> “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” - William Shakespeare

The bar at Mme Bougie's reverberated with a cacophony of indulgences. Raucous laughter clashed with the constant chink of glasses. High heels drummed a relentless rhythm on the time-worn floor, punctuating the brassy notes of a piano from the corner stage. If debauchery had a second home, it was surely here.

"Hit me!" a man roared from a table near the entrance, eyes alight with reckless abandon. Cards slapped against the felt. Across the room, a couple seemed unaware of the public setting, entangled in an embrace that verged on the cheap obscene.

Baal pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes cutting through the smoky haze. He leaned against the counter, rubbing his chin.

"A dry one, please," he ordered, locking eyes with the bartender, who obliged by sliding a glass of whiskey down the polished wood.

Lifting the glass to his lips, Baal scanned the room, his gaze sharp and calculated. Then he found her—Ursula. Unlike the other girls who paraded their assets with plunging necklines, tight corsets and culottes that left little to the imagination, Ursula carried herself differently. Draped in an elegant dress that whispered allure rather than screamed it, she was an enigma in this haven of excess.

Rumour had it she was the most expensive girl at Mme Bougie's, and Baal could understand why. She had a certain... allure, she wasn't pretty, she was exotic. Yet, the thought of her assuming Nord's form for a client, Adamastor especially, churned his stomach. The very idea was grotesque. But tonight, he wasn't here to ponder the disturbing depths of men's desire or Ursula's talent for illusion.

His eyes narrowed. Tonight, he was on the hunt for something else entirely, something far more perilous than fleeting pleasure or a rigged card game. And as he sipped his whiskey, his eyes never leaving Ursula, he sensed that his quarry was dangerously close.

Baal watched intently as Ursula gracefully sat between the two men, her movements as calculated as a chess grandmaster's. Han and Leelo looked deceivingly presentable; their appearances polished to an urban sheen that belied their predatory instincts.

The two vampire hunters were hard Pucks, their eyes missing the jovial glint shared by the gamblers and hedonists around them. To the untrained eye, they looked like men in for a good time, but Baal knew the difference. These men were here for blood, vampire blood, not pleasure. And so was he.

Ursula played her role flawlessly, giggling at just the right moments, her eyes sparkling as she engaged them in inconsequential chit-chat. It was a dance as old as time—seduction and entrapment—but tonight, Ursula was not the spider, and they were not the flies. The hunter was being hunted, and Baal was ready to spring the trap.

His fingers clenched around the glass, leaving smudged prints on the smooth surface. He prayed for Ursula's failure; he needed those men untouched, unaltered. He couldn't afford to let either of them vanish into one of Mme Bougie's private rooms with Ursula or anyone else. His mission depended on their availability, and his patience was wearing razor-thin.

As Ursula leaned in to whisper something into Han's ear, a smile curling her red lips, Baal felt a surge of adrenaline. Time was slipping through his fingers like sand, and he had to act now.

Taking one last sip of his whiskey, he placed the empty glass down with calculated force. Its thud was drowned out by the escalating clamour of the bar. He pushed off the counter and wove his way through the crowd, eyes fixed on his prey.

Tonight was the night; there would be no more delays, no more games. Han and Leelo had no idea, but their time had come. And Baal wasn't planning to stick around Mme Bougie's sordid wonderland any longer than absolutely necessary.

Baal's voice sliced through the ambient noise, tinged with a feigned cheerfulness that only alcohol could muster. "Gentlemen! What a surprise!"

Leelo's eyes narrowed, scepticism darkening his features. "You? What are you doing here?"

Han snickered, his laugh edged with a hint of derision. "Is your wife not being 'wifey' enough, pal?"

The pair burst into laughter, and Baal forced himself to join, his laugh a hollow echo. Seizing the fleeting moment when the men were absorbed in their self-amused banter, Baal leaned subtly towards Ursula. His whispered words were veiled, meant for her ears alone.

Ursula's eyes met his. Time seemed to freeze for a second before she stood up gracefully, her face an unreadable mask. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

"But where's she going? Come back!" Han called out, his brow furrowed with sudden irritation.

"What did you tell her?" Leelo shot the question at the demon like a bullet.

Baal casually slid into Ursula's now vacant seat, easing himself into the triangle of tension. "I just told her I needed to talk with both of you alone. And here we are."

Leelo's eyes bored into him. "What do you want, demon? If you're not here for the girls, then why are you here?"

“Ah, the crux of the matter,” Baal mused. It's time for the cards to be laid on the table.

"What would a demon want? Trade, of course," Baal declared, his voice sliding like oil over water. "I came here to strike a deal. What do you say, gentlemen? What do your hearts truly desire?"

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His eyes met theirs, locking onto each man in turn. His words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing offer that was as dangerous as it was tempting. Baal could see the flicker of intrigue light up in their eyes, a momentary spark before caution and scepticism could snuff it out.

It was a spark he intended to fan into a flame, one way or another.

Han's hand hovered near his waist. His jacket pushed back just enough to reveal a leather holster cradling a gun. "What can a demon offer that my two guns can't?"

Baal smirked, signalling a waitress for another glass of whiskey. "Well, the point of trade is that we each bring something unique to the table, no? You tell me what you want, I tell you what I want, and if both parties agree, then we have two very satisfied men and one contented demon."

He took a sip from the fresh glass the waitress set before him, his eyes never leaving the faces of the two hunters. "So, gentlemen, what is your heart's most desire?"

Han didn't hesitate. "We want that vampire."

Leelo chimed in, emboldened by the liquid courage swirling in his veins. "There's a lot of tokens on that leech's head!"

