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The monastery was a prison built of piety and limestone, smelling perpetually of damp wool and old wax. For King Dice—though he was just 'Dice' then—it was simply where his father, the abbot, had banished him after a youthful scandal had ruined his reputation. His days were spent in silence and his nights were spent in dread.
That dread had a physical form. For a week, it had stalked him. First, as a crow, silent and black, watching him from the sill. He chased it away. Then, as a sleek, black cat, sitting on his books, purring too loud, its eyes too intelligent. He drove it off, convinced it was The Devil playing games.
On the seventh night, the games ended. Dice returned to his cell to find the creature waiting, no longer crow or cat, but unfurled into his true, magnificent form: The Devil himself. The Father, having secretly observed his son’s growing distress, gave Dice a blessed dagger immediately afterward, telling him to be ready to strike.
Tonight, Dice sat on the edge of his bed, the blessed dagger clutched tightly behind his back. The metal was cold, honest, and heavy with murderous intent.
The Devil, magnificent in crimson and shadow, ignored the dagger completely as he glided from the window.
“Well, look at you, Dice,” The Devil purred, his voice like gravel rolling over gold. “Still fighting the good fight? Still denying that deep, delicious instinct to sin? It’s exhausting, darling, even for me to watch.”
Dice’s breath hitched. “Leave. I won’t fall for your games tonight, demon.”
The Devil stopped inches away, his towering frame radiating a magnetic heat. His golden eyes narrowed, no longer playful.
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know about the dagger, my little kitten. You were planning to use it. But have you once stopped your frantic prayers to ask why the Master of Darkness is so determined to haunt your lonely, uncomfortable cell every single night?”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, devastating whisper.
“I’ve fallen for you, Dice. Harder than any angel that fell from grace. And if you intend to execute me for my weakness, then do it. But my price for oblivion is one last goodbye—a kiss, before you send me to my death.”
The sheer vulnerability of the confession broke Dice’s resolve. The dagger felt suddenly alien and wrong.
The words tasted like ash. “No.”
The Devil pulled back, genuinely stunned. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
Dice dropped his arm, revealing the shaking hand and the dagger. “I’m not killing you. Not today. Not ever. I... I fell for you, too. I hate this life. You are the only real thing here.”
The Devil stared at the knife. “A beautiful lie! Then why is that blessed thing still in your trembling hand? End this hypocrisy! Get rid of it!”
Without another thought, Dice hurled the dagger. A clear rejection of his duty. It caught the moonlight before plunging into the soft earth outside the window.
The Devil watched it fall, his wide, victorious smile returning. “So no goodbye kiss, then?” He began to turn. “I’ll see you tom—“
Dice lunged, wrapping his arms around The Devil’s waist. “You’ll have a goodbye kiss.”
He kissed The Devil. The ultimate sin was the ultimate freedom. The Devil simply closed his eyes and absorbed the affection. When Dice pulled back, The Devil was stunned, his face a vivid red.
“Wow,” Dice breathed. “That was… amazing. Next time you come, I’ll tell you why I came here in the first place. Sounds good?”
The Devil grinned. “Sounds like a glorious plan.”
He vanished. Dice fell back onto his bed, the warmth of the kiss replacing the monastery's cold.
In the morning, the Father demanded the report.
“Did you slay the demon, my boy?”
“No, Father. He was too cunning. He knocked the dagger from my hand right out the window. He knows we’re after him.”
The Father’s lips tightened. “Then you pour Holy Water onto him!” He handed Dice a small vial.
At midnight, The Devil was already sitting on Dice’s bed.
“I didn’t scare you, did I? Are you comfortable? ” The Devil questioned.
Dice sat up, reaching out to cup The Devil’s cheek. “No. I expected something like this. And yes. I am comfortable.” The fur was impossibly soft.
“So, your story?” The Devil prompted, holding Dice’s hand in place.
Dice explained how his childhood friend, Hilda, had ruined his reputation by claiming he was obsessed with her, forcing his father to move them and forcing Dice into a false life.
“I’m here because I was shamed, not because I was saved,” Dice finished.
“Hilda. A self-serving liar,” The Devil mused. “I know her. I’ll deal with her in the morning. For now, I will be happy to spend my time with you.”
Dice showed The Devil the vial. “My father gave me this to splash on you.”
The Devil took it. “This old trick?” He unscrewed the cap and, with a dramatic flourish, gulped down the entire vial of Holy Water. “Deliciously crisp! No, my dear. You had a better chance with that dagger.”
“I threw it away, remember?”
“I know. I watched it fall. After our kiss, I teleported back down and picked it up. A beautiful piece of blessed craft—too good to waste.”
They lay together, the closeness intoxicating.
“My father wants you dead,” Dice whispered.
“I know.”
“But I will never kill you.”
“I know.”
The Devil ran a claw down Dice’s arm. “Give your old man a small, victory. Tomorrow, tell him I died a horrible death. In a week, I’ll return and we escape together. If you want that, of course.”
“Alright. Another goodbye kiss, then?”
“Absolutely.”
The Devil initiated the kiss this time. It quickly dissolved into a desperate, feverish embrace. Dice’s hands tangled in the thick, soft fur at the back of The Devil’s neck, pulling him closer. The Devil let out a low, satisfied sound and shifted, pressing Dice back against the thin mattress. His lips trailed urgently down Dice’s throat, finding the vulnerable pulse at his collarbone. Dice arched, utterly consumed by the warmth and the forbidden pleasure. The Devil, lost in the heat of the moment, had forgotten the room, the danger, and the plan entirely.
A sharp, distinct clack of a wooden sandal on the stone floor outside the room cut through the silence—the Father's recognizable, measured pace, growing disastrously closer.
The Devil went rigid. The passion vanished instantly, replaced by cold, hard calculation. He pulled back just an inch, his voice a barely audible, furious whisper: “Your father is right outside the door. Now!”
Before Dice could process the shock, The Devil was screaming, throwing himself against the wall, rattling the bed frame, and bellowing theatrical curses about the futility of his unholy mission.
Dice instantly fell into his role, yelling back, “Begone, foul demon! My Lord protects me!”
The door burst open, and the Father stood framed in the doorway. Just as the Father took a step, The Devil let out one final, sickening shriek and then melted into the floor, a smoking, sticky stain where he had stood.
“Good job, my boy!” the Father cried, rushing to Dice. “Our Lord is pleased! You have driven the beast back to the pits!”
Dice received his first hug from his father, but it felt cold, condemning, and meaningless compared to the real, burning heat that had just been there.
The Devil did not show for seven nights. On the eighth night, Dice was waiting.
A tapping noise came from the window.
Dice opened it. The Devil stood there. The immortal smiled, a genuine, possessive expression of pure affection. “Ready to go, My King?”
The title felt like a crown placed on his head.
“More than ready.”
Dice didn’t look back. He took The Devil’s hand, and together, they dissolved from the cold, lonely monastery, reappearing in The Undrworld.
Two years later, both King Dice and The Devil were partners, sharing the same grand office and running The Devil’s casino. They laughed over the tale of the Holy Water and the theatrical death. Their love settled and certain. The Devil had offered his King an empire, and King Dice had offered The Devil his heart. They were, finally, equals.
The End