𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝚗𝚍
Masterlist || Chapter Two
Belial never expected to care for anyone.
He had existed long enough to find comfort in silence. He was a demon, a collector of souls, a servant of Belphegor—the Sin of Sloth. He had no need for laughter, warmth, or the messiness of human affection. His world was quiet. Predictable. Hollow.
Until she stumbled into it.
Delphine.
A human woman with soft brown skin and shoulder-length hair just dark enough to pass for black. Her eyes were warm, tired, and a little defiant. She had a chronic illness that was slowly claiming her life. The doctors had no cure. The medicines did nothing. Her days blurred into one another—pain and exhaustion and more pain.
And still, she searched. Every strange whisper. Every rumor. Every dusty old forum talking about “underground healers.” That’s what brought her to that alley.
➽──────────────❥
It was raining that night. Not heavily, but enough that her clothes clung to her skin, and her breath fogged in the air. She found the door behind a stack of crates and faded graffiti. No markings. No signs. Just a door that felt wrong to look at for too long.
She knocked once.
Nothing.
She knocked again.
A low creak answered her. The door opened, not by her hand, but as if something on the other side had been waiting.
Inside was dim. Dust floated in the still air, lit only by an old chandelier swaying from a ceiling too high for such a small building. It was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that comforted. This one watched.
A man stood behind a crooked wooden desk. His face was sharp, his eyes even sharper—calculating, cold. Not the kind of face you’d trust. He didn’t ask for her name. Only looked her up and down, then nodded once and said:
“Follow the candlelight. Don’t stray.”
She did. The hallway beyond the desk stretched longer than it should have. Unlit candles on the walls flickered to life as she passed. There was no sound except her footsteps and her heart, both too loud in the eerie stillness. She should’ve turned around. She should’ve been scared.
But the sickness had taken too much already. Fear was a luxury.
Eventually, she reached a heavy door. The candlelight pooled at her feet and vanished under it. With a deep breath, she pushed.
The room inside was nothing like the rest.
Soft golden light glowed from orbs hovering in the air. The walls were lined with shelves holding tomes, vials, ancient relics. In the center stood a figure dressed in white, his back turned. His shoulder-length hair shimmered like snow under candlelight.
Belial.
He didn’t move. Not at first. But he spoke, his voice low and even, like something meant to lull you.
“You’re not dying anymore,” he said.
Delphine blinked. “What?”
“I took it. The sickness. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”
“I—” she hesitated, stepping closer. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You didn’t have to.” He finally turned to face her.
His skin was almost translucent in its paleness, like a figure carved from ivory. His eyes—grey, unreadable—settled on hers without flinching.
“You would’ve offered your soul,” he said. “And I would’ve accepted.”
She stared at him. “You already did?”
Belial gave a slow nod. “It’s done.”
Delphine crossed her arms, grounding herself. "That’s… awfully presumptuous of you. What if I was here for something else?"
A ghost of amusement flickered across his face. “I’ve done this long enough to know how the pattern goes. Desperation. A deal. Regret. Your kind rarely surprises me.”
“Well, maybe I’m different,” she shot back, then paused. “Wait—if the deal’s already made… shouldn’t I feel different?”
“You will,” he said simply. “By morning, the pain will be gone. No more fevers. No more exhaustion.”
She stared at him a beat longer, then looked around the room. “So, this is it? No flaming contract? No blood signature?”
“I don’t need theatrics,” he said coolly. “I need results. And your soul was screaming louder than your voice.”
That made her pause. “You could hear it?”
“Every ache. Every breath you begged for.”
The room suddenly felt heavier, as if his words reached into a part of her she hadn’t meant to show.
“...What’s your name?” she asked after a moment.
He hesitated, then answered, “Belial.”
“Belial,” she repeated, testing it. “That’s… biblical.”
He arched a brow. “Accurate.”
“So, you’re really a demon?”
“Yes.”
“Like, horns and wings and everything?”
He didn’t smile, but his tone turned mildly entertained. “Only when I’m feeling theatrical.”
Delphine exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest. The pain wasn’t gone yet, but there was a strange lightness there.
“Well… thank you, I guess.”
Belial tilted his head. “You’re thanking the demon who took your soul?”
“You saved my life,” she said. “I think that buys at least a little gratitude.”
Silence stretched between them.
She looked at him again. Really looked. “Do you… always wear white?”
“It doesn’t stain,” he lied. It stained terribly. He just liked it. But that wasn’t her business.
”You're a demon, worried about stains?” Delphine cracked a small smile. “That's a bit contradictory.”
“Excuse me?” He narrowed his eyes.
She laughed, loud and carefree at his reaction, breathless. Belial kept his eyes on her, his expression faltering barely.
“Well, I hope to see you again. You're cool.” She turned to walk away, opening the door. She looked back just as he did and gave him a wide smile before exiting the room.
Belial stared at the door, his face scrunching up into an expression akin to confusion.
That mortal was confusing.
Knew she was talking to a demon, yet kept on chatting like he was some regular man.
As much as it replused him, a bit of curiosity for the woman grew deep in his heart, lingering as she left. But, he went back to his work.
He probably wouldn't see her again. No use on dwelling on a client.