Prologue: I'm the Devil's Great-Great Grandson
Darkness burns differently down here.
Not hot. Not cold. Just endless.
Lucien Vale's voice echoes through the void:
"We all know how the story goes… Lucifer rebels, gets cast down to hell, and now rules over the dead. Blah, blah, blah…"
He pauses, voice thick with mock boredom.
"Yep. My great-great-grandfather — the Devil himself — an absolute asshole who managed to punish not just himself, but his entire bloodline. But hey, nobody talks about us, the descendants. No one cares about the leftovers of his rebellion."
He sighs.
"Anyway, he retired centuries ago. So did my great-grandfather. Then my grandfather. Then my dad. Now… it's my turn to endure this piece of shit throne."
A faint, cruel chuckle echoes off the obsidian walls.
"Feels like I'm in hell."
A pause. "Oh wait—" his eyes flicker crimson. "—I am."
Ten years.
That's how long Lucien has been down here.
Ten long, empty years of the same cycle — sinners begging for forgiveness, torment, bargaining, repeating their crimes like broken records.
"It's the same thing every damn day," he mutters. "They come, they cry, they burn, they get used to it. Rinse and repeat. Honestly… this is no place for a teenager."
The scene widens — revealing the Lord of the Pit, not a throne of gold but of rusted chains and fire.
A colossal figure sits slouched on a mountain of writhing demons. Chains coil around his body, glowing faintly with molten runes. His left arm rests lazily on his knee, head tilted, eyes glowing faintly crimson — not with rage, but with soul-crushing boredom.
Flames ripple like ocean waves in the distance, licking at the black sky.
Lucien exhales.
"I wish something interesting would happen… you know?"
His voice drips with both longing and irony.
"I wonder what's going on up there… in the human world."
He leans back, smirking faintly as embers float around him.
"It must be so much more fun than this."
🔥
A faint boom echoed across the infernal sky.
Lucien's crimson eyes flicked upward as a shockwave of flame rippled through the black clouds.
"...Huh," he muttered, his tone flat but curious. "A flame explosion. Haven't seen one of those in a while."
Sparks rained down from above — and through the crimson haze, a glowing figure plummeted, screaming all the way down. The ground trembled when the soul hit the obsidian floor, scattering shards of light like broken glass.
Lucien blinked. "Oh, a new guy," he said, voice echoing lazily through the chamber.
The soul groaned, fragments of light slowly piecing back together into a human shape. The pain of reformation was evident — every nerve reliving the moment of death.
The newcomer coughed, disoriented. "Wh—Where the hell am I? Am I… in Hell? I don't deserve to be here!"
A raspy voice from the corner muttered, "We all don't, kid."
Lucien stretched, his massive form cracking chains that clinked like thunder. "Alright then," he said with mock enthusiasm, adjusting his sitting posture. "So, tell us your sad tragic story. Start with your name."
He snapped his fingers — and a bucket of popcorn materialized in his arm as if summoned by sheer boredom.
The newcomer blinked in confusion. "Uh… I'm Harry."
Instantly, the entire chamber erupted in eerie unison:
> "Hiiiiiiiiii, Larry!"
It was the kind of sing-song greeting that sounded more like a therapy session than eternal damnation.
Lucien smirked. "Welcome to Hell's group therapy. Population: idiots."
Harry frowned. "It's Harry."
Lucien waved a hand dismissively. "Eh, close enough. Go on, Larry."
The newly-arrived soul sighed. "Well… I was born in Michigan, small family of shoemakers—"
"Hey!" someone shouted from the corner — a headless man holding his skull under one arm. "I'm from Michigan too!"
Lucien groaned, rolling his eyes. "Shut up, Cressford. No one cares where you're from."
The head gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, boss."
Lucien gestured lazily. "Continue, Larry."
Harry cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, right. I wasn't proud of my poor life, so I joined a bunch of robbers to hit a bank. Everything went fine… until we crashed during the chase. Next thing I knew, I woke up here."
From the crowd of souls, a demon snickered. "Classic accident-style death."
Lucien chewed on popcorn thoughtfully. "That's it? That's the whole story?"
Harry nodded awkwardly.
Lucien sighed, disappointed. "Short runtime. Two stars. Would not recommend."
He stood up, stretching his shoulders as the flames dimmed around him. "Alright, anyone else got a tragic story? The saddest one gets to go outside for a few minutes."
The pit fell silent for half a heartbeat — and then every soul in sight shot their hands up, voices overlapping:
"Me! Me! Me! Pick me!"
Lucien grinned, his fangs catching the firelight.
"Ah… finally," he said, his voice low and amused. "Something interesting."
Lucien leaned forward, scanning the crowd of desperate souls, their ghostly hands all waving like overexcited schoolchildren.
"Alright…" he drawled, squinting. "You."
A soul near the middle shot up from the crowd, pumping his fist.
"Aha!!! In your face, bitches!"
Lucien winced, tilting his head with surfer-like disapproval. "Whoa, whoa, language, dude. Bad words aren't appreciated here. That's just not cool, bro."
The entire pit snickered.
"Sorry, guys!" the chosen soul yelled sheepishly.
Lucien snapped his fingers and a faint spotlight appeared over him. "Alright, my dude. Name and tragic backstory — go."
"Well… my name is Jack."
In perfect unison, the entire horde of demons and souls bellowed:
"Hiiiiiiiiii Jack!"
Lucien grinned. "Proceed, Jacky boy."
The man straightened his posture dramatically. "I was… an average guy. Nothing special. Until one day, I boarded this newly built ship — the most magnificent one ever made."
