“Please...”
@chaos-in-the-story
Punishment after punishment came to him ever since his last conversation with Lucifer, and every single time it happened he got more and more scarred. The process was slow—and at first his reaction as pure rage and fury and misunderstanding but then it got reduced more and more and more until he was a sobbing mess, a small tiny thing in the middle of nowhere, unsure of where to go or what to do. The grief held onto him gently but firmly, grief over a lack of purpose, that even the Lord of Hell wouldn’t give him one.
Was he worth only nothing in the end? He didn’t want that (but part of him had accepted it early on even before he died, and he’d done so much twisted and turned everywhere everything to try to find a shred of meaning and no no no no no he didn’t want to be weak and useless why)—he didn’t.
“Please, please talk to me. Please”Â
He whispered it quietly as he could barely get himself to look up at Lucifer. He was trembling and scared and afraid, but any manipulative part of him had broken and he was just begging, now.
 Part of him tried to think back to happier times (reading those little bedtime stories to his niece, during a time when everything was so right and perfect and good and he felt like he had something to hold onto) but it was so faint now. He didn’t know what to do, what to turn to for anything and it was evident that he was completely lost. But he knew Lucifer would always refuse to give him a purpose, no matter what. No matter how much he begged and cried and raged he would never give him a purpose because he was always going to make him suffer that way. Lucifer had won, and as much as he hated to admit it he had to.
“...I know you hate me so much but I need to know—” He broke into a sob again, trying to wipe at his lone reddened, working eye. “And you probably won’t tell me because you hate me so much. I hate myself so much. I know I’m purposeless. I’m just...your tool for cheap entertainment because you love tormenting me so much.... But...do you know what your own purpose is, at least?”
He chuckled grimly at that. “I mean...no use in punishing sinners all the time, getting caught up in that repeated motion...don’t you...feel like there is more than that that you are created for...?”
He wasn’t asking this to manipulate him or anything. He was now more curious than anything, despite his grief. Even if Lucifer refused to answer the question for him, he could always guess a little bit. His desire to manipulate was replaced by a desire to get through something. A determination for something, someone.Â
Determination for something unknown was all he had left. And no one could take that away from him no matter how much he broke, because he had a determined heart.
