By the end of their conversation, Lucien felt worn out and ready to give up. But more than anything, he felt betrayed. Why would his mother entrust this information to a servant and not to him?

And then, a strong sense of dread enveloped him.

Could it be that they're still not done with whatever they're scheming against the family? Is it possible that they're coming after me, now that Mom is gone?

Lucien barely ate anything that day, save for a few helpings of cheese and a cup of tea. When night fell, he tried his best to get some rest but he couldn't sleep a wink. He expressly instructed Ms. Carmella not to send him food and to turn away guests for the following day - be it friend or family. The servant was hesitant at first but when Lucien shot her a stern look, she could only respond with a cold nod. She then returned to the living room, watching over the coffin in silent grief.

Lucien turned in his bed, shifting from side to side, trying to fall asleep. When he checked his bedside clock, it read 2:56 AM.

The pain on his head where he had hit the floor ached even more. Opening the bedside drawer where he usually kept his medication, he desperately searched for sleeping pills or pain relievers. He failed to find one, and began to rummage through the line of bottles in the bathroom's medicine cabinet. There were none.

Instead, he found the straight razor his mom had given him as a gift on his 21st birthday.

Lucien was never the manual type of guy. He liked everything automatic. Whether it's the day's sales insight report or getting his beard shaved, he preferred instant results.

Gently, he took out the razor from its box, running his fingers across the wooden blade with his name etched on it. His mom had it customized for him, so he thought to just keep it as a memento. He smiled, remembering how happy his mom was that day. He was supposed to be the debutant and was slated to make his first public appearance in the company. But his mother stalled it. He did not understand the reason at first, but it was around the same time the company began facing some serious financial issues.

Just as Lucien was about to place the razor back inside the box, a strange premonition crossed his mind.

What if this is Mom's message all along? Mom always knew I never liked receiving this type of gifts. Perhaps now is the perfect moment to fulfill its purpose...

He had to admit it to himself. He was afraid they would come after him next. He's nothing more than a coward. A sorry excuse of a man who fell for a life of luxury and the tyranny of convenience. He would rather escape than to see himself rolling in a pile of filth.

And he knows just how to do it.

Lucien's hands were shaking as he unfolded the razor, separating the blade from its handle. Even after two years, there was not a single rust spot, and the edges of the blade were as sharp as ever. Thank god he didn't have to waste any more time sharpening it.

"I guess we're going to see each other sooner than expected, Mom," he whispered, voice cracking like cold ice. "This is what you wanted, right? Of course, we can't possibly let them win. Let their efforts go in vain."

"How unfathomably stupid," said an unfamiliar voice. "And here I thought you'd be more creative."

His head jolted to where the voice had come from. There was nobody else in the room but him. That's it, he's finally losing it.

Like a surgeon about to perform a delicate surgery, he carefully motioned the blade towards his left wrist.

"It's hard to continue with life when you see no point to it. Isn't that right, Mom?" Lucien said to himself as he found himself laughing. "No point prolonging the inevitable."

"I didn't expect to come to your aid so soon," the mysterious voice whispered to his ear once more. "The Gates aren't open for you - at least not yet. Would you rather I give you a fighting chance?"

Just when Lucien was about to press the blade against his skin, his vision turned red as blood. The razor fell from his grasp, dropping to the sink with a loud clank. Panic-stricken, he put his hands on his face and closed his eyes as tightly as he could. He could hear his own raspy breathing in the middle of the deathly silence.

Is he about to die? Is this how it is, a person's final moment? But the blade barely even touched his wrist!

He crouched down next to the sink, put his face between his knees. He stayed in the same position for the next several minutes, just listening to the occasional dripping of water from the sink.

And then, the unfamiliar voice spoke once again.

"Open your eyes."

"Whoever you are, please leave me alone."

"Now isn't the time to be foolish."

"If you're my conscience, guardian angel or whatever, then I fucking free you from your duties. Go whisper your nonsense to someone who actually cares."

"Oh, please, don't insult me. I'm anything but a fucking angel."

Lucien found himself opening his eyes. All of a sudden, he was no longer inside the bathroom. Instead, he was trapped inside an endless, pitch-black darkness. The mirror was gone, the sink was gone, everything was gone.

But this darkness was strange because when he held up his arms, he could clearly see his hands. In fact, he had a perfectly clear view of himself.

"Welcome to whatever you've created."

It's that voice again.

Lucien looked around frantically. "Who's there?" he called out. "Whoever you are, show yourself right this instant!"

There was movement and a strange sound coming directly in front of him. His knees buckled.

"Could it be that you're... Death?"

A loud, guttural laugh sent Lucien's body shaking, and the ground - or whatever it was he was standing upon - shook ominously. When he strained his eyes, he could make out a dark, wispy shape creeping towards him.

"I'm more than just Death." The voice was louder and clearer now.

A pair of golden cat-like eyes glowed in the darkness. It was inching closer and as it did, the air around him felt heavier and more stifling. There was a vague sense of malice hanging about.

