Lucifer's battered sedan, already running on borrowed time, finally gave up the ghost three days later.
The wobbly spare tire and the strained chassis from the pothole incident proved too much.
It sputtered, coughed out a plume of thick, noxious smoke, and died spectacularly right in the middle of a deserted industrial zone.
Lucifer got out, kicked the tire in frustration, and checked his finances.
[Current Funds: $1,875]
"Not even enough for a decent down payment on a reliable bicycle,"
He muttered.
A new car was utterly out of the question. Delivery in Gotham was nearly impossible without a vehicle, cutting off his main source of income.
He spent the next hour working on the wreck, not as a mechanic, but as a dismantler.
Using the tools he still had from his engineering mindset, he stripped the car for parts that held any residual value—the intact headlights, the copper wiring, the slightly damaged but functional engine block.
He sold everything he could salvage to a scrapyard owner who looked like he'd mugged an extra from a Batman movie.
[Car Parts Sold: +$350]
[Current Funds: $2,225 ]
"Still less than a good used Vespa,"
He sighed, looking at his meager total.
His million dollar goal felt impossibly far away. The stress made his stomach rumble loudly.
"Stop thinking about millions and budgets for five minutes, Morningstar. You need food."
He abandoned the shell of his car and walked until he found a grimy, steaming hole-in-the-wall diner—the kind of place where the health inspector hadn't visited since the Reagan administration.
He ordered the cheapest meal on the menu: instant ramen with one questionable egg. It tasted like despair, but it filled the void.
With his primary income source gone, Lucifer had to pivot instantly.
He needed immediate cash. Despite his advanced intellect and past life as an engineering student, none of that mattered without a degree in this life.
He hadn't even finished high school.
He headed towards a major construction site he'd passed earlier.
It was dirty, dangerous work, but they paid cash at the end of the day, no questions asked.
He spent the rest of the afternoon hauling cinder blocks, mixing cement, and climbing rickety scaffolding.
The manual labor was brutal.
His body, while tough from years of surviving Gotham, was not built for construction.
He constantly used his Tier 2 Force Field while working.
When a heavy bucket of tools slipped near his head: "Shield Up!" The thin plywood shield shimmered, deflecting the heavy object just enough to graze his shoulder instead of crushing his skull. The shield instantly broke, triggering the nine-minute cooldown.
When he had to carry a stack of sharp metal sheeting: "Shield Up!" The shield minimized the small cuts and abrasions he would normally receive.
He used it every nine minutes, pushing its limits.
By the time the sun dipped, he was sore, covered in grime, and had a few minor system notifications.
[Tier 2 Force Field Activated (5/10)]
[Focus Training: 20/60 Minutes]
He collected his cash payment: $150. Hard-earned, painful money.
[Current Funds: $2,375]
Exhausted, Lucifer dragged himself back toward his small, low-rent apartment, just wanting to collapse and train his shield until it reached Tier 3.
As he rounded the final, poorly lit street leading to his building, he saw something strange—something that instantly shattered his exhaustion and focused his mind.
Lying slumped against a dumpster, half-hidden in the shadows, was a figure dressed in a dark, familiar hooded cloak.
The air around the figure felt subtly wrong, charged with a faint, unsettling energy that made the system screen in Lucifer's vision flicker momentarily.
He cautiously approached, his hand ready to command his shield if needed.
He peered closer at the unconscious girl.
Her skin was pale, her face framed by dark, striking magenta hair peeking out from under the heavy hood.
Lucifer's mind, filled with knowledge from both this merged world and his past life, instantly supplied her identity.
"Shit,"
He breathed, recognizing the iconic purple garb.
The system, alerted by the proximity of a major player, provided an instantaneous, blaring assessment that filled his view.
[Target: Raven (Rachel Roth)]
[Status: Unknown/Severely Injured/Unconscious]
[Threat Level: High (Suppressed)]
[Danger: World-Ending Potential. Proximity to Trigon's Influence.]
Lucifer swallowed hard.
That was significantly higher than the Kryptonite package's base danger, and leagues beyond Batman's threat level.
This was not a Gotham street thug, or even a B-list villain. This was an entity that could unravel reality.
"Raven,"
He whispered, carefully kneeling beside her.
"What in the hell happened to you in my alley?"
She was clearly hurt, possibly drained of her power. Leaving her here was impossible; anyone—a cop, a gang, or worse, a government agency—finding her would spell disaster for the entire city.
His million dollar goal, his Bronze delivery rank, and his plywood shield suddenly seemed insignificant.
Lucifer had survived eighteen years by avoiding these high-tier conflicts, but now, the daughter of a demonic overlord was bleeding on his doorstep.
He knew he had to move her. He looked around wildly, then back at the girl, realizing the severity of his situation.
He was now involved in a conflict that was far beyond the scope of his current system abilities.
"Alright, Raven,"
He muttered, carefully lifting her surprisingly light, cloaked form.
"Let's see if this plywood shield can protect us from a dimensional demon."