Yeezus, Lucifer and Trick's Fun Weekend (with explosions!)

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56 MILES FROM THE NORTH POLE.


INSIDE A HOLLOWED-OUT CLIFF, A CASINO LIES.


WITHIN RESIDE THE GREAT FORCES OF EVIL, LEAD BY THE NEW DEMON LORD, TRICK GRAELL.


ONE UNFORTUNATE BOY DISCOVERED THE CASINO BY ACCIDENT, AND NOW LIVES THERE.

THIS IS HIS STORY.

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Lucifer took a deep swig of his beer, and then set it down on the table. After noticing that he was, in fact, not completely wasted, he glanced at me curiously.


"Damn, you usually make this stuff pretty strong," he commented. "Bad day, or did Rico take the rest of our alcohol?"

I sighed. "Both," I replied sullenly. "I came in this morning to find everything alcoholic and Rico gone and Trick running around the casino swearing. I hate it when they swear, it just doesn't sound right. Along with that, I've had the strangest feeling this morning, like something bad is going to happen."

I wasn't lying. The hairs on the back of my neck were trying to twist themselves into knots, and I just felt odd.

"It's probably the anxiety from the last attack. It happens, you know? It'll get better over time," Lucifer reassured me, obviously looking for a hug. I let him wrap his arms around me as I breathed into his neck. He rubbed circles into my shoulders, which was actually quite soothing.

Suddenly, Trick stormed into the bar, seething. "I swear to me," they grumbled, "as soon as that itty bitch gets back, I'm gonna kill him and then revive him before his soul can leave his body until he begs for-"

They stopped. They had just caught me and Lucifer cuddling having a bonding moment.

"Get a room," they scowled, and left the room.

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"HOLY FUCKING HELL," I yelled as I dropped the red can onto the ground. It rolled towards the cupboard with a metallic clatter, spilling some of the contents. Said contents also ran for the cupboard.

Ran. For. The. Cupboard.

RAN.

Trick ran into the room in a distressed tizzy. From the looks of it, Rico was still seducing people with all of our whiskey without his whereabouts being known. He had maybe a week left, I had expected him to do something rash.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU BREAK? ARE YOU HURT? QUIT YOUR SCREAMING YOU INFIDEL," Trick howled. "IS THIS A CRISIS? DID YOU FIND A DEAD BODY? DID YOU FIND A SUCCUBI?"


They stopped as they looked at my situation.

I looked up at her, fear lacing my eyes. What WERE they?

"KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT, KILL IT, KILL IT!!" I shrieked angrily.

They were... beans.

Except, of course, they had to be alive, rainbow colored, and with faces.

"Right," Trick sighed. "I didn't tell you about these guys. If you want I can cook them myself."

"But- WAIT YOU COOK THEM?" I yelled.

Trick grinned. "Yeah, they taste like black beans. Have you ever tried black beans before?"

"what"

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After I was done flipping out about the BEANS Trick flippantly explained the situation.


"Hooman Beans," they said simply, "are the main sustenance of demons everywhere. You remember how I took Hawky away? Well, before Hawky, this old geezer that God hired took over the main source of beans and would make us pay a shit ton for something incredibly simple to get your hands on. Most of us struggled to get a can of beans per day, and that's why all of our anima are skinny af. If I had enough food for them, they'd be fat shits. Our main source now is Purgatory."

"Uh huh," I replied. "And what ARE Hooman Beans exactly?"

"Human souls."

"what"

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"So what kinds of people end up being the souls that demons eat?" I asked curiously. "Virgins, innocents, the naive?"
"Did I mention Purgatory? Only the most useless pieces of shit on this planet turn into beans. Those pitiful creatures who grace our planet and make no contribution at all. Even God's sick of 'em, so beans they become, and then we eat them. That's the reason why she doesn't wipe out every last demon in this casino," Trick growled.

Suddenly, a bean moved. It was a red bean. The little guy sported a finely-trimmed, square mustache and a stupid haircut. His face (albeit being little dots for eyes) appeared to be in an angry expression.

"Uh," I said, "I think that that bean over there is trying to be an individual. He's rocking a haircut from the forties."
"Forties?" Trick asked. Their eyes moved to the bean, who suddenly flinched as the demon lord's gaze passed over them. "Do I recognize..."


Finally, it clicked. Both of us whirled around at the exact same time, identical expressions gracing our faces.

"Hitler," we whispered.

I started roaring with laughter, delirious off of the mirth. This. This is absolutely rich. I knew I had to have been dreaming at that moment. Holy hell. Of all people. Of ALL PEOPLE, Hitler is judged as NEUTRAL. NEUTRAL! This is absolutely FUCKING PRICELESS!

As I was crying with laughter, Trick Graell got to action. With a screech of "HITLER!" they bounded towards the table, giggling madly. The former dictator screamed in alarm and started dashing down the table.

Too slow. Trick snagged the dictator in their fist and raised him up for inspection.

Seeming satisfied, Trick summoned a small glass jar and dropped the bean in. To my surprise, other beans were in the jar, and they too looked familiar. I spotted George Washington and the leader of Al Qaeda in the jar, along with a miserable-looking Elvis Presley.

Along the side of the jar was a label. It read, "FAMUS PERSONS JAR."


I snickered. That was so stupid it was funny.


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"I say," Lucifer said suddenly, after setting his drink down, "You putting so much shit in my drinks makes me think you're into me."

I blushed. Jesus fucking Christ, Luce. I am NOT into him, I swear.

"Fucking Hell, Luce. I'm not into you," I replied quickly, trying to hide my face.


Sensing an opening, Lucifer went for the kill. He leaned up against the bar (perfectly sober, mind you) and hooked the underside of my chin with his pointer finger. He pulled my face in closer. I swore. Hiding the blush on my face was absolutely pointless at this point as I was as red as the Hooman Bean cans.

He brought my face closer. He was so impossibly close...

...and then, an explosion rocked the building.

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