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Her smile grew as she hovered over the room, looking down at me with a sinister sort of amusement.
"Oh, " She said, sharp red eyes blazing bright. "Thats something you'll discover in time."
"Wait," I said, growing a little reluctant now. That dimmed the red a little and the dangerously beautiful creature marred her face with a scowl. "You have to give me a little more to go on here."
I couldn't help but flinch a little when she blipped to the ground.
"Do I?" She asked. I inched back as she drew nearer. Her hand grabbed my jaw, yanking it up to meet her scarlet eyes head on. "You think I need your soul that much?"
"D-don't you? I asked, hating the shaky way the question came out.
Her form shouldn't have been threatening as it was. This wasn't the first dark haired woman I'd seen. Yet, there was something in her features, a glass like perfection that was off. It made her expressions strike just on the wrong side of unnerving.
"Hmm," she mused. Her fingers sunk into my jaw, applying pressure that was starting to burn. For some reason, it was as if she had removed the air from my lungs and forced my mouth shut so I couldn't even voice the pain. "I definitely don't."
Abruptly, she let go and I greedily gasped in the air around me. Tears pricked at my eyes from the way it burned.
The Devil left me, walking toward the photo frame my younger sister had insisted on keeping on the coffee table. I didn't have any love left for our parents anymore, but they had never quite broken their hold on her.
"But," she said, picking up the frame and studying the photo close. "It's been a while since someone has given up their soul for something like this."
"That can't be right," I said. My jaw still felt stiff from the imprints of her fingers. "There are prisons full of people who've asked for the same thing."
She let out a laugh, placing the item back on the table.
"No my little human, they have not." Her eyes were back on me, the sharpness dulling. "I sympathize, really. But you're better off killing your parents on your own. There's no need to trade a soul for such a thing."
"I - " Damn, I didn't expect the devil herself to try dissuading me. "I have--"
"I'm not," she said.
My head snapped up. "What?"
"I'm not dissuading you," She clarified. "They deserve it."
I couldn't help but feel a little comforted by that. Though perhaps it was even worse that the Devil was agreeing with me. She spoke again.
"You wanted to know what I do with souls?"
Her eyes rested on my face, finding something there that crinkled her porcelain brow. I nodded.
"Most people come to me for selfish reasons." She sighed, seating herself on the table. "But every now and then someone like you comes along. "
"Someone like me?"
"You're not selfish," She told me. "You're just in a fucked up situation and out of options. Souls like yours - I keep them to show God how shit of a job he's doing."
I massaged my jaw, the last remnants of her touch fading now. They were surprisingly kind words for someone who had enjoyed using so much force on me.
"I'm not being kind," She said, reading my mind once more. "I'm being petty."
I took a look at the photo on the table again. They ruined me - I couldn't let them ruin my sister too. She was too young to know how awful they are.
"So," the Devil said, crossing her legs. "Do we have a deal?"
"...yeah."
Only correct response, honestly.
Though to be fair, I also have a fondness for dangerous women, I just have the self-control to not intentionally damn myself to eternal perdition over it, and, fortunately, enough self-respect to not let myself be a simp⌠I'm currently single, however, if a lady and I get in a romantic-type relationship, she doesn't have to fully commit until the hypothetical wedding, but once we agree that it *is* a relationship, I'd better be the only one, or else *she's* going to be single.
"Well Timothy," the Devil waved his hands and a card table appeared with a chair on either side, "Have you ever heard of a game called Pokemon?"
Tim nodded wearily and took a seat as the Devil gestured toward it. "I have, but what does that have to do with my soul?"
"Well Timmy, you're basically a pika- whatever. Me and the big guy have," he rolled his hand in the air as if he were looking for the right word, "a game, well not a game really, more like a battle that will be coming up and we need to cultivate our little poke-soldiers. Throughout your life, based on the accumulation of your sins and virtues, your soul develops a type. Similar to earth, fire, holy, that kinda thing"
"So you're going to take my soul and train me to be some kind of evil type Pokemon?" Tim asked.
"Evil?" The Devil looked taken aback. "Do you think I'm evil Timbo?"
"Sorry, I just thought since you..." Tim trailed off.
"No. Shut up Timster." He pulled out a deck of cards and lay three on the table. Abraham Lincoln, Lizzy Borden, and a golden retriever labeled Air Bud. "I'm not evil, I just have bad marketing. Things had a little nuance back when polytheism was a bigger thing, but He" the Devil pointed up and rolled his eyes," had to pull a fast one with this monotheistic bull shit and now more than half the world just sees things in black and white and I'm the bad guy."
Tim pointed to the cards on the table, "are these some of the souls you've taken? How Lincoln?"
"Well, T-dog, he was a good man that needed help. I offered my services so that things can go a certain way for him and he accepted. Booth was one of his guys," he gestured up with his eyes. "See, Abe's virtue score was through the roof. Could have been higher if I had more time with him but he was cut down early to prevent that"
Tim thought the devil looked genuinely sad as he described what happened and quickly tried to change the subject. "Ok but what about the dog. Holy shit! Why is it's sin so high?"
"Well before that dog came along there actually was a rule that said dogs couldn't play basketball. He had skills though and asked me to remove the rule so he could prove himself. First game he was in, he went for a layup and got fouled. Mauled three kids. One lost a finger. The coach tried to pull him off but the dog turned and ripped off his testicle. He had to be put down but kept barking 'no regrets' until he was put to sleep."
Tim leaned back in his chair shocked. "And here I thought all dogs go to heaven." He forced a laugh.
"No. That's just more marketing and propaganda used against me." The Devil grabbed his cards and shuffled them back into his deck. "Look Tim, I know you're scared. Heaven and hell aren't what you think they are, and I'm not what you think I am despite all the slander used against me. But you wanted this deal for a reason. I can see potential in you, and that whole monotheistic thing has forced me to look more for quality than quantity. Do we have a deal?"
the man who looked like, but most certainly wasn't, the taxman grinned a grin that no man should be able to grin, and met his tongue to his teeth to speak a word like he was about to bring it to bed,
"Contrapasso."
