Chapter 154:

Chapter 154: "Tell them to bring my boy back."New York – Upper Manhattan Rooftops

Wind stirred softly across the rooftops. Sirens howled somewhere in the distance. The sky above the city was no longer black—it was stained crimson from the fires below, smoke curling into the heavens like hell was dragging itself up.

He sat at the edge of a high-rise, barefoot, elbows resting on his knees.

A clone. But not like the others.

His jacket was old. Stained. The zipper only half up. His chest moved slightly with each breath, though he didn’t need to breathe. His black hair flicked back in the wind. His red eyes were locked on the window below, four stories down.

Luna.

She moved fast inside. Stuffing papers into her bag. Throwing a coat over her shoulder. Her hands trembled. She tripped once on her heels. Then kicked them off.

She was leaving.

Of course she was. The city was on fire. And outside, people were dying.

He could hear them. All of them.

Cries. Sirens. Screams. His siblings—if they could be called that—were painting Times Square red. Killing, hunting, laughing.



And this girl... she was about to walk into it.

His fingers clenched slightly. Not from fear. He didn’t feel fear. He didn’t even feel pain like them.

But when he looked at her, there was something different.

A flicker. A warmth he didn’t understand. Like the First.

He didn’t know what the First was. Just a feeling. An origin. A whisper in his blood.

And Luna was connected to it somehow.

She’d spoken well of him. Of Lucifer. She’d written articles no other human dared write. She believed the monsters weren’t monsters.

Now the monsters were out.

And they were coming for her.

Because the humans—scared, weak, pathetic—needed someone to blame.

He stood slowly.

Below, Luna grabbed her phone and slung her bag on her back. She reached for the front door, hand on the knob.

Then—shouts.

From outside.

"THAT’S HER!"

"OPEN UP!"

"YOU DEFENDED THAT THING!"

"We know who you are, Luna Moreno!"

Fists slammed into her door. Wood cracked.

She stumbled back, eyes wide. Heart racing. Her phone slipped from her hand.

Outside, the mob grew louder.

Dozens. Then more. Angry faces, sweaty and pale, torches in their fists. Some carried weapons—pipes, bats, even a fire axe.

One man threw a Molotov at her window. Glass shattered. Fire spilled across the couch.

Luna screamed.

The door splintered halfway.

They rushed in.

"GRAB HER!"

"DRAG HER OUT!"

She backed into the kitchen, tears falling. No spells. No powers. Just fear.

Then the lights flickered.

And a shape appeared in front of the broken window.

Boots touched the floor gently.

The mob froze mid-step.

"What the f—"

The clone stepped out of the smoke.

His red eyes burned.

The room seemed to tilt.

Reality bent.

He looked at them... and he was done watching.

One man rushed first, swinging the axe.

Clone Lucifer didn’t dodge. His hand blurred—and the axe was gone.

Gone.

In its place: the man’s entire arm. On the floor. Blood spurted as he screamed.

Lucifer moved again.

Faster.

Another man’s chest exploded inward from a punch that didn’t look like a punch. Just a flick of the wrist.

The third tried to run.

Didn’t even get a step before his legs were snapped in opposite directions with a blast of red aura.

Screams broke out.

The mob scattered—some leaping through windows, others tripping over furniture. One woman begged as she crawled under the dining table.

He grabbed her.

Not cruelly. Just with purpose.

She vanished in red mist.

The clone stepped forward.

Each movement spilled blood. But not messy. Precise. Clean. Beautiful.

Like a reaper.

A pipe swung at him from behind—he spun and caught it mid-air, bending it like wet paper and stabbing it through the attacker’s mouth.

Another tried to shoot.

The bullet stopped mid-air—caught between two fingers.

Lucifer turned slowly, eyes burning.

The shooter pissed himself and dropped the gun.

The clone threw the bullet back.

It punched clean through his head.

Luna watched it all from the kitchen floor, mouth covered.

He didn’t speak.

Not once.

He moved like a ghost through the last five people.

One was kicked through a wall.

Two more were lifted by the throat and smashed together, skulls bursting.

Another woman tried to light a second Molotov.

He appeared behind her.

Breathed on her neck.

She turned—and her body lit up in flame from the inside out.

Her scream didn’t last long.

The last man held a crucifix, sobbing.

"I didn’t know—please—I have kids, I—"

The clone looked at him for a moment.

Then struck with one hand.

