The Deal With The Devil

James paced back and forth in the waiting room, his footsteps echoing off the sterile walls. He couldn't sit still. He missed her already, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

He had admitted his wife to the best hospital in the city, paid for a private room. So what could go wrong? Right?

"Mr. Rivera."

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned quickly. The doctor stood there, a serious look on his face. His features were sharp, his skin a pale shade that glistened faintly under the overhead lights, and his ears tapered to a point.

An elf, James thought absently, his gaze flickering over the doctor's silvery robes. The doctor didn't look like he'd been in a hurry—he never did—but something about his posture made James feel like he'd been waiting an eternity.

James hurried over, extending his hand. The doctor shook it, but there was a weight in the air that made his heart race.

"Yes, doctor?"

"I'm sorry to say this..." The doctor's voice dropped low, the words slow and deliberate. It was a tone James hated—quiet, cautious, like bad news was coming. His heart skipped.

James felt his stomach tighten. "What's going on, doctor?"

Without thinking, he grabbed the doctor's arm, his grip tight, almost desperate. He didn't even realize his hands were shaking.

"Calm down, sir." The doctor's voice was firm, respectful, but it still made James' heart hammer in his chest. He gently removed James' hands, never breaking eye contact.

"Your wife and child are in critical condition right now."

The words hung in the air. James froze. The world seemed to tilt, just for a moment, before it slammed back into place, heavier than before. His breath caught in his throat. This couldn't be happening.

"What do you mean?!" James shouted, his voice cracking. His fists clenched at his sides. "I paid for everything you asked of me—what more do you want? More money? I can give you more money, just save my child and wife!"

He stood frozen, breath coming in sharp gasps, the frustration and fear overwhelming him. His eyes were wild, searching the doctor's face for any sign of hope.

The doctor didn't flinch, his stance steady. Behind him, James noticed the few other souls waiting in the room, all creatures from different walks of life, some more familiar than others. A couple of gorgons, their eyes hidden behind dark glasses, a vampire tapping his foot with unnatural calm.

Even a pixie perched on one of the chairs, her wings a faint blur in the still air. There were only a handful of them, though, and each one carried their own sense of quiet, a low hum of worry that filled the space without a single word being spoken.

"Sir, it's not about money."

James' chest tightened, the words not sinking in. "Then what is it? What do you need from me?"

His voice trembled now, a mix of anger and desperation. He held the doctor's gaze, but the words he wanted to shout felt stuck, caught in his throat, powerless against the weight of the situation.

"There is something you can do." The elf's voice dripped with uncertainty as his gaze fell for the first time. "You need the blood of a demon."

Blood of a demon? James's face fell. He didn't even get the chance to recover before despair wrapped around him again, pulling him under.

"Doctor..." His voice cracked, a single word laced with raw desperation, as though begging the doctor to take back what he'd just said.

"I'm sorry, but that is the only way." The elf's tone carried no malice, just a quiet weight, as though even he found the words difficult to say.

Making a contract with a demonic creature was a dangerous act, spoken of only in whispers. Rare cases like this were so uncommon, they were practically myths.

James was silent, his thoughts racing. He couldn't afford to lose them—not his wife, not his child. He didn't have the luxury of questioning or hesitating.

"I agree," he said finally, the words falling from his lips with a weight that matched the situation. He couldn't gamble with their lives.

"Come with me," the elf said, motioning for James to follow him. James obeyed, his steps firm despite the storm of fear brewing inside him. Every living creature knew what it meant to deal with demons.

It wasn't just dangerous—it was unpredictable. Like a game of Russian Roulette, no one ever knew what kind of demon they would face. A merciful one was a blessing, but a cruel one? That was a curse no one escaped.

The elf led the way, silent now, his posture steady but his movements slower than before. Though he didn't speak, his lips moved faintly, almost imperceptibly.

He didn't need to explain. Everyone prayed in situations like this, even those who weren't sure anyone was listening.

James and the doctor came to a stop at a door that looked almost too ordinary for what lay beyond. It was just a standard hospital door, smooth and unassuming, but painted a deep black that stood out against the pale walls of the corridor. There were no strange carvings, no ominous symbols, just the sterile simplicity of its design. Without hesitation, James pushed it open, not giving himself time to second-guess.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single candle drawing his attention immediately. The flame flickered gently, sitting at the heart of a careful ring of salt that encircled it. At the center of the salt and candle stood an old book, its cover cracked and worn, as if it had seen centuries of use. The air inside felt different—still, heavy, as though it held its breath, waiting for what would happen next.

James walked into the circle protected by the salt. Why was the salt there? They weren't planning on losing James before his wife and child were saved.

James picked up the book, hesitantly. It felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was naturally heavy, or maybe it wasn't the book that was heavy, but his heart.

He swiped across each page slowly, deliberately, trying to buy time. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached that one page. He couldn't deny it anymore. It was time. And so, he recited the spell.

"From the veil of shadows, I call thee,

Bearer of secrets, bound by ancient pact."

Every word felt like he was slowly killing himself.

"Hear my voice, cross the plane unseen,

And stand before me, oh keeper of the flame!

By the ancient salt and the burning light,

Appear, demon of the pact, heed my rite!"

As soon as the final word left his lips, the most handsome man James had ever seen appeared in front of him.

Lucifer appeared before James with an almost impossible allure. His fiery red hair cascaded in wild, untamed waves, as if it had been set ablaze by some hidden, eternal flame. His dark red eyes gleamed with an intensity that felt like they could see right through you—dangerous yet hypnotic, like the embers of a fire that could consume everything in its path.

He was tall, easily towering over James, with a body that was lean yet packed with the kind of muscle that spoke of strength without the need to show it off. His skin was flawless, and a series of intricate tattoos snaked down from his neck, disappearing beneath his clothing—mysterious, hinting at secrets only he could reveal. The way he stood, with an effortless, magnetic confidence, made it clear he knew his power and relished in it.

And then, his wings. Black as midnight, they stretched wide, each feather like dark silk, reflecting a faint, otherworldly glow. They weren't just wings—they were a mark of his immortality, proof that he was no ordinary demon. He was something far more dangerous... and far more captivating. Every movement he made, every slight shift of his body, exuded an effortless dominance, as if the world itself bent to his will.

And that's when James realized it. Wings?His eyes locked onto the dark, expansive wings that unfolded behind the demon. The truth hit him with a rush—this wasn't just any demon. The man in front of him was immortal.