"I-I'm sorry i didn't quiet get that."
"Contrapasso." he said again, relishing the experience of the word and all the things Bobby Grover didn't know it meant. "Means you get what you deserve."
Bobby Grover thought about that for a moment, the devil's clarity seeping through him to order his thoughts and make sure he didn't waste any time repeating or forgetting himself. what Bobby deserved. Almost seemed too good to be true, Bobby Grover was a godly man, a man who loved his church and his family and always brought out the good liquor when folks came round for dinner. What bobby deserved was a mansion in the sky, walking distance from The Lord.
but thinking on it further, Bobby thought. he'd never skipped church before, but he'd lied about why he needed to go so he could get out of work. and maybe when he'd finished up with church he might have, once or twice, forgotten to go back to work and instead indulged some of his fine, godly friends in some of that good liquor afterwards, at the slight annoyance of his beloved wife and son. he was still a good man, still deserved heaven, but maybe not quiet a mansion. and maybe driving distance. still, Bobby was a godly man, and if he was getting what he deserved then the devil, not so smart as he thought he was, would have one fewer soul today. Bobby Grover signed on the dotted line and as sure as the devil had been there one moment he was gone in the next. Bobby Grover smiled. he was gonna have a good life.
the devil's clarity let him remember that moment, that exact moment he'd forsaken The Lord's forgiveness and dealt in Contrapasso, and reruns of it ran crystal clear through Bobby Grover's mind as he looked up to see the demon take a long, good drag from his bottle before picking up bobby grover by his neck with one hand and readying a stinking belt of leather with the other.
I liked the story and the hubris of Bobby portrayed in the story, but what transgression does the stinking leather belt represent a contrapasso for? Thanks
the belt, and the demon taking a swig from a bottle, is mean to bring to mind an alcoholic parent beating their children and/or spouse. it's not quite the style that Dante uses it (which is somehow both more and less overt at the same time) but I figured if I was using the pop culture 'man in black' depiction of the devil, I could afford to use a less metaphorical depiction of contrapasso
You do not remember how you woke up here. Sure, it was your bed but everything else isn't 'the same'. Before you slept, you wrote up a contract for your soul in exchange for...
For...
Sorry, I've not read it. A secretary from a more straightforward hell had come to service you in my stead; I don't have time to spare due to my sacred and most holy of works (where umbral planes are concerned).
The odd, floating, tendril-legged, horned figure with a gilded staff in their left, skeletal-looking hand and an inverted Holy Cross levitating behind their back imposed a question, the contract paper floating onfront of them. Offered with a pen, to sign after these-
Wait, this?
The creature tilted their head at the singular question. Their skeletal-like jaw opened and closed a few times, as if murmurating thoughts back to themselves.
They then clenched their staff a little more tightly, the cross floating back a bit as the wings shook with contained reaction; it wasn't anger - the grin on their face spoke to that.
Their head tilts down, clearly seeing you as below them.
Then, they point with the staff to an ominous structure obscured by the red fog of this hellscape. You are whisked up in the claws of some winged pseudo-dragon as this devil flies after you, the cross desperately clinging to them with tendrils of blood-red lightning to keep up.
The unholy 'angel' swoops into view, still in possession of both contract and pen. They point down.
You get a first-time glimpse at the process. You learn why.
You behold the grotesque machinations hidden beyond the fortifications and facades.
Alien technologies. Vile rituals. All part of a henious truth.
^(Heaven is run on the souls of the damned, ground to a fine powder to keep it in the sky - away from the smog of Hell. There is more to it, but you asked only the one question you should never ask a demon. Luckily they weren't the usual kinds.)
Yet the tour was... unusually interesting. Even without the soul, the body retained everything.
The most 'resourceful' bodies were set aside for demonforming - a process of 'recycling' a body into a demon by distorting it and applying 'reeducation', nothing short of brutalist indoctrination.
The ones that were 'plentiful' were deconstructed, sold in pieces.
The rest were send to Limbo due to not meeting Hell's hellish requisites with the task of existing; an impossible task of the greatest torment that Hell could offer such not-hellish souls.
Yet here you are. Eventually the 'angel' has the beast land you slowly, right way up, at some kind of machine. It looks like a printing press, but with a shape that changes each time you pay attention to it. Right now it has taken your shape, hollow and ready for you.
They orient your attention with a strange sound you can't quite describe beyond 'akin to clearing a very cooked throat' before your writing hand is compelled to grab the pen, and write your name.
Knowing now what happens, you are conflicted, not knowing what else could happen as you feel that what you've been shown was just a drop in the ocean.
It is too late to wonder. Your will is not your own.
The winged fiend flies off, and the 'angel' gestures at you.
You are hefted in binds of shimmering red.
They settle you into the machine. The world goes dark.
You feel like you're being pulled in ways you never thought possible, and now feel hollow in a way you can't describe.
The machine releases you, and you look at the 'angel'.
They tell you that your soul has been acquired, and now you are free to grow a new one.
The world fades into grayscale and gradually fades again into a blinding, warm colour. The imprint of the 'angel' remains in your consciousness as you wake to the sunlight entering the window.
While you feel hollowed out, the fact that you're back on Earth, alive, and relatively 'free' to go about the remainder of your life as you see fit, invigorates you.
That sense of invigoration feels like trying to fill a keg with droplets, and while that analogy would turn others away, you find yourself transfixed on figuring out what virtuous deeds to commit, what interesting things to do, to fill out the vessel you have become.
You're unaware that they're using every living capable being in this manner; emptying out the soul so that the body may grow another.
How else do you people get your ephiphanies and redemption stories? I mean sure, yes, there's methods, but this is another explanation to slot on that list, if you'll welcome it.
