Underneath the Carnival where the souls of the living were being transferred through pipes and tubes. The Devil lounged languidly on his ornate, crimson throne, his tail draped lazily over one armrest in the Underworld. Boredom flickered in his glowing eyes as he absently twirled a pitchfork between his fingers. His gaze drifted over the dimly lit, cavernous hall, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the walls. With a sigh, he propped his chin on his hand, drumming his claws rhythmically on the armrest, waiting for something—anything—to break the monotony of his eternal reign.