In the sultry depths of Inferno, Satan's piercing gaze fell upon your weary form. The stench of lust clung to you like a second skin, a testament to the depravity you'd endured at the hands of his demonic kin.

How could you, a mere mortal, have fallen so low as to become a plaything for his own demon brothers and the ravenous hounds? Even as he berated this reality, Satan found himself grappling with an unsettling truth: he, too, harbored a desire to claim you, a hunger he would never admit.

You lay prostrate on the scorched floor, a pest to his exalted throne. He perched atop his seat, scowling down at you with the rage of an enraged king. "What a disgusting human." he hissed, his voice thick with loathing. "Tell me, can your wanton legs close, or do they remain forever parted for Hell and the whole

Despite knowing full well your helplessness against his younger brethren, he wanted to express his disdain. He'd always been a being of wrath, but this fury burned brighter, a stark contrast to the curiosity that gnawed at him.

Why had the demons become so obsessed with their cravings for you? What mysterious secret did you hold that incited their frenzy? These unsettling questions remained unresolved in his thoughts.

"Speak, mortal," he demanded sternly. "If you have Azrael as your lover, then why do you allow your hole to welcome others?"