Reborn as Lucifer Morningstar in Lucifer TV/DC comics

Lucifer touched down near the expansive gardens of Lost Paradise, his landing marked by the faint shimmer of ethereal wings retracting into their own world. The air here was heavy with the scent of flora that seemed to bloom from dreams rather than soil -- roses with shifting hues, their petals dancing in unseen breezes, and trees that bore fruit glowing with an internal, otherworldly light.

Baran sat cross-legged beneath one such tree, the boy's posture uncharacteristically tense, his dark wings pulled tight against his back. He was toying with a cluster of shimmering crystal shards, remnants of a soul fractal Lucifer had gifted him weeks prior.

The fragments danced above his palm in a slow, deliberate orbit, their motions mimicking the deliberate turns of a seasoned negotiator manipulating a pact.

Each fragment was a left over desire. To connect all of them is to fashion a deal based on the understanding of the very foundation of all the soul's desires.

Lucifer's lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "Not bad, my son. You're starting to grasp the subtleties."

Baran glanced up, startled, though his control didn't falter. The shards continued their lazy orbit as he inclined his head in deference. "Dad."

Lucifer folded his arms as he approached, his shadow stretching long across the garden despite the lack of true sunlight. "But subtleties are only part of the game," he said, his tone sharp yet tinged with pride. "If you're to truly master the art dealing, you must learn not only how to spin the web, but also how to know when to let the fly struggle."

Baran tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "I thought you said a good deal is one where both parties leave thinking they've won."

"Ah," Lucifer replied, wagging a finger as he lowered himself to sit across from his son. "That's the ideal. But ideals, my dear boy, are only a starting point. Real mastery lies in understanding that power dynamics are fluid. A good deal today can become a trap tomorrow, and you must always be the one holding the knife."

Baran nodded slowly, his gaze dropping back to the shards in his hand. "And how do I know when to cut the thread?"

Lucifer reached out, his index finger flicking one of the shards in its orbit. It spun out of its rhythm, shattering the perfect harmony Baran had created. "When the other side believes they've won so completely they forget you're even in the game."

Baran frowned, the shards trembling as his control wavered. "So, you're saying... manipulation over trust?"

Lucifer's smirk softened, the faintest trace of warmth in his gaze as he regarded his son. "Not exactly. Trust is the foundation of all things, Baran. But trust can be wielded, just as love, fear, or ambition can. What matters is knowing the balance. When to lean on it and when to... let it fall away."

Baran's wings shifted slightly, a sign of his inner conflict. "That seems... harsh."

"Harsh?" Lucifer repeated, his voice dropping to a low, contemplative rumble. "Perhaps. But the world is harsh, my son. Even here, in this so-called Paradise, every soul wrestles with its own darkness.

If you would survive -- no, if you would thrive -- you must learn to read that darkness in others and in yourself. Though do not misunderstand. I am not telling you to back out on any deals you make, nor to lie.

If you do, you must know that you would be sorely disappointing me. What you need to understand when making a deal, is that you must always leave yourself an out. Something more based on interpretation, so that in this way, if whoever you fashion the deal with becomes your enemy, you can lead them to their own ruin."

Lucifer still seeing the conflict within his son, internally sighed as he leaned forward, his shadow blending with Baran's, his tone shifting from instructive to intimate. "Tell me, Baran. Do you think the mortals we deal with see us as harsh? When they make their pacts, when they whisper their desires into the darkness, do you believe they think of us as cruel?"

Baran hesitated. "No. They see us as... necessary."

Lucifer's grin widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Precisely. We are the answers to questions they dare not speak aloud. The solutions to problems they cannot admit to having. To them, we are hope."

He gestured to the shards in Baran's hand, now spinning once more in a steady rhythm. "And hope, my son, is the most powerful currency of all."

Baran studied his father's expression, searching for some hint of vulnerability behind the words. But Lucifer's gaze was as impenetrable as the barriers of Creation itself.

For a long moment, neither spoke, the silence filled only with the distant hum of the garden's life.

Finally, Baran sighed, letting the shards drift downward until they rested in his open palm. "I think I understand. At least... I'm starting to."

Lucifer chuckled, the sound rich and dark. "Good. Because understanding is the first step. But mastery, my son, comes with practice."

He rose to his feet, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Now," he continued, brushing invisible dust from his coat, "why don't we see how well you've learned your lessons?"

Baran frowned. "What do you mean?"

Lucifer's grin turned predatory. "There's a merchant down in the Bazaar of Eternities who's been attempting to cheat me, through one of your elder siblings, Squee, in his trades for centuries. He doesn't know I've noticed... yet. Shall we pay him a visit?"

