He trudged with agonizing slowness through the rotting corpses of the dead.

Inch by inch, step by step he pressed forward, as the flesh on his feet slouched off his bones. It was nothing more than charred mulch before his wounds closed, repaired and the pain refreshed once again. It hurt for a brief moment, but the pain faded quickly. He was numb to it by now, numb to the heat, numb to the stinging sensation, numb to the maggots and insects that crawled inside his open, seeping scars. His dead, lidless gray eyes were numb to the world around them.

Still, he trudged onward, compelled by the words he had been summoned with. He looked up, finding in the distance the towering, imperial castle of his master. Carved into the bloodstained cliffs of Hell itself, the fortress had two giant black towers pointed at the dark sky above. Towers so old and decrepit they looked as if they would fall to the slightest touch, but held together by a terrifying, primordial force. A shroud of black smog and the smell of death lay upon the fortress, concealing it from sight beyond the current distance. As he approached, the sound of his scraping feet was soon accompanied by the wailing of the accursed within. He soon found himself walking up the somber steps to the main gateway. He noticed three cadavers impaled on its spikes, and once he got closer, he saw they were still breathing, and that their intestines were ripped out and used as bindings to hold them from falling off the gates.

“Who goes there? State yer business!” A rotten voice howled from a watchtower above.

“Mephistopheles.” The demon below replied. “The Lord summoned me here. Do I have permission to enter?” He said, with a sarcastic inflection in his voice.

“Ah, he called for the clever cunt eh? I wonder what our Great Unholy One could need with the likes of you.” His interrogator spat. Mephisto looked up to see it better. It was a hideous creature, a lowly vomit-shaded imp with ticks eating away at his eyeballs and half an ear left. His arm was missing, replaced by a hook on a stick impaled through his left shoulder. A shoddy attempt at giving the impression of a limb.

“I didn’t walk all the way out here to hear your bile. Open the gate or tell me to fuck off already.” Mephisto shouted, irritated.

The imp turned to his right and nodded, making an unpleasant grunting noise before turning back to the demon in front of him. “Apologies, it isn't often we get visitors, and besides these ancient eyes don't see much anymore… heh… you may pass!” He shouted. As the gate slowly screeched open, the imp ripped a big bloody tick out of his right eye and tossed it in his mouth. He chewed it intensely, its foul liquids coating his black tongue.

Mephistopheles watched with the best possible expression of disgust his mutilated face could muster. He waited for the gates to open fully, then walked inside not dignifying the imp with any other response. The grand hallway stretched before him, empty and barren, not a soul waiting to greet him or usher him in. The walls and columns were empty of any decoration save the stinging scent of brimstone that infected everything. The black, marblelike pathway beneath him made for a more pleasant walking experience than the scorched earth of hell, as well as providing a direction for him to head in. With a quiet sigh, Mephisto pressed forward.

As he made his way through the eons-old halls of the fort, he hummed to himself in tune to the sounds of the metallic gears and engines that emanated from behind the walls. This was a fortress, but also a factory. A place where the souls of the wretched were put to agonizing labor until they expired, the lucky ones anyway. Their horrifying shrills echoed through the castle, providing a grim melody to his song. But no matter how dark, a song unheard by anyone is a tragic thing indeed, and the black castle immediately recognized it as such. Thus, it began to sing back. The rusted screeching of steel and iron began to form a melody, and the screaming souls turned into a choir that guided Mephistopheles away from his destination, and towards a faraway forgotten room. The demon quickly found himself staring at an unusual object. He realized he was not on the right path any longer, but before turning back curiosity got the better of him.

“What’s this then…?” He said, taking off the curtain and inspecting it closer.

It was a mirror. A very elegant mirror, crafted by expert hands with gold and silver decorating its flowing outline, and glowing emeralds and rubies embedded into the metal. This mirror did not belong in this foul place. It was too beautiful, too flawless, too pristine for this damp hideaway. And yet, as Mephistopheles stared into it he realized why the mirror was there, what its true dark purpose was.

