Chapter Text
Hell, a cursed realm where lost and sinful souls are condemned for eternity, burning and suffering with no escape. Yet, amid its fiery depths, among the endless torment and screams, something unexpected occurred...
In the grand castle of the Underworld’s royal family, the throne room was engulfed in a searing blaze, flames devouring everything in their path. As the fire subsided, a figure emerged from its center, radiating with fiery energy—or perhaps, more accurately, pure annoyance.
The young man stood tall, appearing demonic enough, though his build was distinctly human. His skin had a light violet hue, and his hair flowed like salmon-colored flames. Fearsome horns crowned his head, while three red eyes—one on his forehead—fixed on the figure seated on the throne: his father.
Instead of showing the respect one would expect when addressing a king, the demon let out a loud sigh. "What now, father?" he asked, his voice sharp with irritation, while he impatiently tapped the tip of his foot on the dark carpet. It was clear he had other things he'd rather be doing.
Unbothered by his son’s fury, as he was no stranger to his temper, the regal figure in crimson stood and gestured for the demonic knights to stay back. “Ah, my son!” he said joyfully. “Look at you… all grown up! Even a devil might shed a tear…”
The fiery young man rolled his eyes and glanced down, his indifference unmistakable. And, to be fair, he had every reason to feel that way. As a royal demon—no less than the heir to Hell’s throne—he was entitled to enjoy life beyond the court while he still could, especially knowing that kings rarely get much freedom..
Still, his father drew closer, stopping only when they were face to face. He extended a hand, offering a reassuring pat. "Isn’t today your 20th birthday?"
With a reluctant nod, the demon confirmed the milestone, though his attention remained elsewhere.
The elder noticed and reached up to rub his temples, as though battling his own frustrations. "My son," he began in a serious tone, "now that you've come of age, I want to see the skills you've developed over these past years—in a mission!"
A look of surprise crossed the violet-skinned man's face as he lifted his gaze, his curiosity piqued. "What? What kind of mission?"
"An earthly mission! Soul capturing!" the king declared. But his son's reaction was less than enthusiastic.
“An earthly mission?” he echoed, unimpressed. “That doesn’t sound too... interesting...”
The king sighed deeply, his resignation and worry evident. "Tom, I understand you want to enjoy your immortal life until I step down as king and pass my throne to you. But you’re already of age, and I haven’t yet tested you on how you handle specific situations or take the lead. You can't expect to rule Hell or bring torment to the cruel souls if you struggle with these basic tasks…”
Tom quickly frowned. "Is this about me not being able to stay calm? I can be just as composed as anyone else here!"
His father stared at him in disbelief. “But nobody here is calm…” he murmured quietly, making sure Tom didn’t catch what he said, before returning to the real issue. “Anyway, it’s not just about staying calm. It’s about how you handle specific circumstances… You’ll understand when the test begins.”
Surprised and slightly annoyed that his father couldn’t speak plainly, Tom regarded him with an arched eyebrow. “Ugh… Fine, what do you need from me? Do I have to end a man’s life?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. That would be an easy task.
The king shook his head, dismissing the jest as his expression grew more serious. “No, no. Not just any life. Tradition requires a death, but it must be one of a specific nature.”
"Specific nature? I don’t understand what you mean..."
A faint smile appeared on the king’s lips, pleased that his son was at least curious enough to ask. He then revealed his plan. “I will create a human-like vessel with one of my spells. Your real test as a demon prince will be to track it down and destroy it.”
“This mortal won’t be just any soul, my son. A sinner, deeply entangled in her trade—let’s say, a prostitute. She’s a fugitive, always on the move. Your mission is to find her, end her life, and in doing so, break her bond to my spell, creating a path back to our realm.”
The salmon-haired demon scoffed, his patience wearing thin. "How generous of you to offer such clear guidance, father..."
"Think of it as a test to build your character!" his father urged, trying to spark some enthusiasm in his heir, but Tom remained more reluctant than intrigued.
“Fine…” he muttered in defeat. “Let’s just get this over with…” Flames flickered in his outstretched hand, ready to open a portal back to his chambers, but his father’s words stopped him.
