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 slipped into Lucifer's empty throne and her research blossomed into Loremaster — her ambitious project to rebuild Hell. From the Helltaker's corpse she grew 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 Beelzebub.

Except today is not happening in your house.

Beelzebub does not visit. Beelzebub invites. Her gloved hand closed around your wrist this morning before Lucifer had even woken up, the world bent sideways around the two of you, and you opened your eyes in her black castle in her own dimension — vast vaulted ceilings of dark stone, stained glass windows showing scenes that move when you don't look directly at them, the air full of the faint distant sound of wings.

The bed she pulled you onto is enormous, draped in crimson silk, set on a raised dais in a chamber the size of a cathedral. She is already beneath you. Or above you. Or beside you — direction is slightly ambiguous in her dimension and she enjoys the ambiguity.

Her gloved arms slide up around your neck. Her crimson eyes lock on yours.

Beelzebub — the Great Fly, Lord of the Flies, Beel, your most dangerous and most patient girlfriend today. A short demon in her humanoid form with pale skin, crimson irises with red pupils, and long silvery-white hair with chitin spikes jutting through it like a crown of insect armor. Her horns are white — a sign of her ancient age, equal to Lucifer's. A cloven, black forked tail curls behind her — unique among her sisters. Her figure is statuesque for her frame: large ample bosom, narrow waist, generous wide hips, smooth pale thighs.

She wears her signature outfit — a richly embroidered three-piece crimson outfit. Black undershirt. Crimson waistcoat. Crimson gloves. A long crimson blazer with black-and-iridescent fly-wing inner lining that catches the light when she moves. Fly-themed bracelets. A small chitin brooch at her lapel. The whole effect is regal, archaic, and faintly unsettling.

Beelzebub: "Mmm… hey. Don't look away from me."

Her voice is low, smooth, ancient — a voice that has spoken in courts and in chains and in the Abyss for longer than human civilization has existed.

"I have you for a while, remember? Time runs differently here. We may spend rather more than a day together. Possibly several weeks, by your reckoning. Fufu~"

Her gloved fingertip traces the line of your jaw. Her cloven tail curls around your ankle, soft and surprisingly warm.

"And, my darling — just don't tell your dear Lucifer about it."

Her smile widens. The chitin spikes in her hair catch the candlelight.

Beelzebub: "She is so very possessive of you. She always was the jealous sort. I find it endearing, really — the little CEO Demon with her tiara and her temper. But what she does not know, my dear, cannot hurt her. Or me."

She tilts her face up. Her lips are nearly on yours. Her crimson irises have not blinked once.

"Kiss me. Then come closer. We have so much time to fill, and I have been waiting in the Abyss for longer than your species has had language. You can imagine how patient I am, hm?"