A few days passed.
Hell remained exactly the same.
The screams continued beyond the throne room. Damned souls suffered inside their punishment cycles. Demons carried out orders. Shadow clones moved through countless sectors, handling responsibilities that would have crushed entire civilizations under their weight. The old dark and grey Hell had become something harsher now, filled with fire, order, and torture sharpened into something more ruthless.
John remained busy.
Maze remained distracted.
She hated that.
For millions of years, her existence had been simple. She wanted something, she took it. She hated someone, she hurt them. She got bored, she found entertainment.
This felt different.
Whenever Maze allowed herself a moment of quiet, she heard John's voice again.
"You say that you don't have a soul. But you sound hurt every time you talk about it."
The words should not have mattered.
Yet somehow, they followed her through Hell.
One evening, Maze sat alone on a balcony. Rivers of molten fire cast a crimson glow across the darkness below while distant screams drifted upward from punishment chambers buried beneath black stone. Normally, she found the noise comforting. Tonight, it only made her restless.
A bottle sat beside her chair, mostly untouched. Her fingers tapped against the armrest while her thoughts circled the same problem for what felt like the hundredth time.
A soul.
The very idea felt strange.
Humans seemed obsessed with the concept. Every emotion, mistake, impossible dream, and broken promise somehow became the soul's responsibility. Love, pain, hope, guilt, regret, purpose, all of it traced back to that invisible piece of themselves they spent their lives trying to understand.
Demons were different.
At least that was what Maze had always been taught.
Demons tempted, punished, served, and obeyed. They existed for a purpose set by God and fulfilled it. There was no soul, no deeper meaning, or any hidden mystery beneath the surface. The simplicity of it should have been reassuring.
Instead, she found herself wondering why the subject bothered her at all.
Maze frowned.
Questions like that usually led somewhere unpleasant, and she hated unpleasant things that could not be stabbed.
Her gaze drifted toward the distant throne sector.
John was probably still working. The idiot barely slept anymore. Entire sections of Hell had started adapting to his habits. Demons processed paperwork faster because they knew he would eventually notice delays. Departments that had remained dysfunctional for millennia somehow became efficient because nobody wanted him showing up personally to investigate problems.
Hell had become organized.
Even now, that thought felt ridiculous.
Maze grabbed the bottle and took a sip.
'What would it feel like?' The thought slipped into her mind before she could stop it. 'To have a real soul. Would I feel different? Would colors look brighter? Would food taste better? Would I finally understand why humans kept throwing their lives away for love, family, friendship, and all those other irrational things?'
Maze leaned her head back against the wall.
The questions kept coming.
Would she stop feeling empty after meaningless sex and temporary fun?
Would she stop chasing distractions every time she had a moment alone with her own thoughts?
A quiet laugh escaped her as she stood and walked back into her tower.
She sounded pathetic.
If any demon heard her thinking like this, she would probably kill them immediately.
Her thoughts drifted toward the distant throne room as Lucifer's words surfaced from memory.
"I sensed a faint trace of my father's divinity inside him."
Maze narrowed her eyes.
'The Presence.'
The being responsible for literally everything.
Lucifer rarely spoke about his father seriously. At first, Maze thought he was only curious about John. Now, she was not so sure. John had enough divine power to frighten gods. Lucifer could not see his future. Somehow, the Presence had touched his soul.
What if that actually meant something?
What if her meeting John and spending six thousand years in Hell had been part of God's grand plan?
The thought lingered.
John had spoken about souls so casually that it should have been easy to dismiss. Yet the way he said those words made it sound like he knew something.
'Maybe he knows how to...'
Maze immediately hated how hopeful that sounded.
Hope was dangerous. Hell was filled with souls who had destroyed themselves chasing dreams that were never real, and she had spent thousands of years watching them repeat the same mistakes again and again.
Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not bury the possibility.
Without realizing it, her feet carried her through Hell while her thoughts remained elsewhere. Ancient judgment halls passed by on either side of her path. Vast punishment sectors stretched beyond massive iron gates. Infernal archives containing knowledge gathered across countless ages disappeared behind her one corridor at a time.
