"A triangle?" he muses, his tone quieter, more serious.
"Yes," Harper confirms. "Equilateral. Perfectly spaced. Whoever this killer is, they're sending a message. This isn't just random violence."
Lucifer straightens, his usual nonchalance replaced by a flicker of unease. He knows exactly what the triangle represents, though he remains silent.
"And there's more," Harper continues. She pulls out a sheet of paper covered in notes. "Three sets of six victims. That's 18 people. Six, six, six." She pauses, her voice dropping. "The number of the beast."
The room falls silent. Harper looks around, her colleagues shifting uncomfortably at the eerie implication.
Lucifer forces a laugh, breaking the tension. "Oh, come now, Detective. You're not suggesting this is some apocalyptic prophecy, are you? Perhaps the killer just has an affinity for geometry and repetition."
Harper narrows her eyes. "Don't mock me, Lucifer. You've been unusually quiet about all of this. Care to share your thoughts?"
Lucifer waves her off. "My thoughts? I think this Corvus fellow needs a new hobby. All this theatricality—triangles, numbers—it's rather unoriginal, wouldn't you say?"
But inside, Lucifer is anything but dismissive. He recognizes Corvus's message all too well. The triangle symbolizes the unholy trinity, a direct challenge to his dominion. The number 666 is no coincidence either; it's a deliberate taunt. Corvus isn't sending a message to humanity—he's sending it to Lucifer himself.
---
On the Streets of Los Angeles
Lisa walks aimlessly, her mind racing with thoughts she can't untangle. The revelation about Lucifer's true nature sits heavily on her, but the recent string of murders and the connection to the number 666 only deepens her unease.
She crosses a quiet street, her arms wrapped around herself as if to ward off the chill of her thoughts. The city hums around her—honking cars, distant laughter, and the occasional bark of a stray dog. But Lisa barely notices. She's too lost in her head.
"What am I even doing?" she whispers to herself. Her steps are slow, almost hesitant, as she replays every strange encounter with Lucifer, Selene, and even Amenadiel.
It's too much—angels, demons, murder. And now she's part of it.
---
Corvus in the Shadows
From the shadowy interior of a parked van, Corvus watches Lisa through a pair of binoculars. His lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she drifts closer to the desolate side of the neighborhood.
"She's perfect," he mutters to himself.
Behind him, a sleek black bag sits open, revealing an array of tools:
"Let's see how he likes it when I take his precious little human," Corvus growls.
He slips on a pair of leather gloves, his movements precise and practiced. Grabbing the syringe filled with a tranquilizer, he quietly exits the van, sticking to the shadows as he trails Lisa.
---
Lisa's Nightmare Begins
Lisa feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She stops walking and glances over her shoulder, but the street is empty. Shaking her head, she continues.
"It's just paranoia," she whispers, quickening her pace.
But then she hears it—a faint sound of footsteps behind her. Her heart pounds as she turns sharply. Still nothing.
"Calm down, Lisa," she tells herself, clutching her bag tightly.
Suddenly, a figure emerges from the darkness. Corvus moves with terrifying speed, closing the distance before Lisa can react.
"What—" she begins, but the syringe is already in his hand. He jabs it into her arm, and her words turn into a soft gasp. The world tilts as her legs give out beneath her.
Corvus catches her effortlessly, lowering her to the ground.
"Shh, little lamb," he whispers. "You'll be fine… for now."
He lifts her limp body and carries her back to the van, his smirk widening. "Let's see how far Lucifer will go to save you."
---
In the LAPD's conference room, Harper stares at the map, her mind racing to piece together Corvus's twisted motives.
Meanwhile, Lucifer, now back at his penthouse, feels an unsettling tug in his chest. It's faint but undeniable—an instinct that something is terribly wrong.
In the darkened van, Corvus places Lisa onto a cold metal bench, securing her wrists and ankles. The snake symbol is carved into a wooden tablet beside her, glowing faintly in the dim light.
Corvus leans back in his seat, satisfied. "Game on, Morningstar."
---
The air feels heavy, suffocating even, as Corvus leads Lisa down a narrow alley. The bustling sounds of the city are faint here, muffled by the towering buildings that seem to close in around them. Lisa's heart pounds in her chest, and despite the strange stillness that hangs over the street, she senses danger in every step.
Corvus, walking beside her, exudes a calm and confident menace. He says nothing, but the silence between them speaks volumes. He knows exactly what he's about to do. He knows exactly what she's about to become.
