The porcelain sink creaked in protest at the tall man's weight. He strained his face, willing a change he knew wouldn't come. That overused saying humans reference "If looks could kill..." danced through the Devil's mind. Why? Because his used to. Lucifer's glare could send men jumping off of buildings. He could institutionalize a person for life with just one glimpse of his burned, raw, hell-face. Like a trophy, he held it in front of those who deserved to be squashed. For millennia, he had worn that demonic skin with glee, knowing no other could match him - to be what he was. At Morningstar's core, that facade was him. It was more him than this human dressing he currently wore and it was surely more him than the monstrosities adorning his back.

This human face staring back at Lucifer was almost revolting now.

For Father to strip away the only real visual representation of his being felt as if Lucifer himself had been ground into dust. Being cast out of the Silver City hardly brought this level of humiliation and pain.

When Lucifer had tried to show Chloe the truth, he expected many reactions, but her being even more upset with her partner wasn't one of them. She thought he was messing with her, which stung even more than any possible rejection that could have occurred if his scarred face had materialized. At that point, Lucifer was only aware of the throbbing pain of fresh scars on his back, not knowing that cutting off his wings wouldn't end it there.

God had no right.

Long fingers snatched up his bartender's favorite playthings and Lucifer's all-too-human eyes flashed with determination.

Stretching his arms back, trying to get at his wings and bracing for what was about to come, Lucifer sucked in a breath. Maze wouldn't be pleased that he'd sullied her knives again - angel blood was a pain to wash away - but there was no other way to get rid of the horrid things. As the devil pulled the curved blade upwards, he could feel warm, sticky blood beginning to escape from the hole he was ripping into his back. It was a strong contrast to the unnaturally cold steel. As if the knife was sensing the universe's horror at this foul act, it caught halfway through the bone. A grunt escaped his lips.

Every one of Lucifer's muscles screamed in protest - this wasn't healthy or natural and his body knew it. Despite the spasms writhing across his back, Lucifer continued. Salty tears joined the growing pool of blood that filled the air with a coppery, metallic stench. He would do whatever it took to regain his true face - even if, Father forbid, he had to do this a dozen more times.

Staring into the mirror with desperation, Lucifer saw red. Whether it was his fiery devil eyes returning or just pain blinding his vision, he didn't know. Clenching his teeth, Lucifer yanked the divine weapon up one last time. With a gut-wrenching *snick* the heavenly appendage dropped, lifeless once more. One down, one to go, he thought.