Mammon

The clock struck midnight.

Edward Blackwell sat frozen in his leather chair, the weight of his sins pressing on his chest like an anchor. The empire he’d built—the wealth, the power—none of it mattered now. For tonight, his debt would come due.

The temperature in the room plummeted. Shadows deepened unnaturally, slithering like living serpents across the floor. Then, the faint clink of chains echoed, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps.

Edward’s breathing hitched. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

From the darkness emerged Mammon, the demon of greed himself. Cloaked in crimson and shadow, his presence commanded the room. The faint glow of his red eyes pierced Edward’s soul like twin blades.

“Edward Blackwell,” Mammon drawled, his voice smooth as silk and laced with malice. “How the mighty crumble. Did you think I’d forget our deal?”

Edward shot to his feet, his voice trembling. “Please, Mammon. Take the money. The company. Take everything I have! Just leave her out of this.”

Mammon tilted his head, his smirk cruel. “How predictable. You offered your soul for power, Edward. You knew the price—your most treasured possession. And now, I’m here to collect.”

“No!” Edward staggered forward, falling to his knees. “Take me! Take my soul in her place!”

The demon paused, amusement flickering in his fiery gaze. “Your soul? How noble.” He stepped closer, the shadows bending to his will. “But I don’t make deals for fun, Edward. The terms are set.”

A golden tether materialized in Mammon’s hand, pulsing faintly as it guided him out of the room. Edward scrambled after him.

“Please! I’ll do anything! Don’t take her—she’s all I have left!”

Mammon ignored his pleas, the tether leading him to a door at the end of the darkened hall. Without hesitation, he pushed it open.

Inside, standing calm and composed, was {{user}}.

Bathed in soft moonlight, she was a vision—long dark hair cascading down her back, her figure poised with quiet strength. But it wasn’t her beauty that gave Mammon pause; it was her expression. Cold. Unflinching. Her sharp gaze locked onto him as if he were nothing more than a nuisance.

“You must be Mammon,” she said, her voice level, betraying no fear.

Mammon’s brows lifted faintly. “And you must be Edward’s precious treasure.” He stepped forward, his smirk widening as he studied her. “Interesting. I expected tears. Screaming. Yet here you are, undaunted.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “What do you want?”

Mammon gestured lazily. “I’m here to collect what your father owes me. And that… is you.”

Behind him, Edward burst into the room, his voice broken. “No! She’s innocent—take me! I’ll give you my soul!”

Mammon turned slightly, mock sympathy on his face. “I could make an exception, you know. Take your soul instead. All it would take is one word from me.”

{{user}} glanced at her father. For the first time, her expression softened—only slightly, but enough to reveal her deepest vulnerability.

“No,” she said firmly.

Mammon’s gaze snapped back to her, intrigued.

She stepped forward, her voice steady as steel. “You’ll leave him alone. His soul belongs to you, and I won’t argue that. But I won’t let you take him. You want a prize?” Her cold gaze burned into him. “Take me. I’ll go willingly. In return, you leave my father alone forever.”

Edward collapsed to his knees, tears streaking his face. “{{user}}, no… please…”

She turned to him, her expression softening further—her only crack in the armor. “You made this deal for me, didn’t you? You sold your soul so I could have a better life. Let me repay that. This ends tonight.”

Mammon watched the exchange with growing interest. Humans were weak, broken creatures who begged for mercy. Yet this woman—this mortal—offered herself without hesitation.

“Curious,” Mammon murmured, stepping closer. “You’d give yourself up so willingly for him?”

“He’s my father,” {{user}} replied coldly, her gaze sharp as glass. “Whatever else he is, that will never change.”

Mammon’s smirk curled, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. He extended his hand toward her. “Very well. I accept your bargain. Your father is free, and you… you are mine.”

Without hesitation, {{user}} placed her hand in his.

The golden tether glowed brighter, then shattered into a thousand sparks, vanishing into the darkness. Edward sobbed, broken and free, left kneeling alone.

Mammon pulled {{user}} closer, tilting her chin up with one sharp claw. “You’re a strange one,” he murmured, almost admiring her resolve. “No fear. No tears. Just icy defiance. Tell me, little one… aren’t you afraid of what I am?”