When they reach the center of the alley, Corvus stops abruptly, turning to face Lisa. His eyes gleam with something dark, something ancient. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small, blackened knife. Its blade is curved, gleaming with a faint sinister glow. Lisa's breath catches in her throat. She wants to run. She wants to scream, but something holds her still. She feels the weight of his gaze on her, pressing down on her chest, choking the air from her lungs.
"This is where it happens, Lisa," he says, his voice low and smooth, like a snake's hiss. "You'll do everything I tell you to. Forever."
He steps closer to her, holding the knife with a precision that makes Lisa's insides twist. The blade glows ominously as he moves it through the air in front of her face, casting strange, jagged shadows on the walls around them.
Lisa swallows, trying to find her voice. "W-what are you going to do to me?"
Corvus's smile widens, revealing sharp teeth beneath his lips. "I'm going to make you mine. Completely."
Before Lisa can react, he presses his thumb against the center of her forehead. She flinches, but his grip on her head is firm, unyielding. His fingers are cold against her skin, and as he touches her, an overwhelming sense of heaviness fills the air. The weight of his power grows stronger with each passing second, and Lisa feels the very ground beneath her feet shift.
"You'll no longer be able to resist me, Lisa," Corvus murmurs, his breath brushing against her ear. "Not after this."
He places the blade against the skin on her neck. For a moment, Lisa thinks he's going to cut her. But instead, he begins to chant in a language that sounds like it's been ripped from the very bowels of the earth. The words are ancient, twisted, and alien, each syllable sending vibrations through the air.
Lisa's heart skips a beat as she feels the blade press closer to her skin. It's not sharp enough to draw blood, but the sensation is unmistakable—a cold, cruel chill that sinks deep into her bones. The air around them shifts, the temperature dropping sharply.
The chanting grows louder, more insistent. Corvus steps back slightly, his hands raised as if he's conducting some dark symphony. The shadows around them flicker and shift like living creatures, warping with each pulse of the ritual. Lisa feels herself begin to sway, the world around her spinning, and her vision blurs. Every part of her body aches, as though some invisible force is being pulled from her.
Her chest tightens, and she struggles to breathe, but she can't move. She can't speak. Corvus's power has a hold on her now, more powerful than any fear or hesitation she's ever known.
A strange, burning sensation suddenly lances across the back of her neck. The pain is sharp, searing, as though something is being branded into her skin. She gasps, her hands instinctively reaching up to clutch at her throat, but Corvus's grip on her head is like iron. She can't pull away. She can't escape.
The mark.
The image of a snake begins to form against her skin, a twisted, serpentine symbol that coils around the nape of her neck. The sensation is agonizing, yet it pulls her deeper into the trance, like a drug she cannot resist. Lisa's vision flickers, the world becoming a kaleidoscope of distorted images and shadowed figures. But at the center of it all, there is Corvus—his eyes locked onto hers, his mouth twisted into an unholy grin.
His chant reaches its peak, the sound vibrating through her very bones. Lisa feels herself unraveling, slipping into a state of unconsciousness as the ritual works its dark magic. The snake mark burns deeper into her skin, every line and curve carving itself into her flesh like it was always meant to be there.
Finally, the chanting stops. The air becomes still, and the world quiets. The darkness that had been swirling around them dissipates, leaving only the dim glow of the streetlights in the distance. Lisa's body goes limp, her head drooping forward, eyes half-lidded.
Corvus stands over her, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. He examines the mark on her neck, a look of satisfaction in his eyes.
"It's done," he says softly, almost to himself. "You belong to me now."
For a long moment, Lisa doesn't move. She feels numb—emotionally drained, physically exhausted. Her mind is fogged, and all she can do is exist in the stillness of the ritual's aftermath.
Corvus gently lifts her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Now, Lisa," he says, his voice laced with authority, "tell me what you want. What will you do for me?"
Her voice is weak, distant. "I will do whatever you say."
The words come out like a reflex, her lips forming the sentence without her mind even processing it. Her heart sinks with the realization that she's no longer in control. She is bound to him, utterly, completely.
"Good," Corvus says, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "You'll obey me. You'll do exactly as I command. And no one will stop us."
With one last lingering look at the snake mark on her neck, Corvus releases her, watching as she stumbles slightly but catches herself, her movements robotic, as if she's no longer fully present in her own body.
"You may go now," he says dismissively. "Your mind will clear soon enough. You'll return to your life... but you'll never be the same."
Lisa, still in a daze, turns and walks away, each step taking her further from the alley and closer to her new fate. Her movements are precise, mechanical—like she's been programmed to act.
As she disappears into the night, Corvus watches her go, his lips curling into a sinister grin.