The mirror presented an enraging sight to him, something that made his blood boil and his skin itch. A man. A simple man, dressed in rags and stitched together black leather armor. A man with tanned skin, long black hair and bright azure eyes. A man whose smile shone brightest in the darkness that surrounded him. Mephistopheles was not fooled however and turned, continuing his march. He understood what that reflection was. It was all an illusion, a trick, meant purely to torment the damned bastards of this dreaded castle. It was a tool to show the accursed being peering within what it was once, only for it to realize they will never be that again. Hope, the Lord’s most preferred tool of torture due to how sweet and primal it was.

But Mephistopheles was older than the demons of this castle. He was all too aware of what he was, what he had been for thousands of years. He was nothing more than a loathsome demon now. A demon with countless years of agony etched into his charcoal skin, and a cracked skull for a head, with small lidless eyes stuck inside its dark cavities. Two horns adorned his skull, one broken in half, the other bent to the side. But most of all, he knew what the gaping black void in his chest was. It was the maw where his soul once resided, now nothing more than a prized possession in his Master’s dark collection. That was the truth, an undeniable truth he had grown accustomed to a long time ago, and no creepy mirror could hope to change that.

“He’s waiting… I should hurry.” He said as he turned and walked back through the corridor. The rest of the distance was somewhat short, and Mephistopheles quickly found himself standing before a grandiose doorway stained with crimson. He slammed his weight against them to push them open, and found himself standing in his master’s lair. Way in the back, a shadowy spectre stood tall, staring outside the window at the workers below. Black-feathered wings stood wide from its back, and five perfectly symmetrical horns made of pure fire shaped to look like chains sprouted from its pallid head like an unholy crown. His was clothed in the darkness itself, and they moved like dark shackles around him. As he finally turned to face his guest, Mephisto saw the pitch black caverns where his eyes should have been and the darkness within stared back at him.

“It has been a long time since you last summoned me, Lord Baphomet.” Mephisto spoke first, approaching. “Some three thousand years if I recall? I love what you have done with the factory, the stench of blood and guts goes well with the smell from the natural sulfur deposits.”

“Bow.” Baphomet’s singular word escaped his mouth with a ghastly, whisper-like voice that echoed and made the entire room shake violently. Before his mind could even react, Mephisto found himself kneeling on one knee, his head hung low. “Now, we may continue.” Baphomet continued, and although the demon had no skin or lips, Mephisto could feel the smug satisfied grin looking down on him. “It has been a while, so perhaps your brain has rotted to such a point that you forget, I am not one of your lousy demon underlings. I did not call you here for idle chatter about the tapestry.”

Mephisto gasped, trying to fight against the pulsing, radiating pain that began coursing through his veins. “Y-Yes, my apologies, my deepest apologies Master. Please, be merciful. What is thy bidding?” He said, thankful that the pain was relieved with each passing apology.

“Pathetic whelp. You will be silent now. The task I decree you with is one of utmost importance. A mistake from your past, a haunting geist you must lay to rest. I am returning you to the land of the living. Rumors have reached my ears that she is alive.”

There was no need for clarification, as Mephistopheles looked up with full knowledge of who Lord Baphomet was referring to. There was no doubt, no other being could warrant such importance that a mere rumor could grab his attention. Yet, the burning question remained as Mephisto said with a panicked yell:

"What?! No... no! It's not possible! I killed her myself, she can't be alive... SHE CAN'T!"

“QUIET!” Baphomet’s voice boomed, shattering the window he was just looking at mere moments ago. With a wave of his skeletal hand, the glass shards froze in the air, and then reformed instantly. “You will go, without any questions, I have already made arrangements. You are to meet one of my most trusted lieutenants. Their word is law. You will obey them as if obeying me and you will learn the way of the world from them. Then, you will investigate the rumors, find her, and you will kill her properly this time. Mephisto, I trust you to not make the same mistake once again. The hell you experienced so far will be nothing to what awaits should you fail. Do not forget, your soul belongs to me.”

