Chapitre 5: Chapter 4 Welcome to my new Kingdom
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The Blind Spot was a hive of activity, pulsating with the heartbeats of Manhattan's nocturnal denizens. Behind the bar, Lucifer Morningstar. His hands moved with practiced grace, mixing cocktails with the same precision he once used to orchestrate infernal punishments.
"One 'Hellfire Highball' for the lady," Lucifer announced, sliding a vibrant red drink across the bar to a wide-eyed brunette. "Don't worry, darling. The only thing damned about this drink is how sinfully good it tastes."
The woman giggled, clearly captivated. "You're not like other bartenders, are you, Lucifer?"
"Oh, you have no idea," Lucifer replied with a wink. His gaze swept the club, taking in the dance floor where bodies writhed to the pulsing beats, the darkened corners where hushed deals were made, and the VIP section where the city's elite sipped overpriced champagne. It was a microcosm of human desire, and Lucifer was its conductor.
Frank, the club's owner, sidled up to the bar. "Morning, you've done it again. The place is packed, and the till's ringing like a damn church bell on Sunday."
"Well, Frank, when you cater to people's true desires, success is inevitable," Lucifer said, deftly mixing a martini. "Take our friend over there, for instance." He nodded towards a man in an ill-fitting suit, nervously glancing at his watch. "Suburban dad, I'd wager. Mortgage, two kids, a wife who's lost interest. He comes here not for the drinks, but for the fleeting illusion of being someone exciting."
Frank grunted, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. "And her?" he asked, gesturing to a woman in a power suit, her gaze fixed on her phone.
Lucifer chuckled. "Ah, she's the opposite. Corporate shark, clawing her way up the ladder. She's here to seal a deal, not with contracts, but with a few well-placed whispers and a dash of blackmail. Humans are so deliciously predictable."
"You've got some insight, Morning," Frank said, a mixture of admiration and unease in his voice. "Just remember, we're here to serve drinks, not psychoanalyze the clientele."
"My dear Frank," Lucifer purred, "the two are one and the same. Every drink is a story, every patron a novel waiting to be read. And I, well, I'm just the librarian, guiding each to their perfect tale."
As Frank walked away, shaking his head, Lucifer's attention was drawn to a commotion near the entrance. A group of men in expensive suits were arguing with the bouncers, their voices rising above the music.
"Trouble in paradise," Lucifer muttered. He signaled to another bartender to cover for him and made his way through the crowd.
The apparent leader of the group, a man with slicked-back hair and a watch that probably cost more than the club's monthly revenue, was red-faced with anger. "Do you have any idea who I am?" he snarled at the bouncer. "I own half of this city!"
"And yet," Lucifer interjected smoothly, "you can't seem to own your temper. Tsk, tsk. That's no way for a man of your... stature to behave."
The man turned, his rage finding a new target. "And who the hell are you?"
"Oh, my friend," Lucifer smiled, his eyes glinting with a hint of his old power, "I'm the one who deals with all the little hells humans create for themselves. Now, why don't you tell me what's really bothering you? What is it you truly desire?"
The man's anger faltered, his eyes locking with Lucifer's. His voice dropped, almost trance-like. "I... I want respect. Real respect, not just fear. My father, he always said I'd never be half the man he was..."
"Ah, the eternal daddy issues," Lucifer nodded sympathetically. "You know, I once had a rather tumultuous relationship with my own father. Kicked me out of the house, you could say. But here's a little secret: true respect isn't bought with money or threats. It's earned."
He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, you could barge in here, make a scene, and everyone will remember you as the loud, angry man who ruined their night. Or..." Lucifer's grin widened, "you could join me for a drink. I'll introduce you to some people who might find your business acumen... intriguing. By the end of the night, you'll have the connections you need, and everyone will remember you as the man who knows how to make things happen. What do you say?"
The man blinked, his anger evaporating. "I... I suppose one drink wouldn't hurt."
"Excellent!" Lucifer clapped him on the shoulder. "Gentlemen," he addressed the bouncers, "Mr...?"
"Fisk," the man supplied. "Wilson Fisk."
"Mr. Fisk will be joining us tonight. Do make sure his associates are comfortable." Lucifer's tone made it clear this was not a request.
As he guided Fisk to the bar, Lucifer's mind raced. Wilson Fisk - the name rang a bell. A major player in New York's underworld, if he remembered correctly. This could be useful. After all, even the Devil needed allies in a new world.