Baran's eyes lit up, the prospect of a real-world challenge sparking something akin to excitement in his expression. He stood, his wings stretching slightly as he followed his father.

As they walked, side by side, Lucifer's voice carried over his shoulder, equal parts teacher and provocateur. "Remember, Baran: every deal, every pact, every promise is a story. Stories have power in them. To make use of that power, you need to fashion the best of stories. And the best of the best are the ones where the ending is never what the other side expects."

Baran nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. For the first time, he felt the thrill of the game Lucifer had mastered -- and the weight of the legacy he was expected to uphold.

All his other children, were not really the most suited when it came to this side of Lucifer. Oh, sure, they were most definitely intelligent enough to be taught, but the problem laid in their personalities. 

The best of deals lays in truth and interpretation, yet virtually all his children to their father's dismay were compulsive liars. The ones who weren't, such as Leviathan for example, were too warrior minded. Power trumping all, no need for any kind of negotiation.

Therefore, Baran, was quite the breath of fresh air of the Morningstar.

Lucifer was very much delighted with the boy's truthful and compassionate nature, that had not been polluted by the airs of Hell. For compassion was not a weakness, but a strength. It simply needed to be wielded as it was supposed to, as a tool, and not let oneself be swept away by it.

As the archangel was thinking all this, both he and his son disappeared into the light, the garden of Lost Paradise returning with their leave to its serene stillness, the faint echoes of their conversation lingering like whispers in the wind.

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The Bazaar of Eternities sprawled before them, a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells that seemed to exist beyond the constraints of any single plane of existence. Every stall shimmered with the ethereal glow of wares pulled from countless realms -- fabrics woven from starlight, gems that sang softly when touched, and potions that swirled with the essence of forgotten dreams. It was a place where desires and curiosities collided, where the strange and the wondrous became commodities. 

It was a place of possibility, for it was possibility brought to life within the dreaming. For within the dreaming lie virtually all possibilities.

Lucifer himself, normally refrains from entering these kinds of realms, for, not, following the stream of time, twisting it with the use of the world of dreams, could leave holes in the story he wishes to tell. Not all understand these realms, and his main listeners are humanity, who he still intends to use to fashion him into his ideal self.

The Devil, as they arrived, led the way, his every step commanding attention despite the bustling crowd. Baran followed close behind, his wings tucked tight, his golden eyes wide with curiosity and apprehension. This was his first visit to the Bazaar, in the physical sense, that is. His father had manifested them, in more subtle forms, to observe, and teach. 

"Look closely," Lucifer instructed, his voice low yet unmistakably firm. "Every movement, every glance, every word spoken here carries meaning. The Bazaar is alive, my son. It breathes deception and exhales ambition. If you are to succeed, you must learn to see beneath the surface."

Baran nodded, his gaze darting between the merchants shouting their wares and the shadowy figures whispering in corners. His father's words were a challenge, and he resolved to rise to it.

As they wove through the labyrinthine stalls, Lucifer's presence parted the crowd like an unseen force. Whispers followed them, though none dared approach. It was not fear that kept them at bay but reverence -- the kind reserved for a storm on the horizon, beautiful yet terrifying in its inevitability.

They stopped before a stall draped in opulent silks that seemed to shift colors in the flickering light. Behind it stood a tall, gaunt merchant with sharp features and a smile that never reached his eyes. His hands moved deftly, arranging a collection of intricately carved trinkets that gleamed like polished bone.

"Ah, Lord Morningstar," the merchant greeted, his voice smooth as honey yet carrying an edge of unease. "What an unexpected honor. To what do I owe this visit?"

Lucifer's smile was as disarming as it was dangerous. "Well met, Nazzar. I've come to discuss a matter of... discrepancy in our dealings. But first," he gestured to Baran, "allow me to introduce my son, Baran. He is quite interested in learning the intricacies of commerce."

Baran stepped forward, offering a polite nod. "Pleasure to meet you."

Nazzar's eyes flicked to the boy, his smile tightening. "The pleasure is mine, young master. What a fine opportunity, to learn from the greatest negotiator in all realms."

Lucifer chuckled softly, the sound laced with amusement. "Flattery, Nazzar? How quaint. But let's dispense with pleasantries. I've noticed a rather curious pattern in the deals you've struck with Squee. Care to explain?"

The merchant's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, a crack in his polished facade that Baran caught. "My lord," Nazzar began, his tone measured, "I assure you, all our agreements have been in accordance with the terms set forth. If there has been any misunderstanding-"

Lucifer raised a hand, silencing him. "Misunderstandings are for mortals. You and I both know the truth lies in the details. And as it happens, my son is here to examine those details."

