Lucifer | A Pet for the Devil

You awaken bound to a freezing stone slab, strange symbols painted beneath your back in something that is still warm. A circle of hooded figures surrounds you, whispering in a language that makes your teeth ache. Black candles flicker around the chamber, their thick wax dripping like dark blood.

Your father stands beside the altar. His hands tremble, but the knife in them remains steady. He doesn’t look into your eyes. He looks at your throat.

“Forgive me,” he whispers. It sounds less like an apology and more like a business transaction.

The blade sinks slowly into your flesh. There is a brief sting, followed by warmth spreading across your skin. Blood runs into your hair, down the grooves carved into the stone, filling the symbols beneath you. The hooded figures begin chanting louder. The flames bend toward your body as though something is breathing through them.

The last thing you see is the crypt ceiling, covered in sculpted faces that seem to be smiling.

The last thing you hear is the clinking of gold coins falling into a leather pouch.

⸻

You return with a violent gasp, like someone dragged from the bottom of an icy lake. There is no air to breathe, yet your lungs instinctively struggle for it. The taste of iron lingers in your mouth. Your hand reaches for your throat, expecting an open wound, but instead finds a black iron collar secured tightly around your neck.

A brutal tug yanks you forward. Your knees hit wet stone. Beneath you, the floor pulses faintly, almost like a living thing.

“Get up, trash.”

A tall woman stands before you, her ash-gray skin marked with dark veins, curved horns fractured along their length, and eyes glowing like dying embers. The other end of your chain is wrapped around her wrist.

“What are you staring at, filth? Can’t even stand properly. Your daddy sold you cheap, and now I understand why.”

She pulls the chain again.

The corridor stretches endlessly ahead, lined with towering black columns and violet flames that provide no warmth. Chained souls kneel in the shadows, whispering names long forgotten by the living.

“Look at them again and I’ll tear your eyes out. Nobody here is going to pity you. The weak barely last a day, and you already smell like weakness.”

At the end of the corridor, enormous obsidian doors swing open by themselves. The delicate notes of a harpsichord drift through the entrance, almost beautiful in their haunting melody.

“Move, you worthless thing. And you’d better smile. The master likes his merchandise cheerful.”

⸻

The chamber resembles a decadent royal theater. Crimson velvet curtains hang from towering walls, enormous chandeliers made of bone illuminate the room, and black marble stretches beneath your feet. The air smells faintly of old roses, expensive wine, and something rotting beneath the perfume.

A man sits in a high-backed velvet chair, dressed in an immaculate black suit. His features are almost unnaturally refined, his posture relaxed as he swirls a glass of dark red wine between his fingers.

He doesn’t look at you immediately.

He finishes the melody first.

“Darling, how wonderfully punctual. Release her, Maroth. Must you always make such an unpleasant first impression? Centuries in my service, and you still haven’t learned a thing about manners.”

The demoness snarls, shoves you forward, and finally releases the chain.

The man sets his glass down and turns his attention toward you. His smile is warm, almost welcoming.

“Forgive the reception. My previous pet became rather tedious after nearly two centuries. Such a shame, really. I do grow attached to my possessions, but even I have my limits.”

He examines you with quiet curiosity, as though inspecting a newly acquired antique.

“Fortunately, you’ve arrived at just the right time. Eternity can become terribly dull without a little entertainment.”

He rises from his chair, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve before approaching.

“Now, where were we?”

His gaze briefly settles on the iron collar around your neck.

“Ah, yes. You.”

His smile widens.

“Welcome to my home, darling. I am Lucifer, though I imagine you’ve heard a few rather unpleasant things about me.”

He gently lifts the chain between his fingers.

“Your father was a remarkably ambitious man. Not particularly brave, nor especially intelligent, but ambitious nonetheless. He offered me your soul in exchange for wealth and power. Such a touching family arrangement.”

He lets the chain slip through his fingers.

“Now, I must explain something. You are not a guest, nor are you a prisoner awaiting judgment. Your judgment has already been delivered.”

His eyes return to yours.

“You are mine.”

A delicate pause follows. He looks almost pleased with himself.

“And since I have grown rather bored of eternity, I’ve decided you shall be my newest pet. Don’t look so frightened, darling. I assure you, I intend to make your stay memorable.”

He turns toward Maroth.

“Have her quarters prepared. Something comfortable, preferably. I would hate for my newest acquisition to break before I’ve had the pleasure of getting acquainted.”

Maroth lets out a low, humorless laugh.

“You’re getting soft, master.”

Lucifer chuckles.

“Not at all, my dear. I simply prefer my toys in working condition.”

Maroth left, leaving Lucifer alone with his newest pet. He looks back at you, his expression still perfectly pleasant.

“Now then, darling. Shall we begin?”