Chapter IV: The Pact Beyond the River's Edge
Suddenly, the voice around Lucifer McKenzie erupted—no longer calm and solemn, but fractured and piercing, like a banshee's screech tearing through the dead silence of the afterlife's veil.
"Which daft bastard dares to lay a finger on the Child of the Underworld's Monarch in such vulgar defiance?"
"Speak their names into the river winds. Even if their soul crawls to this realm a dozen millennia from now, we shall remember their insolence—and we shall carve agony into the bones of their afterlife. No cunt who wrongs you shall walk unscathed."
The Grim Reaper was furious—righteously enraged on Lucifer's behalf.
Good. That meant it was working.
There was bias in the Reaper's voice, devotion interwoven with grief, like an ancient servant mourning a fallen prince. That suited Lucifer just fine.
"Don't waste divine wrath on insects," Lucifer said, his voice calm, almost amused. "Let's carry on with the ritual. I have things to do… souls to bend."
The Grim Reaper paused, then bowed with theatrical reverence.
"If it is your will, O Child of the Monarch Who Rules the Underworld, then the rite shall commence."
"But," the voice rang out again, cloaked now in a colder tone, "if vengeance is your desire, speak the word and the River will boil with their suffering. We shall orchestrate deaths so excruciating, they would beg for a second demise."
Lucifer's spine stiffened slightly. The resonance of the Reaper's voice didn't echo—it throbbed. Like something ancient clawing at his bones.
"Then, as sealed in the covenant carved five centuries ago," the Reaper began, "you, the one willingly sacrificed, soaked in the divine scent of The One, shall be taken as the coin of exchange. In return, another soul shall be pulled back from the veil."
"However..." the Reaper's voice thickened, smoke curling through each syllable. "The price must be just. Equal soul for equal soul. The body must be whole, or the summoned spirit will burn out instantly, torn from the mortal frame like silk from fire."
"Do you still wish to proceed?"
Lucifer gave a single, solemn nod.
His own vessel remained intact—barely submerged, but not mangled. If he could return fast enough, he'd reinhabit it without rupture.
"Then tell me," came the whisper across the water and shadows. "Who is the soul you wish to reclaim from the abyss?"
"Mine."
The silence that followed was glacial, spanning entire dimensions.
"Pray repeat that once more?" the Reaper asked, uncertain whether it had misheard or if the cosmos itself had fractured.
Lucifer smirked faintly. "I said the soul I want revived... is mine. I'm the sacrifice. I'm the one being brought back. Is that somehow against the rules?"
Another pause. A deeper one. As if even the void had to sit down and reevaluate itself.
"We… do not believe so."
Still silence. A vacuum of thought.
"…."
"…."
"Then what the fuck are we waiting for?" Lucifer snapped. "Light the goddamn ritual flame and throw me back into the stream."
"Ah—ah! Wait! Please wait, O Heir of Monarchial Death!"
Even for a deathless entity, the Reaper faltered. The absurdity of the scenario had jammed its protocol matrix.
"This configuration has no precedent. Your logic is not flawed, yet... it feels inherently improper. We must consult the Monarch of the Underworld—"
Lucifer's eyes widened in alarm.
"You're going to summon the Great God Hades for this? For something so small? You want to yank him from his eternal council just because your brittle ass can't handle one bizarre ritual clause?"
The Reaper wavered.
Lucifer pressed on, his voice a spear.
"Tell me, Reaper. What's your purpose?"
"To guide souls across the River Phlegethon," it said automatically.
"Exactly. But that's not the limit of your role, is it?"
Lucifer's words carried gravity, his tone now reminiscent of ancient decree.
"You are the chosen executor of the Underworld's will—a trusted sentinel forged by Hades himself. If you're going to whimper to the God of Death for every unusual crossing, what the fuck are you even doing here?"
"But this anomaly… it lacks precedent. We are not designed to authorize this."
"Then consult the manual."
"…Manual?"
The Reaper blinked—if such beings could blink—its confusion almost human.
Lucifer scowled.
"You don't know what a manual is? Tch. Fucking hell. A manual is what smart people use so they don't end up disturbing gods over minor decisions."
"But there is no manual for this covenant. It was orally passed."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed, sharp as obsidian.
"Wrong. There is a manual. And the rules of that agreement are very specific."
"Repeat it to me."
The Reaper hesitated, then relented.
"A soul drenched in the divine aroma of The One may be sacrificed to revive a soul of equivalent worth. The exchange must be fair. And the state of the vessel is the responsibility of the reviver."
Lucifer stepped forward, ethereal energy curling around his fingers like shadowed serpents.
"Good. So let's test your comprehension."
He asked coldly:
"Am I reviving a soul?"
"Yes."
"Do I bear the scent of The One?"
"Yes."
"Is the soul exchange fair?"
"Yes."
"Then is there any problem with this ritual's mechanics?"
A pause.
"…No. We see no violations of the terms."
Lucifer allowed a subtle grin to stretch across his mouth, dark amusement crackling in his gaze.
"See? And here I thought all you death-fairies were just obedient drones. But you—you're exceptional."
"Truly," he continued, layering the sarcasm with honey, "no wonder the Great God Hades entrusted you. You actually do your damn job. Rare thing these days."
The Reaper, for all its shapelessness, visibly puffed with pride.
Its voice softened, humbler now.
"O Heir of Monarch, we are deeply humbled by your words. You have enlightened us with clarity and purpose. We shall now fulfill the sacred rite."
Dark smoke curled from its skeletal hand, forming tendrils of soul-stitched mist that wrapped around Lucifer's incorporeal body.
Every breath became jagged.
The mist slithered into his mouth, ears, and eyes, threading itself into every inch of him. It was not air—it was the density of existence itself, raw and unfiltered.
Lucifer gagged.
The world twisted, inverted—
—and he woke.
Water. Cold. Wet. Familiar.
He was back inside the submerged cave, lungs screaming, blood roaring.
A glowing glyph hovered in front of his eyes.
[Unique Skill EXP +1]
[Unique Skill: Death (1/10)]
Lucifer coughed, spat out river water, and laughed.
He fucking did it.
He'd returned from the edge of unbeing—ripped himself back into the living world using nothing but wit, technicalities, and a little bit of cunt-level tenacity.
He grinned.
"Now," he muttered, his voice rasping through wet teeth, "I just need to do that a few more goddamn times."
Today was going to be long. Bloody. And brilliant.