I'm The Devil

The void beyond creation trembled.

For the first time in an eternity, silence filled the Outer Realm. The endless expanse of swirling darkness, where laws of reality held no power, now stood eerily still. The towering, incomprehensible forms of the Outer Gods loomed over the broken remnants of the war they had just witnessed.

Their forces? Decimated.

Their generals? Erased.

All by one being.

Lucifer.

Bloody Morningstar.

The name echoed in the emptiness, unspoken but undeniable.

"This cannot continue."

The voice rumbled through the void, shaking the very fabric of existence. It belonged to Zathrith, the Bound Leviathan, an entity whose form was a mass of writhing tendrils, each one large enough to devour galaxies whole. His glowing maws shifted restlessly, his rage barely contained.

"How many times have we tried? How many forces have we sent? How many plans have we crafted, only for one man to stand against us?"

His words resonated through the Outer Realm. The other gods remained silent for a moment. They knew the answer.

Too many.

The dark, swirling mass of Izh'raqul, the Endless Maw, shifted in agitation. Its body was a black hole of twisting horrors, an ever-hungry abyss that devoured everything in its wake.

"The laws of this universe bend for him. This… Lucifer. He is not a god, yet he stands above them. He is not an Outer One, yet he destroys us. We underestimated him. That was our mistake."

Another voice, softer but filled with a venomous undertone, cut through the void.

"We should have wiped that universe out before he became this strong."

The words came from Naqirath, the Thousand Eyes, an eldritch mass of shifting limbs, covered in glowing, unblinking eyes that saw through time itself. She had foreseen many outcomes, many battles. But never had she seen one being shatter their war efforts so completely.

"And now? What do you suggest?" Zathrith growled, his tendrils curling. "We have lost armies. We have lost generals. If we send more, they will be erased like the last. Are you suggesting we continue wasting our strength?"

Naqirath's eyes flickered. "No. I am suggesting that we descend ourselves."

Silence.

A ripple passed through the Outer Realm. Even amongst them, there were lines they did not cross easily.

"Descend?"

The voice belonged to Vora'Zhul, the Wailing Womb, whose form was a shifting, pulsating mass of flesh, birthing horrors with every breath. Her tone was laced with uncertainty.

"We do not enter mortal universes ourselves," she continued. "Not unless it is absolute. Not unless it is final."

"Is this not final?" Naqirath snapped, her many eyes narrowing. "Do you not see what has happened? We have thrown everything at him, and he still stands. What more do you need?"

Izh'raqul let out a low hum. "There is wisdom in restraint."

Zathrith rumbled in agreement. "If we descend, it will not be to fight. It will be to destroy. There will be nothing left of that universe."

"Then we should do it." Naqirath's voice was sharp, impatient. "No more playing games. No more testing him. We descend, and we erase him along with everything he has fought for."

"Destroying the entire universe would be inefficient," Vora'Zhul countered. "We are still recovering from our losses. Do you propose we waste more energy wiping out a single reality?"

Naqirath turned toward her. "I propose we end the problem before it grows any larger."

"It is already large," Izh'raqul muttered. "And yet… you assume destroying the universe will erase him. Are you certain?"

Naqirath paused. "What are you saying?"

Izh'raqul shifted, his abyssal form expanding. "Lucifer has survived everything we have thrown at him. What if the destruction of his universe does not end him, but instead frees him?"

Another silence.

Naqirath's eyes flickered, scanning endless possibilities. And then, her limbs tensed.

There was no future in which Lucifer simply ceased to exist.

Even if they destroyed his universe.

Even if they wiped out every god, every angel, every remnant of his home.

Lucifer would remain.

And he would be angry.

"You see it now, don't you?" Izh'raqul said, his voice slow, almost amused. "If we erase his reality, we may very well be setting him loose. No longer bound to the laws of his world, no longer bound by anything at all."

The idea sent a ripple of unease through the Outer Gods.

A free Lucifer. A being who had already killed their strongest warriors—unleashed upon the void itself.

Even they did not want that.

Zathrith's tendrils curled tightly. "Then we cannot simply destroy the universe. We must destroy him."

Naqirath exhaled slowly, her many eyes dimming in thought. "Fine. Then how?"

