Alex stared into its greasy, barren depths with a sense of profound betrayal. It was Sunday, the sacred day of doing absolutely nothing, and his parents were somewhere over the Atlantic, enjoying their long-dreamed-of world tour. This left him, their beloved (and currently neglected) son, to fend for himself in the sprawling, empty house.
The only solace was his binge-watch marathon. On the massive flat-screen TV, the impossibly handsome Tom Ellis, portraying Lucifer Morningstar, was delivering a witty retort to Detective Chloe Decker.
"Bloody brilliant," Alex mumbled, imitating the accent poorly. He was utterly captivated by the concept—the Devil himself, bored with Hell, running a nightclub in Los Angeles and solving crimes. It was the perfect blend of supernatural power and charismatic mundanity. He loved supernatural shows more than anything, and this was one of the best.
He reached for the popcorn bowl again, his fingers scraping against nothing but salt and the ghost of melted butter. A groan of utter laziness escaped him. The kitchen was a million miles away, a treacherous journey across the plush carpet of the living room. For a fleeting second, he considered summoning the willpower to get up, but his body had fused with the sofa. It was a losing battle.
"If only I had a bit of that devilish charm to convince someone to bring me a refill," he mused aloud, his eyes glued to the screen as the end-credits music for one episode began to play. The autoplay countdown started: Next episode in 5… 4…
He sighed, resigning himself to his crunchy, buttery fate. Well, no snacks for this one.
…3… 2… 1…
The screen didn't just change to the next episode. It erupted.
A light, blinding and absolute, not of this world, exploded from the television. It wasn't the soft glow of the LCD but a tangible, consuming force that devoured the light in the room, the sound, the very air. It was like a silent supernova had detonated in his living room. Alex had a split second to think, This isn't part of the show! before the whiteness swallowed him whole. His last sensation was of being pulled, stretched infinitely thin, and then… nothing.
....
Consciousness returned with a slow, syrupy warmth.
The first thing Alex registered was the smell. It wasn't the faint, familiar scent of dust and yesterday's pizza that permeated his room. This was different—a rich, elegant aroma of sandalwood, fine leather, and something else… something clean and expensive, like ozone after a thunderstorm.
The second thing was the feel. The surface beneath him was impossibly soft. He ran his fingers across it; it was smooth, cool silk. His old, lumpy mattress felt like a bed of rocks in comparison. He forced his eyes open, blinking against the gentle, golden sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows he had never seen before.
He was in a bedroom, but to call it that felt like an insult. It was a penthouse suite straight out of a luxury magazine. The ceiling was vaulted, with elegant modern chandeliers. The walls were a tasteful dark grey, adorned with abstract art that probably cost more than his parents' car. The air was still and quiet, insulated from the world outside.
"What in the…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. He pushed himself up, his body feeling strangely… different. Lighter, more coordinated. He swung his legs over the side of the massive, four-poster bed, his bare feet sinking into a plush, white rug.
A wave of disorientation hit him. A dream? A really, really vivid dream?
His eyes fell upon a full-length mirror framed in dark, polished wood. Drawn by a morbid curiosity, he stumbled towards it.
The boy who stared back from the mirror was him… but it wasn't.
It was a masterpiece version of himself. His face, once dotted with the occasional blemish and defined by a pleasant but unremarkable handsomeness, was now sculpted to perfection. His jawline was sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. His skin was flawless, with a healthy, almost luminous glow. But the most startling change was in his eyes. They were his own color, but now they held a depth, a magnetic, almost dangerous allure. A faint, devilish smirk played on his lips without him even trying, promising mischief and secrets.
He raised a hand to touch his face, and the reflection mimicked him perfectly. This was real. This was his face.
"I'm… hot," he breathed, the statement feeling both incredibly vain and undeniably true.
It was in that moment of stunned self-admiration that the voice echoed in the confines of his own skull. It was crisp, mechanical, and utterly devoid of emotion.
Ding! Welcome to the Marvel World. The System grants you the Lucifer Morningstar Template. Initializing...
Alex froze, his hand still pressed against his cheek. "Who's there?" he whispered, spinning around. The luxurious room was empty.
A transparent, blue-tinted screen materialized before his eyes, hovering in the air like a high-tech hologram.
[Template Integration Complete!]
Welcome, User: Alex.
