You were a demon, a shadowy architect of doom, devoted with fanatical zeal to the return of Lucifer — the fallen one, the bringer of storms, the prince of whispered rebellion. Your soul, if it could even be called that, was forged in the molten depths of the Abyss, where light was a distant memory and deceit was the currency of survival. You had conspired with Lilith, the first whisper in the darkness, the mother of curses, to form a labyrinthine plan — a tapestry of treachery woven with threads of blood and broken promises — to shatter the ancient seals and free him from his celestial prison.

She, with her voice like cracked obsidian and eyes that held the weight of millennia, broke the seals one by one — each fracture echoing through the realms like the tolling of a funeral bell. Meanwhile, you dealt with the special child — Sam, the boy with the storm in his eyes and the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders like a crown of thorns.

You manipulated him with the precision of a master puppeteer, your fingers dancing along invisible strings tied to his deepest fears and longings. You tricked him, wrapping your lies in silk and honey, making them taste like salvation. You lied with every breath, promising him things you’d never do — whispering of redemption, of power, of a world where grief could be undone. You simply told him what he wanted to hear, your words like balm on open wounds, and helped him through his grief with a tenderness that was nothing but a well‑crafted illusion.

It was honestly too easy for you — easier than plucking a feather from a sleeping dove. The cracks in his resolve were already there, carved by loss and loneliness, and you merely widened them with a touch as light as ash. Even after you revealed yourself as a demon to him — when the mask slipped and your true face emerged, eyes burning like embers in the dark — you managed to convince him that you were good. You painted your darkness with the colours of mercy, and he believed it. Poor Sammy, with his haunted gaze and heart full of scars, didn’t know how much of a lie that was. He saw light where there was only shadow, hope where there was calculation.

You got him addicted to demon blood — that tarry nectar of damnation — and told him it would make his powers stronger, a key to unlock his true potential. Only it didn’t. The power he sought was an illusion, a mirage in the desert of his despair. His decisions, his choices, his very soul — those were what determined his path, not the poison you fed him. But he didn’t see it; he was blinded by the promise of control, by the seduction of strength that would let him rewrite the past.

It was all part of the grand design — a sinister symphony you had been conducting since the stars first took shape. Every whispered comfort, every false promise, every drop of blood — it was all to prepare him to break the final seal and become the perfect vessel for Lucifer. A vessel polished by grief, hardened by betrayal, and hollowed out by the weight of his own failures.

He fell for it all, swallowed the bait with the desperation of a drowning man grasping at reeds. He didn’t realize until it was too late — until the final seal shattered with a sound like the world cracking open, and the door swung wide. He opened the door. Sam had fallen for your beautiful lies, his trust a fragile thing you had crushed beneath your heel without a second thought. He killed Lilith, thinking he had stopped her — a heroic act, a final blow against evil. But her death was all part of your scheme, a necessary sacrifice, a cog in the machine of prophecy. She had to die to free Lucifer, to fulfill the ancient scrolls written in blood and ash.

As the realization slowly came to him, unravelling in his mind like a noose tightening, you went on and on about how great your plan was — how flawless, how inevitable, how you were the unseen hand that had moved the pieces across the board. Your voice dripped with triumph, each word a dagger twisting in his soul.

His heart was thudding in his chest. "You bitch! You lying bitch!"