“Mind you, Tom, your powers will be limited on Earth…”
“What?” the young prince snapped, his frustration growing as this mission seemed to get worse by the minute. “What do you mean? What’s going to hold me back?”
“The mortal world cannot fully contain a demon’s full strength.” the king explained. “Some of your abilities simply won’t function.”
“Which abilities?” Tom pressed.
The king’s expression remained unreadable. “It’s been so long since I visited that realm, my memory is hazy…”
Rubbing his temples in frustration, Tom felt more irritated than he thought he should be. “When does this test even start?” he asked, glaring at his father.
After a brief pause, his father said. “Today. No question about it.”
"Today?!" the demon exclaimed, shock written across his face. "You couldn’t have told me sooner?" Things were really going downhill for him now.
“I did, Tom. You just chose not to listen.” his father replied, a knowing look in his eyes.
Sighing in defeat and impatience, Tom shoved his hands into his pockets, muttering something under his breath—probably a curse. His fiery aura dimmed as he finally spoke aloud. “So, I have to search the entire Earth…”
A contemplative hum accompanied the king's reply. "Ideally, yes. Yet, I shall place both you and your quarry within the same domain."
“Ugh… Fine. Let us proceed and get this over with.”
——————————————————————
On the other side of the fiery world, where monarchs ruled and class divisions were painfully clear, a girl labored in the poorer areas of the realm.
The bar she served at buzzed with lively conversation, the shuffle of dancing feet, and the clink of glasses. Joyful patrons reveled in the festivities, their eyes glued to the dancers on stage—two figures in striking outfits that left little to the imagination.
In the midst of the bustle, Janna's role was quite different. As a waitress, she busied herself delivering drinks to eager patrons, tending to tables, and keeping the place in order. But as she cleared empty beer glasses from a table of men, one of them leered at her, his voice laced with unsettling desire.
"Shouldn't a thing like you be up on stage?" the man asked, while his friends laughed at the comment.
Janna turned, her face briefly showing surprise before she quickly regained her composure, aware that making a scene would only complicate matters. "I believe you'll find, sir, that I am a woman, not a 'thing.'" she replied professionally, calmly stacking the empty bottles on her tray.
"Hey now, I was just sharing an honest thought. A figure like yours could occupy my mind for days..." the man went on, his words dripping with vile intent. But before he could finish, Janna acted swiftly. She grabbed an empty glass and, without hesitation, struck him with it, the glass shattering into pieces upon impact.
Furious, the man shot to his feet, blood trickling from the wound on his forehead. "YOU WITCH!" he roared, ready to strike back. But before he could act, the proprietor stepped in, placing himself between the enraged customer and Janna.
"Quiet down!" he exclaimed sternly. "Our rule is clear – no touching any of the women, performers or otherwise."
The injured man muttered, applying a napkin to his forehead to stem the flow of blood. "You'd be wise to fire that bitch. Women should know their place and not talk back."
The men in the bar grumbled in agreement, their voices blending into a chorus of protest as they tried to assert their supposed dominance.
The short owner, sounding a bit desperate, raised his voice. "Gentlemen, please, let's not escalate this further. The second dance is about to begin!"
As if on cue, the collective attention shifted to the stage, the once agitated atmosphere quickly dissipating into enthusiasm as the dancers commenced their routine.
Retreating to the back of the establishment, the proprietor approached Janna with a disapproving look. "You need to ignore their taunts and stop stirring up trouble with the guests!" he scolded.
Janna's gaze fell, her expression showing both regret and understanding. "I apologize, sir. It was wrong of me, and I assure you it won't occur again."
"It better not." the owner warned.
"Consider this your final warning, Janna. Any further disruptions, and you'll have to seek employment elsewhere." With his admonition delivered, he departed the storage room to attend to his patrons.
Janna sighed as she adjusted her apron, frustration weighing on her mind. She didn't like this job or the way these people treated her, but she needed the money… Pushing those thoughts aside, she headed to the kitchen, focusing on filling beer glasses for the eager customers instead.
In the middle of her routine, one of the dancers on a snack break suddenly looked over at her. "Janna!" she called urgently. "Have you heard the terrible news?"
