There he was, minding his own business in the depths of despair and torment (for once not his own) known as "Hell". And of course it just -had- to happen right then. That was the nature of it, wasn't it? To constantly be interrupted just as he has a moment to himself? He was just due to wallow in a bout of self loathing, since he'd missed his earlier appointment with the emotion, due to a certain pesky second in command who insisted he -smile-. Saboor was a rather persistent little --- demon. Though little wasn't the right word for the brute, was it? Not in the least. Either way a good sock to that furred jaw did a great deal to make him feel better.
At any rate, it happened while Lucifer was doing absolutely nothing. Nothing of note really. The feeling gripped him in the pit of his stomach, a curious tickling at first. And then, it was as if a blackhole appeared somewhere in the region a navel might appear on a human. He had little time to contemplate just what it was before the Fallen had folded in on himself, his entire being sucked through that little portal, and all to literally. With a resounding crack, and a plume of smoke that smelled horrendously like sulfur (why did it always have to be sulfur? Why not something a little more pleasant? This was just the worst.), he stood within the summoning circle, looking quite akin to a deer in the headlights (a rather unbecoming stance, mind you.)
The pillar of smoke shielded him just long enough for the Demon King to regain some semblance of composure. He stood straight at his full height and the brittle bones that once served as wings creaked threateningly as he folded them as tight as they would lay. Shadow clung to his waist, blacker than any night, and trailing up the snowy paleness of his skin. It sculpted around him, acting as some writhing make-shift kilt, if only for modesty's (hah!) sake. Those white hands moved across his lips, brushing away what might have been cobwebs, or what might have been that organic Shadow in one deft movement. And those deep, black eyes peered at the meddlesome little Wizard, something akin to boredom flashing across their glassy surface.
"Well," he spoke with a voice as smooth as satin, and richer than any sweet. "No one's certainly done -that- in a while."
Those dark eyes traced the marking and sigils charred into the floor's woodwork. "And look. You even got it all correct. I'm sure you're quite proud of yourself. Salt. How cute. Not that it will do you any good. I suppose we all can't be perfect."
His gaze found Lucas again, this time it was more penetrating... commanding... "Well? What do you want?" He didn't give the magician a moment to respond, "Your soul for someone else's? Immortality? Making some one love you? Some other mundane yet predictable deal you wish to make? Hurry up. I haven't got all day."
Actually, he did. He had an eternity to spare. But this... whoever he was didn't need to know that.
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