Satan was in love.
He could see her, struggling in her shackles, her eyes wide with fear, and yet despite himself, his insatiable hunger for the pain and suffering of others had completely melted away. It was as if she had enchanted him, lulling him into a stupor with her watery, brown eyes and her pale skin. He normally liked pale skin. It charred better.
He put down his trident and stepped towards her, noting the feeling within him. A feeling which had never entered his mind. He had only known three emotions: anger, elation, and pain. The latter had only occurred when his minion, Malum, had spiked his drink at the Hell Christmas party and he had woken up feeling like... well, hell. It was a strange feeling, love. Like being drunk without the vomit. Like spearing a Damned One without the pathetic pleas for mercy. And when he stared into her eyes, he saw nothing but sadness. Sadness he had evoked.
'Excuse me?' he asked, noting how his usual booming voice had depleted into one not unlike a pre-pubescent mouse. 'Are you okay?'
The woman stared at him, her eyebrows raised in incredulousness.
'What?' she spoke, her voice shaky and feeble.
'I said, are you alright?'
She stared at him, beads of sweat running down her face. Her arms seemed to be shaking, struggling to break free from her bonds. And then she screamed. A pained scream, tortured and desperate, like the scraping of nails on a blackboard. Satan covered his ears, grimacing with the sound. The scream seemed to continue forever (which it could have- the woman had been stripped of her lungs, including all her other organs, and had been re-animated with a dummy-soul, to mimic human functions) and when she stopped, she burst into tears, hiccoughing and spluttering. Satan stared at the woman before him, a sympathetic expression on his face. Gingerly, he slashed her bonds with a clawed hand, catching her as she fell. She slowly stood up, wobbling on her legs like a newborn lamb. She was wearing a torn dress, as black as Satan's pupils. Her face was smeared with tear tracks and sweat, her wrists red and raw with rope-induced lesions. She stood up, barely reaching his shoulder, and stared at him.
Satan gulped hard and cleared his throat.
'So... um... how are you?'
She smiled, and then slapped him, running off as she did so. Satan sighed. He usually liked it when they ran. He would always wait until they realised they couldn't actually get anywhere, then sneak up behind them and burn them to a crisp. Then he would re-re-animate them and start it all off again.
But she was different. He didn't want to burn her. He simply wanted to talk.
He walked over the mass of Damned Ones, crunching over their brittle bones, his eyes locked on her as she desperately ran through the columns of fire. She stopped next to a man, small and stout, with a dishevelled comb-over and a half-charred sprout of hairs over his upper lip. Adolf had been fun to toast. He considered himself to surpass even Satan himself in heinous crimes. Satan had enjoyed that one.
He strode through a large column of fire, feeling the pleasant warm fizz through his body, and picked her up. She screamed and struggled, but he merely held her higher, above his head, and walked puposefully back to the torture zone. The area was large and circular, and bore millenia-old bloodstains and various instruments of torture. Around it, the ground was red and large columns of fire burnt fiercely, releasing large plumes of smoke high above. There was no conspicuous way in or out; only Satan himself knew how to enter and exit.
He sat her down on a large wooden chair and pressed his palms to her head. He flinched slightly as he heard her muffled screams, but then he concentrated and slowly she slumped, unconcious. His hand met her cheek, and then he pulled a lever on the side of the chair. The two disappeared, leaving a room full of Damned Ones, moaning until the impassive, emotionless Satan they knew returned to deliver more pain.