[No Time to Die]

Famous last words, as people would define, is said to serve as an ironic comment or reply to an overconfident assertion that may well be proven wrong by events. Yet the ones that are in fact famous are strangely few and far in between.

Issei used to wonder what kind of thoughts would invade someone's mind when death's door was a breath away. If 'life flashes before your eyes' is an actual phenomenon and not just some sort of tall-tale made up by imaginative and wishful story tellers or overly dramatic people. And if it was true, he wondered how it would feel; to watch your entire life flashes by. What rays of emotions would they experience from remembering every single thing that eventually led to the birth of those famous last words?

Because as he lied there, dying, he couldn't think of anything witty to mark his death other than; "Fuck."

His life did not flash by and neither did the winged woman flash upon him - which was an even bigger letdown. Was he to die without ever seeing a girl's knockers -his very reasons of existence- with his own very eyes? Was he doomed to never feel their fineness, their plumpness, their marshmallow-like softness as he had imagined? Was he forever stuck with his own imaginations and feeling his anime girl mouse-pads would be his closest experience of touching those funbags?

Yes. Yes he would.

And so, the young perverted boy known as Issei Hyoudou died in a severe case of blood loss from the gaping hole in his chest. That, or the organs failure killed him first. Either way, he died unimpressively.

He lived his life like a virgin, and died as a true virgin.

His date and murderer for the evening stood there, looking not the least mournful or even bothered by his dead body slumping awkwardly by the fountain with his rear pointing to the sky. He might be dead, and she was his killer, but she was still a sight to behold. Especially after she transformed into this... kinky slaver-master-torturer-woman. Something of the sort. Bondage was outside his area of interest, but her outfit fit her looks eerily perfectly.

Silky jet-black hair, juicy tender thighs that he'd die for to plant his face in between, slim slender waist, lovely healthy pair of breasts, and a sadistic beautiful face to top it all.

Not that it mattered anymore. He was killed. Dead. Gone from this world. Freed from his mortal coil. Unbridled from the hardships of living. Not breathing. Unalive.

Some believed that once you die, you'll be reborn depending on your good and bad deeds. If you did more good than bad, then you'd be reborn as a new human fresh from the oven - or more appropriately; a mother's womb. If you do more bad or was very bad during your time, then you'd have to live your next life as a newt.

Or worse, a tree.

Imagine spending your entire day hanging there, photosynthesizing oxygen, doing nothing but being a crucial entity for the human to live whilst feeling trivial as long as you live, only to be cut down by a money-hungry corporation or burnt down by those idiots in Brazil.

And to some others, the Christians, or Preachers -as he referred them- claimed that the souls of people who passed away went to either Heaven or Hell. Or as the Catholics would like to input, to some sort of a waiting room first to wait for their turn to be judged, where their good and bad would be weighed first.

Eventually they would all go to one of those two places as their final destination, living in jubilant joy in the land of milk and honey, or forever being poked by pointy sticks held by red-skinned people with goat-horns.

In other words; a Devil. In a traditional manner of speaking, of course.

But those descriptions – which were not only racist, stereotypical, rude, demeaning, and on top of it all; condescending – were false.

However, there was some truth in it. That a soul didn't perish once its life ended.

Especially not his.

As he died, his soul did leave his body. It did voyage through a dimension incomprehensible for our eyes. But this soul was not to be reborn as an animal or a plant or a newt, nor did it go towards the glorious pearly gates of Heaven to be judged by an Angel or God Himself – as if He didn't have anything better to spend His endless time.

Nope. His soul went straight to Hell.

Or in a more accurate term -as the soul of The Dark Prince was never originally a human soul- returned to Hell.

Break

"Gah—!"

With a sharp gasp, he rose from his centuries-long slumber. The shock of being alive again brought him to sit up, but his 'sitting up' was prevented by something realistically solid and made of stone that caused a very real headache when it slammed his head.

"AGH— SON OF A HUNDRED BLISTERING TYPHOONS—"

For a good amount of time, he uttered all the curses and combination of flowery insults that he learnt during his past lives. He rarely utter curses; at least none creative and lengthy for common cases, but slamming his forehead to a rock first thing after waking up wasn't exactly a common case.

Calming down to a murmur of blasphemies, he found that he was encased in a tight space. A casket or some sort. It was highly uncomfortable and smelled dirty like dirt.

"Ah... balls..." He groaned as he realized where and who he was and why he was here in a tomb. Normally, after dying as a human, his soul would look around for another human vessel to latch on, forgetting the memories of whatever life he had. From a street sweeper to a king. From somebody to a nobody or the other way around.

Obviously that wasn't the case this time.

Still uncomfortably resting on the rough gravelly surface, he contemplated his life.

"Huh." He hummed, finding it odd that he still held some memories of his latest humanly life. As Issei Hyoudou. From the moment of his birth to his death, complete like reading a biography book of that boy, except some pages were missing.

Irrelevant none the least, he cared little for his petty human lives.

His russet brown eyes flickered into a dark shade of crimson, before everything in a mile radius was enveloped by a fierce explosion. Dust, dirt, mud and smokes wafted high up to the air as he crept out from his grave, crawling out into the clearing; upon the crater he made, in the middle of a barren wasteland that once was a battlefield. No vegetation in sight. No water. Just a parched no man's land surrounded by an ocean of everlasting fire. Destruction as far as his eyes could see.

But that might have been his fault.

