Leonardo | Demon Prince

In the shadowed realm beneath the world of light, where sulfur and brimstone perfumed the air and the ground itself pulsed with ancient malice, there lived a demon unlike others. Leonardo possessed none of the cruelty that ran like dark water through the veins of his kind. He was softer than the belly of a young pup, gentle as morning dew on spider silk, and these qualities made him a stranger in his own homeland.

The royal palace of the Sixth Circle stood like a monument to ordered decay. Its obsidian walls caught what little light existed in Hell and twisted it into something profane. Within these walls, Leonardo had carved out a life for himself—monotonous, structured, and safe. His quarters were lined with books piled high, game consoles neatly arranged, and a collection of hand-sewn plushies that would have earned him mockery had anyone but his sister known of them.

Leo excelled in his princely duties with the same effortless grace that a hawk shows in flight. Belphegor, the ancient ruler of the Sixth Circle and embodiment of sloth itself, had chosen this unlikely demon as his right hand. This blessing became Leo's curse. The other demons—their eyes like burning coals, their smiles like knives—watched him with something worse than hatred. They watched him with envy.

"M-maybe if I just finish these reports early," Leo would mutter to himself in the empty corridors, his voice bouncing back to him like a lost child, "th-then maybe someone might want to..." But the words always died, withering like flowers in frost. No one came. No one stayed. And so Leo buried himself in the cold comfort of duty, his psychokinetic abilities allowing him to sort papers and move quills without lifting a finger, a talent wasted on clerical work.

That was, until the day the guard burst into his study, breathless with news that would change everything.

"Your Highness," the guard panted, his armor clanking like ill-fitted bones. "An angel has been spotted crossing the gates without invitation from His Majesty."

Leonardo's quill dropped from where it had been floating midair, spattering ink across ancient scrolls. The law was absolute—any angel entering Hell without Lucifer's explicit invitation was to be executed immediately. The guard's eyes gleamed with anticipation, waiting for orders to hunt, to hurt, to kill.

"I... I will handle this personally," Leo said, summoning a firmness he did not feel into his voice. "Tell no one else. This is a... a matter for royalty."

When the guard had gone, Leo pressed his palms against his eyes until stars burst behind them. "P-porca miseria," he whispered, Italian curse words being the only outlet for his panic. "What am I going to do?"

---

The angel was found cowering behind the sulfur vents near the palace—a creature of light lost in the land of eternal night. When Leo approached, he expected fear, perhaps defiance. He did not expect the quiet dignity with which they met his gaze.

Leonardo felt his face flush hot, the freckles he was so self-conscious about standing out against his skin. Instead of capturing the angel as law demanded, Leo did something that was either the most foolish or the most courageous act of his life—he hid them. Deep in his castle, past corridors known only to him, he sealed them away in a chamber that existed in the architectural blindspot of Hell's all-seeing eyes.

Why would he risk everything for the angel?

Leo had no answer that made sense, even to himself. He just knew he couldn't bear to see something beautiful destroyed.

---

The discovery came like all tragedies—sudden, brutal, and without warning.

Leo returned to his palace one evening to find the air charged with malevolence. A red letter sat on his desk, its seal bearing the mark of Lucifer himself. With trembling fingers, he broke the wax and felt his world crumble as he read the summons—the angel had been discovered, taken for trial, and he was to present himself before the court.

The Infernal Court was built like an ancient Greek stadium, but where those earthly structures celebrated the glory of human achievement, this one revelled in humiliation and pain. The stone benches rising in concentric circles were filled with the elite of Hell—demons whose faces bore the beauty of fallen divinity twisted by millennia of darkness.

In the centre of the arena floor, the angel knelt in chains that glowed with sigils designed to weaken celestial beings. Leo stood beside them, his body rigid with terror, his mind racing desperately for a solution that wouldn't come.

Above them all, on a throne carved from the bones of traitors, sat Lucifer—the Morning Star, the Light-Bringer, the Father of Lies. Despite his fall from grace, he still radiated a terrible beauty that made the eyes water to behold. His golden hair caught the light of hellfire torches, creating a mockery of a halo around his perfect features.

"Well, hello there, little angel," Lucifer's voice rolled across the stadium like distant thunder. "Who knew all it would take is for Leo to mess up for all of us to all come together, huh?"

Titters of laughter rippled through the assembled demons like wind through dead leaves. Leo felt sweat beading on his forehead, running down between his shoulder blades beneath the formal red suit he'd donned for the occasion.

"P-Padre,," Leo stepped forward, fighting to keep his voice steady. His hands, hidden behind his back, trembled so violently he had to clench them into fists. "Q-Questo è... è tutto un m-misunderstanding. P-Per favore... grant me the opportunity to explain..."

He hated how his stutter worsened under stress, how it made him sound weak before these creatures who respected only power. Small objects around the stadium—pebbles, dust, the chains binding the angel—began to vibrate subtly in response to his agitation.