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The night wore on, and Lucifer found himself in his element. He mixed drinks, brokered deals, and occasionally coaxed out a secret desire or two. It was almost like being back at Lux, if Lux had been frequented by supervillains and corrupt businessmen instead of Hollywood starlets and rockstars.
"You've got quite the operation here, Morningstar," Fisk rumbled, nursing his third scotch. "I could use someone with your... insight in my organization."
"Oh, Wilson," Lucifer chuckled, "I'm flattered. But you see, I have my own plans. Though I'm sure we can find ways to... mutually benefit each other."
Fisk nodded, understanding the game. In the world of power and influence, everything was a transaction. Lucifer had just made a valuable connection, one that could open doors in this unfamiliar universe.
But just as he was savoring his victory, a commotion by the entrance caught his attention. Two figures had burst in, one chasing the other. The pursuer was a familiar sight - Spider-Man, his red and blue suit a stark contrast to the club's dim lighting. The pursued, however, was a new face: a lanky man with a shock of white hair and a manic grin.
"Come on, bug boy!" the man cackled, leaping over tables with inhuman agility. "Can't keep up with ol' Quicksilver?"
"Oh, for Dad's sake," Lucifer muttered. He turned to Fisk. "If you'll excuse me, it seems I need to have a word with the entertainment."
Fisk, seeing an opportunity, nodded. "Handle this discreetly, Morning, and we'll talk more about that mutual benefit."
Lucifer made his way through the chaos, catching Spider-Man's attention. "You know," he drawled, "when I said this place was open to all sorts, I didn't quite mean it as an invitation for a costume party."
Spider-Man, mid-leap, twisted to face Lucifer. "Hey, I remember you! The helpful civilian from the other night. Look, buddy, I'd love to chat, but I've got a speed demon to catch."
"Ah, yes, catching. Because that's worked out so well for you so far," Lucifer quipped. He raised his voice, projecting it with a hint of his old commanding tone. "Quicksilver, is it? A word, if you please."
Quicksilver, perched atop the DJ booth, paused. There was something in that voice, an echo of authority that even his rebellious nature couldn't ignore. "What's it to you, barkeep?"
"It's quite simple, really," Lucifer said, stepping closer. His eyes gleamed, not with hellfire, but with a cunning that transcended his mortal form. "You're here for a reason, aren't you? Not just to play tag with our friendly neighborhood arachnid. No, you desire something. Something specific. So, why don't you tell me what it is you truly want?"
For a moment, the club seemed to still. Even Spider-Man paused, watching the exchange with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Quicksilver's manic grin faltered, and he looked at Lucifer with an intensity that suggested he was seeing more than just a bartender.
"I... I need to find my sister," Quicksilver said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "She's lost, maybe in danger. There's this guy, Magneto, he's got her wrapped up in his mutant crusade. I just want her safe."
"Ah, family," Lucifer nodded. "The eternal complication. I understand more than you know. But tell me, do you really think causing chaos in a nightclub is the best way to find her? Perhaps what you need is not a high-speed chase, but the right information. And information, my speedy friend, is a currency I deal in quite liberally."
Spider-Man landed beside them, his mask hiding what must have been a very confused expression. "Okay, hold up. First, you take down a purse snatcher like it's nothing. Now you're negotiating with supervillains? Who are you, really?"
"Just a humble bartender with a penchant for understanding people," Lucifer smiled. "Now, let's make a deal, shall we? Spider-Man, I believe you have contacts who might know something about this Magneto fellow or his activities. And you, Quicksilver, have skills that could be quite useful in certain... discreet inquiries I need to make. Help each other out, and I'll ensure you both get what you desire. Sound fair?"
Spider-Man and Quicksilver exchanged a look. It was an odd alliance, but in a world of superheroes and interdimensional bartenders, stranger things had happened.
"Fine," Spider-Man said. "But the moment he steps out of line..."
"Oh, I'm sure our speedster friend will be on his best behavior," Lucifer grinned. "After all, it's not just his neck on the line. It's his sister's future too."
As the unlikely trio began to hash out their plan, Lucifer felt a familiar thrill. Back in Hell, he'd been the master of deals and bargains. Now, even without his full powers, he was spinning webs of his own, weaving the desires of heroes and villains alike into a tapestry that served his needs.
"Welcome to my new kingdom," he murmured, looking out over the bustling club. It wasn't the infernal throne he'd once commanded, but for now, it would do. After all, even stripped of his celestial might, he was still Lucifer Morningstar. And in any universe, the Devil always found a way to rise.
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Don't forget to drop some stones too
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone