Lucien Nixon (Yes, compared to the devil, Lucifer), hadn't grown up quite right. His beloved mother, mind you who had been the queen of the underworld, better known as hell, had died. No one knew why, or from what. Even those who happened to specialize with healing hadn't been able to do a thing-- Not even tell what was wrong after she had died. She had been a beautiful woman, nice and kind (Despite living in hell), but had been born with perhaps one of the deadliest powers known to demons, and that was being able to control shadows. Or, better known, as a Shadow Ruler. The king, however, his father, had been born with the power of flames and fire, nearly as equally strong but not nearly as feared, also better known as a Flame Tamer. Lucien had been born with both, oddly enough. But because of his mother's absence, having died when he was only at the age of five years old, a small boy, he hadn't acquired what love and nurturing should've been in place from his drill sergeant of a father. And it was because of this that he was thought to have grown up as cruel and mean as his father was, who was still alive.<br/><br/>His mother, as beautiful as she had been, had possessed long raven black hair and stunning blue eyes. Her features had been soft and even gave her the appearance of being fragile because of it. She hadn't been tall, but had been very thin. Yet despite what looks she had been blessed with, she hadn't been anything close to fragile.  Lucien's father had always told him that his mother's eyes had always looked like she was looking straight into the soul, looking at everything you had done whether bad or good, judging you mentally but never verbally. He had been told that these very same eyes could be gentle and loving, but always with the option of turning hard and cruel, with a glare like daggers. But his father had short brown hair nearly in a buzz cut with how short it was, only making the title as sergeant more fitting. His features were hard and sharp, the edge of his jaw and the bridge of his nose following suit. Tall and standing at 6 ft, he was a broad man with wide shoulders and a well built body nearly like a wall. His eyes were a emerald green that almost looked as if light or fire would dance about whenever he looked at certain things. Maybe it was true. Or perhaps a trick of the light.<br/><br/>Well, Lucien had gotten a mix of both his parents, as children usually do. His eyes were the same brilliant blue as his mother's, added with smaller flecks of a darker blue that seemed to dance about the iris's of his eyes. His hair was the same raven black, though it was shaggy and not straight as her's had been, sticking up in multiple spots while refusing to lay down like an untamed horse. It was long enough to just barely fall over his eyes at some spots, covering his ears for the most part as well. He hadn't ever bothered trying to tame his hair. He liked it wild. But unlike his father he was no brute, his body was tall, an inch taller then his father, standing at 6'1", a lean, skinny figure that almost appeared fragile in it's own, special way. But his features weren't soft, his jaw line and the bridge of his nose was sharp and to the point like his fathers, always giving him a serious look just the same.<br/><br/>Lucien was always getting new slaves- More specifically angels that had been captured and clipped, stripped of what strength and powers they had once possessed. He knew his mother would've frowned upon that act, but with the way he was raised he thought nothing of it. Most times he'd toy around with the angels too much and end up killing them, or giving them fatal wounds that would end up having them killed. Therefore it was a regular thing that he was always getting a new personal, angel slave.<br/><br/>And today was no different. A new angel servant was to be brought to him where he sat in one of the many living room fashioned rooms of his home that he shared with his father and all the other servants who worked there as well. Sitting on the couch before the fire that he watched intently but at the same time blankly, a wine glass in his hand with red wine filling it about half way which he held properly with one hand, the other resting on the arm of the couch. Staring at the flames like this, it was always easy for him to feel mesmerized by what beauty he saw in them.