And if you die, will it be by my hands or your own?

Humans had access to the living world, that was undeniable. How? That, no one could answer. Did Lucifer grant access to hell from the overworld? Did the seraphs in the great land known as heaven damn all of humanity with this power? Did someone just get a hold of the wrong stuff at the wrong time?

Whatever the case, humans had access to Hell. And that was a recipe for absolute and utter disaster. They didn't know the consequences of summoning an unholy beast.Though, they would soon find out. It was rare, but sometimes, people knew what they were doing, they knew the consequences and went through with it anyways. It was these people, who used their demon servants to their best capability. Those were the ones who ended up on top. In life, and even the afterlife that awaited them.

Nevertheless, access was granted. Okay? Well, how was that important. It was important because that meant, EVERYONE, had access to demons. Even a young boy such as Anthony Ragni. Anthony was always different. Not different in the sense that he was the son of a mob boss. No, no, that wasn't why he was different. He was different because, well, as his few friends would tell you. He was emotionless. Or at least,he acted like it. And he was a good actor at that.

His expressions were simple. Sometimes a smile, (if they were lucky) sometimes a frown. Nothing in between. His brows remained in the same position everyday. The only time Anthony's expressions would soften. Was when he was sleeping. Though you'd be damned if you thought you would ever be able to see it. As much as Anthony seemed like a quite harmless kid. He wouldn't hesitate to kill you in an instant if you came near him. He was a dorodere, if you will. Adorable, yet violent (at times).

But, was that all there was to it? Was that really just the life that Anthony lived? You'd be drastically incorrect, if that's what you previously thought. Anthony's life remained a mystery, a mystery no one had either not bothered or just didn't know about enough to look into. Even some of his closest friends. If you really wanted to know the story of Anthony Ragni, then you're in the right place.

Enter Alastor. One of the most well known overlords in all of Hell. An overlord mind you, that is so well known that demons and rivaling overlords alike quiver with fear. While it was entertaining at first, to see the fear plastered on the denizens faces. It had grown dull, a lackluster even. Those fear plastered faces not giving off the same spark they used to many years ago. As you can imagine. Boredom had found its way into the wendigo's life. Infecting it, if you will.

He swore, if Lucifer did not end his life, boredom surely would. That was a guarantee. Alastor found himself pacing in his own house. Desperately trying to find a way to conjure up some havoc. He could interrupt a broadcast on the 666 news? No, he had already done that, and even when he did. He found it incredibly dull. Radio static began to fill the room, not being able to hear anything but the soft tapping of his hoof-printed heels.

But then, even the tapping had stopped. Had the radio static grown that loud? He hadn't noticed. That was not the case. For even the radio static stopped. Infact, everything surrounding the deer. His blood red walls, his antiques and trophies. His dark crimson red furniture. All of it. Everything. Gone. Confusion was clear on the deer's face as he arched a brow. Come to think of it. Everything was black. Pitch black. It was like he was sucked into a blackhole. Swallowing up everything. In a blur of an instant he found himself in a small, light, pastel pink room. He was met with large eyes, not large in the context that their beholder was surprised. No. Large as in, round plump eyes. Speaking of the eyes, the thing that stuck out the most was that they were heterochromia. One was a light pastel green and the other was a dark ocean blue.

They were beautiful really. In fact the red-head almost found himself getting lost in them. Before that could happen, he stepped back. Looking at his summoner. He was surprised to see a young boy, at least 16 or 17. From the looks of it, 16 seemed to be the way to go. Going over the boy's features once more, he appeared to have fluffy blonde hair that was swept at the top. He had freckles on each of his cheeks, lightly dotting his pale skin.