Chapter Text
Mammon sat on the edge of his bed, surrounded by the clutter of his chaotic life. His room was a mix of luxury and disorder—posters of extravagant cars plastered across the walls, piles of magazines advertising the latest shiny goods, and a few scattered Grimm notes on the floor that only added to the mess. But none of it—none of the usual comforts or distractions—could pull him away from the storm brewing inside his head.
His phone lay face up on the bed, the screen still illuminated with a series of texts. Threatening ones. From witches he had been dodging for months, but it was getting harder to escape. Each new message seemed heavier than the last, and this one felt like it was suffocating him, making the air in the room thick with tension.
"Mammon, your debt has reached two hundred million Grimm. You have until the end of the month to settle this. Don't make us come looking for you."
He let out a deep, frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his messy, blonde hair. His fingers tugged at the strands for a moment before he let them fall back down. “Great. Just f*cking great. What the hell am I gonna do now?” His voice was laced with irritation, but underneath it, a crack of worry.
He scowled at the phone, kicking a stray shoe away as if somehow that would make him feel better. “Two hundred million? How the hell did it get that bad again?” But deep down, he knew the answer. It was always the same—another gamble, another failed scheme, another "I'll pay you back later" lie.
He stood up, pacing the small room with an anxious energy that filled the space. His hands went to his pockets, pulling them inside out. Empty. Of course. “I’m in a huge, stupid debt again,” he muttered, his voice trailing off into frustration as his mind scrambled for ideas. “I just need a plan to make some Grimm, fast.”
As he walked back and forth, his eyes landed on his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. The familiar sight of himself—flamboyant jacket, messy hair, that cocky grin—looked back, but today, even that grin felt forced. Still, he tried to psych himself up, forcing his chest out, giving himself a little pep talk.
“Maybe if I take on more modeling gigs at Majolish? Charm the crowd, no problem!” His voice wavered with a glimmer of his usual confidence. He stepped toward the mirror, striking an exaggerated pose, imagining himself on a grand stage. His lips curled into that signature smirk, though it felt weaker than usual. “Yeah, they’ll be lining up to see me again. Who wouldn’t want the Great Mammon gracing their lives?”
He turned away from the mirror, his energy dipping once more as the weight of reality crept back in. The plan was shaky at best. Modeling gigs might pay, but not fast enough. And certainly not enough to erase a two hundred million debt in less than a month. His brow furrowed in thought, and he rubbed the back of his neck, the tension there tightening by the second.
“Or maybe… I could pick up extra shifts at Hell’s Kitchen?” He frowned, imagining himself back there, flipping dishes and dodging angry customers. He wasn’t exactly made for kitchen work, but if it kept the witches off his back… “I mean, they’d be lucky to have me, right? The customers will beg to be served by the Great Mammon,” he tried to hype himself up again, the bravado creeping back into his tone as he twirled an imaginary tray in his hand.
But the room stayed quiet, no applause for his little performance, no one buying into his self-praise—except maybe him. His heart sank as the silence of his room reminded him that no amount of charm or swagger could get him out of this mess easily. He stopped in the middle of the room, staring down at the scattered mess at his feet. The posters, the ads, the flashy distractions—none of it could cover up the truth: he was in too deep this time.
He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the rising panic. “C’mon, Mammon… think,” he whispered, almost begging himself. He glanced at the phone again, knowing full well that the witches weren’t bluffing. If he didn’t come up with something, and soon, he’d be in serious trouble.
But that’s just what he was—the Great Mammon, always finding a way out. Right?
Just as Mammon started to feel a spark of confidence flicker in his chest, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment, and then asmo's voice was heard from the other side.
“mammon! Dinner’s ready! You better come down soon, or Beel’s going to devour it all!”
With a playful huff, Mammon swung the door open, quickly putting on his usual swagger. “Oi, I ain't lettin' Beel eat my food again!”
He stepped into the dining area, the warm scent of dinner wrapping around him like a blanket. The brothers were already gathered around the table, their voices filling the air, full of chatter and laughter. For a brief second, Mammon felt a sense of belonging—that tiny sliver of normality—but it vanished just as quickly as it came.
Beel was, of course, already halfway through his meal, his mouth packed with food, while Belphegor sat beside him, eyes half-closed as he struggled to stay awake.
“Oi! Beel, don’t you dare eat my share again!” Mammon reached across the table, snatching his plate before Beel could even think of finishing it off.
“Sorry… but it’s so good.”
Satan leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe if you didn’t waste your time on your ridiculous ‘schemes,’ you’d actually get here on time for dinner.”