Lucien arched an eyebrow. "Fancy."
Jack continued with growing confidence. "On that ship… I met a woman. A beautiful woman. Her name was Rose."
Lucien's eyes softened. "Oh, that's romantic."
The story played out like a familiar melody — a forbidden love, a doomed voyage, an icy sea. Jack described holding her hand as the freezing waters rose, his voice trembling with emotion.
"And as the ship sank beneath the waves, I told her to never let go. But I… I let go… so she could live."
A hush fell over Hell.
Then the camera cuts — Lucien's enormous frame hunched over, a tissue pressed to his face.
> Sniff "That's… that's so beautiful…" he sobbed, blowing his nose like a broken foghorn.
All around him, demons and sinners alike were bawling — flames flickering blue from the collective misery.
Lucien sniffled. "It's been decided. He wins. Saddest story by far."
A voice shouted from the crowd, "But none of us even said ours yet!"
Lucien waved a hand dismissively, eyes still watery. "Yeah, well… I've decided."
But then — a shout cut through the tearful silence.
"I know this man!"
The crowd gasped.
A scrawny demon in the back stood, trembling but determined. "His name isn't Jack! It's… Davis!"
A collective gasp swept through Hell like a shockwave.
Lucien blinked. "What?"
The demon nodded dramatically. "And that story— wasn't even his! It's from a human movie! The Titanic!"
The entire crowd erupted again — gasps, murmurs, over-the-top reactions.
"No way!"
"Lies!"
"Say it isn't so!"
One demon fell to his knees. "But that was my favorite part!" he sobbed.
Lucien glared at "Jack," flames flickering hotter around him. "Is this true?"
The man hesitated. "Uh… well—"
The accusing demon pointed furiously. "And truth be told—he didn't even die from drowning!"
Everyone gasped again, louder this time.
"Then how?!" Lucien demanded, leaning forward.
The demon's voice lowered dramatically.
"He died… from a heart attack!"
The entire chamber went silent. Then — collective screaming, gasping, dramatic collapsing.
Lucien slumped back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Unbelievable. A fraud and a plagiarist."
He sighed, flicking his fingers — and "Jack" was yanked into the shadows by black chains.
"Back to the sinner pile, Davis. No movie nights for you."
"Next!" Lucien barked, pointing at the crowd.
Another trembling soul stepped forward. Another story began — then halfway through, Lucien groaned.
"Wait, wait, wait…" he muttered, rubbing his temples. "That's another movie plot, isn't it?"
The soul froze.
"It's Avengers: Endgame, isn't it?"
The man burst into tears.
Lucien sighed. "For the love of hellfire…"
This went on for a while — more "life stories," all suspiciously cinematic. The Notebook, Fast & Furious, even Finding Nemo.
Finally, Lucien slumped forward, chin in palm. "You're all banned from watching human movies. Forever."
From the crowd, a voice spoke up — calm, gravelly, familiar.
"Why don't you go up there, huh?"
Lucien glanced over. It was McGruffin, his favorite sinner — a sharp-tongued, middle-aged man with the charisma of a cult leader and the laziness of a cat.
Lucien raised a brow. "Don't be foolish, McGruff. You know why I can't go. If I leave, you damned souls and these walking disasters of demons would flood the earth like a bad sequel."
From the back, someone shouted, "Damned souls?!"
Lucien didn't even blink. "Don't like it? Deal with it, bro!"
McGruffin chuckled. "But what if…" he said slyly, "we all just… decided to stay in?"
Lucien blinked. "You mean… you'd all behave?"
Every soul nodded. Even the demons — some reluctantly, some still holding back smirks.
Lucien leaned back, folding his arms. "You promise?"
McGruffin nodded solemnly. "We promise."
Lucien grinned, genuinely touched. "Awwww, thanks guys…"
He stood, flames reflecting in his amused eyes. "Well, if you all promise to stay put, I don't mind taking a little break from your… uh, faces."
From the back, the same heckler yelled, "Our faces?! What's wrong with our faces, huh?!"
Lucien smirked. "Nothing personal. Just… constant."
He shrugged. "Anyway, a little perk wouldn't hurt anyone."
With a snap of his fingers, a fiery tornado erupted beneath him. The inferno spun violently, rising into a blinding spiral of molten red — and in a blink, Lucien vanished.
The pit fell silent. Not a flicker, not a whisper.
Then McGruffin grinned.
"The hell are you standing around for?! Let's party!"
Instantly, flames flared back to life — and heavy bass music erupted from nowhere. Demons cheered, souls danced, and McGruffin was instantly swarmed by a crowd of adoring demon girls.
One leaned in close, smiling. "So… you're the Devil's favorite, huh?"
McGruffin puffed his chest proudly. "Let's be honest, sweetheart— he's the worst ruler so far. Everyone here hates 'em."
A sudden whoosh of flame erupted — and a fiery tornado reappeared in the center of the pit.
Lucien's head slowly peeked out through the swirling fire, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
The music stopped instantly.
Everyone froze mid-motion — demons, sinners, dancers — all staring at him in absolute silence.
Lucien scanned the quiet, perfectly innocent crowd. Not a single sound.
He squinted, watching McGruffin — now standing stiff as a statue, haloed in awkward guilt.
Lucien's glowing red eyes darted from one soul to another.
Silence.
He slowly lowered his head back into the tornado, disappearing again.
The moment he vanished, the room stayed quiet for five solid seconds.
Then—
"...So anyway!" McGruffin yelled, throwing his arms up. "Where were we?!"
The crowd exploded once more.