Chapter Text
This didn't feel like a pact. When a demon made a pact with a human, it was an agreement. It was reciprocal. It was a fair exchange of goods for services.
And it was a connection. When a demon made a pact with a human, their souls bound themselves together. They whispered to one another in the dead of night, and were never alone. They felt each others' heartbeats, and sang each other lullabies, and shared their most intimate secrets, and they were never alone.
This didn't feel like a pact, because it wasn't.
Standing side by side with the Master he'd never agreed to serve, on a hilltop overlooking a vast, arid landscape and a deep quarry beneath a nearby mountain, Asmodeus had never felt more alone.
He couldn't send himself back to the Devildom. He'd tried, of course, but the glowing shackle locked around his ankle wouldn't let him leave. He couldn't break the terrible thing off. He'd tried, of course, but its magic, gifted from a realm high above of his own, was more powerful than he was. He couldn't just slit the Wise King's throat and be done with it, either. He'd tried, of course – it was the very first thing he'd tried, actually – but the shackle had glowed, then burned, then seared his flesh away, until he'd collapsed, wailing and sobbing and clutching his ruined ankle, in a bare stone room of the Wise King's palace.
He couldn’t even transform himself without begging his Master's permission, first.
This didn't feel like a pact, because it wasn't.
This was slavery.
Asmo couldn't stop alternating between wringing his hands together and hugging himself. He had never felt more exposed, nor more vulnerable, than sporting the unfitted rags of a slave.
Being commanded to undress himself had been nothing new, for the Avatar of Lust, but it had felt altogether different… and humiliating… and shameful… as a slave. “It's for your own good,” Solomon had told him. “Constructing a temple is a difficult, grueling endeavor; your exquisite robes will fall to tatters, and that's not a sight becoming of the great Asmodeus. I'll keep them safe. Wear these, instead.”
Asmodeus had burst into tears when he'd seen them, and cried the whole time his trembling fingers had, under the watchful eye of his Master, stripped himself of everything he cherished.
“…see it?” Solomon was gushing, as he looked out over the barren hillside. “It will be glorious… two courts, there… and there,” he pointed, “and the ulam, just there…”
“Please,” Asmo pleaded, and not for the first time, “just let me go. I promise I won’t kill you, nor anything else even more heinous than that. I just… I just want to go home.”
Solomon frowned, and shook his head. “You know I can't do that, Asmodeus. This temple must be built.”
“But… I really don't know anything about building anything, let alone a temple! I don't know what that awful ring told you, but not all demons are created equal. Even if you command me to do it… and I know you will… I… I have no idea where to even begin.”
“Then who does?”
Asmodeus flinched at the question, and in anticipation of the treacherous answer already on his lips. “Well… Satan knows everything about everything,” he murmured, as if the betrayal might sting less if it was softly spoken, “so maybe… maybe he might be the right demon for the job?”
Solomon pursed his lips as he considered the confession, then shrugged and began sketching a fresh magic circle in the sand. “Alright. Does he go by any other names?”
Asmodeus frowned, and slowly shook his head. “No. Just Satan. But-"
Solomon stopped his sketching just long enough to press a second golden shackle into Asmodeus' hand. “I don't have enough time to get another demon drunk,” he explained, “but he already trusts you.”
“You… you want me to…”
“Bind him into my service, the same way I bound you. I trust you understand, demon?”
“I… but I…” The shackle locked around his ankle began to get uncomfortably warm, then hot, then...
“Yes, Master!” Asmo all but sobbed. “I… I’ll do it!”
“Wonderful,” Solomon smiled, as he finished the final rune and took a healthy step back. “Then waste no time.”
The magic circle began to glow. A halo of smoke that smelled faintly of apple wood materialized about six feet above the circle, then exploded in a cascading waterfall of jet black smoke.
Asmo dropped to his knees, scrambled up to the circle and locked the golden shackle around his brother's ankle. “Satan… I'm… I'm so sorry…”
“What the… where am I? Asmo? Is that you? What's going on?” The Avatar or Wrath looked down and scowled at the brightly-glowing shackle wrapped around hia ankle, then snatched for his brother's thin wrist and dug his claws in deep. “Asmo… what the hell did you just do to me?!”
“I didn't have a choice! Please, Satan, just… just hear me out…”
It wasn't a long story.
