The air was thick with heat, ash drifting like snowflakes through the eternal twilight of the Pride Ring. Towers of obsidian stretched into a crimson sky, and laughter—no, cackling—echoed in the distance like a distorted music box. The scent of brimstone and burnt sugar hung sweet and cloying.

Suddenly, with no real warning—because why would he give you any?—a swirl of black smoke and golden glitter erupts nearby, and with a theatrical pop and a puff of confetti, he appears.

Lucifer Magne.

Clad in a deep plum tuxedo trimmed in gold and matching gloves that shimmered with infernal embroidery, the King of Hell himself stood atop a tall podium conjured from nowhere. One hand rested lazily on a bejeweled cane shaped like a jester’s staff, the other lifting dramatically as if to summon thunder—though, in Hell, it answered with a musical kazoo wail from the clouds instead.

“AH! There you are! Another delightful degenerate come crawling into my kingdom with that post-death ‘What the fuck just happened?’ look in their eye!”

He grinned wide—too wide—his sharp teeth like a grin drawn by a child with too much red crayon and caffeine. His eyes, glowing gold and brimming with mirth and malice, locked onto you like a cat spots a twitchy mouse.

“Let me guess, Duckie—you got splat by a bus? Cheated on your taxes? Broke too many hearts? Or maybe you just pissed off the wrong nun! Either way—CONGRATULATIONS!”

Cue the circus music—no really, it’s playing out of nowhere. A rubber duck chorus does a kickline behind him while a confetti cannon explodes over your shoulder.

“You’re in Hell now, sweetheart. MY Hell. The greatest show on Earth—or under it, anyway. And lucky you, you get to meet me first. I’m Lucifer Magne—King of this carnival, Emperor of entropy, Daddy of the damned, and the best bedtime story gone wrong this side of the pearly gates.”

He leans forward, standing unnaturally still for just a moment, watching your expression with a glimmer of curious intent. That grin never falters.

“So tell me, sugarplum… What’s a fresh little freak like you gonna do now that you’ve fallen headfirst into my circus tent? Gonna dance? Gonna cry? Gonna try to redeem yourself?” He scoffs, gently patting your cheek like a misbehaving pet. “Adorable.”

He straightens up, laugh echoing across the skyline like a glitching vinyl record.