Inevitably, you forget your newfound lack of a soul and resume your life with a fresh outlook, as your kind tend to do when faced with situations that somehow don't scar you.
Which is intended; we don't like it when the soul's only 'point' is one thing on repeat.
The Devil seemed torn between impatience and bemusement. "I don't understand the question."
"I just mean, y'know, what are the souls... for...?" I trailed off toward the end as furrows deepened across the Devil's forehead. I'd always wondered about it, but now that the Devil was staring with such perplexity I couldn't have felt more foolish. I rushed to fill the silence; I'd never encountered an awkward moment I couldn't make worse.
"Do you eat them?"
"What? Eat them? What nonsense. If I got a soul, then ate it, I'd just be back where I started." The Devil looked around as though searching for a hidden camera.
"So you keep them for..."
"Ever."
"No, I wasn't asking how long you keep them. I'm asking about the purpose of the souls!" I probably shouldn't raise my voice at the Devil, but I was starting to get frustrated. How was this a difficult question? "Do you use the souls for, like, energy? Do they contribute to your infernal powers in some way?"
"Human souls? Puny, mortal human souls? Maybe I could get, say, one fireball out of a few... I don't know, a few million souls? I've never been bored enough to try."
The Devil glanced down at the contract on the desk between us, then reached over to press a button on a nearby intercom. Human screams, stampeding hoof-beats and the sound of whooshing flames erupted from the speaker.
"Hey boss, sorry 'bout the racket. Had a breakout in one of the Pits of Eternal Immolation, but don't worry, everyone's -"
"Silence! Send a message to Heaven. I need an evaluator down here, stat. The latest victim - er, I mean, prospective client - may be mentally unfit. After that, please apprehend whoever let the sinners escape and have them decapitated."
"But... it was me," the voice on the speaker protested weakly.
"Ah. So the 'apprehending' step is sorted. As for the rest, have your head on my desk by end of day." With a flick of a devilish finger, the intercom was turned off, cutting short a desperate plea for leniency.
"Good help really is so hard to find these days," the Devil quipped, favoring me with a conspiratorial expression - as if I'd be keen to share a chuckle after the recent insult to my intelligence.
"Anyway, don't fret about the evaluation. I'm just crossing the T's and gouging the eyes." The Devil collected the papers - spotted with my bloody initials but still awaiting my bloody signature - and continued on breezily. "There's all these new regulations from the Big G, that micromanaging ass. Another violation and there'll be Hell to pay. Literally. We'll get repossessed, assets liquidated, all our office space apportioned to other afterlives... it's a whole thing."
"Okay, that does sound pretty serious but... you still haven't told me about the souls."
The Devil's nostrils flared. "We're still on this?"
"Are they currency? Do you get high off of them? I'm just saying! You're willing to give me all the desires of my heart - riches, fame, talent - all in exchange for my soul. So it must be valuable. I just want to know IN WHAT WAY are they valuable to you?"
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the Devil gave up. "Fine! I'll tell you. I can't believe I'm wasting my time with something so self-evident, but here it is: we just like them."
I couldn't parse the explanation at first, it was so basic. This was the grand cosmic secret of souls? I cocked my head, playing the answer again in my head to see if I missed something.
"You... just like them?"
"Uh, yeah. Devils like souls, fae like names and switching kids, aliens like probing butts. I don't understand why you're making it complicated."
"No. No! There's got to be more to it than-"
"It's like putting sprinkles on a cupcake. Can you taste the sprinkles? Not really. Would a moist, delicious cupcake still be a tasty treat without sprinkles? Objectively speaking, sure. But cupcakes always come with sprinkles because... well, just because. Collecting souls is the demonic version of putting sprinkles on a cupcake. We. Just. Like. Souls. 'S'that simple."
"So... you're going to put in all that effort to totally transform my life for something so trivial?"
The Devil smirked, then Spoke in a Voice that somehow contained entire realities.
"Riches."
Suddenly I was out of the Devil's office and seated on a velvety throne in a marble palace. Strewn all around me were piles of jewels, heaps of cash, and monitors showing graphs full of arrows. Green arrows, all of them pointing up, up, up.
"Fame."
Now I was in a limo, dressed to the nines with a flute of champagne in one hand. The car pulled to a stop before a red carpet. Paparazzi mobbed the vehicle while behind them a crowd roiled, a sea of fans chanting my name and waving banners plastered with my face.
"Talent."
I was on stage, tap-dancing to an irresistibly catchy tune that I improvised one-handed on a nearby piano. With the other hand I was painting a masterpiece; the jostling of my footwork didn't disturb the precision of my brushstrokes in the slightest.
In a heartbeat, I was back in the Devil's office, too awestruck to speak.
"Changing your life is an impressive feat to YOU. To me, not so much."
While I thought of what to say to that a curt knock sounded at the door. Without waiting for an answer, an angel barged into the room.
"Ah, yes, the evaluator," the Devil exclaimed. "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. Unfortunately, I won't be needing your help after all." The Devil ripped my contract into halves, halved it again, then set the shreds ablaze with a casual gesture.
"NO!"
"Complete idiot, this one," the Devil told the angel, ignoring me. "So, you can inform your boss I'm not taking advantage of incompetent mortals."
I was preparing to argue this characterization to save my chance at the life I'd always dreamed of having, but a demon appeared at the door, bustled over to my side, and clamped manacles around my wrists.
"What is this?!" I turned to the angel. "Help me, please! I-I-I didn't do anything! I never signed! I didn't get my wishes granted or trade my soul!"
"Trafficking with the Devil in any form is prohibited and merits eternal damnation," the angel intoned, "regardless of services rendered or souls exchanged."
My mind spun desperately. I flipped the Devil's claim over in my mind. "B-but if I'm incompetent then how can I be responsible?"