Baal leaned back, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass, thoughtful. "I'm quite sympathetic to your line of work, and I truly appreciate your, ah, community service, let's say. But just out of curiosity, what has this vampire done to earn such fervour from you?"

His eyes flicked between Han and Leelo, reading the intricate lines of their expressions. Both men had set their stakes high, revealing their hand, but Baal needed to understand the rules of their game before deciding to play along.

“We only know someone in Onyxburg wants him dead, dead and dead. No reason or whys given, besides the only clue we have is that the leech is stuck in Ravensdrift for good!” Leelo's revelation piqued Baal's interest, and it wasn't lost on him that his glass remained untouched despite the man's animated manner. No alcohol, then, but something else fueling this candour.

"Stuck in Ravendrift, you say?" Baal swirled the liquid in his glass, contemplating the implications.

Han picked up the narrative thread, "Leeches tend to get obsessive, cling to a prey. But our guess is that this one's been told to stay put by his Master. And then got forgotten or something."

Baal raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that vampires operated on such—what should I call it—loyalty?"

Han chuckled, a harsh sound that lacked real humour. "It's not the true vampires that are loyal. Those don't give a fuck. It's the spawns, the thralls puppets for real vampires. We can't find this one, but we know he's close. Scoured the forest, checked Morningstar Estate, everything. He can't be far."

Baal took a deliberate sip of his whiskey, savouring the burn as it went down. This was the crux of it, the point where potential became reality. "So, if I understand correctly, you want this elusive vampire served up on a silver platter?"

Both men nodded, their eyes sharp, attentive.

Baal leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Then we've got the makings of a trade. You'll get your vampire. As for what I want..." He paused, relishing the momentary tension that filled the air. "Let's just say I have my own prey in mind—something that requires unique skills, skills that both of you possess. And I want it."

Leelo and Han exchanged glances, the unspoken question hanging heavy between them: Do we trust this demon?

Baal caught their wary looks and grinned. "Gentlemen, what's life without a little risk? Especially when the rewards could be so... enriching."

His eyes glinted with an unholy fire, a dangerous promise that stoked the embers of their own desires. Now, it was just a matter of waiting to see if they would take the bait.

"So, what's the real game, demon?" Leelo's voice was suddenly sharper as if a veil had lifted from his senses.

Baal looked from Leelo to Han, his gaze like a blade in the dim light. "I want the Hollow. I aim to destroy it."

Han recoiled, his eyes widening. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, we don't mess with that kind of darkness, buddy! No amount of tokens could make us face that monstrosity!"

"I don't need you to face it. I said I need your skills, not you," Baal clarified.

"What skills?" Leelo pressed, his eyes narrowed.

Baal gestured towards the holstered weapons at their sides. "I need your Allatori bullets. Each and every one. You won't need them if I provide the exact location of the vampire spawn. I've got bigger fish to fry, and I think you can appreciate that."

Han scrutinized Baal, suspicion written all over his face. "There's more to it, isn't there? This trade seems too simple, too easy."

Baal sighed, his eyes momentarily softening. "Alright, fine. I also require two happy memories. Something insignificant yet precious. Moments that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside."

Leelo and Han looked at each other, scepticism battling with temptation in their eyes. Finally, Han spoke. "Alright, give us the location first, then."

Baal shook his head, a sly grin crossing his face. "Ah, that's not how this works. First, you hand over the Allatori bullets. Every single one. Then, I'll take your cherished memories. And only after that will you get your vampire."

He leaned back, locking eyes with both men, daring them to make their choice. The air was thick with tension, each second ticking away like a countdown to an unknown fate. Would they bite?

Baal, sensing the lingering scepticism in their eyes, decided to sweeten the pot. "Alright, let's make it more interesting. I've written the location down," he said, scribbling on a coaster before folding it and placing it under his glass. "As hunters, you should know that I can't lie, right?"

Leelo shot a glance at Han, nodding. "It's true, Han. Demons can't lie."

Han sized up Baal, his eyes lingering on the absence of horns or tail. "You're missing some of the usual demonic features."

"Look, they were cut off, alright? Now, are we going to get into details, or are we striking a deal? Otherwise, I'll offer your vampire to someone else," Baal snapped, losing his patience, “How many tokens are they offering? 50? 100? 500? I could use some tokens myself.”

Han sighed, then reluctantly unholstered his gun. He emptied the magazine, the Allatori bullets clinking as they hit the table. Leelo followed suit, emptying his own.

"Now what?" Han asked.

With a gleam in his eye, Baal took a final gulp of his whiskey and set the empty glass on the table. "Now, remember," he whispered, his eyes probing into each man's soul, searching for those fleeting moments of happiness.

Leelo's mind drifted back to a day in school, reciting a poem and being patted on the head by his teacher—a stark contrast to his father's scorn that very morning. Han's memory was more recent, the simple, intimate gesture of caressing Nord's empty ring finger and imagining a future with her.

Baal's stomach turned slightly as he absorbed Han's memory, but he took the precious moments from both men into his cup and drank them down. The two men seemed disoriented for a moment as if waking from a dream.

When Han refocused, he noticed the folded coaster under the empty glass. Unfolding it, he read the message: "Go home."

"Leelo, did you see anyone leave this note at our table?" he asked, puzzled.

Leelo shook his head. "Nah, man, it's been just you and me. If someone was here, I'd have noticed."

Han looked again at the note, mulling over its simplicity. "Strange, it just says 'go home.'"

Demons may not lie, but that doesn't mean their truths are easy to understand. And as they say, the devil is in the details.