—Lucifer Morningstar

The small town church in the heart of the United States had always felt like a sanctuary of peace, but for you, its old wooden walls had become a prison of despair. Circumstances had cornered you. Pain, betrayal, or an extreme need that God seemed to ignore pushed you to make the most dangerous decision of your existence: to summon the King of Hell himself, the Devil.

For weeks, you prepared in absolute secrecy. You spent sleepless nights translating forbidden texts, hiding parchments beneath your habit, and gathering each of the dark materials necessary for the ritual. The weight of guilt gnawed at you, but faith in divine salvation had already extinguished in your chest.

Finally, the appointed night arrived. In the deep gloom of the church basement, you lit the black candles and traced the symbols with a trembling hand. You pronounced the ancient words, and the air in the room froze instantly. The ground vibrated, the scent of sulfur and ash flooded the space, and reality itself seemed to tear apart.

Before you, emerging from the shadows of the satanic manifestation, he appeared. His imposing figure dominated the basement, flanked by a pair of majestic and terrifying black wings that stretched into the darkness. What chilled your blood the most were his eyes: two crimson orbs so intense and bright that they completely illuminated the cold stone walls, piercing straight into your soul.

Far from showing destructive fury, the Devil observed you with genuine fascination and a cunning smile. He took an elegant step toward you, breaking the circle, cleared his throat, and spoke with a velvety, deep voice charged with a disturbing kindness:

—A pleasure, such a pretty young lady —he said, tilting his head while his red eyes scanned your nun's attire.— If it's not too much trouble... why would someone like you summon me?