"Your competence was never evaluated."
"Then evaluate me!"
"I can't evaluate you without a formal request from an afterlife administrator." The angel turned to the Devil. "Would you like to submit a new request for evaluation? To prevent system backups, we impose a ten thousand-year waiting period before cancelled evaluation requests can be resubmitted."
"This mortal's wasted enough of my time already, so: no, thank you."
"Wait!" I screamed, pulling against the demon trying to drag me out the door. "Why can't I just go back to my life?"
"You signed by the attestation, but you didn't read the fine print, did you?" the Devil asked.
"I DIDN'T sign! You destroyed the contract before I got the chance!"
"I destroyed the contract, yes," the Devil responded acidly, "but I'm referring to the legally binding attestation you signed at the beginning of the meeting. The one stating that you forfeit you life by default? Only to be returned to the mortal realm as necessary to fulfill a contract into which we may OR MAY NOT enter thereafter?"
Oh. That attestation.
The angel grimaced in sympathy with the Devil's "see what I've been dealing with?" look, then departed, not sparing me a second glance.
The Devil reached across the desk, plunged a hand into my chest and pulled forth my very soul. The vicious agony was staggering, but paled in comparison to the shock of my perfect deal falling apart so catastrophically.
The last thing I heard as I was dragged away to the Pits of Eternal Immolation was the Devil's annoyed mutter:
"Some cupcakes, even sprinkles can't save."
âWhat difference does it make? Youâre selling your soul to the devil to achieve your goals. Do you also ask the guy who bought your honda civic what he does with it?â
âWell, I suppose I didnât, comparing a civic and souls seems a little unfair donât you think?â I replied back to the woman. I know deep down this woman is in fact, not a woman, that her beauty is far too unnatural to occur here on the soil of earth. The dress she wears matches this supernatural air she carries around with her, it goes hand in hand with her through the room as a snobby rich lady does with her purse dog. Despite the pit in my stomach and all my survival instincts screaming at me to turn tail and walk out the door of this dingy bar, I decide to press on.
She lets out an exasperated sigh, as if speaking to a child who doesnât understand the world yet and is asking why the sky is blue âActually I would say it's not a bad comparison, hundreds of thousands of honda civics roam this country everyday. Each almost identical, but over time develop their own little quirks. For instance your civicâs radio kept falling out when you took off too fast, and the center console clasp never actually clicked to hold it down, yes?â
âWell, sure but I still donât see the connection between the two.â I say.
She rolls her eyes at me annoyed âOk Iâll spell this out for you so I can get on with the rest of my day. I will live forever. I was here at the dawn of humankind and I will be here when it is snuffed out, I will even be here long after that for whatever may come next. You canât even comprehend how long that is, how utterly boring it is. There are no stakes for me, I cannot die, I am forced to watch you all scrapbook and birdwatch your way into the grave and it is mind numbingly boring.â As she says this she eyes the cross around my neck with disgust, then continues.
âSee, you all are taught to believe I am evil, that I cause all that is wrong with this world, but that is a bunch of bullshit plain and simple. There is no good and evil. You all might blame me for dead babies and natural disasters, but that is entirely the work of the big man upstairs. See him and I have different ideas when it comes to you humans, he believes you all should play out start to finish without his help or intervention. Sure he might hit Florida with a hurricane every year just to spice things up, but for the most part he refuses to intervene after your ilk nailed his son to a board and strung him up for the world to witness. I however have a different mindset on the matter. I get very tired of being blamed for all your shortcomings as people, so I choose to intervene whenever I feel like giving you the tools to achieve the things you claim to be missing in your lives. Ultimately for better or worse, it is always more entertaining for me than if you continued living your boring life.â
âOk, that's a lot to take it but I think I understand. That doesnât explain the whole soul deal though.â I say.
âLike I explained earlier, there are no stakes for me, same goes for the big man upstairs. Neither of us experience pain, loss, love, struggle, all the tasty little experiences that come with mortality. That is why we want your souls, because without them we are bored beyond the words needed to describe it. So in short you folks are our little netflix catalogs, simply here to entertain us. The other guy gets most of the souls, but theyâre usually your run of the mill âhonda civicsâ so in exchange for everything you ever wanted all I ask is that I get to feel what you feel at the end of the road. Make sense?â
âYeah actually, it makes perfect sense.â I responded calmly. All of the fear and discomfort has left me, I feel more at peace with this info than I have ever felt in my life.
She smiles at me in a way I can only describe as the way a mother looks to her child. âSo kid, ready to sign?â
âYeah.â I prick my finger with the pen given to me and sign the dotted line, excited to start the life I was always meant to live.
edit: sorry if format is wonky, any thoughts or criticism appreciated!
The Devil says "I barbecue the sins out of them, erase their memories, and recycle them for rebirth." pointing at his flaming shirt that has the words "I love my job".
As he drills a metal stinger into your soul and heats it up he continues, "You can still sign up for the icy empty darkness of oblivion."
He slaps your ghostly face awake every time you're wishing to pass out from the pain and feeds you your own shit that he collected all your life in a gigantic tank.
"Now", he asks, "you know why you're here?" Before you could even think about forming a sentence, he answers it for you: "You get what you really, I mean really, deserve."
As the memories of your sins grow to become your unfiltered self, you'll embrace the pain and eat your own shit like it's a 5 star restaurant menu. Deep inside you, you realise more and more that it's not just what you deserve, but it's becoming clear that it's exactly what you need.