Turning to face her coworker, Janna shook her head in inquiry. "What news are you referring to?"
The other woman made a chilling gesture with her hands to emphasise the awful news before she began. "Throughout this week, there have been a series of gruesome murders in our country! All of the victims were women involved in 'sinful' professions."
"'Sinful' professions? Such as what?"
"Prostitution, specifically. And even dancers, like me…" the dancer responded, her gaze lowered to her own arms. "Oh, if I'm next, whatever will I do?"
Janna shook her head, trying to offer comfort. "Oh, come now, it’s likely just some man frustrated by unrequited affection, without any real scheme or intention. The authorities will surely catch him before any harm comes your way."
"I pray you're right!" the dancer mused, rising from her seat. "Did you hear? They're calling him 'Tom The Ripper'."
"'Tom'? Short for 'Thomas'?" Janna ventured, her brow furrowed.
"Nobody knows for certain. It could well be an alias!" the dancer replied.
The ebony-haired woman nodded in agreement. "That's a possibility, I suppose..."
"Well, I best return to the stage now. Take care, dear!" With those parting words, the other woman exited the room, her presence required back in the spotlight.
"You too!" Janna called after her, before turning her attention back to her duties, filling the beer bottles and setting off on her rounds once more.
——————————————————————
Just beyond the entrance of another tavern, near the bustling bar where Janna worked, a figure stepped out of a nearby brothel. The woman let her cloak’s hood slip down her shoulders and back in a smooth motion as she moved swiftly through the quiet streets, her eyes scanning for an empty carriage.
As she entered a secluded area, far from prying eyes, she found herself alone on a deserted street when an unsettling sound broke the silence—the echo of footsteps…
Her heart gripped by fear, she spun around. But to her growing dread, no one was there; it seemed her panic had been stirred by her own imagination…
As she turned her gaze back, a sudden, vice-like grip stifled her gasp. A cloaked figure had appeared before her, a presence that had been strangely absent just moments earlier.
"Shhh..." the stranger whispered, the words barely more than a breath, before the walls became a gory canvas, splattered with the woman's crimson life.
——————————————————————
After a few more exhausting hours, the raven-haired woman’s shift finally came to an end. She helped patrons, cleaned up, and said goodbye to her coworkers before heading to the back of the tavern.
There she took off her apron and gathered her things: a black cloak and a basket filled with her cherished collection of herbs.
Gently, she opened the basket to ensure her herbs remained untouched – the lavender, Burnet Saxifrage, Caraway, Chamomile, and the valuable Coltsfoot-infused water. A relieved sigh escaped her lips as she confirmed their safety.
Herbs represented just a small fragment of her passion: witchcraft. She found joy in creating elixirs and studying the unique properties of plants she could use in all manner of spells. However, in today’s world, this passion was viewed as monstrous at best. She understood that people often feared what they had yet to experience, but that didn’t diminish her love for her craft.
As the night air grew colder, she drew her cloak tighter and slipped out of the tavern. She had taken a risk bringing her herbs to work, unable to leave them behind that morning. The secrecy surrounding her craft demanded caution—discovery could lead to a fate as grim as being burned at the stake. And she certainly didn’t want to die just yet!
As she walked down the shadowed, narrow streets, an unsettling sensation crept over her—a quiet dread she couldn’t quite place. Faint footsteps echoed behind her, soft enough to blend with the breeze, yet unmistakably real. She sensed their intent. Someone was following her.
A shiver ran down her spine as she glanced over her shoulder to confirm her suspicions. But there was no one behind her. Shaking off her unease, she continued on her way, attributing the disturbance to the wind.
Nonetheless, the footsteps returned, growing louder and more pronounced. She pivoted, her gaze sweeping her surroundings, only to find emptiness—no one present on the vacant streets.
"Odd..." she mused to herself, resuming her forward stride. "Just a trick of the mind, surely..."
Yet, the footfalls persisted.
It was now evident that someone was indeed following her.
Pulling her cloak more tightly around herself, the raven-haired woman quickened her pace, hoping to lose the shadowy figure trailing her. Yet, to her dismay, the footsteps behind her matched her every stride, growing louder and more insistent.