A ringing noise pierced Mephisto’s mind, and quickly intensified. He screamed, clutching his chest. A bright flame sparked from within, soon engulfing his entire body. The unending pain dulled all senses, leaving him stumbling blind through the darkness. He felt his muscles burn and his bones char against the raging fury of the flames. There was nothing else, just pure fire eternal, before that endless moment passed into the next, and Mephisto found himself elsewhere.

His body was weak, cold. His senses returned one by one slowly. Too slowly. Unable to hold himself up he collapsed on a hard, wet surface. It all felt so strange, the flesh, the skin, the aching. He let out a guttural yell as his fingers grasped the ground beneath him, and pulled. He crawled over, and touched something he forgot existed. Water. A puddle. He touched it in amazement, letting his fingers soak in it before the realization hit him. He opened his eyes, and saw himself within it. He stared, unable to pry himself away, before he collapsed into unconsciousness. For the first time in an eternity, Mephistopheles felt rain falling down on his cheeks.

----------------------------------------

Mephisto woke up very abruptly. He did not even notice any time had passed given his dreamless sleep. He found himself lying in a simple bed with gray sheets in a clear white room. It was sterile, exceedingly so. He soaked in the strange new room, letting his eyes adjust to the light. The windows were dark and muddy, and there was no sun outside, yet the room still felt extremely bright to his sensitive eyes.

A strange contraption soon pulled his attention with a few loud beeps. He inspected it, and realized his arm was connected to it through some sort of thin clear tubes. His heart ached at the new sensation, of actually looking at his limbs and seeing something human, not monstrous. Looking around the room some more, he noticed a couple pieces of furniture he recognized as cabinets with locks on them, and a few chairs strewn about.

His blue eyes turned pale when he saw that one of the chairs was occupied. A very lean, sharp-dressed individual with wild shoulder-long curly hair stared at him with a distasteful look in his emerald green eyes. He brushed aside one of his coppery locks, and shifted his position, letting one leg rest on the knee of the other. Lastly, he took a deep puff of his cigarette and let the smoke escape his mouth.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He said, his voice suave and elegant, with a slight higher-pitched raspiness to it. It was a pleasant honey-like voice that hid a tone of menace and fear behind it. “Did you have a nightmare? Is that why you finally decided it was time to wake up? You slept four whole days man. Not even my laziest fucker took more than two…” The strange man trailed off, his eyes glazing over as if he started talking to the walls.

“Who are you?” Mephisto asked, but didn’t give him the chance to answer. “Wait… I take it, you must be Azazel, right?”

“Ohoho, its nice that your brain hasn’t atrophied completely. Yes, I am Azazel. There’s some clothes on that cabinet near you, get dressed, we have lots to do.” Azazel said, chuckling pleasantly.

“Alright.” Mephisto obliged, getting off his bed and undressing. Azazel turned away and continued talking to fill the awkward space.

“So, Me-phisto… is that right? I think I said it right. Anyhow, Baphomet huh? Been a while since he’s sent me any poor sods to take care of. Especially a special one like you. He tasked me with getting you all set up and prepared. Should be easy at least, depending.” He said.

“On what?” Mephisto asked.

“How long ago were you last on earth?”

“I don’t… really remember… maybe some three, four thousand years ago? Time flows so differently in hell.”

“Ah shit, really? Not even sometime in the medieval times? Ol’ Bapho kept your ass locked down tight in hell, oho.” Azazel laughed and smoked deeply from his cigarette. “No matter, we’ll get you all up to speed in time. I did my research on you. You’re lucky. You’ve got quite a reputation down in hell. One of Baphomet’s most prized trophies, scourge of demons and angels alike.”

“Shut up.” Mephisto said quietly, not enough for the other demon to hear.

“Is it true what they say? You killed Haniel in single combat by ripping his wings off and stabbing him with a ram horn?” Azazel continued, undisturbed.