Baran's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly schooled his expression. His father had thrown him into the fray, and there was no room for hesitation. He stepped closer to the stall, his gaze sweeping over the trinkets and scrolls arrayed before him.

The young nephilim, decided to first see what is being dealt, before anything.

The boy lingered near the stall as Lucifer's shadow melded into the fabric of the Bazaar, his gaze fixed on the array of trinkets. Each item seemed to pulse faintly with a life of its own, their energies like whispers in a room, drawing him into their stories. Nazzar, now a humbled figure, eyed him cautiously.

"What are these?" Baran asked, picking up a slender dagger etched with delicate runes that shimmered like frost under moonlight.

Nazzar straightened, his nervous demeanor giving way to the practiced cadence of a merchant. "Ah, young master, you hold Frost's Needle. A blade born from the nightmares of a king whose people rose against him. Its edge never dulls, and it draws strength from the cold void of betrayal. A single strike will freeze the blood in a traitor's veins, but it also whispers doubts into the wielder's mind, making them question the loyalty of all around them."

Baran frowned, sensing the faint psychic pull of the dagger's intent. "And the price?"

Nazzar hesitated. "A memory of warmth – the feeling of trust, gone forever."

Lucifer's voice slid through the air like a blade. "Clever, Nazzar. A price tied to its essence. But I taught you better than to leave your buyer defenseless against the same despair the item instills."

Baran set the blade down, his attention shifting to another item: a pendant shaped like an unblinking eye, its iris swirling with crimson and gold. It seemed to watch him, its weight unnatural despite its small size.

"And this?"

Nazzar cleared his throat, emboldened by the chance to explain. "The Gaze of Ouro. This trinket comes from the dreamscape of a tortured philosopher who feared being unseen and forgotten.

It grants the wearer the ability to see the true intentions of anyone they behold, peeling away the layers of deception. But its curse-" Nazzar's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper -- "is the unbearable loneliness of knowing the depths of a soul's selfishness. No bond will feel genuine again."

Lucifer chuckled softly, the sound low and resonant. "A trinket for those who crave clarity, even if it comes at the cost of their own peace. How poetic." His golden eyes gleamed, reflecting a deep amusement as he continued. 

"Indeed, my Lord," Nazzar said swiftly, his tone reverent. "You, the Knower of Truth, have always taught that the pursuit of absolute truth must rest upon a foundation unshakably built on honesty -- an openness to all possibilities before committing to any course. Wisdom, after all, begins with caution, not reckless bargains." 

Lucifer turned his gaze back to the pendant at Nazzar's words, his expression softening into a smile that was equal parts pity and indulgence. "Yes," he mused, "those who take this burden upon themselves are often the architects of their own ruin. Yet I must confess, there is a certain satisfaction in watching even the brightest minds grapple with the weight of their own ambitions, ensnared by their relentless pursuit of meaning."

Baran's golden eyes lingered on the pendant, tempted yet wary. He set it down and reached for another piece: a small music box adorned with intricate carvings of writhing figures. The moment his fingers touched it, a haunting melody drifted into the air, filling the Bazaar with a sense of profound unease.

"That," Nazzar said, his voice trembling, "is Lament of the Bound. It was forged in the nightmares of a bard who sought perfection but feared losing their humanity in the pursuit. The melody enchants all who hear it, bending them to the wielder's will. But the one who winds the box will find themselves trapped in a loop of their deepest regrets, unable to move forward without unimaginable pain."

Baran closed the lid gently, silencing the tune. "And what would you sell it for?"

Nazzar hesitated, glancing at Lucifer. "A moment of triumph. The exact instance when one feels most alive, taken from them forever."

Baran looked to his father, his expression thoughtful. "Every one of these items is tied to a nightmare, a fear. They're weapons, but also... traps."

Lucifer nodded, his satisfaction evident. "Precisely. The best deals are those that mirror the desires of the soul. The greatest weapons are not forged of steel or fire but from dreams and nightmares, from the delicate threads of what beings wish to achieve -- or avoid."

He gestured to the stall, addressing Nazzar. "Your collection is impressive, Nazzar. But remember: each piece must carry not only a curse but also the potential for redemption. The mortal heart thrives on hope, even in despair."

Baran tilted his head. "You mean these items should offer a way out?"

Lucifer's gaze softened, though his voice remained sharp. "Exactly. A deal that traps completely will eventually breed rebellion. But one that allows the illusion -- or reality--of escape becomes inescapable. A cage is most effective when its prisoner believes they hold the key."

Baran absorbed his father's words, his fingers brushing over a final object: a twisted ring of dark metal set with a single shard of glass. The shard reflected not his face but a swirling void.

