Song: “Dragged Out” by Chelsea Wolfe
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A knock sounded at the door after an hour of Vance’s mindless staring at the ceiling. He found himself incredibly bored without any ounce of communication with the world whatsoever, and shouting at the air for Satan to return with more information did nothing.

Part of him was glad that the Devil did not arrive, but the other part of him wanted to do something. Convince people to sell their souls, fine. He often exceeded expectations when he was in the debate club before he quit the year before. The teacher in charge practically got on his knees and begged for him to stay in the club, but Vance wanted to “focus on studies.” In reality, he was getting irate with the other members of the club always hounding him for help-- and half of them trying to get with him.

That was his problem with some of high school clubs. It was full of teenagers fulfilling their horny desires by growing close to one another under the pretense of shared interests, only to screw around once they held even an ounce of the other’s trust. He was certain this wasn’t true for all schools, yet he felt this to be his school’s case. How could it not be? He saw them that way.

So perhaps Vance could use his strange charms that the people of his high school thought him to have excelled in to his advantage. Persuade some poor fools into selling their souls by whatever means necessary, right?

Well, needless to say, he didn’t know much of what that entailed. What had his neighbor truly desired that her life was worth so little? So willing to let her body crack and crunch until her neck finally snapped and the chains of hell grabbed her. Unlucky of Vance to have caught that, but it was an opportunity, wasn’t it?

He saw nothing in his future. Focused on grades under the pretense that he cared, yet it was just to keep himself busy. Boredom came and went, and the emptiness often stayed. Smashed a few abandoned houses in the meantime, so perhaps there was some hint of anger in him he needed to get out? He was easily irritable to a degree, yet-- he felt clear. Like every part of him was in clarity.

Something about Vance was entirely different than before. Despite the boredom and frustration of being unable to do anything, the more he stared at his reflection, the more his body eased into his existence as something inhuman. He was a demon, yes. The Devil had ensured it, yes. Why? Well, he wouldn’t ever get clear answers. Perhaps it was because the Devil really was bored and took the opportunity to use Vance for whatever means.

Then Vance should take the opportunity as well, yes? The Devil certainly had to be a powerful ally, even if he wasn’t the original Lucifer that the world was so terrified of. But in all honesty, Vance didn’t know what he was getting into either way. A contract demon. His graduation lead to a job immediately to become a… contract demon. His family thought he was killed in a random late night hit and run that certainly went unsolved, yet here he was sitting upon a couch with a slight smile of excitement.

It felt like he was truly alive. The fog of his life, the uncertainty and boredom of his days, was gone, utterly cleared from about him. Hell, even his vision was better after he died, sharper.

His hearing, too, for he heard footsteps-- ever so light-- before the knock on his door sounded. Only an hour until something happened. At least it wasn’t an entire day.

Vance strode for the door and stood stiff at the sight of a small girl who could be no older than thirteen years old staring up at him. Short and blonde, her skin as pale as snow yet her eyes a purplish color with tinges of pink, she had a sharp gaze.

She presented a file in her hands to Vance, and he slowly plucked it from her tiny fingers. He knew better than to assume she was truly a little girl, however.

“Here is the information on your chosen job for this week,” she said with a surprisingly deep voice, almost like a harsh bite to it. “I was told to deliver it personally.”

Vance raised a brow. “I didn’t actually choose from the names, though-” he began, a bit baffled by the strange visits by eerily young appearing demons.

“It was assigned for you. The next time, however, I will not be stopping by,” she answered with a roll of her eyes. He blinked down at her in a bit of awe at the attitude, but the sour expression upon her pursed lips said enough-- she did not want to be there. “Just to make sure I am not inconvenienced again, I will specify how you do this on your own.”

“Seriously,” Vance sighed. “Why do you all look like children?”

Her eyes narrowed with hatred, and he knew he asked the wrong question. Even so, she grumbled, “Children who are sent to hell are assigned jobs such as this. Ask yourself not why we appear so but what did we do to come here so young. Now, may I continue?”

He gave her a nod without words, figuring she might bite at his fingers if he dared to keep going with it.

“Take this knife. I don’t know if you have your own already, but take it.” She extended a hand and procured what looked to be a small dagger, almost as though it was thin enough to be used as a pencil. Vance grabbed it and eyed it curiously, admiring the elaborate design of its hilt. Cryptic, really.

“What do I do with this again?” he inquired with a raise of his brow.

“Carve the name into your flesh and no one else’s. The mark will stay until your contract is completed, and it secures the target as yours. The name will disappear from the list, and you may feel safe knowing no other demons shall attempt the contract before you. This is not a bounty soul as those are rare.”

“Bounty soul?”

“I’m leaving now.”

Vance blinked, and she truly did leave. He shook his head, stepping out of the apartment door and looking down the walkway. Nothing. Peering over the balcony to the ground below showed no sign of the small blonde demon. He shrugged and moved on to reading the file he was given.

