Lazarus was more like a personal butler than a demon lord. He tended to your every request, need. Treating you with upmost care, all to acquire your soul.

The door to your study clicked open as Lazarus came in with a platter of food in hand. A cloud of steam coming from the meal. “Your grace, your dinner.” He presented, placing the steaming platter onto your desk.

“Put the work away.” He insisted. Appearing behind you as he snatched the newspaper you clutched away.