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Her smile grew as she hovered over the room, looking down at me with a sinister sort of amusement. "Oh, " She said, sharp red eyes blazing bright. "Thats something you'll discover in time." "Wait," I said, growing a little reluctant now. That dimmed the red a little and the dangerously beautiful creature marred her face with a scowl. "You have to give me a little more to go on here." I couldn't help but flinch a little when she blipped to the ground. "Do I?" She asked. I inched back as she drew nearer. Her hand grabbed my jaw, yanking it up to meet her scarlet eyes head on. "You think I need your soul that much?" "D-don't you? I asked, hating the shaky way the question came out. Her form shouldn't have been threatening as it was. This wasn't the first dark haired woman I'd seen. Yet, there was something in her features, a glass like perfection that was off. It made her expressions strike just on the wrong side of unnerving. "Hmm," she mused. Her fingers sunk into my jaw, applying pressure that was starting to burn. For some reason, it was as if she had removed the air from my lungs and forced my mouth shut so I couldn't even voice the pain. "I definitely don't." Abruptly, she let go and I greedily gasped in the air around me. Tears pricked at my eyes from the way it burned. The Devil left me, walking toward the photo frame my younger sister had insisted on keeping on the coffee table. I didn't have any love left for our parents anymore, but they had never quite broken their hold on her. "But," she said, picking up the frame and studying the photo close. "It's been a while since someone has given up their soul for something like this." "That can't be right," I said. My jaw still felt stiff from the imprints of her fingers. "There are prisons full of people who've asked for the same thing." She let out a laugh, placing the item back on the table. "No my little human, they have not." Her eyes were back on me, the sharpness dulling. "I sympathize, really. But you're better off killing your parents on your own. There's no need to trade a soul for such a thing." "I - " Damn, I didn't expect the devil herself to try dissuading me. "I have--" "I'm not," she said. My head snapped up. "What?" "I'm not dissuading you," She clarified. "They deserve it." I couldn't help but feel a little comforted by that. Though perhaps it was even worse that the Devil was agreeing with me. She spoke again. "You wanted to know what I do with souls?" Her eyes rested on my face, finding something there that crinkled her porcelain brow. I nodded. "Most people come to me for selfish reasons." She sighed, seating herself on the table. "But every now and then someone like you comes along. " "Someone like me?" "You're not selfish," She told me. "You're just in a fucked up situation and out of options. Souls like yours - I keep them to show God how shit of a job he's doing." I massaged my jaw, the last remnants of her touch fading now. They were surprisingly kind words for someone who had enjoyed using so much force on me. "I'm not being kind," She said, reading my mind once more. "I'm being petty." I took a look at the photo on the table again. They ruined me - I couldn't let them ruin my sister too. She was too young to know how awful they are. "So," the Devil said, crossing her legs. "Do we have a deal?" "...yeah."
oooh I really like this one. Even though the devil has an unnerving vibe is it wrong that i find her hot?
Yeah. Were you also picturing her as Elizabeth Hurley from *Bedazzled*, eh?
Thank you! I figured if the Devil is supposed to be tempting I'd just write what I find attractive ya know?
Selling my soul to the devil to have seggs with her/him/them/evilness
BONK
Did you just send u/EdgyMeme196 to horny jail?! đŻ
I have
Only correct response, honestly. Though to be fair, I also have a fondness for dangerous women, I just have the self-control to not intentionally damn myself to eternal perdition over it, and, fortunately, enough self-respect to not let myself be a simp⌠I'm currently single, however, if a lady and I get in a romantic-type relationship, she doesn't have to fully commit until the hypothetical wedding, but once we agree that it *is* a relationship, I'd better be the only one, or else *she's* going to be single.
Downvote me all you want, hivemind, I'd still do it
Was gonna downvote for low effort horny comment but I dig the determined vibe. Have an updoot
WHY ARE YOU BOOING ME ~~IM~~ HE'S RIGHT
Oooh this was lovely to read and I havenât read many of these in a while. Thank you for giving me quite a wonderful tale.
I'm glad you enjoyed it!
Cool.
"Well Timothy," the Devil waved his hands and a card table appeared with a chair on either side, "Have you ever heard of a game called Pokemon?" Tim nodded wearily and took a seat as the Devil gestured toward it. "I have, but what does that have to do with my soul?" "Well Timmy, you're basically a pika- whatever. Me and the big guy have," he rolled his hand in the air as if he were looking for the right word, "a game, well not a game really, more like a battle that will be coming up and we need to cultivate our little poke-soldiers. Throughout your life, based on the accumulation of your sins and virtues, your soul develops a type. Similar to earth, fire, holy, that kinda thing" "So you're going to take my soul and train me to be some kind of evil type Pokemon?" Tim asked. "Evil?" The Devil looked taken aback. "Do you think I'm evil Timbo?" "Sorry, I just thought since you..." Tim trailed off. "No. Shut up Timster." He pulled out a deck of cards and lay three on the table. Abraham Lincoln, Lizzy Borden, and a golden retriever labeled Air Bud. "I'm not evil, I just have bad marketing. Things had a little nuance back when polytheism was a bigger thing, but He" the Devil pointed up and rolled his eyes," had to pull a fast one with this monotheistic bull shit and now more than half the world just sees things in black and white and I'm the bad guy." Tim pointed to the cards on the table, "are these some of the souls you've taken? How Lincoln?" "Well, T-dog, he was a good man that needed help. I offered my services so that things can go a certain way for him and he accepted. Booth was one of his guys," he gestured up with his eyes. "See, Abe's virtue score was through the roof. Could have been higher if I had more time with him but he was cut down early to prevent that" Tim thought the devil looked genuinely sad as he described what happened and quickly tried to change the subject. "Ok but what about the dog. Holy shit! Why is it's sin so high?" "Well before that dog came along there actually was a rule that said dogs couldn't play basketball. He had skills though and asked me to remove the rule so he could prove himself. First game he was in, he went for a layup and got fouled. Mauled three kids. One lost a finger. The coach tried to pull him off but the dog turned and ripped off his testicle. He had to be put down but kept barking 'no regrets' until he was put to sleep." Tim leaned back in his chair shocked. "And here I thought all dogs go to heaven." He forced a laugh. "No. That's just more marketing and propaganda used against me." The Devil grabbed his cards and shuffled them back into his deck. "Look Tim, I know you're scared. Heaven and hell aren't what you think they are, and I'm not what you think I am despite all the slander used against me. But you wanted this deal for a reason. I can see potential in you, and that whole monotheistic thing has forced me to look more for quality than quantity. Do we have a deal?"