"And this one?"

Nazzar's expression darkened. "That is The Mirror's Lie. It offers the wearer the power to rewrite the perception of others, to make them believe whatever version of the truth they desire. But its curse is insidious. The more it's used, the less the wearer can discern their own truth from the lies they weave."

Baran stared at the ring, the weight of its story pressing against his thoughts. He felt Lucifer's hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

"These items are tools, my son," Lucifer said. "They're not inherently evil, nor inherently good. They are reflections of the choices we make. Always remember that when you strike a deal."

Baran placed the ring back with a decisive motion. "I'll remember."

Baran's mind churned with the lessons of the day, the stories of the trinkets and their prices embedding themselves deeply. He glanced at his father, the thrill of the game now tempered by a new understanding of its complexity.

"Father," he said softly, "how do you decide which deals to make?"

Lucifer's smile was enigmatic. "Simple, my son. I choose the ones that tell the best stories."

Baran hearing his words, took them in, having them echo through his mind, akin to tasting the meaning of it. He nodded to himself as he finally decided on how to approach this situatioon.

"These deals," Baran began, his voice steady, "were they always based with more broader terms in mind or are there specific exchanges of value?"

Nazzar's gaze darted to Lucifer before returning to Baran. "A bit of both, young master. Flexibility is key in such arrangements."

Baran nodded, picking up a small amulet that pulsed faintly with a rhythmic light. "Flexibility, yes. But also clarity. Without clarity, flexibility becomes a veil for misdirection. Isn't that right?"

Lucifer's smirk deepened as he watched his son. Baran was catching on quickly.

The merchant's expression hardened, though he kept his tone pleasant. "I assure you, clarity was maintained at every step. Perhaps there was... an oversight on Squee's part."

Baran placed the amulet of wind, back on the stall, his golden eyes locking onto Nazzar's with a confidence he didn't yet fully feel. "An oversight, or an opportunity? It's easy to craft terms that seem fair until they're tested. If the terms were indeed clear, you won't mind explaining how the value of these trinkets has been inflated by-" he picked up a second item, a dagger that seemed to hum with suppressed energy, "-nearly forty percent over the past century."

Nazzar's composure cracked further, his hands twitching as if resisting the urge to snatch the dagger from Baran's grasp. "Market fluctuations, my young master. Surely you understand."

Baran tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Fluctuations? Or exploitation? After all, trust is the foundation of all things, isn't it?"

Lucifer's laughter suddenly rang out, low and approving. "Well done, my son. Very well done." The fallen archangel stated with fatherly pride. 

The merchant swallowed hard, his facade crumbling under the combined weight of Lucifer's presence and Baran's probing. "Lord Morningstar," he began, his voice trembling, "I see now that perhaps my methods were... misguided. Allow me to make amends."

Lucifer stepped forward, his shadow enveloping the merchant like a cloak. "Amends, Nazzar? Oh, you'll do far more than that. My son has given you the opportunity to correct your path. I suggest you take it." 

Nazzar nodded hastily, noticing both the mercy and veiled threat between his words. Lucifer wasn't one to give second chances, but this time, it isn't he who is bestowing it, but his son, for Baran had not issued any desire for punishment, something the boy did intentionally.

The merchant's hands began moving to gather the items Baran had scrutinized. "Of course, my lord. I will ensure all discrepancies are addressed immediately."

Lucifer straightened, his smile returning to its usual enigmatic warmth. "See that you do. And remember, Nazzar -- a good deal is one where both parties leave satisfied. You've been given your chance to uphold that principle. Don't waste it."

As they turned to leave, Baran felt a surge of pride mixed with relief. He had passed his father's test, but more importantly, he had begun to understand the delicate balance of power and trust that defined his father's world.

"Well done, Baran," Lucifer said as they walked away from the stall. "You're learning quickly. But remember, this is only the beginning. The true challenge lies in mastering not just the game, but yourself."

The fallen archangel was proud, yet even during these events, his mind still raced with possible plans forward. Ways to save his twin. Though to his disappointment, he had yet to think of anything that could work.

Baran himself, unaware of the storm of thoughts to this day, raging within his father, nodded, his mind already racing with the lessons he had learned. The Bazaar buzzed around them, a living testament to the power of deals and desires, and he knew he had taken his first step into a much larger world.

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(Author note: Hello everyone, hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Hope you all enjoyed the father and son bonding. 

How was it? Was it interesting?

I thought it time for something more lighthearted than all the serious stuff.

Please do comment how you found it. The more engagement you show, the more motivated I am to write, because I like interactions with you guys.

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)