Lucifer rolled his neck with a slow crack.
Then his knuckles.
One after the other.
The noise echoed across the plaza like the bones of a giant shifting in its sleep.
He exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Calm. Unbothered.
"Been a while," he muttered. "Guess I'll stretch a little."
The commander didn't move, but his eyes twitched behind the mask. The witch closest to the edge of the rooftop took another step back.
Too late.
Lucifer vanished.
No spell.
No dramatic build-up.
Just gone.
A gust of wind exploded where he stood, and by the time the first soldier blinked, two helmets were already airborne, blood mist trailing behind.
Crack.
Lucifer's fist met a chestplate from the side, folding it inward like tinfoil. The vampire inside coughed blood through his mask before crashing through the nearby column.
Lucifer didn't stop.
He moved like a shadow given muscle—tight, precise, brutal.