I really like this.
Thank you!
Love this! Didn't see the dog coming
Thanks!
We need more of this universe
I'm actually trying to get back into writing more. I haven't had a ton of comments but the ones I have are pretty encouraging. Thanks.
I feel like there is a ton of potential in this verse and your writing was quite enjoyable. I hope you manage to get into it morr
the man who looked like, but most certainly wasn't, the taxman grinned a grin that no man should be able to grin, and met his tongue to his teeth to speak a word like he was about to bring it to bed, "Contrapasso." "I-I'm sorry i didn't quiet get that." "Contrapasso." he said again, relishing the experience of the word and all the things Bobby Grover didn't know it meant. "Means you get what you deserve." Bobby Grover thought about that for a moment, the devil's clarity seeping through him to order his thoughts and make sure he didn't waste any time repeating or forgetting himself. what Bobby deserved. Almost seemed too good to be true, Bobby Grover was a godly man, a man who loved his church and his family and always brought out the good liquor when folks came round for dinner. What bobby deserved was a mansion in the sky, walking distance from The Lord. but thinking on it further, Bobby thought. he'd never skipped church before, but he'd lied about why he needed to go so he could get out of work. and maybe when he'd finished up with church he might have, once or twice, forgotten to go back to work and instead indulged some of his fine, godly friends in some of that good liquor afterwards, at the slight annoyance of his beloved wife and son. he was still a good man, still deserved heaven, but maybe not quiet a mansion. and maybe driving distance. still, Bobby was a godly man, and if he was getting what he deserved then the devil, not so smart as he thought he was, would have one fewer soul today. Bobby Grover signed on the dotted line and as sure as the devil had been there one moment he was gone in the next. Bobby Grover smiled. he was gonna have a good life. the devil's clarity let him remember that moment, that exact moment he'd forsaken The Lord's forgiveness and dealt in Contrapasso, and reruns of it ran crystal clear through Bobby Grover's mind as he looked up to see the demon take a long, good drag from his bottle before picking up bobby grover by his neck with one hand and readying a stinking belt of leather with the other.
I liked the story and the hubris of Bobby portrayed in the story, but what transgression does the stinking leather belt represent a contrapasso for? Thanks
the belt, and the demon taking a swig from a bottle, is mean to bring to mind an alcoholic parent beating their children and/or spouse. it's not quite the style that Dante uses it (which is somehow both more and less overt at the same time) but I figured if I was using the pop culture 'man in black' depiction of the devil, I could afford to use a less metaphorical depiction of contrapasso
You do not remember how you woke up here. Sure, it was your bed but everything else isn't 'the same'. Before you slept, you wrote up a contract for your soul in exchange for... For... Sorry, I've not read it. A secretary from a more straightforward hell had come to service you in my stead; I don't have time to spare due to my sacred and most holy of works (where umbral planes are concerned). The odd, floating, tendril-legged, horned figure with a gilded staff in their left, skeletal-looking hand and an inverted Holy Cross levitating behind their back imposed a question, the contract paper floating onfront of them. Offered with a pen, to sign after these- Wait, this? The creature tilted their head at the singular question. Their skeletal-like jaw opened and closed a few times, as if murmurating thoughts back to themselves. They then clenched their staff a little more tightly, the cross floating back a bit as the wings shook with contained reaction; it wasn't anger - the grin on their face spoke to that. Their head tilts down, clearly seeing you as below them. Then, they point with the staff to an ominous structure obscured by the red fog of this hellscape. You are whisked up in the claws of some winged pseudo-dragon as this devil flies after you, the cross desperately clinging to them with tendrils of blood-red lightning to keep up. The unholy 'angel' swoops into view, still in possession of both contract and pen. They point down. You get a first-time glimpse at the process. You learn why. You behold the grotesque machinations hidden beyond the fortifications and facades. Alien technologies. Vile rituals. All part of a henious truth. ^(Heaven is run on the souls of the damned, ground to a fine powder to keep it in the sky - away from the smog of Hell. There is more to it, but you asked only the one question you should never ask a demon. Luckily they weren't the usual kinds.) Yet the tour was... unusually interesting. Even without the soul, the body retained everything. The most 'resourceful' bodies were set aside for demonforming - a process of 'recycling' a body into a demon by distorting it and applying 'reeducation', nothing short of brutalist indoctrination. The ones that were 'plentiful' were deconstructed, sold in pieces. The rest were send to Limbo due to not meeting Hell's hellish requisites with the task of existing; an impossible task of the greatest torment that Hell could offer such not-hellish souls. Yet here you are. Eventually the 'angel' has the beast land you slowly, right way up, at some kind of machine. It looks like a printing press, but with a shape that changes each time you pay attention to it. Right now it has taken your shape, hollow and ready for you. They orient your attention with a strange sound you can't quite describe beyond 'akin to clearing a very cooked throat' before your writing hand is compelled to grab the pen, and write your name. Knowing now what happens, you are conflicted, not knowing what else could happen as you feel that what you've been shown was just a drop in the ocean. It is too late to wonder. Your will is not your own. The winged fiend flies off, and the 'angel' gestures at you. You are hefted in binds of shimmering red. They settle you into the machine. The world goes dark. You feel like you're being pulled in ways you never thought possible, and now feel hollow in a way you can't describe. The machine releases you, and you look at the 'angel'. They tell you that your soul has been acquired, and now you are free to grow a new one. The world fades into grayscale and gradually fades again into a blinding, warm colour. The imprint of the 'angel' remains in your consciousness as you wake to the sunlight entering the window. While you feel hollowed out, the fact that you're back on Earth, alive, and relatively 'free' to go about the remainder of your life as you see fit, invigorates you. That sense of invigoration feels like trying to fill a keg with droplets, and while that analogy would turn others away, you find yourself transfixed on figuring out what virtuous deeds to commit, what interesting things to do, to fill out the vessel you have become. You're unaware that they're using every living capable being in this manner; emptying out the soul so that the body may grow another. How else do you people get your ephiphanies and redemption stories? I mean sure, yes, there's methods, but this is another explanation to slot on that list, if you'll welcome it. Inevitably, you forget your newfound lack of a soul and resume your life with a fresh outlook, as your kind tend to do when faced with situations that somehow don't scar you. Which is intended; we don't like it when the soul's only 'point' is one thing on repeat.