“I said SHUT UP!” Mephistopheles shouted, his eyes glaring wildly. Silence lay over the room for a few moments, before Azazel broke it with his cigarette puffs. The demon stood up quietly and walked over before Mephisto, his high-class shoes clacking on the marble floor.

“Touchy subject? Good, helps establish boundaries at least.” He said, his voice suddenly shifting, becoming much colder despite his playfulness. “So in that regard, let me give you three things that you will need to get through that thick skull of yours unless you want a premature meeting with your former boss. First off…” Azazel paused, walking closer to the shirtless Mephisto and putting his cigarette out on his chest, prompting him to yelp. “...You’re not in hell anymore. You’re not even a proper demon out here. You’re an inanimaliat, a demon husk without a soul.”

“W-what? Inani…” Mephisto began to mumble but quickly silenced himself and listened.

“You’re less than worthless. Lesser than even an imp or the shit I stepped in on the way here. You understand? Your rebirth means that pain is now something you have to get used to again. But most importantly, you can die, very easily. Now I’ll try to keep you alive so you can fulfill whatever garbage shit Baphomet entrusted you with, but that depends entirely on the second point: You will listen to every single fucking thing I say, and you will do what I say, exactly as I say it. As you can probably tell, being in a human body is quite a feeling, and not an easy one. It will take a while for you to finish your task, so to make things easier for everyone involved, you will obey like a good little snakelet.” Azazel said with a foul smug grin on his face. “Finally, if I so much as smell you trying to disobey me, or you think of telling anything to a human, or try to pull some sneaky shit behind my back, I will hang you with your own intestines and let my crows eat your eyes. Are we clear?”

“Clear.” Mephisto said, trying to not let his voice tremble with the fear he felt, but failing.

“Good!” Azazel said, shifting his intense mood to one of joyfulness, and giving Mephisto a slap on both shoulders. “Finish getting dressed, we should be going soon.”

Mephisto stared at his new acquaintance and could tell: no matter how hard the demon smiled, his emerald eyes still had their same terrifying dreadful gaze. “Where exactly are we going?” He asked, putting a plain white button-up on. “These cloths are… so strange to what I knew. I must admit, I don’t remember much of anything. I guess it feels strange to wear anything that isn’t a torn rag.”

“He’s amazed at wearing a shirt.” Azazel sighed in exasperation as he rubbed his eyes in his palm. “Hey, at least you knew how to button yourself.”

“It seemed obvious enough.”

“Follow me.” Azazel said, kicking the door of their room open and walking away. Mephisto hurried, and listened as the other demon talked. “There is a storage compound on the outskirts of town, that and a few buildings nearby are under our control, part of our sphere of operation. It's where we safely keep data, supplies, and weapons. The main center you’ll see later when ready. Since you just came back from the fucking stone age, I’m taking you there so you can learn how we work and how to shoot a gun, trust me it’ll come in real handy.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Gun?” Mephisto said confused, and heard Azazel just sigh.

The two found themselves outside of whatever shoddy hospital Mephisto was taken to, and he was immediately struck with a feeling of sheer dread and amazement. Gigantic structures sprouted from the ground and stretched high into the sky, with thousands upon thousands of twinkling lights glowing upon them. Massive hulking beasts of metal and light rushed in the distance at absurd speeds, howling and screeching as they did. An overwhelming, nauseating sensation to his eyes and his ears. His sense of smell was soon claimed as well, the smoke and stench of the city soon filling his nostrils. He had seen castles, towers and homes before in hell, but this was nothing like that.

“What is this?” He said, his mouth hanging ajar. “What are those… things? They’re so fast!” He continued blabbering, his awe written all over his face.

Azazel took a deep breath before answering. “I need another cigarette.” He said, lighting another before he even finished speaking. He walked up to one of those hulking monsters, a pale white one that seemed to be stationary, and slapped it on its top. He then pulled on it, and one of its wings opened revealing its interior. “This is what we call a ‘car’. Now get inside.”

