There was nothing.
Not black. Not empty. Just... nothing. And somehow I was aware of it.
I'm dead, I thought, and the thought echoed in the void like a stone dropped into an infinite well. I actually died.
It should have been terrifying. Should have been something. But mostly I just felt... tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion and everything to do with finally, finally being able to stop pretending.
I tried to remember what came before. The woman. Her mouth opening wider than physics should allow. Kai's blood spraying across antique furniture. The claws punching through my chest, wrapping around my heart and squeezing—
Kai.
The thought came with a strange detachment. Kai was dead. I was dead. And I'd done nothing. Just stood there, frozen, passive as always. Watching my best friend die because I couldn't move, couldn't act, couldn't be anything other than the useless piece of shit I'd always been.
Should have seen it coming, I thought bitterly. The door opened by itself and I just walked in anyway. Noticed it was wrong and said nothing. That's my whole fucking life, isn't it? Noticing things are wrong and doing nothing about it.
I wondered if there was a heaven. Or a hell. Growing up, my parents had dragged me to temple enough times that I should have had some framework for this, some cultural reference point for death and afterlife. But I'd stopped paying attention years ago, just going through the motions while my mind was somewhere else. Always somewhere else.
If there is a hell, I'm probably going there, I thought. Not for any dramatic sins. Just for being... nothing. For wasting every opportunity. For letting Kai die.
The void pressed in closer, or maybe that was just my imagination creating sensation where none existed. Time felt weird here—had it been seconds? Hours? Did time even mean anything when you were dead?
I thought about my dorm room. The piles of unwashed clothes. The assignments I'd meant to start but never did. The textbooks I'd bought and never opened because watching YouTube videos about electrical engineering was easier than actually doing the work. My desk, covered in empty energy drink cans and chip bags, a monument to consumption without purpose.
I thought about the Discord servers I'd scroll through at 3 AM instead of sleeping. The games I'd play for twelve hours straight and then feel disgusted with myself afterward. The way I'd set elaborate schedules—wake up at 6 AM, go to the gym, study for four hours, work on projects—and then sleep through my alarm, spend the day in bed scrolling through Reddit, and hate myself for it.
I was going to do things, I thought. Someday. When I had my shit together. When I became the person I was supposed to be. When I stopped being so fucking lazy and actually tried.
But I never tried. Not really. I just consumed. Content, information, entertainment, whatever would fill the hollow space inside me for another few hours. I'd watch videos about successful people and feel inspired for exactly ten minutes before the inspiration curdled into self-loathing because I knew—I knew—I'd never actually do any of it.
Kai had tried to help. He'd planned this trip specifically to get me out of my room, away from my screens, force me to interact with the world. And I'd complained the entire time. Made jokes about dying on the trail while secretly wishing I was back in my dorm doing nothing.
And now I'm dead, I thought. And Kai's dead. And I never even thanked him for trying.
The worst part was how comfortable I'd been with it all. My nice bed. My laptop. Free wifi. Meal plan. No real consequences, no urgency, no reason to change. I'd wanted my "back against the wall," wanted some crisis to force me into action, but when the crisis came I just froze.
I didn't want to die, I realized. But I wasn't really living either.
I'd had this image in my head of who I was supposed to be. Wyatt 2.0. The guy who had his shit together. Who worked out, got good grades, built projects, made connections, actually did something with his life. But I could never bridge the gap between that fantasy and the reality of who I actually was—someone who couldn't even wake up on time, who avoided anything that required real effort, who used humor to deflect from the fact that he was fucking terrified of trying and failing.
So I just... didn't try.
And now there was nothing left to try with.
The void seemed to breathe around me, though that was impossible because there was no air, no me, no—
"Interesting."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, smooth as silk and sharp as broken glass. Not loud, but it filled the nothing completely, drowning out even my thoughts.
"Most of them scream," the voice continued, conversational, almost pleasant. "Or beg. Or pray. But you? You're just floating here, wallowing in self-pity. How... refreshingly honest."
Who— I tried to ask, but I had no mouth, no voice, nothing to speak with.
"Oh, don't bother," the voice said, amused. "I can hear your thoughts just fine. After all, thoughts are all you are now. A consciousness without a body. A ghost without a haunt. Rather pathetic, really."
Something shifted in the void. Not light, exactly, but a presence. Vast. Ancient. Wrong in a way that made my non-existent skin crawl.
"Let me guess," the voice said. "You're wondering who I am. What I want. Whether this is heaven or hell or just some dying hallucination your brain conjured up in its last moments."
Yes, I thought.
"Well, the good news is you're not hallucinating. The bad news is... well. Let's just say I'm someone who takes an interest in wasted potential. And you, Wyatt, are absolutely drowning in it."
The presence moved closer, and I felt it—actually felt it—like pressure building behind my eyes, in my chest, everywhere and nowhere at once.
"I've been watching your little group," the voice continued. "So full of life. So full of promise. Well. Most of them. You were different. You were already half-dead before you even walked into that mansion. Going through the motions. Consuming without creating. Existing without living."
Who are you? I thought desperately.
"Patience. We're getting to that." The voice took on a theatrical quality, like someone enjoying a private joke. "Tell me, Wyatt. Do you believe in second chances?"