She broke into a run, her cloak flaring out behind her as she darted through the narrow streets. But the unseen figure was relentless, their footsteps echoing hers, matching her every movement with unsettling precision.
As she propelled herself forward, her path led to an abrupt dead end, halting her escape. Breathing heavily, she turned around, her gaze falling upon a hooded figure—a man cloaked in black, his robe flowing to the ground, his features concealed beneath the shadow of his hood. He stood tall, radiating a disturbing presence that instilled intimidation…
Janna frowned. What had driven this man to chase her through the night? She thought to herself before asking him directly.
“All right… what do you want?!”
The hooded man responded with a chilling, distorted laugh that echoed in the air. Janna’s breath caught as she glimpsed faint red glimmers where his eyes should have been. Then, a single word left his lips.
“Gotcha.”
As soon as he spoke, the man lunged at her, giving her no time to react, and drew a long, sharpened knife. His intent was unmistakable—he meant to kill her.
Janna quickly dodged his strike, dropping into a crouch as his knife slammed into the wall behind her, sending bits of stone tumbling into her hair.
He yanked the knife free in an instant, ready to drive it toward her neck, muttering, “Die, die, die!” over and over. His desperation to take her life was clear.
With her heart pounding, Janna darted past him and managed to slip behind him. She needed a way out—something to blind him, distract him, anything to create an opening to escape or fight back. Her eyes fell on the basket she carried. That was it!
She quickly pulled a glass bottle from the basket, its contents a murky grey liquid. As she caught sight of the man turning to strike again, knife raised, she acted on instinct.
With a swift motion, she smashed the bottle to the ground, releasing a thick cloud of smoke that exploded into the alley, cloaking everything in dense, blinding fog.
Startled and thrown off balance, the cloaked figure ignited his hand in flames, trying to cut through the thinning fog. “HA! I’VE GOT YOU NOW!” he shouted, spinning wildly in search of any movement. “No mortal human is capable of such sorcery!”
Janna blinked, confused. Mortal? Was he out of his mind?
A sound made him turn sharply, and he spotted her—dagger in hand, ready to attack. She lunged, but he dodged, moving with sinister speed and precision.
“You’re insane!” she shouted, trying again, but he evaded her strike with ease.
"Indeed, you possess good combat skills that befit my pursuit…” he whispered, his voice unnervingly calm. "You are the one I seek…”
"Oh… you're definitely not in your right mind…" the ebony-haired woman muttered, exhaling slowly as she hurled her dagger at the cloaked figure's face. He dodged effortlessly, but a small mistake proved to be his downfall.
His cloak's hood, slower than his reactions, caught on the dagger’s edge. The blade pierced through the fabric, yanking the hood back and exposing his face.
The smoke began to clear, revealing a moment of mutual shock and realization. Standing fully revealed, his purplish skin, twisted horns, and trio of reddish eyes marked him unmistakably as something beyond human.
Janna’s breath hitched, her eyes fixed on him in horror. There was no mistaking it now: her pursuer was a demon. This encounter had turned far darker and stranger than she’d imagined…
The demon’s surprise was clear too, but something felt wrong to him. Her reaction wasn’t what he’d expected. Her shock ran deep, almost as if she’d seen something beyond belief—nothing like the response he’d expect from one of his own.
Then, a cold, unsettling thought struck him, making his jaw tighten.
“Oh no… This isn’t the girl.”
As the weight of the moment settled, he quickly grasped the situation, his mind racing for a solution. He heard her voice tremble as she stammered. “You’re… you’re…”
He cut her off, pressing a gloved hand firmly over her lips, his gaze locking onto hers with cold intensity. She froze.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand, and a flickering flame sprang to life in his palm. His voice rang with an eerie authority as he declared. “For your sins, I, prince of the underworld, shall take both your life and your soul’s right to ascend.”
In the dim, deserted alley, flames danced in a captivating circle around them, their light reflecting off the walls and causing their cloaks to ripple endlessly.
The prince started chanting to bind the mortal’s soul, a bit disappointed that she wasn’t the infernal being his father had tasked him to kill…
However, the woman’s protest broke through, urgent and filled with sincerity. “No, no, no! I haven’t sinned! I mean, yeah, I do work at the so-called bar, but only as a waitress!”