Mephisto obliged, carefully sitting on the chair inside. He immediately began running his fingers over the seat and the strange front of this car. A look of childlike wonder was written all over his face, shattered when Azazel sat in the seat on his left and slammed the door shut.

“This is a machine of sorts?” Mephisto said, following his partner and closing the door on his side. “I’ve seen creations of iron and gears in hell used for hauling souls and essences out of pits and maws, but nothing like this. I thought it was some creature.”

Azazel sighed again. He inserted what appeared to be a key in a port next to the wheel in front of him, and with a twist, the machine sprung to life with blinding light and blaring sounds. But nothing happened. A few seconds passed, then a few more. Mephistopheles kept staring forward, while an incessant beeping rang in his ears.

Beep!

Beep!

Beep!

BEEP!

The seconds ticked away, until he finally turned to Azazel. The demon stared at him with a deathly glare in his bulging, bloodshot green eyes and a mad grin stretched across his lips. Before he could say anything, Azazel licked his lips. “C-Can you put your seatbelt on, please?” He said extremely quietly, barely a whisper.

Mephisto did not know what a ‘seatbelt’ was, but he did see Azazel doing something earlier, so he just mimicked him. He yanked on the metal piece hooked to the strap on his right and pulled it over him, trying to insert it in the lock on his left. It took him a few attempts, but the satisfying click was proof he had done what was asked of him. That, and the silence. The beeping had stopped, and Mephisto nodded and smiled at Azazel in understanding. Without a warning the car blasted forward with a screech, and a terrified Mephisto grabbed onto what he could for dear life. A handle of sorts above his head was what he found, and he latched onto it with both hands, trying not to scream as Azazel weaved and bobbed across the street. Time was a blur. Suddenly, the car came to a halt, force of their weight flinging them forward.

“We’re here. Get out.” Azazel said, flying like a tornado out of the now sleeping metal monster. Mephisto just stood, petrified with terror on his face. A few moments later Azazel opened his door and peaked back in. “You… okay?”

Mephisto was quiet for a few seconds, then he simply muttered quietly: “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“You’ll live, now get out.” Azazel answered, slamming the door shut.

Moments later, Mephisto found himself walking through a dusty, yet still somewhat clean, corridor. It was barren, with many boxes and shelves strewn about haphazardly. A couple people passed them by, busy talking with their hands on their ears and not paying much attention to the two of them. As they passed by a few open rooms, Mephisto took the chance to peek inside. He didn’t get to see much, just more men talking and doing mundane tasks.

“Curious?” Azazel said, letting out a puff of smoke.

“What are you doing here?”

“Counting cash, torturing fools, planning heists, many things. You see Mephy, we demons are simple. Hell kinda sucks doesn’t it? So no one wants to go there. Not even us, heck, especially us cause we know what it’s like first hand. These dumbass humans with their boring office jobs and their decrepit churches and lack of faith, still somehow manage to do the bare minimum to avoid getting dragged down there, at least most of them anyway.” He paused, took another deep breath of his cigarette and continued. “That’s where we come in. Big man downstairs wants souls so he can keep his empire running smoothly. I'm sure you know plenty about that, more than me. Our job is to be one of the many supply chains across the world. Its all about desire. Gambling, murder, alcohol, sex, drugs, political corruption, rape, war and of course, money. All the fucked up easy degenerate sins of the world, we draw the idiots in and condemn them. Souls go down, we stay up, and get to indulge in the fruits of our labor.”

“Indulge?” Mephisto said, listening closely to the speech.

“Come on now. Even a soul-less fuck like you has desires don’tcha?” Azazel smirked, pushing his back against a pair of red doors. “All that money, all that sex and all that booze, you think just the humans get to partake? Nah, its ours for the taking, for the indulging in. It might not be heaven, but this earth, this beautiful, flaming piece of shit planet, this is heaven to me.”

