Chris is a demon sent to hell from his belief of not being one to believe in God. He is set to be the next ruler of Hell, also set to marry Satan's daughter, who is not completely sure of it all.
short story based off the song Bloodsport by Sleep T...
Would you invite me in again? Won't you pay for your arrogance? Won't you show me your weakness?
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"So here is where Satan wants the arch way."
Chris smirks, arms crossed behind his back as he leads the two slaves over to the middle of the small walkway. Pointing directly where it's meant to be. Giving careful instructions to where it must be. Warning them of the very consequences should they mess it up. He'll snap each and everyone of their necks if they don't. That or he'll push them into the flames and wave as they burn to a crisp.
He is fine with either.
He just knows the things need to go perfectly. He wants no mess ups. No possible fuck ups. The longer he waits, the longer he'll have to make this place really pop with the agony he is so desperately ready to get started.
"It must be nailed down as it will stay up long past the wedding. I want my throne moved from that spot to here. Nailed down as well."
He smirks.
Oh. The changes he has for this place. The very rules, those will stay the same. He would love to be able to change them. He can practically feel the ache in his chest to do so, but the rules have been set in place for centuries. He won't dare fuck that up.
He won't dare set himself bad luck for that. He can't have anymore. He has to stick to his plans. Right down to every single details. It needs to be done right.
As for decorating the place to make it his own?
Oh, that he will do.
He will for sure do that.
He can practically picture it already.
He wants it all shades of black and red. To match his ever growing power as he takes over. He wants his new wife to match his attire every single day. Reds, blacks, and golds. Maybe even all three, the golds would match her perfect eyes. She is to sit at his throne just as she did with her father.
He wants his eyes on her. At all times.
He has learned one thing since being here that he never had from his life alive, trust no one. No matter who it is and who you love. Trust no one.
"Don't fuck this up. It will be your lives in jeopardy."
And, boy is he aching to snap some necks.
His eyes darting to where you stand by your father's throne. His hand resting along your shoulder. The daze look in your eye as you stare off into the distance. Your index finger in your mouth as you chew at the sharp stiletto black nail of yours. The long black hair of yours pulled back into a small pony tail a top your head, the ends curled and the red dress you wear stopping just above your knees. He hums in content.
