I'm The Devil - Chapter 350

Chapter 350: Divine Joke
The club pulsed with soft red light.

Not the kind that begged attention, but the kind that lived in shadows, danced behind eyelids, and hummed with old temptation. Silk curtains drifted with slow, heavy air. The music wasn’t loud, but deep. A slow jazz riff with notes that curled like smoke.

Bariel was already three bottles in.

He leaned across the booth—half-slumped, half-smiling—a half-finished glass of something honey-colored swinging lazily in his hand.

“You know what I like about humans?” he slurred, voice rich and low.

Lucifer didn’t look up from his glass. He sat at the edge of the booth, back half-turned to the room, cigarette glowing faint in the dark. The others lounged nearby. Asmodeus sprawled across the velvet couch like a bored cat. Morunuel leaned forward, quiet, watching.

“Go on,” Asmodeus said with a smirk, tipping a dark bottle against his lip.

Bariel took a deep breath, like he was about to say something profound. “They’re stupid… but honest about it.”

Asmodeus snorted. “Takes one to know one.”

Bariel pointed at him, grinning wide. “Exactly.”

Lucifer chuckled under his breath, finally lifting his gaze. The red glow caught his features, sharp and cold, but his eyes were relaxed.

Morunuel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was soft, but it cut through the noise.

“So why don’t you want it?”

Lucifer glanced at him.

“The throne.”

A pause.

Lucifer leaned back, took a long drag from his cigarette, then exhaled slow.

“That again.”

Morunuel didn’t push. He just waited.

Lucifer’s eyes flicked toward the stage where a slow dancer moved with the rhythm. Her body was more shadow than flesh under the soft lights. He watched a moment, then finally spoke.

“I did fight for it. Back then.” His voice was quieter now. Almost calm. “Fought hard. Kicked open the gates. Screamed at the sky. Thought I was owed something. Thought I deserved it.”

He tapped ash into the tray.

“But that was me ages ago.”

Morunuel blinked. “You changed?”

Lucifer gave a slow nod. “I grew up. Learned that not every fight is worth the blood. The throne doesn’t move me anymore.”

Bariel let out a low whistle. “Could’ve fooled me. You still fight like a bastard.”

“Yeah,” Lucifer muttered, flicking the tip of his cigarette. “But now I pick the fights that amuse me. Not the ones that chain me.”

Asmodeus raised his glass lazily. “You got a reputation down there, boss. You really gonna trade that for a choir and a chair?”

Lucifer grinned. “Exactly. Down there, I matter. I make rules. I break them. I am the devil.”

His eyes burned crimson for a moment. Then dimmed.

“Up there? I’d just be another version of Him. And we already had one of those.”

Morunuel folded his arms, head tilted. “But you were chosen. Father said it himself.”

“I know.”

Lucifer looked around the booth—at the empty bottles, at the lazy sway of the dancer, at the sins who followed him not out of fear, but choice.

“But that doesn’t mean I have to say yes.”

Bariel raised his glass again. “To the devil we know, then.”

The others echoed the toast. Even Morunuel gave a quiet nod.

Lucifer clinked his glass to Bariel’s.

“To fire,” he said. “And freedom.”

They drank.

Outside, the world didn’t care. It kept spinning, unaware that five of the most dangerous beings in existence were sitting in a booth with nothing but time.

And that one of them had just turned down the throne of Heaven.

Because he liked Hell more.

And maybe that was the most honest thing he’d ever done.

Heaven

Heaven did not shine tonight.

Its gold halls still gleamed, yes—its spires still pierced the clouds, its choirs still sang—but the warmth had faded. At least, for her.

Ariel stood near the window of the Seraphim Hall, hands clenched behind her back, gaze burning holes through the sky. She hadn’t spoken in hours. The others kept their distance.

She’d trained for millennia. Obeyed without fail. Fought in wars others ran from. Upheld the Father’s justice like it was written into her bones. And yet… when He named the candidates for the throne, her name wasn’t the only one.

Lucifer.

The fallen one. The rebel. The liar. The arrogant bastard who called Hell home and smiled while the world burned. And somehow, he was chosen. Again.

Her voice came like ice grinding against stone.

“He chose him? After all he’s done?”

No one answered. Not aloud.

“And Exousia,” Ariel muttered, venom in her voice. “That bitch sided with him during the rupture—openly. And now she’s a candidate too? For the Throne?” She turned sharply, wings unfurling a little, white feathers trembling. “Is this some kind of divine joke?”

Then, quietly, a voice entered her ear. Not like thunder. Not like Father. Just… calm. Almost lazy.

“With that attitude, you were never cut out to take His place.”

Ariel froze. The temperature in the room dropped a full octave.

She turned slowly, every instinct on alert.

Standing in the arched doorway—one arm resting against the marble frame, dark veil of energy trailing behind her like spilled night—was her.

Khaos.

Lucifer’s first wife.

Just presence. The kind that bent the world around it without effort. Her eyes weren’t angry. They were amused. Like she’d walked into a child’s tantrum and wasn’t particularly impressed.

Ariel didn’t speak right away. Her thoughts were loud enough.

What is she doing here?

Her husband is back. Shouldn’t she be clinging to him like the harlot she is?

Why here? Why now?

Why speak to me?

But none of it left her lips. Because she knew.

This wasn’t someone you spat at. Not unless you were ready to die—and even then, it’d be a short death.

Khaos stepped forward, unhurried. The hallway behind her warped slightly, like space bent wherever she walked. Ariel stood her ground, but her shoulders stiffened.

“You’re upset,” Khaos said, tone soft. Not mocking. Not gentle either. Just… true. “But that’s not new. You’ve always been angry when he’s chosen.”

Ariel’s mouth twitched. “Don’t speak like you know me.”

“I know enough,” Khaos said, brushing past her. “You think loyalty deserves reward. But this isn’t about loyalty. It’s about balance. And power. And who can carry the weight without crumbling.”

“I’ve carried more weight than he ever has,” Ariel snapped.

Khaos turned then, one brow raised, eyes glinting like black fire. “No. You carried obedience. That’s not the same.”

Ariel took a step back. Not out of fear. Out of instinct.

Khaos didn’t follow. She just tilted her head.

“He doesn’t want it, you know. The throne. That’s why he’ll be forced to take it.”

Ariel blinked. “What?”

Khaos smiled faintly. “You all want it. That’s why none of you deserve it.”

The words lingered in the room like incense. And then she was gone. No flash. Just gone—like a curtain pulled from a window.

Ariel stood still, teeth clenched, nails biting into her palms.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

But deep in her chest, something cracked.

And for the first time in eons… she wasn’t sure if she wanted the throne anymore.

She just didn’t want him to have it.

Even if the Father said otherwise.