He shouldn't have let go of that razor. He'd left himself completely defenseless. This is what he gets for wanting to die.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I love cowards and weaklings. They have a certain... zing to them," said the voice lurking in the darkness. Lucien could swear he heard wicked licking sounds.

"But I want them seasoned. You know what I mean? Let them age a bit more and they're going to be oh-so-fucking-scrumptious."

"S - Show yourself. Show yourself right now!"

Just when he said this, a tall shadowy figure materialized before him. The pair of golden orbs that once appeared to be randomly hovering about, turned out to belong to a wolf - and a monstrous one at that. Lucien let his reflexes take over and took a step back, almost losing his balance.

"I can smell your fear from here, boy. Please, you're making my stomach growl," said the voice that seemed to be coming from the wolf.

Lucien could see the creature slowly wagging its tail from side to side. He expected to see gigantic paws emerge from the shadows at any moment, but he blinked in surprise when instead, a pair of finely polished black dress shoes came into view.

The wolf disappeared along with the thick shadows, leaving a tall man wearing the finest double-chested suit Lucien had ever seen.

The blackness of his suit nearly blended with the darkness, combined with black furs resting around his shoulders. But the paleness of his face, neck, and hands were in perfect contrast to where they stand.

But what's truly appalling was how undeniably attractive this person is. A critic might have found fault with those seemingly jaundiced eyes, but they have an unnatural glow to them. From the looks of it, he's in his late thirties or early forties. But from where Lucien stood, he could see long grayish hair that appears to be perfectly natural, offset by flecks of silver strands that shimmered in the dark. It flowed over his shoulders and down his back. His brows were slightly thick and gray, just like his hair. He has perfectly straight nose and a fine line drew down to reveal a deep Cupid's bow above his lip.

The strange man stood with a meaningful smile on his face, highlighting alabaster teeth and square jaw. But there was something close to sinister in the curves of his thin lips.

"Alright, you can stop gawking now," the man said cheerily, breaking the silence between them. "I know I'm incredibly good-looking." He let out a faked sigh and placed a hand on his temple. "This is the look that gets all the boys and girls swooning and sinning."

Lucien shook himself out of the hypnotic trance. "Quit the lousy theatrics. Who are you and where am I?"

The man looked at him, his expression changing from surprise to one of amusement. "Ah... You impress me. Normally, they'd just run away and scream."

He walked closer towards Lucien, enough for him to realize their stark difference in height. The man was nearly two feet taller than he is! Everything about him was unnatural.

"Alright, then. Let's skip the pleasantries. First of all, my name is Mammon, Lord of Avarice, one of the Seven Princes of Hell," the man said matter-of-factly, followed by a smile and a bow. "Very pleased to meet you."

Lucien wasn't sure he heard it right, but whatever it was, he had to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, right. And I'm Daenerys of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the -"

The man raised an eyebrow. "I'm your father."

Lucien froze. This must have been what Luke Skywalker felt when Darth Vader dropped that bomb on him. But he's having none of it.

"Bullshit," was the only thing he could say.

The man who called himself Mammon, replied with a shrug. "Alright, then. I don't want to waste my time convincing you, anyway. Let's just get that out of the way, shall we? Now, let's get down to business -"

"What makes you think you're my father?" Lucien bellowed. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

There was a triumphant spark in Mammon's golden eyes. He was sure Lucien had taken the bait.

"Your mother is Leticia Montgomery, who committed suicide just yesterday."

"Anyone would know that by now. Mom's no stranger to stalkers and reporters."

"You were born in Newark, in a little cabin by the lake."

"Basic information. You looked up our family."

This time, Mammon smiled from ear to ear. "When you were born, you had no heartbeat. You weren't even breathing. You were dead, yet alive. But when you turned seven, you finally began to breathe and have a pulse. Your mother was elated, she almost thought you're human."

Lucien's hair stood on end. If he had a deep, dark secret, this would be it. It was supposed to be something only he and his mother knew of. Unless...

"You're definitely one of mother's hardcore stalkers."

"Ugh." Mammon heaved a deep sigh as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "You're a tough cookie to crack. You definitely got that from me."

Before Lucien could even open his mouth, Mammon placed a forefinger in the middle of his forehead and pushed him backwards.

Lucien almost yelped in shock but the next thing he knew, he was floating in midair.

"What the fuck! Put me down right now!" Lucien screamed as he thrashed and kicked into nothingness. Just an arm's length away from him, Mammon was laughing in delight, although he was upside-down, standing perfectly straight.

"Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, my boy..." Mammon told him with a seemingly deceptive smile. And then, he disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

What was once a dark room of oblivion, lit up and transformed into a space filled with moving reels and flat-screen televisions that were playing random images. But the images and voices were all too familiar for Lucien.

They were not random at all. Lucien was watching a montage of his mother's life.

It began on the day his mother ran away from home. She just turned 19, fresh out of high school. Life had been difficult for a family of five, but she was a dreamer and she had big dreams. But with an alcoholic father and a mentally unstable mother, things proved to be difficult.