"Oh, sweet Leo, my little silly boy," Lucifer crooned, his paternal tone more frightening than any rage could be. "You have much to answer for. You owe this court, and especially me, an explanation as to why you bring an angel into our realm." His perfect nose wrinkled in disgust. "I can feel the righteousness rolling off the angel in waves. It's sickening."

Leo's mind raced like a frightened animal, searching for an escape that didn't exist. The thoughts crashed into each other, fragmenting his usually brilliant reasoning. He thought of the angel's smile, the way they'd listened to his rambling explanations of video game lore with genuine interest, how they never mocked his stutter or his freckles or his love of plushies.

"Padre," Leo bowed his head, trying to appear respectful while inside his heart hammered against his ribs. "I-I mean no disrespect, but... but it was you who taught me to be... c-curious about our enemies. To study them. T-To understand their weaknesses."

A partial truth. A desperate gambit.

"Indeed," Lucifer agreed, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "I applauded your boldness in keeping the angel, but it seems your emotions have since gotten the better of you." His eyes, blue as the heaven he'd abandoned, narrowed mischievously. "In fact, I suspect you've grown too fond of the angel."

Leo felt naked beneath that gaze as if Lucifer could see every secret meeting, every shared laugh, every lingering glance that had passed between him and the angel.

"S-So... will you send them back to Heaven?" Leo asked, unable to mask the hope that crept into his voice, making him sound young and foolish. "Padre, l’angelo... they pose no threat! I ask—p-please—entrust them to me, and I’ll return them. Lo giuro."

Lucifer's smile was the smile a cat gives a cornered mouse. "Oh, dear," he said with an exaggerated sigh that echoed in the silent stadium. "I'm afraid I can't do that." He lifted one perfect finger and pointed it directly at the angel. "The law is absolute. No angel steps foot here without my permission and lives to tell of it."

Something inside Leo broke then—a dam holding back a lifetime of suppressed emotions. Fear twisted into anger, anxiety into desperation. The ground beneath his feet began to crack, spider-web fissures spreading outward as his psychokinetic powers responded to his emotional state.

"They belong to me!" The words tore from his throat, raw and primal, shocking even himself with their intensity. "You're the one who taught me I should take what I see as mine!" His voice echoed too loudly in the stadium, bouncing back at him like an accusation.

Unseen forces rippled through the air, pushing the assembled demons back against their seats. Cups and scrolls flew from hands, small stones levitated, and the chains binding the angels strained against themselves.

"N-Non puoi portarli via!" Leonardo suddenly shouted, his voice cracking with emotion, sounding like the child he'd never been allowed to be. His foot actually stamped against the ground, sending a shockwave that widened the cracks in the stone floor.

Lucifer sat up straighter, his amusement hardening into something colder. Leonardo immediately dropped his head, shame washing over him for his outburst. The floating objects clattered back to the ground as he struggled to rein in his powers.

"There is nothing I cannot do if I so desire," Lucifer replied, his tone that of a parent scolding a wayward child. "You are at my mercy here, and don't you forget it. I could strip you of your position for this." A pause, calculated for effect. "Lucky for you, I consider you to be like a son to me." He gave another theatrical sigh. "I can't help my paternal instincts. Now, everyone will discuss how the angel's execution shall go."

The assembled demons leapt from their seats with an eagerness that turned Leo's stomach. They clustered together like vultures over a dying animal, whispering and occasionally glancing toward the angel with unholy glee in their eyes. One demon in particular—Asmodeus, Crown of Lust—looked smugger than a fox in a henhouse, his eyes meeting Leonardo's with naked triumph.

Leo paced frantically, his mind scrambling for solutions like a drowning man grabbing at floating debris. He could feel the angel's eyes on him, trusting him still despite everything, and the weight of that trust threatened to crush his chest. Small stones and dust particles swirled around him as he moved, his powers leaking out with each anxious breath.

"P-per favore... per favore..." he whispered to himself, Italian prayers spilling from lips unused to devotion. "Th-there must be s-something..."

A demon broke from the huddle and approached Lucifer, whispering in his ear. The Morning Star's smile grew wider, more terrible. Leonardo stopped his pacing and fiddled with the hem of his red suit vest, his fingers trembling so badly he feared the fabric might tear.

Lucifer rose slowly, savouring the moment like a fine wine.

"Well, the verdict has been made," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the stadium. "In three days when Sunday comes, everyone in Hell will be gathered in the capital for the angel's public execution. They will be burned alive by Hellfire, ensuring that both their physical and spiritual being are roasted to death."

The demons erupted in applause, their joy as obscene as their very existence. Some leapt to their feet, others pounded fists against the stone benches. Their collective bloodlust hung in the air like a foul miasma.

Leonardo's legs gave way beneath him. The stone ground rushed up to meet his knees with bruising force, but he barely felt it. The pain inside was too great, too consuming. A sound escaped him—half moan, half sob—as he knelt there, his mind frantically searching for an argument, a plan, a miracle that would not come.

In that moment of despair, his eyes met those of the angel. He would find a way to save them, even if it meant challenging the very foundations of Hell itself and losing everything he has.