"We descend," Zathrith said, voice heavy with finality. "But not to destroy everything. We descend to remove him. Personally."

Izh'raqul let out a low, approving hum. "If we are to do this, we must be absolute. No half-measures. No testing him. We will overwhelm him completely."

"Agreed." Zathrith's voice was firm. "We come down together. We take him at his strongest. We do not let him breathe. No tricks. No waiting. No more underestimating him."

Vora'Zhul's massive form pulsed. "And if we fail?"

Naqirath's eyes narrowed. "We don't."

The Outer Gods turned their gaze back toward the universe where Lucifer still stood, crimson eyes glowing, the battlefield drenched in divine ichor.

This was no longer a war of pawns. No longer a battle of lesser creatures.

The real war was about to begin.

And this time—

They would come themselves.

Heaven. The Throne Room.

A vast, endless expanse of light. Walls of shimmering gold stretched beyond sight, pillars of divine energy reaching into infinity. The air hummed with power, a sacred stillness resting over all.

At the center of it all—

The Throne.

A massive, radiant presence. Beyond form, beyond shape. Pure divinity. No one could look upon it directly. Not even the highest of angels.

Michael knelt before it, his head bowed low, golden wings folded tightly against his back. His armor gleamed under the celestial glow, but his heart was heavy.

He had seen it.

He had witnessed it.

Lucifer.

His power had grown beyond reason. Beyond comprehension. He had crushed Satanael. He had wiped out the Outer Horrors. Alone. Without effort. Without hesitation.

Michael clenched his fists.

He breathed in, steadying himself. Then, he spoke.

"It is as You said, Father. Lucifer has dealt with Satanael. And the Outer Horrors… he erased them. Completely."

His voice was calm, but beneath it, a weight lingered.

Worry.

Fear.

"He did it all by himself," Michael continued. "No help. No effort. He fought like it was nothing. Like they were nothing. He is no longer what he was when he first rebelled."

Silence.

The Throne did not answer. Not yet.

Michael swallowed. "I fear his power, Father. It continues to grow. And though he has taken his victory, I know him."

He lifted his head slightly, eyes filled with certainty.

"He has not forgotten his mission. He has not abandoned his goal."

A shadow passed through his mind. A memory.

Lucifer, standing atop the battlefield. Blood on his hands. Crimson eyes burning. Looking at the gods as if they were insects.

Untouchable.

Unstoppable.

Michael took a slow breath. "I fear… he will come back. He will return to complete what he started."

To overthrow You.

He did not speak the last words aloud. He didn't need to. The truth hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

More silence.

The light surrounding the Throne pulsed.

Then, a voice.

Deep. Vast. Beyond sound, beyond language. It was not heard with ears. It was felt. It resonated through existence itself.

"AND WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO, MICHAEL?"

Michael lowered his head again. "I do not presume to command, Father. But if we wait, if we do nothing, his power will only increase. The time may come when even Heaven will not be able to stop him."

The light dimmed slightly. The presence of the Throne shifted—considering. Watching.

Michael did not move. He remained bowed, waiting for an answer.

Heaven held its breath.

Then—

"RISE."

Michael hesitated. Then, slowly, he stood.

The voice came again.

"LUCIFER'S PATH IS HIS OWN. HIS CHOICES, HIS BURDEN."

Michael tensed. "Father, if he—"

"DO YOU FEAR HIM, MICHAEL?"

The question struck deep.

Michael opened his mouth—then closed it.

Did he?

Fear was not something an archangel should feel. Not in Heaven. Not before the Throne.

And yet—

He remembered the battlefield. The effortless destruction. The sheer, overwhelming force that Lucifer had become.

He exhaled slowly. "I… fear what he may do."

The light around the Throne flared, brighter than ever.

"THEN WATCH. AND WAIT."

Michael's brow furrowed. "Wait?"

"LUCIFER'S STORY IS NOT YET FINISHED. NOR IS YOURS."

The words were final.

Michael clenched his fists, but he did not argue. He could not.

The Throne had spoken.

He bowed his head once more. "As You will it, Father."

The light pulsed again. Then, slowly, it began to fade.

Michael remained standing for a long time, staring at the empty air before him.

His heart was restless.

The war was over. For now.

But something told him—

This was not the end.

Not even close.