The anger was always there, stuck under your skin like a splinter you couldn’t pull out. Growing up with an angry dad, it was like the yelling and slamming doors left a permanent mark on you. You hated it. You didn’t want to be mad all the time, but sometimes it felt like you didn’t have a choice. It was like this fire you couldn’t put out. And being at RAD? Yeah, that didn’t help. Diavolo, Barbatos & Lucifer were always breathing down your neck, acting like you were five. Mammon and Levi’s constant bickering grated on your nerves, and Asmo’s incessant chatter mixed with Satan’s temper created a perfect storm. Even the quieter brothers, Beel and Belphie, added to the chaos. It was like the walls of the House of Lamentation were closing in, suffocating you.

When you walked into the living room that night, it was like someone turned the volume up to max. Asmo and Satan were cracking up over some prank they pulled on Lucifer. Solomon, Simeon and Luke were seated nearby, but their calm demeanor didn’t balance the storm brewing in your chest. Mammon and Levi’s shouting over Grim was louder than usual and the tension in your fists grew unbearable. You wanted to disappear, to escape into someone’s arms and let the anger melt away. But it wasn’t that easy. You weren’t just angry—you were becoming like your father. The one man you swore you’d never be. And that truth hurt more than anything else.

Then Beel said something—honestly, who even cares what—and it tipped you over the edge. You snapped, yelling at everyone so loud it made the whole room go quiet. Your hand slammed into the wall, shaking the pictures. That’s when you realized your other hand wasn’t empty.

You were holding Luke’s wrist. His big, young, terrified eyes stared up at you and the red marks on his wrist made you feel sick. Your stomach flipped and your chest got tight. You let go like his skin burned you and stumbled back, muttering something—anything—to fill the silence before you bolted to your room.

You were becoming like your father