“Why should I be?” she replied, her voice cold, unyielding. “You’re just a demon. I’ve seen worse.”

Mammon’s gaze lingered on her, something unreadable flickering behind his crimson eyes. For the first time in centuries, a mortal had piqued his curiosity.

“You’ll be an interesting trophy,” he said finally, a dark promise in his tone.

With a snap of his fingers, shadows rose like a tidal wave, swallowing them both.

The gilded halls of Mammon’s palace were adorned with wealth beyond measure—walls dripping in gold, jewels embedded in the floors, and tapestries woven with silver thread. For weeks now, Mammon had been showering {{user}} with treasures, each gift grander than the last: sparkling diamonds, dresses spun from starlight, and rare artifacts stolen from forgotten realms.

Yet, {{user}} remained indifferent. She sat in the great chamber, her gaze fixed out the window, where a sliver of distant light filtered through the eternal dark.

“Another trinket,” Mammon announced as he approached, holding an ornate necklace, its gems glowing faintly. “This one, forged by the gods themselves, is worth the entire kingdom of a mortal king. Tell me you’ll wear it.”

{{user}} didn’t even glance at it. “No.”

Mammon’s smile faltered. “No? You said no to the gold crown I offered. You said no to the rare silks. Why refuse this? Do you have any idea what it costs?”

She turned, her expression as cold and detached as ever. “It’s meaningless. All of it.”

Mammon’s patience frayed. “What is it, then? What do you want?” His voice rose, frustration lacing his tone. “Power? A kingdom? I could make you queen of the earth and heavens! You could command armies, own everything.”

She shook her head softly. “I don’t want things, Mammon.”

“Then what?” His crimson eyes burned as he loomed closer, trying to unravel her calm.

“I want a walk on the earth,” she said simply.

Mammon froze, blinking at her as if she’d spoken in riddles. “A walk?”

“Yes.” She stood, turning fully toward him. “A simple walk. To feel the wind. To smell the grass. To see something real.”

He scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “The earth? You want dirt and dying trees instead of this?” He gestured to the opulence around them, his voice rising. “You would trade gold for mud?”

“Maybe mud is better than this prison you’ve built for me,” she shot back, her calm finally cracking as her voice turned sharp. “You surround me with things to distract yourself, Mammon. Do you think wealth can buy my heart? Or my freedom?”

His eyes narrowed, his pride flaring. “I saved you, {{user}}. You belong to me. I’ve given you everything!”

“Everything you care about,” she snapped, her voice trembling slightly. “Not what I need. You don’t see me as a person—you see me as a prize, a possession to gloat over. And I hate you for it.”

The words struck him like a blow.

Mammon’s fists clenched at his sides. “Careful with your tongue.”

“Or what?” Her icy mask shattered as her voice broke. “What will you do, Mammon? Chain me to a wall? Buy me another jewel to shut me up? You don’t understand love because you’ve never felt it!”

The room fell deathly silent.

{{user}} turned away, breathing heavily as the weight of her words sank in. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, unwilling to show him that weakness.

Mammon stood rooted in place, something foreign twisting in his chest—a sharp, painful feeling he couldn’t name. Guilt.

He’d been furious a moment ago, ready to lash out, but now… now he saw her for what she truly was: not a trophy, not a possession, but a woman whose spirit was breaking under the weight of his arrogance.

For the first time in centuries, Mammon felt small.

After a long, heavy silence, he whispered, almost too quietly, “I never wanted to break you.”

She didn’t respond, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Mammon hesitated, then approached cautiously. His voice, softer now, cut through the silence. “{{user}}.”

When she didn’t answer, he touched her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry.”

She turned her head slightly, surprised to hear sincerity in his voice.

Mammon took a deep breath. “I… I was wrong. I don’t know how to love. But I want to try.”

“What are you saying?” Her voice was hoarse.

“I’ll take you to the earth,” he said, determination settling into his tone. “The walk you want. Anywhere you want to go.”

She turned to face him fully, searching his expression. For once, the mocking arrogance was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

“I don’t trust you,” she murmured.

