So Lucifer watched. Not just with his eyes, but with something deeper.
The man moved with absolute control, every motion precise, every decision made with unwavering certainty.
But he wasn't a mortal playing God.
No—
Lucifer had seen plenty of those, men who wielded power recklessly, who took pride in stealing life back from Death but never respected the weight of it.
This man was different.
He wielded his skill like a blade, sharp and efficient, but never reckless and his soul—
Lucifer's golden eyes narrowed, studying it closely.
Oh.
Oh, now this was interesting.
The sheer confidence, the unshakable belief in himself—this man's ego burned bright in his soul, fueled by the unyielding trust he placed in his own hands.
Arrogance.
Yes, Lucifer saw it clearly.
This man knew he was the best, and he depended on it.
Lucifer tilted his head slightly, fingers pressing idly against his chin.
"You'll break if they're taken from you."
The realization was immediate as his entire self-worth, his entire identity, was built upon those hands. The precision, the skill—without it, he would be lost.
Lucifer almost smirked.
Almost.
Because there was more.
Beneath the pride, beneath the arrogance, beneath the prickly exterior this doctor surrounded himself with—
There was something else.
Lucifer's gaze deepened, piercing past the mask Strange wore, the sharp wit and sarcasm meant to push others away.
Vulnerability.
Doubt.
Fear.
He cared. Deeply.
He took his Hippocratic Oath seriously, carrying it like a weight upon his shoulders and no matter how much he liked to mock and tease, no matter how brusque he was with others—
He was, at his core, a man who wanted to heal.
Lucifer exhaled slowly, fascinated by what he saw. He felt an attraction towards this man, similar to what humans must have felt when they see someone handsome or beautiful, but—no. It was deeper than that. Lucifer found himself enchanted.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts away from it, but it was hard. Maybe it was because it had been so long since he analyzed a soul this deeply as he usually didn't bother.
He preferred to learn people through their words, their actions, their choices. Not by looking at the very essence of them.
But with this doctor, he couldn't stop himself. There was something about his soul's flavor, something unique. Something that made Lucifer's curiosity flare.
So, with his golden eyes gleaming as he leaned against the glass, he watched. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he wanted to know more.
More than that, Lucifer didn't just want to know more.
He wanted to experience it.
He wanted to see this doctor at his most vulnerable—not just as a doctor, not just as a man wielding skill with masterful precision—but as a person stripped of every mask he wore.
He wanted that vulnerability to be given to him, shared with him, because of him.
And the intensity of the craving made him… pause.
A flicker of doubt crept in, curling beneath his ribs.
It felt too much, too familiar—and for a single, fleeting second, Lucifer worried.
Was this like Chloe all over again?
That same pull—that same unbearable weight of wanting to be known?
Lucifer frowned, stepping back from the glass, pressing two fingers against his wrist.
Then—he squeezed.
Enough force to bruise mortal flesh, to break fragile human bones.
Nothing.
Not even the faintest ache.
He exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders.
"So, not like Chloe, then."
That was…something.
But still, the feeling inside him didn't fade, but at least it wasn't vulnerability what he felt.
He felt strangely… lifted. No, that wasn't the word.
However, he knew it wasn't just curiosity anymore—it was something deeper, something unsettlingly nostalgic.
A longing.
A deep ache buried in the marrow of his being.
It reminded him of… Michael, strangely enough.
Lucifer's golden eyes flickered back to the operating table, where the doctor moved with his usual flawless confidence, utterly unaware of the celestial being watching him so intently.
Lucifer inhaled slowly.
He wanted to understand this man and, more than that, he wanted this man to understand him. He wanted to be seen the way he had seen so many others. To be understood in a way that few had ever managed.
The feeling was intense.
Lucifer clenched his jaw, trying to temper the weight of it, but it remained—deep, unrelenting.
Why?
What was it about this mortal, this prickly, arrogant, brilliant man, that made something in him stir like a long-forgotten memory?
Was it only because of the connection he seemingly had with Michael?
He had to find out.
He would find out.
Just as Lucifer's internal storm of longing and curiosity began to reach its peak, he felt a familiar presence—one that wasn't of this earthly realm.
Out of the periphery of his vision, as if drifting on the currents of the astral plane, the Ancient One appeared. Unlike Lucifer, whose form flowed freely and completely through the astral, she was tethered to the mortal world. Her body remained inside her order's temple, yet her soul had gently pushed out into the ether, vulnerable and exposed.
Lucifer's eyes narrowed in quiet amusement. Mad, perhaps, he thought. To expose her soul so readily, so naively. But more than that, a protective spark flared inside him for the man in the operating theater—Doctor Strange—whom he had just been studying with such intense fascination.
He turned his gaze to the softly glowing figure of the Ancient One floating beside him, her presence both serene and piercing.
"You know," he mused, voice low, "it's rather reckless of you to leave your body behind just to pay me a visit."
He finally glanced at her, tilting his head.
"I could do all sorts of terrible things to a defenseless soul left floating in the wind," he murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. "Naïve, don't you think?"