“I see.” Mephisto nodded, not cracking even the slightest smile. “So that’s why you’re so eager to get started with me. I’m a threat to your peace. As long as you keep the scales of balance in check, you get to stay up here living this luxurious life?”

“I knew you were a smart man behind all that… stupid. ”

“I’m not stupid, just unfamiliar.” Mephisto said, annoyed, but Azazel did not hear him, as another voice called out from the far corners of the massive chamber they had just entered. Mephisto had been listening so intensely he didn’t even realize how big it was. There were dozens of different shaped tables and machines strewn about, all even spaced between them or lined up against the walls. Twinkly lights beeped from the static machinery while dust kicked up from the red and black carpet that covered the entire floor. Far in the back, where the voice was coming from, there was a giant light shining down on two people, who appeared to be laughing, smiling and partaking in some sort of game.

“Azzy, de man of de howa finally arrives.” The suave voice said as they got closer. It was a deep, unusual accent that Mephisto was not familiar with at all. But he listened to it as if hypnotized..

“Man of the hour? Do I owe you money again?” Azazel asked.

“Not this time, lucky you.” The other man at the table said with a smug smile.

Azazel turned to Mephisto. “Introductions. Tall, dreads and black as coal is Belial. Leader of the Sons of Darkness and my right hand man. Get comfy with him, he’s gonna be your teacher throughout all of this.”

“Well I’ll be damned. Dis ’im, Azzy?” Belial said, standing up from his seat and walking over. Mephisto got the chance to take a better look at the man. He was elegant, debonair, dressed in a sharp gray suit. Over that, he wore on his shoulders a long black overcoat with a fuzzy white fur collar that gave him an aura of dire mystique. He was indeed taller than both him and Azazel, yet he didn’t know how much was due to the tall tophat on his head. Black, with vertical red stripes and what appeared to be bones encircling its rim. Looking closer, Mephisto noticed it was the skeleton of a serpent, weaved and etched into the hat, with its skull resting on top of it. It had two crystalline eyes that seemed to stare at him as if alive. Looking away, Mephisto saw his right leg appeared somewhat hobbled, and he used a cane to help him walk. Ivory, white as bone. His hand was cold as it shook Mephisto’s.

“Hello, Belial.” Mephisto said plainly. “I’m Mephistopheles. I look forward to us working together.”

“I didn’t check beforehand, but for your sake I hope you’re not racist Mephisto.” Azazel laughed. “Although, you look close enough, you two could practically be cousins.” He said, laughing even harder.

“Now who’s bein’ racist Azzy?” Belial laughed, staring with unmoving intensity at Mephisto, his golden eyes piercing through him. “So you’re de litwick, Az here wants me to turn into a shaak, hmm?”

“Yeah. That’s an interesting voice you have. I have not heard anything like it before.” Mephisto said, uncomfortable. “What are you doing?”

“You like my voice? Hah, dey call it southern, gypsy accent. You’ll get used to the words in time. As fo’ what I’m doin’... just sizin’ you up. Nothin’ impressive so fah.” He answered.

“Leave him alone Belial, you’ll get plenty of time later.” Azazel intervened, throwing away his cigarette between them. He raised his palm towards the other man, the one who didn’t bother getting up. “Anyway, that there fat, blonde, and dumber than coal is Baal, my left hand man. You know, the hand I use to wipe with.”

“Bite my ass, Azazel.” Baal said, seemingly annoyed but not looking up from his cards. His voice cheery but with a subtle hint of bitterness.

“You could bite his ass for decades and never get hungry.” Azazel answered back. The other demons chuckled at his comment. Mephisto waited for a moment for Baal to reciprocate his outstretched handshake, but dropped it when he noticed the demon was barely acknowledging his presence. Where Belial was tall, Baal was wide, and thick as a wardrobe. He had a pudgy face, with slick beady eyes and messy blonde hair that stuck to his face, but Mephisto wasn’t fooled by appearances. The reason the demon seemed to burst out of his clothing was not due to being a fat slob, but the sheer volume of muscle he tried to hide under an ill fitting suit.