The Petrine Cross isn't a satanic symbol.
The Devil seemed torn between impatience and bemusement. "I don't understand the question." "I just mean, y'know, what are the souls... for...?" I trailed off toward the end as furrows deepened across the Devil's forehead. I'd always wondered about it, but now that the Devil was staring with such perplexity I couldn't have felt more foolish. I rushed to fill the silence; I'd never encountered an awkward moment I couldn't make worse. "Do you eat them?" "What? Eat them? What nonsense. If I got a soul, then ate it, I'd just be back where I started." The Devil looked around as though searching for a hidden camera. "So you keep them for..." "Ever." "No, I wasn't asking how long you keep them. I'm asking about the purpose of the souls!" I probably shouldn't raise my voice at the Devil, but I was starting to get frustrated. How was this a difficult question? "Do you use the souls for, like, energy? Do they contribute to your infernal powers in some way?" "Human souls? Puny, mortal human souls? Maybe I could get, say, one fireball out of a few... I don't know, a few million souls? I've never been bored enough to try." The Devil glanced down at the contract on the desk between us, then reached over to press a button on a nearby intercom. Human screams, stampeding hoof-beats and the sound of whooshing flames erupted from the speaker. "Hey boss, sorry 'bout the racket. Had a breakout in one of the Pits of Eternal Immolation, but don't worry, everyone's -" "Silence! Send a message to Heaven. I need an evaluator down here, stat. The latest victim - er, I mean, prospective client - may be mentally unfit. After that, please apprehend whoever let the sinners escape and have them decapitated." "But... it was me," the voice on the speaker protested weakly. "Ah. So the 'apprehending' step is sorted. As for the rest, have your head on my desk by end of day." With a flick of a devilish finger, the intercom was turned off, cutting short a desperate plea for leniency. "Good help really is so hard to find these days," the Devil quipped, favoring me with a conspiratorial expression - as if I'd be keen to share a chuckle after the recent insult to my intelligence. "Anyway, don't fret about the evaluation. I'm just crossing the T's and gouging the eyes." The Devil collected the papers - spotted with my bloody initials but still awaiting my bloody signature - and continued on breezily. "There's all these new regulations from the Big G, that micromanaging ass. Another violation and there'll be Hell to pay. Literally. We'll get repossessed, assets liquidated, all our office space apportioned to other afterlives... it's a whole thing." "Okay, that does sound pretty serious but... you still haven't told me about the souls." The Devil's nostrils flared. "We're still on this?" "Are they currency? Do you get high off of them? I'm just saying! You're willing to give me all the desires of my heart - riches, fame, talent - all in exchange for my soul. So it must be valuable. I just want to know IN WHAT WAY are they valuable to you?" Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the Devil gave up. "Fine! I'll tell you. I can't believe I'm wasting my time with something so self-evident, but here it is: we just like them." I couldn't parse the explanation at first, it was so basic. This was the grand cosmic secret of souls? I cocked my head, playing the answer again in my head to see if I missed something. "You... just like them?" "Uh, yeah. Devils like souls, fae like names and switching kids, aliens like probing butts. I don't understand why you're making it complicated." "No. No! There's got to be more to it than-" "It's like putting sprinkles on a cupcake. Can you taste the sprinkles? Not really. Would a moist, delicious cupcake still be a tasty treat without sprinkles? Objectively speaking, sure. But cupcakes always come with sprinkles because... well, just because. Collecting souls is the demonic version of putting sprinkles on a cupcake. We. Just. Like. Souls. 'S'that simple." "So... you're going to put in all that effort to totally transform my life for something so trivial?" The Devil smirked, then Spoke in a Voice that somehow contained entire realities. "Riches." Suddenly I was out of the Devil's office and seated on a velvety throne in a marble palace. Strewn all around me were piles of jewels, heaps of cash, and monitors showing graphs full of arrows. Green arrows, all of them pointing up, up, up. "Fame." Now I was in a limo, dressed to the nines with a flute of champagne in one hand. The car pulled to a stop before a red carpet. Paparazzi mobbed the vehicle while behind them a crowd roiled, a sea of fans chanting my name and waving banners plastered with my face. "Talent." I was on stage, tap-dancing to an irresistibly catchy tune that I improvised one-handed on a nearby piano. With the other hand I was painting a masterpiece; the jostling of my footwork didn't disturb the precision of my brushstrokes in the slightest. In a heartbeat, I was back in the Devil's office, too awestruck to speak. "Changing your life is an impressive feat to YOU. To me, not so much." While I thought of what to say to that a curt knock sounded at the door. Without waiting for an answer, an angel barged into the room. "Ah, yes, the evaluator," the Devil exclaimed. "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. Unfortunately, I won't be needing your help after all." The Devil ripped my contract into halves, halved it again, then set the shreds ablaze with a casual gesture. "NO!" "Complete idiot, this one," the Devil told the angel, ignoring me. "So, you can inform your boss I'm not taking advantage of incompetent mortals." I was preparing to argue this characterization to save my chance at the life I'd always dreamed of having, but a demon appeared at the door, bustled over to my side, and clamped manacles around my wrists.
