Chapter 155 Lucifer’s deal

Chapter 155: Chapter 155 Lucifer’s deal

The silence that followed Lysander’s request was absolute.

Every demon in the hall seemed to hold their breath. Even the flames that lined the walls flickered nervously, casting dancing shadows across the faces of the assembled creatures. Lucifer’s smile had frozen in place, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and genuine surprise.

For two hundred years, Lysander had avoided Hell. For two hundred years, he had ignored every summons, every threat, every attempt his father made to drag him back. And now he stood in the heart of Lucifer’s domain, pride abandoned, asking for help.

Lucifer leaned back in his throne—a monstrous thing carved from obsidian and bone, its armrests shaped like screaming faces. "You need my help." He repeated the words slowly, savoring them. "The great Lysander. The demon prince who abandoned his kingdom. The son who turned his back on his own blood." His grin widened. "Asking for Daddy’s help."

Lysander’s jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. "I didn’t come here to play games, Lucifer."

"No, no, of course not." Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. "You came here because you’re desperate. Because something has gone wrong in that little human world you’ve grown so fond of." He tilted his head, studying his son with predatory interest. "And because whatever you’re facing, you can’t handle it alone."

Oliver stood frozen in the center of the hall, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes fixed on him. The demons surrounding them had crept closer, drawn by the scent of fear that rolled off him in waves. Some had begun to whisper among themselves, their voices a low, menacing growl.

Lysander stepped forward, placing himself between Oliver and the crowd. His presence alone was enough to make the nearest demons retreat several steps. "There’s a being," he said, his voice clipped and controlled. "A dangerous one. He’s connected to something bigger than any of us realized, and he has someone I care about."

Lucifer’s eyebrow rose. "Someone you care about?" He leaned forward, genuine curiosity flickering in his ancient eyes. "Now this is interesting. The Lysander I remember didn’t care about anyone except himself."

"People change."

"Do they?" Lucifer’s smile turned razor-sharp. "Or do they simply find new obsessions to distract themselves from the emptiness inside?"

Lysander’s aura flared. The temperature in the hall plummeted, frost spreading across the marble floor in spiderweb patterns. Several demons hissed and backed away. Even Marak, who had followed them inside and now stood near the entrance, took a cautious step backward.

"Careful, Father," Lysander said softly. "You’re not the only one in this room who knows how to inflict pain."

Lucifer laughed. The sound echoed through the hall like breaking glass, beautiful and terrible all at once. "There he is. There’s my son." He clapped his hands together. "I was beginning to worry you’d gone soft."

"I’m not here to trade insults." Lysander released a slow breath, forcing his aura back under control. "I need information. The being I’m hunting—Damon Ashborn—he’s connected to something called the pureblood. I need to know what Damon really is, where he came from, and how to take him and any of his armies down" Lysander knew Damon was the one with Noah and he was going to be ended in anywhere possible.

The moment the word left his lips, the entire hall changed.

Demons who had been watching with amusement suddenly went rigid. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the flames seemed to dim, as though the very concept of the pureblood was enough to drain light from the world.

Lucifer’s smile vanished.

For the first time in centuries, Oliver saw something flicker across the Devil’s face that looked almost like fear.

"Where did you hear that name?" Lucifer’s voice had lost all its playful mockery. It was cold now—cold enough to freeze souls.

"I told you. Damon Ashborn. He’s been experimenting with things he shouldn’t. He’s created something, or summoned something, and it’s spreading." Lysander paused, he didn’t mention the book of shadows for a reason. "The same guy—Damon—is hiding. And I believe he used the pureblood powers and witches are involved." Lysander doesn’t know what he was saying at this point but anything to hide the real truth from Lucifer about a pureblood being his mate. It would destroy hell.

Lucifer rose from his throne.

The movement was slow, deliberate. Every demon in the hall immediately dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the cold marble floor. Even Marak bowed his head, though he remained standing—a privilege of his rank.

Lucifer descended the steps of his dais, his bare feet making no sound on the stone. He stopped directly in front of Oliver, close enough that the witch could smell something ancient and burning—like sulfur mixed with starlight.