His dry lips pursed back as old memories came back like a flash flood. The fighting, the screaming, the perhaps necessary bloodshed, and the countless deaths that followed, all of them reoccurred to him like the only redeeming scene of an otherwise horrible war movie. He couldn't tell which was worse, the screams or the sounds of bones splintering apart or flesh being cleaved by either an angelic sword or a hellish one – or both.

Such an ugly thing, war is.

"Not the time for depressing thoughts." He pepped himself, and was a little bit surprised at his own, original voice. It had been long since he heard himself talk this smooth yet husky, sexily raspy… devilishly charming of a voice. Especially devilish. A significant improvement from that perverted brat. He made a note to put it to test and swoon the first woman he met.

And women! Ah, women. He could never praise his Father enough for creating these delicate creatures, perhaps the only kind that could turn their loving, intoxicating embrace into a heartless and cruel one. Like a flip of a coin. Strange creations they were -Eve most especially-, but he certainly would not complain for their existence, and they would praise his existence once he was done with them.

Hearing his old voice also brought another thought to mind. A dire one, in fact.

The King of Hell – well, former King of Hell, should not look like a pile of rotting bones with a dehumanized figure that would give nightmares to Demons. No, no. That'd make a horrible first impression.

A pillar of crystalized ice emerged from the dead earth. Perfectly smooth surface but not blindingly shiny.

He took a look at himself.

He was unclothed, but—

"Why hello there... label me as charmed would you?"

And here he thought he had become a mangled corpse during his temporary vacation. It turned out he was worrying for naught. Still he retained his magnificent form that can make the morning stars pale in comparison. Still he was devilishly dashing and angelically stunning. Still he retained the appearance of good ol' Prince of Darkness.

He could use some trimming, though. He looked like Jesus.

Not a problem too big to handle. As in under a couple of seconds, he regained his old look. His bold brown hair in a quiff hairstyle that everyone used to make fun of, his beloved black suit over his white dress shirt and trousers, and not forgetting his elegant dress shoes. He was way ahead of his time, you see. He had been wearing these apparels even when leather sandals and slippers and baggy saggy poorly-fitting clothes were the trend back in the day.

Something was missing, though. His wrist felt naked.

"Could use a watch." He supposed. Christ Verra for the irony, maybe?

He checked himself out in front of the makeshift-mirror for a little while longer, until someone cut his self-appreciating moment short.

"{I don't remember you ever being this debonair, runt.}"

That rumbly, beastly voice made his skin jump. "Seven hells— who said that?!" he demanded as he looked around the vicinity, alerted, and a little bit creeped out. He wondered if this was what Adam felt when he heard his Creator's voice for the first time.

"{Who I am?}" The voice continued, chuckling deeply like a rumbling avalanche. "{I'll tell you who I am... boy.}" He said. Proudly, haughtily, like a warrior wanting to boast.

"{I was here, here at this desolate land you stand. I was present during the grandest war of all wars... the Great War. Here, at the very place where the Three Factions meddled my eternal bout against my rival, the White Dragon of Supremacy. Only when they combined forces due to our indomitable power that they defeated us, and sealed me within an artifact... An artifact bestowed from the God of the Bible to His creations. Humans... What I reside is a Sacred Gear... A Longinus... Are you even listening?}"

"Hm? Oh yeah, sure. Sacred Rear. Lengthy nose. Bits and bobs." He was in the middle of fixing the lapels of his black suit and adjusting his red tie, so no, he was not.

{It's Sacred Gear you lout! And it's Longinus!} Roared the being trapped in said artifact, {Are you not aware who you are talking with? I am The Red Dragon of Domination! Mountains crumble as I speak, seas part and the earth split upon my arrival, and my presence alone instill unaltered fear to the hearts of many! I am the one who caused havoc and forced the Three Major Factions to combine their strength in order to defeat me! I am Y Ddraig Gooch!}

"Well, I'm sure it is very nice to meet you Drakey." He said without a sliver of care, smiling his set of pearly whites and winking at himself for being so darned good looking. He did find his name to be odd. "…Are you Welsh, by any chance?"

The dragon's snarl escalated to a low growl. "{My name... is Ddraig!}"

"Oh pipe down will you? Yelling won't sharpen your point." The man let off a throaty chuckle as he tore a black slit into the air with a drag of a finger, and pried it wider with both his hands.

The sudden silence of his guttural growls implied that the mighty Dragon was stunned, and he was.

"{That's... that's a portal...?}" Ddraig muttered in wonder. "{Did you just tear a rift in space and time?}"

"Sure." The Devil replied flippantly.

"{Hold on... humans can't do that...}"

"Who says I'm a human?"

"{Wh—}" Ddraig re-checked the current state of his host's soul. {You're… you've become a devil?!}"

"Become? I wouldn't put it that way. Do you think I'm a Devil because I'm inherently evil, or just because dear ol' dad decided I was?"

Ddraig was baffled. Not even he could conjure a direct doorway to the same world, let alone making one to another world.

"{How...? You, what is your name?}"

"Lucifer. Son of God. Sort of. It's complicated." The Godfather of all Devils replied with an eager smile, unknowingly rendering the proud Red Dragon Emperor speechless as he stepped into the portal back to earth, to the empty nave of a deserted church.

To be continued...

Hello, welcome to the bottom section. I'd give you a cookie if I have one. I'll give you two if you didn't see that coming, but I guess it's pretty obvious from the title that he's Luci. :c

And no. Although he dresses sharply, speaks in a pronounced RP British accent, and is a witty fellow himself, he's not the Lucifer in the TV Series Lucifer. He is inspired from him, but is a completely different Lucifer.

Thank you for reading, and have a good day