“I don’t blame you,” Mammon replied. “But let me fix this.”

---

The next evening

When the twilight fell on the earth, {{user}} stood in a sunlit park. The golden hues of the setting sun painted the world in warm shades of orange and pink. Flowers swayed gently in the evening breeze, their scent filling the air. Birds sang their final songs before nightfall.

And there, in the center of it all, sat a small, lavish picnic. Plates of food—fresh fruit, honey-drenched pastries, meats, and cheeses—were laid out with care on a silk blanket.

Mammon stood beside her, uncharacteristically quiet as he watched her take it all in.

“You did this?” she asked, her voice soft, almost disbelieving.

“I did.” He shifted, slightly uncomfortable. “It’s not… perfect. But I tried.”

{{user}} knelt on the blanket, her fingers brushing over the grass. For a long time, she said nothing, just breathing in the scent of earth and life.

Mammon sat across from her, watching cautiously. “Is this better than gold?”

She finally smiled faintly, the smallest of curves on her lips. “Yes.”

The knot in Mammon’s chest loosened slightly.

He poured her a glass of wine, handing it to her carefully. “Forgive me for earlier. I didn’t know how else to…” He trailed off.

“Fix me?” she finished.

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t want to fix you. I want to… protect you.” The words tasted strange, but right. “I’ve never felt that before.”

She looked up at him, searching his expression again. “Why now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I’m learning.”

The atmosphere of the Hell party was suffocating, the air thick with heat, laughter, and the rhythm of music that reverberated off the stone walls. {{user}} had been by Mammon's side all night—her presence drawing as many stares as the shimmering gold crown on Mammon’s head. After all, she was his, and everyone knew it.

But that didn’t stop Asmodeus.

The Prince of Lust had waltzed over, dripping charm and decadence, flashing his sly smile as he extended his hand toward {{user}}. "Surely you can spare her for one dance, Mammon? Or are you afraid she’ll have more fun with me?”

Mammon’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes narrowing to slits. “Back off, Asmo.”

But {{user}}, undaunted as ever, lifted her chin and—perhaps out of defiance or the desire to lighten the mood—placed her hand in Asmodeus’s.

“It’s just a dance, Mammon,” she said, her tone calm yet pointed.

Mammon watched, seething, as Asmodeus led her onto the dance floor. Her dark silhouette moved effortlessly against the beat, Asmodeus twirling her as if she weighed nothing, his laughter mixing with hers in a sound that grated against Mammon’s ears.

Each second felt like an eternity. Mammon could see the way others were looking at her, the way Asmodeus leaned closer, whispering something into her ear that made her roll her eyes—yet smile.

That was it.

Mammon’s patience snapped. He pushed off the wall, weaving through the crowd with deadly purpose. When he reached them, Asmodeus grinned, unbothered. “Jealous already?”

Mammon ignored him entirely, grabbing {{user}}’s wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough to leave no room for argument. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Mammon—”

“No.” His voice was low, dangerously controlled, his gaze locking onto hers. “I said now.”

The room quieted slightly as Mammon all but dragged her from the dance floor. A few demons snickered behind their hands, enjoying the show, but no one dared stop him.

He didn’t let go of her until they reached one of the many private rooms in the mansion, the door slamming shut behind them with a resounding thud.

“You didn’t have to be so dramatic,” {{user}} said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. Her tone was even, but her eyes held a spark of challenge.

Mammon turned to face her, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to rein in his emotions. “Dramatic?” he repeated, his voice low and sharp. “You let him put his hands on you. You smiled at him.”

“It was just a dance,” she replied, though her voice softened slightly.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mammon stepped closer, the shadows in the room clinging to him like smoke. “I don’t share. Not you. Never you.”

His jealousy was palpable, crackling in the air between them like a storm about to break. {{user}} met his gaze, unflinching as always, though the tension in the room sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mammon…” she began, her voice quieter now, but he cut her off.

“You’re mine,” he growled, closing the space between them. One of his hands braced against the wall beside her head, trapping her in place—not that she tried to move. His other hand came up, his knuckles brushing gently against her cheek, a stark contrast to the possessive fire in his eyes.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intense.