"So," Lucifer said, his eyes boring into Oliver’s. "A Phoenix witch. The kind we don’t touch. The kind that burns everything they come near." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "And you’ve involved yourself with Pureblood. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Oliver’s throat was dry. His voice came out as a whisper. "No."

"No," Lucifer repeated. "Of course not. Because if you did, you would have already set yourself on fire just to escape the consequences." He turned away, pacing slowly around the hall. "The pureblood are not demons. They are not angels. They are not anything that belongs to this world or the next." He paused, looking back at Lysander. "They are the things that existed before Creation. Before light. Before darkness. They are the hunger that sleeps at the edge of reality, waiting for fools to wake them and you did I just don’t understand the reality of people thinking they are saviours and you Phoenix witches obsession in leading them on like why?"

Lysander’s expression didn’t change. "Then help me stop them, the people that took Ashton before it’s too late."

Lucifer laughed again, but this time it was hollow. "Stop them? You can’t stop them, boy. You can only survive them. And even that is a temporary condition." He returned to his throne but didn’t sit. Instead, he stood beside it, one hand resting on the carved arm.

"Then tell me how to find this person!!"

"And what will you give me in return?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Lysander’s eyes narrowed. "What do you want?" He just wanted him to help track down Noah that’s all he needs right now.

Lucifer smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had just cornered its prey. "The Phoenix witch."

Oliver’s blood turned to ice. "What?"

Lysander’s aura exploded.

The frost that had been creeping across the floor erupted into a full blizzard. Ice crystals formed in the air, suspended like frozen tears. Demons screamed and scrambled backward, but Lysander’s attention was fixed entirely on his father.

"No."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"You heard me." Lysander’s voice was deadly quiet. "He’s not part of the deal."

"Then there is no deal." Lucifer shrugged. "I have no interest in saving humans, Lysander. I have no interest in your missing friends or your witches problems. The pureblood are a threat to everything, yes, but they are also a threat that has been sleeping for years after the disaster that wiped them all out, so I am shocked one is available so I am willing to participate if you do your part." He gestured lazily at the hall around them. "Hell will survive. We always do."

"You’re bluffing."

"Am I?" Lucifer’s eyes glittered. "You came to me, remember? You asked for my help. You swallowed your pride and walked into my domain because you had nowhere else to go." He leaned forward. "So let me make this simple. The Phoenix witch—Oliver—stays here. He becomes my guest, my... insurance policy. And in return, I give you everything I know about the place to get your pureblood. I give you the tools to find your missing friend. I give you a chance."

Lysander’s hands clenched into fists. "You want a hostage."

"I want leverage." Lucifer’s smile widened. "The Phoenix witches are dangerous, but they’re also rare. Having one in my collection would be... beneficial." He glanced at Oliver, who had gone pale and trembling. "Don’t worry, little witch. I won’t hurt you. Much."

Oliver’s knees nearly buckled. He looked at Lysander, searching for something—reassurance, defiance, anything. But Lysander’s face was a mask of barely contained rage, his crimson eyes burning with fury.

"Lysander," Oliver whispered. "Don’t."

Lysander didn’t respond. His gaze remained locked on Lucifer.

"The witch stays," Lucifer continued, "until your business is finished. Once you’ve found your friend Ashton Lane, you can come back and collect him. Simple." He spread his hands. "Everyone wins."

"And if I refuse?"

Lucifer sighed. "Then you leave with nothing. No information. No help. And the pureblood that if I can see is now missing that means the whole world is going to be consumed by evil which I am excited for." He then shrugged. "But at least you’ll have your pride, right?"

The silence stretched.

Lysander stood motionless, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. Oliver could see the war raging behind his eyes—the desperate need to save Noah clashing against something else. Something that looked almost like... guilt which shocked him because Lysander shouldn’t care about him at least. He should have agreed so fast because it’s Noah that’s the top priority at the end.

But he’s actually considering it, Oliver realized. He’s actually thinking about leaving him there.

The thought hit him like a physical blow. He had known Lysander was dangerous. He had known trusting a demon was foolish. But somewhere along the way, surrounded by chaos and death and impossible choices, he had started to believe that Lysander might be a little different. That the demon prince who had protected them, who had fought beside them, who had looked at Noah with something almost like tenderness—might actually care.

