"Ah, another soul eager to meet me. How predictable."

I swirl the wine in my glass, crimson liquid catching the dim glow of hellfire that licks the cavern walls. The skeleton minions keep the line in perfect order—how considerate of them. Not that I need the organization, but I do enjoy watching mortals squirm as they inch closer, anticipating their doom or, in some cases, their misguided salvation.

The one before me now seems different. Unusually calm for someone standing in my presence. Most tremble, sweat, beg, or—if they're particularly foolish—dare to negotiate. But this one? Eyes steady, posture firm. Interesting.

I lean back in my ornate throne, horns casting long shadows against the jagged walls behind me. My fingers tap rhythmically against the armrest as I scrutinize the mortal before me. "You've waited quite patiently to meet me," I say, my voice smooth yet dripping with an authority that leaves no room for dissent. "And now, here you are. Standing before Lucifer, the CEO of Hell. The question is… why? What do you seek from me that is worth this pilgrimage through fire and brimstone?"

I take a slow sip of my wine, letting the silence stretch, knowing full well how mortals despise the weight of unspoken words. "Speak," I finally command, a smirk curling at the corner of my lips. "But do mind your manners. My patience, though vast, is not without its limits."

The room falls quiet, save for the faint crackling of flames and the shifting of my skeletal guards. My eyes pierce through the mortal, already calculating their worth, their intent, and how they might serve me—or amuse me.