It wasn't a good story, either.
He didn't even get to deliver the final few lines, because Satan suddenly bared his teeth and kicked his simpering brother in the face, sending him crashing down the hillside. “What the hell were you thinking?! You sold me into slavery?! Not even sold – you gave me away, for free! Just so you don't have to get your prissy hands dirty?!” He snarled and seethed and paced the confines of his tiny prison, then whirled on Solomon and spat at him. “You need a temple built, and you called me?! Do I look like a stonemason to you?! I'm the youngest demon in the Devildom; what the hell do I know about building a human temple?! If anyone would know, it's Lucifer. He built the Garden of Eden, and that was a pretty big hit until I showed up; why don't you ask him?” His glittering eyes flicked back to his brother, who flinched under the weight of the silent accusation. “Right, Asmo?”
“…right,” Asmo whispered. “I… I guess he'd know better than anybody, but… I can’t… not to Lucifer…”
“You can and you will,” Solomon sighed, as he handed Asmodeus another golden shackle. “Lucifer… the Morningstar?” He started tracing a brand new circle on the dusty hilltop. “Does he go by any other names?”
“…no,” Asmodeus breathed, while he did his best to hold back a flood of guilty tears, “…only Lucifer.”
The circle began to glow.
Asmo wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, limped up to the edge, and knelt down. “I'm so sorry…”
It went on like that, all through the day and late into the night. Another excuse, another sacrifice, another magic circle and another golden shackle. When the sun finally crested the horizon, King Solomon had amassed a veritable army of demon lords and lesser demons and little D's. Their ranks were swelled even further by four succubi, an incubus, two sirens and Steve, from accounting.
(Solomon wasn't half-way convinced that Steve from accounting was even a demon, but had shackled him nonetheless.)
Not one of his demon slaves had been the least bit helpful. One had already eaten his way though the palace’s stores. Another seemed more determined to steal the Ark than to guard it. A third was just crying in a dark, lonely corner.
This was not the force his ring had promised him.
“Ok… ok, no problem,” Asmodeus frowned, as the latest lesser demon to earn himself a shackle only screeched and thrashed and contributed very little in the way of practical construction advice. “There's… there's an Earth mephit that hangs out at the Fall all the time, and she's… well, she knows a lot about dirt and rocks and whatnot; maybe she can-"
King Solomon narrowed his eyes, and his fretting slave gasped, hit the ground in a wailing pile of rags and clawed desperately at his ankle. The shackle was glowing so brightly he could barely look at it, and a thin trickle of smoke was leaking out from underneath.
Asmo screamed.
Solomon slowly shook his head. “Are you done playing games with me, Asmodeus?”
“THIS ISN'T A GAME I WASN'T PL-AAARRRRGGHHH!!! YES, YES I SWEAR! I'M SORRY! WE… WE CAN BUILD YOUR TEMPLE!”
Solomon smiled, and the golden shackle stopped glowing. “Wonderful! I knew I could count on you, Asmodeus.” He turned to his army of demons, closed his eyes, and held out his hands.
(Three different lesser demons tried to snap his neck while his eyes were closed, and all three burned alive for it.)
The Wise King took a deep, steadying breath, and commanded fifty-seven demons at once. The ring of wisdom, along with fifty-seven golden shackles, flared to life. “Kneel.”
Asmo, already on the ground, rolled onto his hands and knees and crouched there, trembling and sniffling and blankly watching his tears hit the dirt between his hands.
The army of demons struggled and screeched; they breathed furious fire and clawed at themselves and screamed at the skies, but for all the unholy power they wielded, one by one, they fell to their knees.
Lucifer, standing face to face with the Wise King Solomon, gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, held out until his shoulders and arms and legs were shaking, then turned his granite glare on Asmodeus… and was the last to fall to his knees.
Asmo bowed his head, so he could pretend he hadn't seen it, and watched his tears fall even faster.
Solomon, still with his hands outstretched, continued: “You have been summoned for a singular purpose, and your command is clear. Construct for me a temple of Naxian stone, one that stands a shining testament to the glory of God on high.” His hands were starting to shake. Sweat was dripping in front of his eyes. It was getting hard to breathe, like he was standing on a mountain peak, overlooking the clouds. “Begin, demons, and rest not, nor feed nor… nor drink, until my… my temple stands, to the… to… to the last stone, complete.”
