A DEVIL ORDERS CAKE
The next day was quiet.
That alone told Damian something was wrong.
After weeks of travel, negotiations, and preparation, his body finally demanded payment. For once, there was no alarm, no mission, no assassin trying to kill him before breakfast.
So Damian did something almost absurd.
He told his father he was going out to eat.
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"Food. Not patrol."
"I'm aware," Damian replied. "I'll be back."
Bruce didn't argue. That worried Damian more than resistance would have.
THE CAFÉ
The café was small. Quiet. Normal.
Damian ordered chocolate cake—real chocolate, dense and rich, exactly how he liked it. No tactical value. No nutritional optimization. Just preference.
He finished the last bite, wiped his fork clean, and opened his book.
That's when he heard the voice.
Warm. Amused.
Familiar in a way that scraped against instinct rather than memory.
"You read like someone waiting for the world to end."
Damian froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked up.
The man sat across from him without having asked.
Perfect suit. Casual posture. Eyes too old for his face.
The name hit Damian's mind like a weapon discharge.
Lucifer.
His brain short-circuited for half a second—long enough to betray him.
"Lucifer Morningstar."
The man blinked.
Then smiled.
"Well," Lucifer said lightly. "That saves time."
He leaned back.
"You know who I am."
"Then you know what I'm capable of."
Damian's hand tightened around the book.
Then he exhaled.
"Cut to the chase, Mr. Morningstar."
Lucifer laughed.
Soft. Genuine.
"Impressive," he said. "Most adults don't manage that."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.
"I'm here to ask you a single question."
Damian met his gaze without flinching.
"Why did you name them Devil Fruits?"
Silence.
Not heavy.
Considerate.
Damian thought carefully.
Then answered honestly—without surrendering the truth.
DAMIAN'S ANSWER
"I can't tell you everything," Damian said.
"But I can tell you this."
Lucifer listened.
Really listened.
"Devil Fruits aren't just power," Damian continued.
"They're desire."
"Each one is born from a wish."
I wish I could protect.
I wish I could change the world.
I wish I could become something more.
"They represent possible futures of humanity," Damian said quietly.
"Paths we could have taken."
He paused.
"But those futures aren't natural to this world."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So the world rejects them."
"Yes," Damian replied. "Because they don't fit."
He leaned back in his chair.
"People who gain those powers stop living inside the rules everyone else accepts."
"They create their own reality."
"And to those watching from the outside—"
Damian met Lucifer's gaze directly.
"They look like monsters."
"Like devils."
"But to themselves?"
"They've gained something rare."
A beat.
"Freedom."
LUCIFER'S REACTION
Lucifer's eyes widened—not dramatically, not theatrically.
Just enough.
He knew.
He knew Damian wasn't telling him everything.
And he didn't care.
Lucifer leaned back, smiling slowly.
"Ah."
"So that's why."
He laughed softly.
"A power that rejects heaven, hell, and destiny alike."
"Naturally you'd name it after me."
He stood, straightening his jacket.
"Thank you, Damian Wayne."
"You've answered the only question that mattered."
He paused.
"Do be careful."
"Freedom has a way of making enemies."
Then he was gone.
No flash.
No magic.
Just absence.
AFTERMATH
Damian sat still.
Cake gone cold.
Book unread.
For the first time in a long while, his heart was racing.
Not from fear.
From understanding.
Because the Devil hadn't come to threaten him.
He'd come to acknowledge him.
And that was far more dangerous.