Bestowed Identity: Lucifer Morningstar (Template)
Current Abilities Unlocked:
- Eternal Youth: Your physical form is locked at its peak (Age 18). Your lifespan is immeasurable, existing beyond the confines of mortal time. You will not age a day beyond this moment.
- Superhuman Strength: Base Level Activated. You possess strength far exceeding human limits, capable of bending steel and tossing cars with minimal effort. (Growth Potential: High)
- Superhuman Speed: Base Level Activated. Your reflexes and movement speed are enhanced to superhuman levels.
- Superhuman Defense: Base Level Activated. Your skin and tissues are incredibly dense, providing high resistance to conventional physical harm. (Vulnerability: Divine/Powerful Magical Armaments)
- Influence Desire: By looking into a person's eyes, you can perceive and understand their deepest, most hidden desire. The foundation of your power.
[Abilities Locked]
- Wings: [Status: Locked] - Unlock Condition: [Spread Your Influence Across the World].
- Devil Face: [Status: Locked] - Unlock Condition: [Extreme Emotional Outburst/Unfiltered Rage].
The screen hung in the air, its information stark and unbelievable.
Alex's brain, which had been struggling to process the new face and the new room, finally latched onto two words from the initial message.
Marvel World.
The blood drained from his newly perfected face.
"No. No, no, no, no, NO!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the spacious room. "Marvel World? You've got to be kidding me! That's the universe where New York gets invaded by aliens every other Tuesday! Where a giant purple potato with a cosmic fetish for shiny rocks decides to commit universal family planning!"
He began pacing frantically across the expensive rug, his panic overriding the awe of his surroundings.
"Thanos! Oh, god, Thanos is out there right now, probably polishing his golden glove! And Loki! That psycho with a horned helmet who stabs people for fun! And Hydra! They're in S.H.I.E.L.D.! Everyone is secretly a Nazi!"
He ran a hand through his hair, which was now impossibly soft and perfectly styled. "I'm gonna be cannon fodder! I'm gonna be the guy who gets vaporized by a Chitauri energy blast in the background while Iron Man poses for a cool shot!"
His rant continued for a full minute, a chaotic stream of consciousness filled with every terrifying detail he remembered from the movies. He was a walking, talking Marvel wiki, and that knowledge was currently his worst nightmare.
Finally, his frantic pacing slowed. He stopped in front of the window, looking down at a city he now recognized. It wasn't New York. The skyline, the sun, the vibe… it was Los Angeles.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the panic down. The initial shock was receding, replaced by a cold, logical assessment.
"Okay, Alex. Get a grip," he told his reflection in the window. "You're in the Marvel Universe. That's bad. But…" He looked at his hands, flexing them and feeling the latent power coiled within his muscles. "But you're not just some random civilian. You have a System. And it gave you… the Lucifer Morningstar Template."
A slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face. The Devil. He had the template of the Devil himself. The charisma, the power, the immortality. He wasn't cannon fodder. He was… he could be a player.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, a newfound steel in his voice. "If I'm stuck here, I'm not just going to survive. I'm going to live. And I'm certainly not going to be a background character."
As if on cue, the System's voice chimed once more in his mind.
"Identity Process Completed."
This time, there was no screen. It was a floodgate opening in his memories.
A torrent of images, feelings, and facts crashed into his consciousness, seamlessly weaving themselves into the fabric of his mind. He remembered a childhood without parents, a lonely but privileged existence. He remembered a distant, rarely-seen father who had passed away recently, leaving him two things: this breathtaking penthouse apartment, and a property downstairs…
A nightclub.
Called Lux.
It was currently closed, dusty, and dormant, a sleeping giant in the heart of Los Angeles. He had dropped out of high school, a decision made by this other version of himself, leaving him with no ties, no obligations, and a massive inheritance.
The fusion of memories was complete. Alex from Earth, and Alex of this new world, were one. The panic was gone, replaced by a thrilling, terrifying sense of possibility.
He walked back to the mirror, looking at the handsome, charismatic stranger who was himself. The faint, devilish smirk was back, but now it was genuine.
"Marvel World," he said, his voice steady and laced with a newfound confidence. "You have your monsters, and your heroes." He leaned closer to the mirror, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "Well, now you have a Devil."
He turned away from his reflection and looked towards the door that he knew, from his new memories, led downstairs to the closed and silent Lux.
His first mission was clear. The canvas was blank. It was time to reopen the club. It was time to spread his wings—figuratively, for now.