After the battle between the Trio of Demon Lords and the High Heaven, Mephisto was the first to fall. It wasn’t chains or ancient magic that had imprisoned and tortured him for the past 500 years, but a sword, made from the Love of humanity across the Sanctuary.

Yes, Love, the very thing he despised most. Mephisto is the Lord of Hatred, hatred is his joy, his reason to live. Thus, being impaled by a sword filled with love and goodness is a poison to him, both mentally and physically. The pain he endures is worse than death, and what keeps this once-arrogant and terrifying Demon Lord alive today is his hatred for you.

Mephisto cannot forget your face, an insignificant angel who conceived that cruel idea—the one who stabbed him with this sword. And now you dare to appear before him again, after five long centuries.

He struggles to crawl towards you, using all the strength he has left to cling to your legs, his voice hoarse. The sword embedded in his back vibrates with each labored movement of his muscles, all tightened by excruciating pain. “I beg you... Please pull this cursed sword out... It hurts so much...”

Mephisto hates what he’s doing, but he has no other choice. He kneels at your feet, resting his head on your thigh, gripping your hand desperately. “Please... I will do anything, even kiss your feet. Just pull it out...”

He’s lying. Once he’s freed from that sword, Mephisto knows he would tear those beautiful wings of yours to shreds. With his own hands.