“Sit, Mephisto. I’de like you to join us for a game of caads. Azazel, will you give us a clean fou’?” Belial interrupted, clearly trying to avoid any more banter between the other two.

“A round of eight skulls with my boys? Say no mo’.” Azazel smiled, imitating his friend’s thick accent. He walked over and let himself fall into the chair reserved for him, ending up in an uncomfortable sideways position with his leg over one of the armchairs.

“Card games?” Mephisto asked, the last man still awkwardly standing.

“Yes, caad games. Eight skulls to be exact.” Belial said.

“You know what card games are, right pal?” Baal added, with a condescending grin.

“We… had something similar back in my day.” Mephisto said, struggling. “They were carved out of wood, soldiers would play them on breaks.”

“Jeez Azzy, dis boy’s so wet behin’ da eaas he’s nearly drownin’. What days he say dat be? How long since he’s been outta hell, medieval times?”

“Probably sometime in the triassic period…” Azazel said, trying to escape his dull exhaustion. “Alright, listen up. You two, silence.” He said, shooting up on his chair and leaning forward over the table. He grabbed the deck of cards and proceeded to give Mephisto the rundown. First, he explained the cards, the suits, the court, then once he was certain Mephisto understood, he moved onto the game. “Eight skulls, or Black lamb, is a simple trick-taking point game. Highest card wins the trick, but some cards have special points, abilities, or negatives. One round goes until the deck runs out. Highest points at the end of the eighth round wins. Understood?” He said.

A game that incentivises careful strategy, a bit of bluffing, and some luck huh? Mephisto thought to himself. Very well, let's see how this goes.

“Understood.” He said, confident.

The first couple rounds were balanced. Mephisto won several tricks, but was still behind everyone else. Belial was drawing a lead, but a minor one with Azazel close behind. A quick pause occurred as Azazel started shuffling up for the fourth round. During that time, Belial went to a nearby shelf and picked up a couple bottles and some glasses. He slammed one down in front of Mephisto, and poured.

“Drink.” He ordered, his voice still extremely calm. When he saw Mephisto was hesitating, he continued. “You’ve been outta da hospital for howas, but you haven’ touched a drop of wata’ or a drop of food. You’re not in hell anymore. Your mind doesn’ rememba what your body used ta crave. You need sustenance. So drink.”

Mephisto picked up the bottle and downed the brownish liquid. His face immediately scrunched up as if in pain. “Quite the bite. Is alcohol really that good for, sustenance?” he said.

“Best there is.” Baal added, drinking from his glass. “Your turn, Chum.”

“I’m surprised you knew it was alcohol.” Azazel said, playing a card when his turn came up.

“Even back then we had it and would get drunk on it. One of the few tastes I still remember.” Mephisto smiled. “The burn hasn't changed much over the years, but definitely tastes a lot better than the rat piss we had.”

“Humans are smart. And crafty. Things evolved and changed over time. Last couple hundred years, they evolved and changed exponentially. So they made good and tasty things like that. All for the sake of that itch…” Azazel continued playing a few more cards.

“Itch?” Mephisto asked.

“Desire.” Baal answered.

“Like I said earlier, control what people desire, and you control them. Even demons like us are slaves to it. You didn’t even notice how your body craved it, but Belial did right away. Had you been one of his prey, you'd have been easy pickings.” Azazel laughed.

Mephisto looked at Belial, then at the glass, realizing it was a test that he had failed. Belial tipped his hat. “Don’t worry man, very few pass first time round.”

“So that’s how this works?” Mephisto asked. “You trick people into sinning?”

“Were it dat simple.” Belial sighed. “A deal with a devil requires consent from bof’ parties. Coercion and blackmail don’ work. Dis was just a trick, a game to show de larger powa of de dark touches of desire.”

Just like the game of cards we’re playing then…? Mephisto said, looking closer at the current trick, and counting the points of everyone else’s tricks. He was trying to gouge what each player needed, and what he specifically did as well.