His chest caved in, ribs snapping like dry wood.

Silence.

Only fire crackled now.

The floor was slick with blood.

Lucifer turned slowly, eyes locking on Luna’s.

She stared at him, frozen.

Her lip trembled.

He stepped forward—calm.

And knelt in front of her.

"Not safe," he whispered.

His voice was rough. Deeper than Lucifer’s. But not mechanical.

Luna couldn’t speak.

He stood again and looked around.

The room was falling apart. Fire spread along the walls.

He turned.

And lifted her into his arms.

Then—



He vanished.

He reappeared ten blocks away on another rooftop. No sound. Just movement like light blinking.

Luna gasped for air.

He set her down gently.

She backed away, still trembling.

But didn’t run.

The clone tilted his head.

The wind stirred his hair.

"I watched," he said quietly.

She didn’t answer.

"You didn’t run," he added.

Luna looked up. "You’re... not like the others."

"No."

"Why?"

"I don’t know."

They stared at each other for a second.

Then—

Boom.

A building nearby exploded.

Screams.

More clones. Killing again. Rampaging.

He turned.

Luna grabbed his arm, shaking.

"Don’t go. They’ll see you as one of them."

He looked down at her hand.

Then slowly, gently, removed it.

"I’m already one of them," he said.

"But not fully."

She swallowed.

He nodded.

Then he was gone.

He landed in a courtyard ten blocks away.

Four clones surrounded a burning car.

A family was inside.

A child screamed.

The clone snapped his fingers.

A blast of red light knocked them all back.

One clone slammed into a stop sign and bent around it. Another flipped mid-air and hit the pavement, neck broken.

The third ran at him with blood claws.

Lucifer ducked under it—grabbed the clone’s spine—and pulled.

The clone collapsed like meat.

The fourth raised a hand to attack.

The clone raised his first.

Blood twisted in the air—formed a spike—and pierced the attacker’s skull.

Done.

He moved again.

Through another alley.

Two clones were chasing a man in a suit.

They stopped when they saw him.

Recognition.

Hesitation.

He didn’t give them time.

The first was thrown into a dumpster so hard it bent in half.

The second fired a blast of condensed blood.

The clone caught it. Absorbed it.

Then returned a wave of energy so dense it carved a hole through the building behind them.

Dead.

He moved again.

Fast.

Jumping from street to street.

House to house.

Everywhere he found them—he killed them.

Not for justice.

Not for humans.

But for her.

Luna.

For that feeling he didn’t understand.

That warmth that reminded him of the First.

The fires of New York lit his path as he became a ghost in blood, carving down his brothers one by one.

No one would hurt her.

Not while he was still moving.

And he would keep moving—

Until none were left.

Demon Realm

The air inside the hall shimmered like blood mist.

Tall black pillars stretched into a skyless ceiling, carved from obsidian and bone. Fires danced along the edges—blue, not red. Cold, not warm. A hundred demons stood silent in rows, cloaks swaying, faces half-hidden behind masks or shadows.

At the end of the hall sat Lilith.

Her throne wasn’t made of gold or silver—but of ancient skulls, layered over stone carved with her own blood. Her long hair fell like liquid ink across her shoulders. Her eyes burned softly, unreadable.

She had been listening.

To war reports. Realm shifts. Balance fluctuations.

Until her voice stopped.

And her eyes narrowed.

"...that aura," she muttered.

The room went still.

Not just quiet—still. Even the flames froze for a breath.

She slowly stood.

The air grew heavier.

She looked out across the hall, toward a woman standing in the far-left corner—cloaked in deep shadows, her figure barely visible. The Head of the Shadow Demons. Silent. Loyal.

Lilith’s voice was low now.

But sharp.

"Send your children to the Mortal Realm."

The shadow woman didn’t question it. She bowed her head, the darkness around her pulsing once.

Lilith stepped down from her throne. Her bare feet touched the cold stone, leaving behind faint trails of red light. Every step echoed like thunder.

Her gaze darkened.

"I felt something just now."

A pause.



"Something we all thought was gone."

She clenched her fist slowly, aura rising.

"The one death that broke us."

Her voice shook the flames back to life.

"Go."

She looked back at the shadow woman.

"If the situation is worse than expected... give them this."

She opened her hand.

A black talisman—veined in red—floated between her fingers.

"Tell them to bring my boy back."

Her eyes glowed faintly, not with rage—but with something colder.

"No matter what it costs."