Mammon scoffed, brushing off the jab with a dismissive wave. “Ridiculous? Please! I’m busy with important stuff, like thinkin’ of new ways to make Grimm! You guys wouldn’t know hard work if it smacked you in the face.”
From his spot at the head of the table, Lucifer glanced over with a cold, raised eyebrow. “Ah, yes. Your ‘hard work’—which, I assume, involves more gambling and stealing, right? Do me a favor, Mammon—spare me the headache. The last thing I need is another reason to hang you upside down.”
Mammon’s fists clenched. A wave of frustration surged through him, but he tried to push it down. “No! This time, I’m doing it right! I’ll work for it—I’m serious!” His voice carried a twinge of desperation, but it was drowned out by his bravado.
Satan’s smirk deepened as he leaned forward, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Sure, Mammon. And how many times have we heard that? Maybe we should start keeping a tally of all your grand plans.”
Asmo giggled, inspecting his reflection in his hand mirror, completely entertained by the exchange. “Oh, please. It’s always the same story, darling. You mess up, and Lucifer ends up punishing you. It’s like clockwork! Just think—another chandelier moment~” His voice lilted playfully as he winked.
Mammon’s cheeks flushed, the embarrassment bubbling beneath the surface. “Shut up! I’m serious! This time, I’ve got it all figured out! Just you wait!”
But as Mammon’s voice grew louder, his brothers’ smirks only widened. Levi, barely looking up from his phone, cut in with a scoff. “Oh, please. We all know how this is gonna end. You’ll come running back, begging for Grimm like always.”
At that, the room erupted into laughter. Mammon forced a chuckle, trying to laugh it off, but the sting of their words dug deep into his chest. “Ha ha... real funny, guys,” he muttered, his arms crossing tightly over his chest in a pout. “You don’t know the Great Mammon at all!”
Lucifer, who had remained silent for most of the exchange, finally placed his utensils down, the sound a sharp clink against the plate. His face shifted from mild annoyance to something colder, more serious. “We know you better than you think, Mammon. You’ve been pulling the same stunts for centuries. All you do is cause me more trouble. So please, spare us the theatrics—you’ll never change.”
Mammon’s heart skipped a beat at the words. He clenched his fists under the table, trying to keep his cool, but his bravado was cracking. “I’ll prove it to you,” he growled, but it sounded more like a plea than a threat.
Satan smirked again, throwing another dagger. “How amusing. We should keep track of how many times you’ve said that. What’s the count now? A hundred? Two hundred? Doesn’t matter—you always end up proving you’re nothing but a disappointment.”
Mammon’s jaw tightened, the words slicing deeper than he wanted to admit. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, cutting through the laughter. The room fell silent, all eyes on him, as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “I said I’ll figure it out!”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Mammon stopped just at the doorframe, his back to the room. “Away from you idiots. I don’t wanna argue anymore.”
He stormed out before any of them could say another word. As the door slammed behind him, the knot of frustration and hurt twisted tighter in his chest. He stormed through the hallway, heart racing, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Leaning against the wall, Mammon let out a shaky breath, the sting of unshed tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Back at the table, Lucifer sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension in the room was thick, the lingering words heavy. “This idiot,” he muttered under his breath, frustration from his already pending paperwork and his brother's schemes that always scream for trouble.
Mammon stormed back to his room, slamming the door behind him. The heavy thud echoed through the walls, but it did nothing to silence the buzzing in his mind. He paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair, trying to shove down the bitterness rising in his chest.
“Stupid Lucifer… Stupid Satan…” he muttered to himself, kicking an empty can across the floor. “Actin’ like they know everything about me! I’ve got ideas. I’m not some joke!”
He plopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. His mind raced, the frustration bubbling over. “I’ll prove them wrong… I just need to make some Grimm fast. Majolish, the Hell’s Kitchen, whatever it takes…”
His phone buzzed on the bed, but Mammon ignored it. He knew it was another reminder of his debt, another reminder of the ticking clock that was about to run out. “Damn witches,” he grumbled, rolling onto his side. “They just don’t get it. I’m Mammon, the Great Mammon! I’ll pay ’em back… eventually…”
But despite his bravado, doubt gnawed at him. Deep down, a part of him wondered if maybe his brothers were right. Maybe he was just a screw-up. Maybe—
“No!” He sat up quickly, shaking his head. “I ain’t lettin’ them get to me. I’ll show ‘em all!” But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
The rest of the night passed in restless silence, Mammon tossing and turning, his thoughts too loud to ignore.