The dark bruises under her left eye and on her lips were her father's farewell gifts. She endured for so many years, and it's time to put a stop to the suffering.

For most of the year, she lived with a friend while working an assortment of odd jobs. But when things fell out with her friend, she had found herself in a homeless shelter, living off freezer meals, granola bars, and applesauce.

And just when she thought the worst had come to pass, the country headed for recession and she ended up losing most of her jobs.

She didn't want to end up selling her body for money. She'd rather die than become a hooker. She was considering going back home but pride took over and she fell into a chronic state of depression.

It had been over a year since she left home but once again, she found herself in a place she didn't want to be. As she crouched in a dark alleyway, soaked to the skin in the pouring rain, she thought about ending it all.

They say that when you're down, there's no other way to go but up. But she could be losing her mind now, because the adage is taking on a different meaning for her. Her life was a living hell, so maybe it's time to go someplace else.

"If you've been looking up and nobody's answering, perhaps it's time to look down," said a deep voice in the dark.

At this point, Lucien knew who that voice belonged to. And when that person emerged from the dark, he realized he had never aged a day.

On that fateful night, the Lord of Avarice appeared before Leticia Montgomery, heeding her silent plea for help. For the archdemon, he only had to take advantage of this fleeting moment of desperation. She was the perfect embodiment of fearlessness and hopelessness.

Mammon could have eaten her soul there and then but as he said, he likes his meals seasoned.

"Let's strike a deal, my damsel in distress," he said to her softly as he reached out a hand to her.

She looked up at him, her face flushed. She took his hand, held it firmly. He was right, she was not afraid. She knew perfectly well who he is - an old friend who, all this time, had been by her side.

"I can give you whatever you want, in return for a simple favor."

"And what would that be?" Leticia asked, biting her lower lip.

"You might think this too cliche, my dear. But there's nothing else more valuable to me than what you're just about to forfeit."

Leticia placed her hands on her chest. "You mean my..."

Mammon smiled softly and nodded. "'One person's trash is another demon's treasure', or so they say."

"So... whatever I want, in exchange for my soul. Is that what you're saying?"

He formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger. "And oh, there's one more thing."

"Of course there is..." Leticia muttered under her breath.

"You must bear my child."

She pulled a face and blinked. "Well, that's unexpected."

She ruminated for a moment, but the Lord of Avarice had all the time in the world to wait for her answer. And surprisingly, it wasn't a long wait at all.

If she becomes rich, rearing a child would not be a burden. And anyway, she likes the idea of having a child of her own. She doesn't want to be alone in all this. But she had one problem.

A deep gloom fell over her face, but she didn't even have to say it. Mammon knew what she was thinking, so he immediately put her mind to rest.

"I only have this to say: That only happens in movies."

He took her hands and pressed them gently, trying to reassure her. "You will have the most beautiful child you've ever laid eyes on. Rest assured, it's not going to be some horned, red-skinned monstrosity with sharp teeth and claws. That is just too stereotypical."

Leticia let out a soft chuckle and for a moment, she was surprised with herself. No person in their right mind would find anything normal about this conversation they're having.

But this was no prank. This is actually happening. It's her new reality.

She looked at him straight in the eyes and nodded. "Alright. I will. I'll do it."

"That's my girl..." Mammon smiled with malicious glee, his golden eyes giving off an even brighter glow. And then, he stooped to kiss her hand.

On the spot where he had planted the kiss, a strange sigil appeared, glowing and searing Leticia's skin.

She pulled her hand away from his grasp, shaking it as she shrieked in pain.

"It's the proof of our contract. Don't worry, the pain will disappear any moment," he reassured her.

"When will I get it?" asked Leticia, tensing up under the impact of the sharp pain. "Y - You better keep your end of the bargain!"

"You need not remind me," said the Lord of Avarice. "Get today's daily newspaper and turn to the classifieds. The ad on the second box will be in need of what you will have. Tomorrow, head to the building next to the hotel you used to work in. There, you will meet a man who will grant you a deal. Accept it."

Leticia made a quick mental note of everything he just said. "But why go through all the trouble? Why can't you just give what I want now?"

The archdemon guffawed. "You expect me to make it rain money right here, in a place littered with thieves and thugs? Oh, please. I want to see you keep your end of our bargain, too."

By now, the rain had stopped completely.

"Remember, I will keep a close eye on you, Leticia. I am everywhere."

It sounded more of a warning than a reminder.

Like smoke, Mammon disappeared right before her eyes. Leticia looked around frantically, gathered her things, and ran out into the street and down the subway.

She nearly forgot about the pain. In fact, it's completely gone - even the weird-looking sigil on her hand. But she knew it was there, and it's never going to truly disappear. She had been marked, and there's no turning back.

That was the deal that sealed Leticia Montgomery's fate. Material wealth in return for a favor that, at the time, seemed so easy to bargain with. She thought it wasn't too much of a price to pay if she takes into account what she would get in return. So she agreed almost without hesitation.

But in the eyes of a demon, she was a mere child. Easy to take advantage of. Easy to manipulate.

Regret always comes last.