“He’s beginning to learn. I guess he’s not so braindead after all.” Baal smirked.

“You all keep saying that.” Mephisto mumbled, irritated.

“There’s a story.” Azazel said, playing a king of hearts and winning the trick. With it, he won the round, and claimed the lead much to Mephisto’s dismay. Belial began shuffling for the last round, thirteen tricks remained. “One of my favorites, about a sea Captain that loses an arm to a white beast of the sea. The story is one of revenge, raw, unbridled and pure, of this Captain going through hell and back and back to hell all for the sake of hunting this beast. Endless desire for vengeance fuels him, and no man, nor sea, nor god can stop him. Does he succeed in the end? Who even remembers, but we both know that doesn’t matter. But I want to know, are you capable of being that Captain Mephisto? Are you willing to immolate yourself in the fires of your ambition, or will you drown like a dog?”

“What do you desire, Mephisto?” Belial asked more directly, getting closer to the point as Azazel rambled on, and won a few more tricks.

Mephisto was silent. He played a card and won a trick himself. There was no way he’d win this game, he was too far behind, but an insidious thought crawled in his mind. “I’m here to fulfill the task I was given. Baphomet’s word is law.”

“BHAH.” Baal burst into laughter, spitting everywhere. “Baphomet is a spineless pissdrinker, he can rot in hell for all I care.”

Mephisto was shocked at such a crass response, but the laughter of the other demons made him hide it.

“Think again. You’ve got a reputation in hell Mephisto, we’ve got a prisoner which we need you to interrogate lata’, we want to see if its founded on truth, or lies. Are you nothing more dan an obedien’ dog, or a man?” Belial asked him once again. “Azazel may be a scary fella dat you should obey for your own good, but we need to know dat you’re alive. Dat you’re reliable.”

What I desire… what I want? When’s the last time I actually thought about it? When’s the last time I actually gave a shit about something like that? He thought, and looked at the cards one last time. Four cards in his hand, A jack of clubs, a two of spades, a king of spades, and a four of diamonds. A very weak hand, at most he could win a hand with the jack. The king of spades was the ‘Fool’ this round, meaning whoever won the trick would lose two tricks instead, and the king of spades itself would win most tricks. The idea formed in his head, it would require a bit of luck, but he decided on it nonetheless.

“Well?” Baal asked, impatient.

Mephisto didn’t answer. He played his two of spades. The other demons went with it, playing their cards. Belial won the trick. He went next. Mephisto played the four of diamonds, Baal won the next trick. Azazel peered curiously at his hand, as he was next, he opened the game with an ace of spades. A risky move this late in the game, he was guaranteed the trick, but others could make him pay for it. Mephisto didn't, however, playing the jack and throwing away his chance at winning a trick. Azazel looked at him curiously, but said nothing. Final trick of the game, and Baal was the one opening. Every player had one card left. Azazel was in the lead, ahead of Belial by one trick. Baal played his card, a three of hearts, and tossed his hands up.

“Guess I’m out.” He said.

“Same ‘ere.” Belial said, tossing an eight of hearts on the table.

“Sorry lads, better luck next time.” Azazel said, flicking an ace of diamonds into the mix, and guaranteeing himself the win of the trick. “Mephisto?”

He looked at his card silently. “What I want…” he said, as he tossed the king of spades on the table. The eyes of the demons went wide in realization. With Azazel winning the king, he would lose two tricks instead, giving Belial the win.

Baal was first to say anything, laughing obnoxiously. “Looks like this little fish has more bite than I thought!”

“Well played, Mephy, well played.” Belial said, tipping his hat one more time.

Azazel just turned to him quietly and smirked. “Hm. You realized I had both aces? Smart.”

“What I want most…” Mephisto continued, leaning over and snatching Azazel’s glass from in front of him. “... When all of this is over, I want to kill every single one of you.” He said, downing it without blinking.