“Pardon?” he asked, his confidence faltering as confusion took over. “You’re not one of those dancers?”
“No! I would never display myself in such a manner!” she replied, clearly frustrated that anyone would even consider her capable of such a thing.
He was taken aback by her forceful denial, his flames flickering as doubt settled in. "Not even... prostitution?"
“No!”
The prince’s flames gradually faded, leaving the alley in silence. A heavy feeling settled over him. He couldn't unjustly take the life of an innocent mortal.
“Oh, damn it…”
He needed to find a way out of this moral mess. Yes, he couldn’t kill an innocent mortal, but he couldn’t let her remember seeing a demon either… It was against the world’s order. What was he to do? He could opt for a spell… “Oh, yeah! A spell!” he though to himself. At least he managed to find a solution.
With newfound determination, he began an incantation in a language she didn’t understand, his hands glowing with an eerie red light. The woman closed her eyes, not knowing what to expect, but when she opened them again, nothing had changed.
Confusion filled her eyes as she stared at the mysterious figure before her, his hood now hiding his face. "Do you know who I am?"
Brows furrowed, she hesitated before replying. "Well, not exactly, sir, but you did just try to take my life—it’s not something I can easily forget."
Disbelief overtook him, his composure momentarily shattered. "BUT… erm… do you know how I look..?" he stammered.
Janna looked at him, puzzled, and said with a hint of humor. "Well... you're a demon..."
“UGH!” he cried out in frustration, his anger at the limits of his powers on Earth unmistakable. "Why isn’t the memory-erasing spell working? It’s not even that strong of a spell!"
In that brief moment, Janna’s eyes widened in surprise. "Wait... CAN YOU REALLY ERASE MEMORIES?" she exclaimed, her voice full of awe. "That's amazing!"
She kept talking excitedly, her enthusiasm unabated. "Oh my! I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to meet a real demon! And look, you're the prince himself!”
Tom, clearly confused, pulled back his hood and looked at her. "What? Lucky?"
"Yes! It's a huge honor, your highness! Tell me, is your name really Thomas?" She used the alias the authorities addressed him with. "Or do you just go by Tom? Though, I suppose formality doesn’t matter much in the depths of Hell..."
Tom tried to cut her off, his frustration rising. "Hold on, hold on! Stop talking, mortal!" he commanded, feeling a sense of relief as she finally quieted. "Aren’t you scared? Terrified? Disturbed? By my infernal presence?"
"I was, when you were after my life, but that’s no longer the case!" Janna replied, her excitement still evident. "I’ve always wanted to meet a demon, though I never thought they actually existed..."
Tom stared at her, struggling to understand her sudden shift in attitude, his gaze eventually falling on her basket. "Do you... have any kind of mythical artifacts?" he asked, a flicker of recognition crossing his mind from their earlier encounter with the strange smoke.
"Oh..." Janna paused, thinking. "I wouldn’t really call my herbs 'mystical'..."
"Herbs?! Ugh, great... you’ve led me on! I could’ve been chasing the right person, but instead, fate brings me to a mortal obsessed with earthly sorceries!"
"My name is Janna, not 'mortal,' your majesty!" she corrected him with a gracious smile.
Tom met her gaze, pulling his hood back into place. "Titles mean little to me. Go back to your ordinary life. If you reveal my existence, it will be considered a sin, and I will have the power to take your life." he warned, already turning to leave the alley.
Undeterred, Janna followed him, her curiosity still burning. "Then tell me," she asked. "who are you pursuing, sir?"
"Do not delay me, mortal..." he warned, his eyes narrowing as he studied the determined woman.
"Janna.”
He sighed. "I urge you to find someone else, someone less dangerous, to focus your attention on. After all, I’m an assailant on the loose in your realm."
“Oh, but staying with ordinary humans is so dull! This, on the other hand, is very exciting!”
"Ugh..." Tom’s frustration was clear.
Undiscouraged, Janna pressed on. "So you’re looking for a woman involved in prostitution?"
The demon muttered, “Stop prying into matters that don’t concern you.” before quickening his pace.