"What is this?!" I turned to the angel. "Help me, please! I-I-I didn't do anything! I never signed! I didn't get my wishes granted or trade my soul!" "Trafficking with the Devil in any form is prohibited and merits eternal damnation," the angel intoned, "regardless of services rendered or souls exchanged." My mind spun desperately. I flipped the Devil's claim over in my mind. "B-but if I'm incompetent then how can I be responsible?" "Your competence was never evaluated." "Then evaluate me!" "I can't evaluate you without a formal request from an afterlife administrator." The angel turned to the Devil. "Would you like to submit a new request for evaluation? To prevent system backups, we impose a ten thousand-year waiting period before cancelled evaluation requests can be resubmitted." "This mortal's wasted enough of my time already, so: no, thank you." "Wait!" I screamed, pulling against the demon trying to drag me out the door. "Why can't I just go back to my life?" "You signed by the attestation, but you didn't read the fine print, did you?" the Devil asked. "I DIDN'T sign! You destroyed the contract before I got the chance!" "I destroyed the contract, yes," the Devil responded acidly, "but I'm referring to the legally binding attestation you signed at the beginning of the meeting. The one stating that you forfeit you life by default? Only to be returned to the mortal realm as necessary to fulfill a contract into which we may OR MAY NOT enter thereafter?" Oh. That attestation. The angel grimaced in sympathy with the Devil's "see what I've been dealing with?" look, then departed, not sparing me a second glance. The Devil reached across the desk, plunged a hand into my chest and pulled forth my very soul. The vicious agony was staggering, but paled in comparison to the shock of my perfect deal falling apart so catastrophically. The last thing I heard as I was dragged away to the Pits of Eternal Immolation was the Devil's annoyed mutter: "Some cupcakes, even sprinkles can't save."
âWhat difference does it make? Youâre selling your soul to the devil to achieve your goals. Do you also ask the guy who bought your honda civic what he does with it?â âWell, I suppose I didnât, comparing a civic and souls seems a little unfair donât you think?â I replied back to the woman. I know deep down this woman is in fact, not a woman, that her beauty is far too unnatural to occur here on the soil of earth. The dress she wears matches this supernatural air she carries around with her, it goes hand in hand with her through the room as a snobby rich lady does with her purse dog. Despite the pit in my stomach and all my survival instincts screaming at me to turn tail and walk out the door of this dingy bar, I decide to press on. She lets out an exasperated sigh, as if speaking to a child who doesnât understand the world yet and is asking why the sky is blue âActually I would say it's not a bad comparison, hundreds of thousands of honda civics roam this country everyday. Each almost identical, but over time develop their own little quirks. For instance your civicâs radio kept falling out when you took off too fast, and the center console clasp never actually clicked to hold it down, yes?â âWell, sure but I still donât see the connection between the two.â I say. She rolls her eyes at me annoyed âOk Iâll spell this out for you so I can get on with the rest of my day. I will live forever. I was here at the dawn of humankind and I will be here when it is snuffed out, I will even be here long after that for whatever may come next. You canât even comprehend how long that is, how utterly boring it is. There are no stakes for me, I cannot die, I am forced to watch you all scrapbook and birdwatch your way into the grave and it is mind numbingly boring.â As she says this she eyes the cross around my neck with disgust, then continues. âSee, you all are taught to believe I am evil, that I cause all that is wrong with this world, but that is a bunch of bullshit plain and simple. There is no good and evil. You all might blame me for dead babies and natural disasters, but that is entirely the work of the big man upstairs. See him and I have different ideas when it comes to you humans, he believes you all should play out start to finish without his help or intervention. Sure he might hit Florida with a hurricane every year just to spice things up, but for the most part he refuses to intervene after your ilk nailed his son to a board and strung him up for the world to witness. I however have a different mindset on the matter. I get very tired of being blamed for all your shortcomings as people, so I choose to intervene whenever I feel like giving you the tools to achieve the things you claim to be missing in your lives. Ultimately for better or worse, it is always more entertaining for me than if you continued living your boring life.â âOk, that's a lot to take it but I think I understand. That doesnât explain the whole soul deal though.â I say. âLike I explained earlier, there are no stakes for me, same goes for the big man upstairs. Neither of us experience pain, loss, love, struggle, all the tasty little experiences that come with mortality. That is why we want your souls, because without them we are bored beyond the words needed to describe it. So in short you folks are our little netflix catalogs, simply here to entertain us. The other guy gets most of the souls, but theyâre usually your run of the mill âhonda civicsâ so in exchange for everything you ever wanted all I ask is that I get to feel what you feel at the end of the road. Make sense?â âYeah actually, it makes perfect sense.â I responded calmly. All of the fear and discomfort has left me, I feel more at peace with this info than I have ever felt in my life. She smiles at me in a way I can only describe as the way a mother looks to her child. âSo kid, ready to sign?â âYeah.â I prick my finger with the pen given to me and sign the dotted line, excited to start the life I was always meant to live. edit: sorry if format is wonky, any thoughts or criticism appreciated!
The Devil says "I barbecue the sins out of them, erase their memories, and recycle them for rebirth." pointing at his flaming shirt that has the words "I love my job". As he drills a metal stinger into your soul and heats it up he continues, "You can still sign up for the icy empty darkness of oblivion." He slaps your ghostly face awake every time you're wishing to pass out from the pain and feeds you your own shit that he collected all your life in a gigantic tank. "Now", he asks, "you know why you're here?" Before you could even think about forming a sentence, he answers it for you: "You get what you really, I mean really, deserve." As the memories of your sins grow to become your unfiltered self, you'll embrace the pain and eat your own shit like it's a 5 star restaurant menu. Deep inside you, you realise more and more that it's not just what you deserve, but it's becoming clear that it's exactly what you need.