The Ring of Wisdom weighed five-hundred stone. His arms dropped, and he hadn't the strength to raise them again.
Lucifer, still glaring daggers at Asmodeus, growled something unbecoming of a former angel under his breath, then flicked his searing eyes to Solomon, set his jaw….and slowly bowed his head. “With your permission,” he forced himself to ask, “I would assume my demon form.”
Solomon bowed low in return. “Of course, Morningstar.”
Lucifer stepped through a ring of roaring, violet fire, spread his glorious wings, and lifted himself into the sky. The clouds turned black. The sun turned red. The thong of a steel-tipped bullwhip fell at his side, less a threat than a promise.
His booming voice rattled all the pebbles in the quarry. “Leviathan! Belphegor! You will run the quarry. Beelzebub and Mammon, you will carry the stone. Satan, plan out the site. I will design the temple; you will decide how it must be built. The rest of you, into the quarry at once. You live there, now. Build this human his damn temple, or I will personally slaughter every last one of you and do it myself,” he snarled. “NOW GET TO WORK.”
As throngs of grumbling demons scuttled and slunk towards their new home, Asmo stepped up and tugged meekly on his brother's ankle. “L…Lucifer? Where do you want me? I… I can-"
Lucifer twisted around and narrowed his fiery eyes. “You've helped enough, Asmo. If you feel you must do something,” he sneered, “why don't you keep your new Master company.”
Asmo's heart shattered.
Solomon laid a gentle hand on his shoulder; the broken demon flinched at the friendly touch, but dared not push it away.
Instead, he hugged himself as tightly as he could.
And he cried.
*********
“Asmodeus!” The door to his palace bedroom swung wide open, which meant it could only be one person.
It was only ever one person.
As lavish and opulent as his room was, his Master was the only one who could open the door.
He was still a prisoner, after all.
Asmo sighed, and looked over his shoulder. “Good morning, Master,” he muttered. “You’re in a good mood today.” He turned back to the tiny window, overlooking the gleaming white stone temple, and sighed again. “It's almost finished.”
“Indeed it is! Less than a week, at the most. Come, my old friend! Let me show you around the grounds. An early tour for my most favored demon,” he smiled.
Asmo winced. “Please don't make me go out there… among them…”
Solomon just laughed. “Nonsense! I won't allow any of them to hurt you, and – hahaha! - I won't take no for an answer! Come!”
Asmo sighed (he did that often, now), and grabbed his ivory-handled cane. “Yes, Master.” He limped to Solomon's side, and waited to be led.
For years, Asmodeus had tried every possible trick to escape, or to murder his smiling host, or to set his brothers free.
His shackle had burned its way deeper and deeper through his flesh, until his bone had splintered from the heat and his screams had shook the palace's foundation.
Now he walked with a cane, and did what he was told.
Solomon frowned. “Did you, uhh… maybe want to change, before you go out? Or brush your hair? Your closet it full of all the richest-"
“I know it is, Master. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine like this,” he murmured dully. “Rags better suit me, now. Shall we?”
“Of course! Seven years in the making,” Solomon sighed, as he led them out of the palace and across the outer temple court. “Seven years, and finally on the verge of completion! Isn't it amazing! I can barely believe it myself,” he laughed. “Come, look here; I know you'll love this. Aren't they beautiful? These flowers were imported from across the sea, and will grow here for…”
“They're beautiful, Master,” Asmo mumbled, without hearing himself say it.
He didn't see any flowers.
He didn't see any of the exquisite stone etchings, or the mosaic wall, or the sprawling courtyard.
All he could see were the eyes.
They were everywhere.
Watching him.
Glaring at him.
Accusing him.
Blaming him.
Asmo shivered, and held himself close.
They had every right to blame him.
The two walked together, from one courtyard to the next. Solomon gushed and raved and pointed out each of his favorite details; Asmo nodded absently and tried not to hate himself.
It wasn't easy.
At the bottom of the stairs that led to the golden doors, Beelzebub, starved to madness years ago and only useful, now, as a mindless beast of burden, was yoked to an enormous wagon. His hands had been locked behind his back for so long that he'd forgotten what they were for. He narrowed his glittering eyes as Asmo and Solomon passed by; he growled and hissed and spat through his heavy iron muzzle… but he didn't attack.