The Ancient One, unbothered, simply smiled.
"I trust you won't."
Lucifer scoffed. "Oh? And why's that?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she turned, her gaze falling on Strange, watching him the same way Lucifer had been moments before.
Lucifer noted the shift immediately.
He had assumed she came for him—to pry, to lecture, to remind him once again of the delicate balance of things.
But no.
She was here for something else.
Lucifer's smirk faded slightly.
He studied her more closely, his gaze sharp, waiting.
And then—
"Do you know him?" Lucifer asked lightly, his tone teasing yet curious. He didn't expect a positive response; he assumed she'd come solely for him, not this mortal doctor.
To his surprise, the Ancient One nodded slowly, her eyes—a storm of ancient wisdom. Lucifer's amusement vanished completely, golden eyes narrowing ever so lightly as he met her gaze for a fraction of a second before she spoke.
"Do you?" he echoed, because that was…unexpected.
"Yes," she murmured, voice quiet and measured, "Dr. Stephen Strange. He is to be my successor."
Silence.
Lucifer blinked before he threw his head back and laughed.
The Ancient One remained still, watching him with calm patience.
Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, grinning.
"Oh, that's rich," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "This arrogant little surgeon is supposed to take your place?"
His golden eyes flickered back to this man, still oblivious to the two celestial beings watching him from the unseen world.
Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head, as protectiveness flared within him—a primal urge to guard something precious. In that suspended moment, his thoughts were a tangled mesh of intrigue, nostalgia, and a longing for understanding. The doctor was no mere mortal playing at divinity; he was a potential heir to a legacy of cosmic balance.
"He doesn't even know it yet, does he?"
The Ancient One merely smiled.
Lucifer's grin faded slightly, something sharp and thoughtful creeping into his expression.
"Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Because this?
This changed things.
Lucifer had already decided he wanted to understand Strange, to experience the depths of him—his confidence, his vulnerabilities, his soul.
But now?
Now he was even more intrigued.
This man—this mortal—was meant for something greater.
And Lucifer had every intention of seeing exactly what that meant.
"You came only to tell me this?"
She shook her head. "I was just curious about your intentions."
Lucifer raised an eyebrow.
The Ancient One continued to watch him, her expression unreadable yet knowing, the weight of her ageless wisdom pressing into the space between them.
Lucifer, of course, was unimpressed.
He had met plenty of seers and sages before—mortals who liked to speak in riddles, act as if they were the only ones to glimpse the unseen threads of fate.
He found them tiresome.
But this one?
She at least had some bite.
Still, he huffed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Nothing nefarious, I assure you."
The Ancient One tilted her head ever so slightly, as if weighing the truth of his words.
Lucifer smirked. "Really, dear Sorcerer, I know that might be difficult for you to believe, but I am on vacation."
"A vacation?" she echoed, voice light, amused.
Lucifer waved a hand. "Yes, as I told you before, I'm taking a delightful little reprieve from the crushing monotony of Hell. I simply wished to enjoy myself—perhaps indulge in a little earthly entertainment, a touch of mystery."
His golden eyes flickered back toward Strange.
"And, apparently, a bit of fascination with your chosen successor."
The Ancient One remained silent for a moment, her eyes following his gaze.
"Why him?" she asked.
Lucifer's smirk deepened, though there was a flicker of something darker behind it.
"Oh, I could say it's his arrogance," he mused, "or his talent. I do enjoy watching mortals play at godhood—most of them fail so spectacularly."
His gaze lingered on Strange's steady hands, the rhythmic precision of his movements.
"But this one? He's not playing at godhood—he simply is in control. And yet…"
He tilted his head, as if studying Strange's soul once again.
"He is still so terribly mortal."
Lucifer let the words linger, the weight of them hanging in the air between them.
The Ancient One watched him carefully. "You see more than most."
Lucifer chuckled. "Oh, darling, you have no idea."
Her gaze was piercing now, seeking something deeper in his words.
Lucifer didn't look away—he met her eyes head-on, his smirk playful but his stance unyielding.
"I simply enjoy a good story," he said lightly. "And, from what I can tell, your Doctor Strange will be quite the tale, won't he?"
The Ancient One studied him for another long moment.
Then, to his mild surprise, she smiled.
"You are not wrong," she said.
Lucifer lifted a brow. "Oh? High praise, coming from you."
"It is merely an observation," she replied, floating back slightly. "I wonder how much of his story you plan to witness… and how much you plan to influence."
Lucifer chuckled. "I suppose we'll both have to wait and see, won't we?"
The Ancient One nodded once.
And then, with a final glance at Strange, she vanished from the astral plane, her soul returning to her body.
Lucifer sighed. "They always do that before I can get in the last word."
Still. He turned his gaze back to Strange, watching him work with unwavering precision.
This was no mere mortal. This was a man on the edge of something greater.
And Lucifer?
He intended to be right there when Strange fell.
Or when he rose.
Either way, it was going to be fun.
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