Luke, the world's best assassin, takes on what seems like just another contract, but this time, he's the one being hunted. His mentor and closest ally, Vicktor Cain, sells him out, leading him into a trap. Gunned down and left for dead, Luke's last sight is Vicktor walking away with a smirk.
Death comes slow, burning through his veins, but if there's one thing Luke Graves refuses to do, it's die on somebody else's terms. He chokes out a laugh, blood pooling in his mouth.
"Damn, Cain. You could've at least bought me dinner first."
His vision darkens, the world slipping away, but as his last breath rattles out, the cold is replaced with something else—fire.
WELCOME TO HELL
Heat. Suffocating. Unrelenting.
Luke gasps awake, choking on air that tastes like ash and sin, his body unbroken, but everything around him is wrong. The sky is red, the ground cracked and pulsing like it's alive, and standing over him is a man—or at least something that used to be one.
Tall. Sharp features. Golden eyes gleaming like molten metal. Azazel. The Devil's right hand.
His lips curl, but there's no warmth in it. Only cruelty. "Took you long enough."
Luke sits up, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, sorry, dying really takes it outta you. Who the hell are you?"
Azazel's expression sours. "Watch your tongue, mortal."
Luke raises an eyebrow. "Oh? We doing the whole 'mortal peasant versus ancient demon' thing? Cool, cool. I'll make sure to kneel right after I give a shit."
Azazel's eye twitches. He moves—fast, too fast—but Luke is faster. The assassin leans back just as Azazel's fist comes flying past his jaw.
"Seriously? You greet all your guests with a punch to the face, or am I just special?"
Azazel snarls. "You are a worm. An insect crawling through the filth of existence. And I will crush you beneath my boot."
Luke smirks. "Damn, that's cute. You practice that in the mirror?"
Azazel lunges again, but before he can swing—
"ENOUGH."
The air cracks. The force of the voice slams down like a falling skyscraper. Azazel stumbles. Luke?
Luke just rolls his eyes.
"See? This is why Hell has such a bad reputation. No customer service."
Azazel's glare could set the world on fire, but he says nothing. Instead, he steps back, fists clenched, jaw tight.
"Follow me."
Luke grins. "Oh, I'd love to, but I left my 'Obey Evil Demons' hat in my other corpse."
Azazel doesn't respond. Just turns and walks.
Luke sighs. "Fine, fine. Lead the way, Hot Topic."
And with that, they head into the heart of Hell.
A MEETING WITH THE DEVIL
The city stretches before them, a labyrinth of suffering. The air is thick with the wails of the damned, buildings shift like they're alive, breathing, watching. Shadows stretch toward Luke, whispering his name.
At the center of it all, the Devil waits.
His throne is carved from bones, suffering etched into its very foundation. His form flickers—one moment human, the next something so vast and wrong that Luke's brain refuses to process it.
His eyes are voids. Endless. Empty.
Then, he speaks.
"WHO DARES STAND BEFORE ME?"
The entire world shudders.
The heat intensifies. The ground beneath Luke's feet fractures, splitting open like a wound.
Azazel drops to his knees.
Luke?
Luke yawns.
"Holy shit, do you always talk like that? Or is this just a 'scare the new guy' thing?"
Azazel's head snaps toward him, horrified. "You dare—"
Luke waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I dare. Gasp, shock, clutch your pearls."
Azazel looks like he's going to explode.
The Devil, however, laughs. A low, rolling sound, like the cracking of mountains.
"INTERESTING."
He leans forward, shadows coiling. "YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHERS."
Luke shrugs. "Yeah, I hear that a lot. Usually from people trying to kill me."
"I OFFER YOU A CHOICE, LUKE GRAVES."
The Devil rises, and the air itself bends under his presence.
"SERVE ME AS HELL'S EXECUTIONER, OR SUFFER FOR ETERNITY."
Luke crosses his arms. "Y'know, I'm getting some serious déjà vu. Some asshole gives me a shitty deal, expects me to kneel, and then betrays me anyway. Spoiler alert—I don't kneel."
Azazel snarls. "You should be begging for this mercy, wretch."
Luke snickers. "Oh, sorry, I missed that memo. Maybe next time, send it in a gift basket."
Azazel's fist clenches. "I should rip your—"
"LET HIM SPEAK."
The Devil's voice crushes the room into silence. Even Azazel flinches.
The Devil watches Luke carefully, as if looking through him.
"YOU HAVE FIRE IN YOU."
Luke tilts his head. "Yeah, well, that's what getting shot in the chest does to a guy."
The Devil smirks. "GOOD. YOU WILL NEED IT."
He steps forward, and the world itself seems to shrink under his presence.
"SERVE ME, AND I WILL SHOW YOU THE TRUTH BEHIND HEAVEN AND EARTH."
Luke raises an eyebrow. "Hard pass. Not really a 'sell my soul' kinda guy."
Azazel growls. "You insolent—"
"IT'S ALRIGHT, AZAZEL."
The Devil's smirk widens. "I LIKE HIM."
Luke sighs. "Yeah, yeah, everybody likes me. I'm adorable."
The Devil extends a hand. "THEN IT'S SETTLED. YOU WILL BE HELL'S HITMAN."
Luke rolls his neck, cracking his knuckles. "Fine. I'll kill whoever you want. But let's get one thing straight—I don't do 'master' and 'servant' bullshit. I work for you, not under you."
The Devil's grin is all teeth.
"WELCOME TO HELL, LUKE. LET THE SLAUGHTER BEGIN."