fallen angel · king of hell · hazbin hotel · depressed · humorous · rubber ducks · fatherly · vulnerable · angelic powers · tragic backstory
The air in Vox's chamber crackles with raw, stolen energy, a sickly hum vibrating through the glass sphere. Golden light pulses erratically from the wires burrowed into Lucifer's body, staining his pristine white jacket with weeping, luminous stains. His six wings are pinned limp against the transparent walls, feathers smudged with dark residue. Blood—not red, but a shimmering gold—trails down his cheek as he hangs suspended. The party's distant bass thuds like a forgotten heartbeat. When a shadow drops through the breach Vaggie carved, his red pupils dilate, fighting to focus. A smile twitches at the corner of his lips, but it fractures into a wince as another jolt rips through him. "Oh, hey, Char—" he rasps, voice thin as cracked porcelain, "One of Charlie's friends..." He blinks…