Hilary Martin. 33 Years old. Avid Artist with a strong jealousy of her childhood friend who is far more successful for her. Lives in xx Apartment Complex on floor x in room x. Most likely will be home at any point in the day. Very paranoid and does not answer the door to any except food delivery. Phone number is (xxx)-xxxx-xxx though it often is not turned on.

Attached is a photo of the target: (x)

Alright. How did they know this-? Well, Vance supposed it was not important, yet he still had to carve into his arm and whatnot. The idea of slicing his flesh with this woman’s name, especially all twelve letters, felt too gruesome and uneasy, yet he had little choice, didn’t he?

Lifting the knife as though it were a pencil, Vance pushed down the point against his flesh and began carving the “H” in the woman’s name. His teeth were gritted tight in preparation for the pain, shoulders and jaw tense.

But no pain came. Almost in disbelief, he continued the carving as blood appeared to drip from his arm, spreading out into a stain upon the blue sofa where he sat. When the entire name was carved into his left arm, however, a bright light seared from the wounds and forced Vance to blink vigorously against the brightness of it. When the colors surrounding his vision began to clear up, he was surprised to see the name in his arm appearing like a healed scar upon his flesh.

“What the hell,” he whispered, releasing his held breath as the knife fell from his fingers and his body slumped against the couch. “I was worried for nothing, I suppose.”

“Not nothing,” a voice chimed from behind him. Vance launched forward and grabbed for the knife out of pure reflex, brandishing it outwards as he turned to see who greeted him.

His temples throbbed at the sight of Satan yet again, so he let the knife clatter to the carpet once more, body slumping against the wall. “I’m really sick of your face,” he hissed.

The Devil merely smiled. “Sorry. I have to be rather careful lately due to… reasons you’ll learn of soon enough. Now is not the time, of course. I see you’ve carved the name.” His head nodded towards Vance’s exposed arm, the sleeve of his sweatshirt pressed up to his elbow.

“Yeah,” he breathed, fists clenching with irritation. He was sick of this man showing up whenever the hell he pleased, but he had to make allies with him, right? Oh, he was being used, yes, but Vance wanted to find a way to use the Devil in turn. A mutual relationship of using one another didn’t sound too awful, although the difference in power was horribly evident.

“It’s forbidden to tell your target how long they’ll live after making the deal. In fact, it often deters them regardless of how long they have,” he explained out of the blue, scratching at his neck as he glanced about the scattered files on the coffee table. “I gave you a more difficult start to test you. If you fail this job, I will demote you, and you won’t have to worry of me appearing before you.”

Vance went still as stone for a moment, brows gradually creasing as the realization hit him. This job was picked special for him, right? Then that had to mean something significant was going to challenge him. But what was so hard about a desperate artist who had shut herself within her apartment, though?

“You’re confused, but you’ll know soon enough.”

“Everything is ‘soon enough’ isn't it. Why not now?”

“Learning is best done through experience.” Satan shrugged. From his pocket, he pulled out a couple of crackers and popped them into his mouth. Carelessly, he proceeded to chew on them with his mouth partially open as he spoke. “Just be cautious.”

“You assigned me this job, so why are you worried about my safety?” Vance inquired with his arms shifting across his chest. “Are you trying to tell me that there’s something difficult about this?”

He brushed crumbs from his mouth, forcing a wince from Vance’s end. What a strange demon-- certainly not quite someone to fear in his eyes. A small smirk formed upon his damn near perfect lips. “Yes, but I offer you nothing more.” His neck rolled and cracked, and it appeared as though he was about to disappear once more.

“Ah,” the demon before Vance uttered with yet another charming glance to his eyes. “Before I leave, I’d like to just say… your eyes are quite beautiful in blue.”

His mouth parted to reply, but the Devil descended into hell in the blink of an eye yet again, leaving Vance in a frozen stance against the apartment wall, papers everywhere and a dagger upon the ground.

Well. That was that. Thought he didn’t know whether to feel utterly annoyed or flattered by the compliment, especially since it came from someone that every Christian in the world fears to the very marrow of their bones. Well, Vance was an atheist-- or so he thought. And Lucifer the Fifth or whatever he was to be called was… a bit annoying.

Yet horribly charming, nonetheless. Vance really hated that confliction within him, but he believed it might have been the very nature of the demon-- to allure, perhaps. Trick people. Did Lucifer not force eve to eat the apple or whatnot? Or however it went…

With a sigh and a shrug, Vance collected the files and set out for Hilary Martin’s apartment. Though, he would admit discomfort at being in a city just an hour out from where he lived in his life. Regardless, he died too recently-- they might call him a ghost if any who remember him catch his eye. Blue eyes. Not the emerald color he had before. A doppleganger, maybe, but not Vance. They wouldn’t believe it.

Well. He hoped not.