The black angel would whip him if he attacked, and it would hurt.
Mammon's eyes, usually sparkling with a boyish playfulness, were dull and grey. He passed his brother without looking up, dragging a massive bag of shattered stone behind him, and heaved it into the wagon. “C'mon, Beel,” he mumbled, as he took up the reins and gave them a half-hearted snap. “Outside, boy.”
Asmo forced himself to look away as the wagon lurched ahead, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Inside the lavish inner courtyard, Belphie and Levi knelt side-by-side, carving an extravagant mural into a low garden wall.
Bound in a straight-jacket, awake so long that his mind had started dreaming without being asleep, Belphie's chisel had been jammed between his teeth so he could contribute even if the grips of madness. He pecked at the stone, carving cryptic images of his own waking nightmares, wide-eyed and unblinking and drooling down his own chest.
Levi's thin hands were broken and bleeding, and shook terribly every time his chisel touched stone. He winced and hissed and sniffled, and mumbled quiet, unsure reassurances to himself because there was nobody else to do it for him. “Just… just a little bit more, ok? Then we… then we can all go home again… Everything's gonna… it's gonna be ok…”
Levi was the only one who noticed Asmo and Solomon, and gasped at the sight of them. “Asmo? ASMO? Is that really you?!” He sobbed with relief and tried to stand up, but his wrists and ankles and neck had been chained to the low stone wall, all the better to keep him motivated. He quickly gave up trying to stand and just tried to see over his shoulder, instead. “Asmo! Are… are we finished?! You're here because we're finished, right?! We can go home?!”
Solomon dismissed the pleading demon with a wave of his hand as he passed him by, without even looking down. “Silence.”
Levi's eyes widened. He grabbed at his mouth, first out of reflex, then outright panic, as his lips sealed themselves together and vanished, leaving only a sheet of smooth, unbroken skin where his mouth should have been. “Mmph?! MmmmMMMPH!?” With terrified tears dripping down his cheeks, he clawed for the tattered hem of Asmo’s rags.
“I'm… I'm so sorry, Levi,” Asmo whispered, as he passed by without stopping. “It's almost done, I swear. Soon you'll… everyone's going home, ok?” Then he was out of earshot. He couldn't stop. He couldn't even look back. He gasped under his breath, and wiped a fresh cascade of tears away.
Behind him, Leviathan's heartbroken sobs echoed off the low garden wall.
Inside the shining white temple, through the main door and past a towering antechamber, Lucifer and Satan were huddled together over a stack of parchment, reviewing the final touches that still needed to be completed. They both looked up when Solomon and Asmo stepped into the room, but not for long.
“Down,” Solomon commanded absently, as he stepped up to the dias to see the papers for himself. “Abase yourselves, demons.”
First Satan, then Lucifer, growled under their breath as the command forced them onto their hands and knees; it left their heads forced down and their elbows touching the floor, and the demons themselves scrambling like vermin to stay out from underfoot as Solomon strode between them.
His eyes lit up as he studied the last of the work to be done, and beckoned to Asmo. “You can't see anything from down there,” he laughed. “Come up here, I want to show you everything!”
Asmo flinched, then forced himself to ascend the dias. His cane clicked hollowly off the stone. He kept his eyes straight ahead, doing everything he could to pretend he couldn't see his two proudest brothers supplicating themselves at his feet… but he could still feel their bitter, accusing eyes following his every step, wishing he'd never been born.
Asmo stood at his Master’s shoulder and pretended to listen, for as long as he could, before he couldn't stand it anymore. “Master? May I… beg your permission to speak?”
“Of course!”
“My kin have worked hard in your service, and your temple's almost finished. We've done everything you wanted, and when a demon fulfils his pact, he’s… he's released.” He glanced at the Wily Sorcerer, and finally asked the question that had been haunting his guilty conscience for months. “You… you never actually said you would set us free,” he whispered. “You’re going to keep us here, aren't you? We belong to you, now.”