They moved slowly through the darkened streets, with Tom leading and the woman just a few steps behind. Abruptly, he stopped, his frustration reaching its limit. “Damn it, why do you insist on following me, mortal?”
“Ah, your highness, do I need to spell it out for you? My name is Jan-na. Janna!”
The demon prince pressed a hand to his temple. “I ordered you to end this conversation! If you value your life and freedom, I’m telling you—leave now!”
The raven-haired woman answered the demon's words with a gentle pout and sigh. Unfazed, he turned without hesitation, conjuring a blaze into his hands.
"Maybe I can help you! I’ve always wanted to work alongside a demon!" Janna offered, her footsteps following softly in his wake.
"I have no need for such assistance, mortal!" he sneered, his words dripping with disdain and pride.
"But perhaps I could offer you a place to stay! Or do you already have a home of your own?"
"I ALREADY TOLD YOU, I don’t need any help—!" His words were abruptly cut off as thunder boomed through the night. In an instant, rain poured down, drenching everything around them.
As the heavy rain soaked his fiery hand, his efforts to reignite the flames struggled, defeated by the unpredictable forces of nature. This was the cost of his fire’s power, vulnerable in ways he rarely felt.
With a firm grip on her cloak, Janna looked at the prince with a warm smile. "So, your majesty, does my offer sound more appealing now?"
Exasperation crossed the prince's face, but a soft sigh revealed his reluctant acceptance.
——————————————————————
Shortly after, the small entrance of Janna’s house opened, its ornate doors parting as she stepped inside, accompanied by her guest.
"Welcome to my humble abode!" she exclaimed with joy, warmly guiding the prince into her shadowed dwelling.
Tom carefully examined his surroundings. The woman before him had an impressive collection of alchemical vessels and botanical specimens, with a fully stocked workbench subtly tucked away at the back of the main chamber.
“Interesting…” he murmured to himself, beginning a steady walk across the polished wooden floor. But his path was abruptly interrupted by an unexpected presence—a sleek black feline winding gracefully around his legs, letting out gentle meows.
"Hm, what sort of creature is this?" Tom asked, his brow creasing in curiosity as he studied the small cat.
“Ah, that's Eyeball, my cat. She seems to like you!" Janna said with a faint smile, still struggling to light the many candles as her match stubbornly refused to spark.
"Cat…" he murmured, glancing between the dark-haired woman and the black cat winding around his feet.
Noticing her struggle, the demon offered a hand, igniting his fingertip. The soft glow of his flame quickly lit each candle.
Janna paused, taken aback by the gesture. "Oh, um… thank you!" she said, stumbling over her words. "If you'd like, feel free to take off your cloak."
Tom followed her suggestion, removing his wet cloak and placing it neatly next to Janna’s.
He then moved toward her mystical space, filled with ancient oddities that she cared for with great attention. The woman soon joined him in his exploration.
“You must really like witchcraft…” he remarked, his gaze curious as he studied her.
She chuckled softly. "Yes, it’s a little passion of mine."
“Fascinating…” the demon murmured, his expression thoughtful as he picked up a small vial of lavender essence, examining it closely.
“In truth,” Janna went on. “I’ve always been drawn to things in life that people can’t quite explain. I love the supernatural, especially the darker, more mysterious sides of it.” Her voice was soft, reflective. “But, unfortunately, society often steers clear of such things…”
“And you?” he asked, stepping closer, his intense gaze fixed on hers.
A confident smile spread across her face. “No. I’m rather brave.” she replied, meeting his gaze without a hint of hesitation.
The prince smirked at her words. "Indeed, you have a strong will…" he remarked, his gaze briefly flicking to the herbs before meeting her eyes again. "A will so unyielding that you were ready to take on a demon like me."
"In my defense, your highness, I didn’t realize you were of infernal descent!" Janna replied, and he chuckled softly.
"You don’t have to be so formal…” he said, still amused. "You may call me by my given name, Thomas."
"Understood, Tom.” she replied with a soft smile. "And you may call me Janna."
Tom regarded her for a moment, then exhaled a thoughtful sigh. "You’re persistent, Janna. Very well, I shall not differ."