Four days later.
The wedding was over. The songs had been sung, the oaths exchanged, and the halls of Belegost now rang with the low, steady hum of drunken laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets.
Lucifer sat at the back of the grand feasting hall, shoulders hunched, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The golden light of lanterns shimmered off his long hair. He barely touched his goblet. Beside him, Telchar leaned back with a wide grin, eyes locked on the newly crowned bride of Thorin, who now stood among a circle of noble dwarves at the front of the hall.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Telchar said, nudging him. "Like a diamond carved by Mahal himself."
Lucifer laughed softly. "Maybe. But not really my type."
Telchar raised a brow. "What, you don't like noblewomen?"
Lucifer leaned closer with a smirk. "I don't like bearded women."
A hush fell around them. A nearby group of dwarf-women all turned sharply in his direction, their eyes narrowing. Lucifer froze. He turned, hands up.
"I meant it respectfully! You're all very majestic—"
Telchar nearly choked on his drink from laughing. Thror, Lucifer's adoptive brother, arrived at just the right moment, handing Lucifer a mug.
"You keep saying things that get you almost killed, you know that?" Thror said.
"Yeah," Lucifer muttered, smiling anyway. "It's a talent."
They drank. They laughed. For a while, it was easy to forget the world outside of firelight and stone. But as the feast dragged on, Lucifer's heart pulled elsewhere.
He slipped away, wandering the deeper halls of Belegost until he found one of the lesser forges, quiet and empty.
The coals were cold, but the scent of metal and smoke still lingered in the air. It was peaceful. He leaned against a stone anvil, wings folded inside him, golden hair pulled into a loose braid. He liked the silence.
Then—footsteps.
Lucifer stilled. He ducked into a shadowed alcove just as the door creaked open. What he saw made his blood run cold.
Thorin. Stumbling. Drunk.
And dragging behind him—his bride.
She struggled in his grip, her pleas muffled by his hand.
Lucifer's first instinct was to turn away. To slip out, unnoticed.
But then—he heard her cry out, trembling:
"Please… someone… help me…"
He clenched his fists.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He stepped out of the shadows. "Let her go, Thorin."
Thorin froze. Slowly, he turned, face red and twisted in fury and wine. "You again."
"I said, let her go."
Thorin snarled. "What are you going to do, golden boy? You going to cry? You're nothing. You're not even one of us. You're a monster they found in the dirt. I'll kill your whole cursed family—starting with your whore of a mother—"
Something broke.
Inside Lucifer—something ancient and buried snapped. He felt it in his bones. In his blood.
Rage. Pure and endless.
His wings exploded from his back—not the radiant golden ones he knew.
These were black fire, shaped like scorched bone and burning iron, monstrous and demonic.
Thorin screamed, stumbling back—but it was too late.
Lucifer lunged. His wings shot forward like spears—impaling Thorin through the chest.
Flames erupted from the wound, burning him alive.
Lucifer stood over the ashes, panting, heart racing—and then something else crept in.
A craving.
A hunger.
He turned. The bride still stood there, paralyzed in horror. Her eyes met his, full of fear.
He struck.
Fire and blood. A scream. Then silence.
He couldn't stop.
Lucifer walked out into the night air of Belegost—and let go.
The fire inside him roared. He flew, and as he flew, he burned.
Guards fell. Noble halls were lit aflame. Stone cracked and smoke choked the sky. He tore through the city, wings of black flame lighting the heavens. He felt it all—the rush, the release, the terrible joy of destruction.
He found Thror—his brother, his friend—and killed him before he realized what he was doing.
He found Bor, his adoptive father, sword in hand, standing tall.
"Lucifer—what are you doing?" he had asked. But Lucifer couldn't hear.
Flames took him too.
He stood in the center of a ruined square, breathing hard, black wings curling around his body like a cloak of ash.
Then—
"Lucifer."
A voice.
His mother.
She stood before him, unarmed, tears on her face. She didn't run. Didn't scream. She just looked at him.
Her voice broke. "What have you done?"
He stared at her.
His wings shook. The fire faltered. The black flame sputtered, and golden light peeked through. His hands trembled.
He looked around—
And saw everything.
What he had done.
Who he had become.
Lucifer let out a silent scream, a cry of rage and despair.
He opened his wings—gold and black twisting together—and flew.
Flew into the night sky, leaving behind the city, the dead, and the family who had once loved him.
He did not know where he was going.
Only that he had to run.
Before the fire took everything.