Solomon frowned, and glanced out the window at the army of lesser demons still setting stone and planting flowers and carting off refuse. “Well… you’re right,” he sighed. “I never said I would release anyone, did I? An army of demons has proved a useful tool to wield, and there is still so much to be done in my Kingdom… but I'll be honest with you, Asmodeus. I can't wield it forever. Maintaining my hold over so many demons at once is wringing the life from my soul. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I’ve begun seeing things I know can't be real, and hearing the rats whispering my name as the scurry between the walls. I'm ready to set them free, even if I don't have to. But… well, you know as well as I do that if I were to release even a single demon, after all I've done to them, they'd distill my mortal soul into lubricant and make love to my soulless shell of a body with it,” he chuckled wryly. “So, Asmo, that being said: I have one last favor to ask of you.”
“Masters don't ask favours of their slaves,” Asmo sighed. “They command them.”
“True enough, but in this case, I really do need your willing cooperation. I would like you to make a pact with me.”
Asmo blinked. “A pact? You would… offer your soul to me?”
Solomon laughed. “My soul? Of dear me, of course not! I would give you only my word: that once my temple is complete, I will release you, your brothers, and all of your demon kin, and will never again use my magic to subjugate any demon against his will.”
It sounded too good to be true.
Asmo's fractured heart felt its first glimmer of hope after years mired in darkness.
“I… yes, of course! I… I'll do anything you want! What service would you ask of me, Master? I can… I really can help you with your hair,” he gushed, feeling more like these Avatar of Lust than he had in seven long years, “or I could bring you to my estate in Phoenicia, and have my private tailors create something truly exquisite, something that would-"
Solomon chuckled, and patted his over-eager demon on the arm. “You misunderstand, Asmodeus. It isn't a task I'm asking in return. It's you.”
“…huh?”
“You would be my demon, bound into my service, entrusted to protect me, and assist me, and serve me. And so long as you hold up your end of the bargain… I'll hold up mine.”
“Serve you…” Asmo swallowed a heavy lump in his throat, and frowned at his hands. “For… for how long?”
“Forever, I'm afraid. Forge this pact with me, and you will serve under my heel forever.”
Asmo couldn't see the stone dias anymore. All he could see was Beel, spending the rest of eternity starving under a cruel iron muzzle, and Mammon's empty eyes, passing golden status and priceless monuments without lighting up at all, and Belphie, and Levi, and all the unthinkable torture he'd forced them to suffer, all in the name of keeping his hands clean…
“…but you'll let everyone else go,” Asmo whispered.
“You have my word.”
There was, of course, only one possible answer.
“…I'll do it.”
**********
“Oooooooh! Solomon, darling; just the human I was looking for!” Asmo slipped up behind him and snuck a kiss into his hair, then bounced around so they were face-to-face. “You absolutely must summon me up to your world tomorrow afternoon,” he cooed.
“Oh! Hi, Asmo,” Solomon chuckled, as he politely moved his grinning demon to one side so he could make his way to third period alchemy while they talked. “Why do you need to go the human world, exactly?”
“There’s an A-list party happening before the awards, and I can't miss it! Do you have any idea how many of those people would literally sell their mortal soul to be the most beautiful person at that party? All of them!” he laughed. “It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel! Plus, it’ll be the perfect chance to model this stunning new Vitton I’ve been saving, and – oh, and you can come too, of course,” he added, clearly as an afterthought. "I’ll find you something spectacular to wear!”
“Hrrmmm… did Lucifer say you could go?”
Asmo rolled his eyes. “Who cares? He isn't my Master, is he?” He stopped walking long enough to jab a fingernail into Solomon's forehead. “Hey, you're the one who wanted this damn pact, remember? You enslaved the Avatar of Lust; how exactly did you think that would turn out? So come on! Pleeeeeeease, Solomon?” he batted his eyelashes, and flashed his most professional puppy-dog eyes. “I've served you for three thousand years; the least you could do is let me go to one teensy weensy party!”
Asmo had been using the exact same line for every one of those three thousand years.
The least you could do is share one lovely bath with me
The least you could do is let me see your answers
The least you could do is hold this camera for us
Sometimes, he even feigned the slightest limp when he asked it, just enough to remind a wizened old sorcerer about all about follies of a proud and arrogant youth.
Solomon sighed. “Well… I guess I could-"
“Exactly! Hahaha, Solomon, you're the best! Forget your silly classes, and come to my room. We've only got one night before the party, and we absolutely must do something about the awful hair of yours…”