I I - [ D A E M O N ]

Please! I don't want to turn back!" The demon before me pleads and begs for his release, but it's too late―The Devil shows no mercy.

The demon, otherwise known as Rimmon, has failed me immensely, not completing his task in time and following orders. That is an offense punishment-worthy, and he knows it.

. My father's words repeat in my head.

"Please, please don't turn me back into one of... ." Rimmon pleads again, staring at the underdeveloped demons behind him and spitting in disgust.

"I feeling a tad generous today," I say, mock empathy.

"Please, Lord Daemon. Give me another chance and I wi―" But the demon is cut off by a kind of red mist that appears with a gesture of my one finger. It surrounds him and appears to be swallowing him whole, and the shadow of his figure becomes smaller somehow.

"You understand that not following orders is a serious offense? And so therefore, you will be punished accordingly. You will remain in this form for the rest of your life until you are needed. And you'd better pray in the name of Satan that you will be needed more than necessary. Do you understand, Rimmon?"

Rimmon, now an underdeveloped demon and lacking the ability to speak, bubbles in response instead.

"Mara, get the guards to put this... in the newcomer's pen." I order Mara, my left hand. The newcomer's pen is a place where newly-turned or new-coming underdeveloped demons are put. They will be taught discipline and to obey every rule until such time, if they are chosen for whatever reason by a greater demon, they will develop into a real demon like what Rimmon once was. Otherwise, if they are stupid enough and decide to rebel against my orders, they will suffer from a something far worse than death―a lifetime of endless torture.

As if being a plain ole demon itself has its ups.

A common demon is like any normal citizen you'd find on earth, only that working is a must regardless of age. It doesn't matter what you work for or what it is―as long as you serve a purpose down here in Hell, you will not be banished and will be given a place to stay. If, however, you grow weak and crippled, you will be gone just like that without anyone really giving a shit.

"Of course, Sir." Mara turns to the guards by the door. "Guards! Bring that thing to the newcomer's pen and clean up the mess after. Do leave a stain."

The two guards rush to the black, deformed demon, slimy and slug-like crawling on the floor. One of them picks it up and brings it out the room while the other cleans up after its mess; a dark, intoxicating trail of slime.

"Anything else, Sir?"

"No. That is all for now. You may leave, Mara." I say, pinching my nose bridge and closing my eyes.

"Yes, Sir, of course. Do call if you ever need anything." He bows before me and is quickly gone, leaving soft, dark fog.

I slump back in my leather recliner made up of demon skin.

Being Hell's ruler is an absolute pain in the ass.

Sure, it has its own perks, like having full control of everything that goes about in this place. All gods of the underworld bow before you, and just about anyone would fight to practically get their worth approved by you. But sometimes, the controlling bit of the job can get a little overwhelming and might even make you snap―sooner or later, slowly but surely, you will get mad.

I have been ruling this place for over two centuries now, and I'm pretty sure I hadn't gotten away with at least one month without blowing up and ending up throwing a fit that resulted in my subjects actually being quite terrified of me. The fact that I had much more power over them didn't make me less intimidating, either.

Today is one of those days that urges me to just throw a table at every single soul I see. Sure, it's legal here in Hell―almost everything is, really―but I'd rather not make a turn towards the bad side when it comes to my reputation. After all, I have about another four centuries to rule, until I am six hundred and sixty-six. I might as well stay on their good side, ironic as it might be.

Or maybe I just don't give enough shits to try to be known as their callous leader.

The subjects are complaining much more these days. Whether it's about the inability to possess a human being, creatures unwilling to do anything at all, you name it. Things aren't going so smooth, and all problems are left for the leader to solve. Every single day I would hear the same complaints and demands: .

I need an assistant, a right hand; someone I can trust―and quick. Before I actually start making clouds rain daggers all over this whole place.

Actually, that might even be entertaining to watch.

... Never mind.

I'd gotten plenty of volunteers for the spot. They claim to always be loyal, to help however they could for Hell to thrive. But it's Hell, is all I'm saying. And if you've lived here as long as I have, you tend to see through them quite sensibly. They all only want power, and all the stuff they say is pure demon shit.

And then one day, Mara came to me reporting that someone's been trying to make contact with those of us down here, but no one paid much attention as they believe it to be those bastards of teenagers who try to summon spirits for fun. After all, none of us has time for that shit―me especially. I didn't take notice of it either at first, but the reports started coming incessantly and curiosity got the better of me.

When Mara gave me the orb a little more than a decade ago, I expected a bunch of teenagers to be sitting around an Ouija board or something. I had eyed it lazily, playing around with it before actually peering inside it―and that's when I saw a little girl, getting tucked in bed, questioning her mother whether Satan has a Little Helper or not. I snickered at her mother's response. The girl was really something.

"Can I get more information on the girl, Mara?" I had asked him.

"Here you go, Sir." He gave me a file with the picture of the girl clipped on to its cover. I flipped it open.

. .

She was almost perfect to be my right hand already. She just needed to age some more to ensure that she was mature enough to understand how things work around here.

"Mara," I made a gesture at him to come to me. He rushed towards me.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Get someone we trust to watch over this girl. Do not let any harm come to her, and watch her until she starts to make further interaction with us. By then, inform me immediately."

"Of course, Sir. I will ask Azazel to order one of his men to look over her." He left to get his job done, leaving me with the girl's file on my table. Only he knew about her.

And it will stay that way for as long as I'm concerned.