What?
"Your friend Kai didn't. Shame, really. I made him the same offer I'm about to make you, right after that creature tore out his throat. Do you know what he said?"
My thoughts stilled.
"He told me to go fuck myself. Said he'd rather burn in hell for eternity than accept help from me. Can you imagine? Even dying, even terrified, he had principles. Convictions. A spine." The voice paused. "He was quite brave, your friend. Stupid, but brave."
Kai... you offered Kai...
"The same deal I'm offering you, yes. But he refused. Died with his integrity intact. Noble, really. Useless, but noble." The presence seemed to circle me, predatory. "Which brings us to you."
What deal?
"Oh, now you're interested. Of course you are." The voice practically purred. "Here's what I'm offering: I bring you back. Alive. Whole. Heart pumping, lungs breathing, everything working exactly as it should. You get to walk out of that mansion. Get to live."
Why? Nothing came free. I knew that much.
"Because I need someone on the outside. Someone with a pulse, who can move freely, who can help me with a little... problem I'm having. You see, I'm somewhat trapped at the moment. Inconvenient, really. I just need someone to do a few favors. Complete a few tasks. Help set me free."
Who are you?
"Still haven't figured it out?" The voice laughed, and the sound made the void vibrate with something that felt like malice. "Didn't you go to church as a child? Surely they mentioned me. The Morning Star. The Lightbringer. The First of the Fallen. Though most people know me by my working name."
The presence solidified, and suddenly I understood. Not because it told me, but because I knew, the way you know you're falling in a nightmare. The weight of it, the sheer wrongness, the ancient malevolence wrapped in a pleasant voice—
"Lucifer," I thought, and the name echoed in the void like a death sentence.
"There it is," Lucifer said, pleased. "The moment of realization. Always my favorite part. Yes, Wyatt. The actual Devil. Satan. The Adversary. The Great Deceiver and Blasphemer Et cetera, et cetera. And I'm offering you a deal."
No. The thought came automatically, but even as I thought it, I felt the terror. The absolute certainty that I didn't want to be dead. That I wasn't ready. That I needed more time, another chance, something—
"Oh, but yes. You see, you have two options. Option one: stay dead. This void? It's my doing. If you don't make this deal, then your death is assured. You'll go to either heaven or hell, though as far as I'm concerned you haven't done anything befitting to live as a holy up there."
He was right. I had wasted most of my life doing nothing significant. Until now I had never thought about my fate or what would come after I died. I never even thought about my future much either.
But now the decision was right in front of me. It wasn't decided, but there was no way in hell I could risk not making this 'deal' just to suffer for all eternity in the afterlife.
And option two?
"Option two: you work for me. You do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. You help me get free. In exchange, I put you back in your body, alive and breathing. You get to finish your wasted little life. Maybe even make something of it this time."
Why me? Why not... anyone else?
"Because everyone else is already screaming and running and probably dying in very entertaining ways. You're convenient. Available. And—let's be honest—desperate enough to say yes."
I'm not—
"You are. You know you are. You've spent your entire life wishing for a second chance, some magical moment where you could start over and do it right. Well, here it is. The ultimate second chance. All it costs is your soul." Lucifer paused. "Well. Not immediately. First you have to earn your freedom by earning mine. Think of it as... indentured servitude. With eternal consequences."
Kai said no.
"Kai had something to live for. Purpose. People who loved him. A future. You?" The voice turned cruel. "You have a dorm room full of trash and a search history you'd die of shame if anyone ever saw. Oh wait. You already died."
The words hit like physical blows because they were true. Kai had a girlfriend. Friends who actually cared about him. Goals. A path. I had nothing. I was nothing. Just someone taking up space, consuming resources, waiting for life to start while doing nothing to start it.
If I say yes, I thought slowly, I'm helping the Devil. Actually helping Satan. That's... that's—
"Evil? Probably. Damning? Almost certainly. But you'll be alive. You'll have a purpose. You'll finally be doing something instead of just thinking about it." Lucifer's voice dropped lower, intimate. "Isn't that what you wanted? To matter? To actually accomplish something? Here's your chance."
Kai died with his principles.
"And you'll live without yours. The question is: which would you rather be? A dead hero or a living coward?"
I floated in the void, and the choice was already made. I knew it. Lucifer knew it. Because I was exactly who I'd always been—someone who wanted to be better but wasn't willing to pay the price. Someone who'd take the easy way out, the shortcut, the cheat code, even if it meant selling his soul.
I accept, I thought, and hated myself for it.
"Excellent." Lucifer sounded genuinely pleased. "Oh, this is going to be fun. Welcome to employment, Wyatt Kumar. Try not to die again. It's terribly inconvenient."
The void exploded into light and pain and sensation—
I gasped, my lungs burning as they filled with air, my heart lurching in my chest like it was remembering how to beat. I was on the floor, marble cold against my cheek, blood—Kai's blood—pooled around me.
I was alive.
And I'd just made a deal with the Devil.
The woman stood above me, blood dripping from her too-wide smile, and she looked confused. Like I shouldn't be breathing.
Behind me, someone was screaming.
And I realized, with perfect clarity, that I'd just traded whatever chance I had at redemption for one more shot at a life I'd already proven I didn't know how to live.