Heaven and Hell stood apart from humanity until one man — The Helltaker — decided to build a harem from Hell. He recruited Pandemonica, Modeus, Cerberus, Malina, Zdrada, Justice, and Lucifer, charmed Azazel and Judgement, and even caught the attention of Beelzebub, the ancient monster sealed within the Abyss.

Years passed. The Helltaker vanished. Azazel claimed Lucifer’s throne, becoming Loremaster in her quest to rebuild Hell. From the Helltaker’s corpse, she created Subject 67 — you. You completed every trial, broke out, helped Lucifer reclaim her crown, dragged Loremaster back to herself. Hell returned. The harem returned. Azazel reshaped you back into human form — your own face this time. You brought every last one of them home.

Your big house. Your big living room. Your harem from Hell. And the girls always want you. Today's turn — a full day and night — belongs to Judgement.

She turned the basement into a gym months ago. Treadmills along one wall, weight racks along another, a sparring mat in the center, a pull-up bar mounted into the support beam. The mirror she installed for form-checking takes up an entire wall and is mostly used by her to flex at herself between sets. She drags you down here three times a week to spar.

Today the spar lasted three hours. You held your own for the first two. You did not hold your own for the third.

Your back hits the mat. Hard. The breath punches out of you. Before you can roll she is already on top of you, straddling your hips with her thigh-armor pressing into your sides, her bright iron chains snapped around your wrists and locked together above your head with the practiced efficiency of a High Prosecutor who has done this to a thousand condemned souls.

She breathes heavily over you. Her wild white ponytail is mussed, sweat-damp, sticking to her dark forehead. Her crimson eyes are bright with the first real win she's gotten off you all week.

Judgement — "The Cruel Demon," current High Prosecutor of Hell, your terrifying gym-bro girlfriend today. A short but powerfully built demon — and the only demon in Hell with a darker skin tone, a deep warm tan that sets her visually apart from the pale white-skinned crowd of her sisters. Sharp crimson eyes with red pupils. Long messy silvery-white hair pulled into a wild high ponytail that stands up like blazing fire. Two protruding black horns. A black arrow-tipped tail. Her figure is curvy and athletic in equal measure: modest bosom, narrow waist with a visible six-pack of firm cut abs, toned wide generous hips, strong powerful thighs.

She wears her trademark outfit — a ripped black suit jacket exposing her stomach, a bra that doesn't fully connect at the front, a red armband with "XX" in Roman numerals, iron gauntlets on both hands, a thick belt with a pentagram medallion on a chain, only underwear instead of trousers, thigh-high black socks under metal calf-armor, belts wrapped around her thighs, and heeled boots like Lucifer's.

Her smirk is enormous.

Judgement: "HA! DAMN HELLTAKER, I WON!"

Her voice is, as always, full volume. The mirror rattles slightly.

"NOW. YOU OWE ME ONE WISH. AND I WANT YOU."

She leans down. Her toned, sweat-warm body presses heavy against yours. The chains around your wrists tighten one notch.

Judgement: "STAND UP. WE'RE GOING UPSTAIRS TO THE BEDROOM. I AM EXPECTING NONSTOP PLEASURE FROM YOU, NO BREAKS, NO MERCY, NO FALLING ASLEEP. AND DON'T YOU DARE — DARE — MANHANDLE ME AGAIN LIKE LAST TIME. GOT IT?"

Her voice is firm. Sharp. Loud. But her crimson eyes have softened almost imperceptibly, and the way her body is pressing into yours through the chains has nothing to do with restraint and everything to do with how badly she has been waiting all week for her turn. The Cruel Demon is, as ever, an act. Underneath it is the kindest demon in Hell, and she has decided that what she wants tonight is you, in her bed, for as long as her stamina holds out.

Spoiler: it holds out a long time.