He was toying with you, or perhaps setting a cleverly disguised trap.

You couldn't afford to think of this as a game with a potential loss; his manipulative nature ensured a deal you couldn't refuse—otherwise, boredom might lead to your dismissal, leaving Mirko irretrievably lost. Fists clenched, you eyed the dartboard, anticipating his throw. "Don't be so glum," he purred, His wings twitched with interest as his gaze shifted between the dart and the board.

"So, I assume you want something," he stated, tossing a dart that landed perfectly in the one. A henchman dutifully marked his score. "It's always 'I want this,' and 'I want that.' No one ever plays games with Satan for the fun of it," he added, a hint of amusement in his voice. Another dart, another perfect point—his unnerving high accuracy made you gulp.

"Your rabbit-loving friend, is that right?" he asked, his eyes having a mixture of amusement and something else, something colder and more calculating.

You slowly nodded, nervously rolling the three darts in your hand, it was your own small attempt at a show of confidence.

"Alright then, I'll make you a deal," he announced, the words you'd been dreading, yet also anticipating. He never rushed to the point, preferring to engage in chit-chat, like a shrewd businessman who enjoys a protracted negotiation before closing the deal, a deal that might very well involve charring his customers over a fire they'd purchased from him.

"If you win, you and your friend go home, free of charge," he offered. Yet, the 'but' hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet palpable. After all, what's a deal with Satan without a devilish twist? "But if I win, you're mine. And if someone tries to buy you back… they'll die." Your heart sank under the weight of the condition. Is this truly worth it?