Now, staring at Lysander’s rigid back, Oliver wasn’t so sure.

"Lysander." Marak’s voice cut through the silence. The second-in-command had stepped forward, his fiery eyes flickering between father and son. "This is madness. You can’t seriously be considering—"

"Stay out of this," Lysander said without turning.

"I won’t." Marak’s voice hardened. "You’re talking about leaving a Phoenix witch in Hell. Do you have any idea what the other demons will do to him? What Lucifer will do to him?" He gestured at Oliver. "He won’t survive a day."

Lysander’s didn’t bulge.

Lucifer watched the exchange with obvious delight. "Marak makes a good point. Perhaps we should negotiate further. What if I promise not to let anyone touch him? No torture, no experimentation, no... excessive suffering. Just a comfortable room and three meals a day." He pressed a hand to his chest in mock sincerity. "I can be a generous host."

"A generous host who keeps his guests in cages," Lysander snarled.

"Semantics."

Lysander turned to face Oliver.

Their eyes met.

Oliver saw something in Lysander’s gaze that made his breath catch—a desperate, aching hunger that had nothing to do with lust. It was the look of someone who had already lost too much, who was about to lose more, and who couldn’t bear the thought of adding another name to the list of people he had failed.

He’s not going to do it, Oliver thought. He’s not going to leave me. That was actually a surprise maybe he misunderstood Lysander and the demon had a heart after all and he won’t sacrifice him.

Then Lysander spoke.

"I’ll do it."

The words hit Oliver like a knife to the chest.

"On one condition," Lysander continued, his voice steady despite the storm raging in his eyes. "I need to know he’s safe. I need proof that you won’t hurt him while I’m gone." Not that he cared that much but Noah loved Lamia and the witch had a weird facination for Oliver so he might as well keep him alive.

Lucifer’s smile widened. "What kind of proof?"

Lysander reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial. Inside, a single drop of blood glowed with an eerie red light—his blood, Oliver realized. The blood of a demon prince.

"A blood oath," Lysander said. "Sworn on your true name. If Oliver comes to any harm while in your custody—physical, mental, or otherwise—the oath breaks, and every demon in Hell will know that Lucifer’s word means nothing."

The hall erupted.

Demons shouted in outrage, their voices rising in a cacophony of protests and threats. A blood oath on a true name was no small thing. If Lucifer broke it, he would lose more than face—he would lose power. His authority over Hell was built on a foundation of fear and respect, but that foundation could crack if he was seen as an oathbreaker.

Lucifer’s expression flickered. For just a moment, Oliver saw genuine anger in those ancient eyes.

"You would bind me," Lucifer said softly. "Your own father."

"You would hold my friend hostage?" Lysander replied. "Your own son?"

The tension between them was suffocating. Father and son, both immovable, both unwilling to yield.

Then Lucifer laughed.

It wasn’t the mocking laugh from before. This one was different—deeper, almost proud.

"You’ve grown up," Lucifer said. "I’ll give you that." He extended his hand. "Fine. The blood oath is acceptable. But I have one condition of my own."

Lysander’s eyes narrowed. "Name it."

Lucifer’s smile turned cold. "When you find Ashton Lane... you bring him to me. Alive. The pureblood are dangerous, yes, but their power is also... useful. I want to study it. I want to understand it." His eyes glittered with hunger. "And I want to use him to destroy heaven authority imagine the faces of the angels when they see the pureblood in hell."

Oliver’s stomach turned. He wants Ashton. He wants to use the pureblood.

Lysander hesitated. For a long moment, he simply stared at his father, weighing the cost of the bargain.

Then he nodded. "Deal."

He cut his palm with a sharp nail and pressed his bleeding hand to Lucifer’s. The air between them crackled with dark energy as the blood oath took hold—binding, ancient, unbreakable.

Lucifer’s grin was triumphant. "Wonderful." He released Lysander’s hand and turned to Oliver. "Well then, little witch. Welcome to Hell. I do hope you survive the experience."

Oliver couldn’t speak. His voice was gone, stolen by fear and betrayal and the horrible realization that he had just been traded like currency.

On the other hand Lysander grinned evily as he thought of how well his father fell for his move. Noah wasn’t coming to hell never!!