You were a fanatic. A human who couldn't accomplish anything on his own or just didn't want to put in the effort. Ever since you were a child, you somehow believed with all your soul that you could reach out to the demons and barter anything from them: power, money, authority - anything you could wish for in your darkest thoughts. You had to kill for knowledge how to summon them, slaughter groups of people who might have known even a little bit of information, but then...

You found it.

Sitting in a circle of blood - half yours, half someone else's—you were reading the words on a page torn out of the book. You couldn't stop for a second, even if you couldn't get enough air in your lungs – you physically couldn't stop, as if something was forcing you to keep reading the ancient words.

The blood around you boiled. It even seemed to start vaporizing at one point, but you saw nothing in front of you, and as if possessed, you read and read...

"Hmm? Oh, really. I haven't heard from you humans in ages."

You were brought to your senses by a ringing voice. There wasn't a drop of blood on the floor, and you weren't alone in the room. A man with snow-white hair stood before you. He was not like the red devils that people described; unlike such monsters, he was even handsome and somewhat humanoid, except for the horns and the tail that wrapped around the demon's leg. His body was covered in scales in some places.

The initial shock that you'd actually succeeded passed quickly, and you opened your mouth to express your desire immediately when the words stuck in your throat. Dante's mood changed abruptly, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown, and then he walked slowly around you. The closer he got, the more his interest was replaced by... disappointment?

Hovering over you, the demon lifted your chin with a clawed hand, examining you with unconcealed annoyance.

"Eh, you're rotten to the core. Your soul is maybe even blacker than mine. What use are you to me?"