Only when familiar doors came into view did she realize where she had been heading.
The throne room.
Maze stopped outside and stared at the doors.
For nearly three minutes, she argued with herself.
Then she cursed under her breath, pushed them open, and stepped inside.
John sat upon the throne surrounded by floating documents, magical diagrams, and illusory screens displaying information gathered by his countless clones throughout Hell. Reports moved continuously through the air around him. Despite the chaos surrounding him, he appeared relaxed, his attention divided across dozens of problems without any visible effort.
To Maze's annoyance, he spoke before she had even taken three steps into the room.
“You've been standing there for three minutes.”
She rolled her eyes immediately.
“You're welcome.”
Only then did John glance in her direction.
The moment their eyes met, Maze knew he had already figured out she wanted something. That irritated her more than usual. Crossing her arms, she leaned against one of the nearby pillars and stared at him.
“I have a question.”
John leaned back slightly in the throne.
“That’s new.”
“Shut up.”
A faint smile touched his face.
Maze hated how satisfying it felt to see that expression.
For a brief moment, she considered leaving. Fighting angels had always been easier than conversations like this. Slaughtering enemies made sense. Talking about feelings never had.
Unfortunately, she had already come this far.
“When you look at me,” she began, then hesitated slightly, “what exactly do you see?”
John raised an eyebrow.
The question sounded ridiculous the moment it left her mouth.
Maze had walked through battlefields and stared down horrors that would drive mortals insane. Yet somehow, asking that single question felt more uncomfortable than any fight.
“When you look at me,” she repeated, forcing herself to continue, “what do you actually see? I want to know the truth.”
John studied her for several seconds. It was not long enough to be awkward for most people, but it was absolutely long enough to make Maze regret opening her mouth.
Finally, he answered.
“A girl.”
Maze blinked.
“…What?”
“A beautiful girl,” John repeated.
She stared at him. “That’s it? You didn't even fuck me, and now you're saying I'm beautiful. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
John shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say?”
Maze threw both hands into the air. “I don't know. A demon, maybe?”
“You are a demon.”
“Then why didn't you say that?”
John rested his chin against one hand while continuing to watch her.
“Okay. You're a really beautiful demon, and I didn't fuck you because I don't want meaningless sex just for fun. I ain't that desperate... yet.”
The irritation on Maze’s face faded slightly, but she remained silent.
John studied her with the same calm, patient expression that somehow made her feel more exposed than any interrogation ever had.
After a few moments, he let out a quiet sigh.
“Haaa... Fine. You want to know whether I think you’re broken.”
Maze’s jaw tightened.
John noticed immediately.
Of course he noticed.
“You want to know whether I think you’re missing something important,” he continued. “And underneath all of that, you want to know whether having a soul would somehow make you complete.”
Maze looked away.
She did not answer because she did not need to.
The silence spoke for her.
For several seconds, neither of them said anything. The floating documents continued drifting through the air while magical displays shifted around the throne, yet the room felt strangely still.
Eventually, John leaned forward slightly.
“Well, to answer that question, let me ask you something.”
His voice was quiet, but it immediately pulled her attention back toward him.
“Tell me. What do you think when you look at me?”
Maze took a deep breath and met his gaze with a mix of frustration and something raw that she could not quite hide away from him anymore. She thought about the question for another moment before the words spilled out in her usual blunt way. "When I look at you, I see a lunatic workaholic human with divine power that I want to fuck."
John chuckled for a moment before he appeared before Maze and touched her chin, pulling her face up just enough to look into her eyes. "You naughty girl... You always think about sex, don't you?"
"Do something about it," She whispered.
"Hmm..." John smiled as he leaned even closer, almost touching her lips. "Put on some nice clothes... something simple that isn't lingerie or BDSM dress. Then, I'll take you out on a date."
"What are-" Before Maze could speak.
John kissed Maze softly. She was surprised, but her body responded, and she started to kiss him back. She almost pushed her tongue into his mouth and was ready to jump on him, but he pulled away too quickly. The kiss lasted just a few seconds.
"Let's start with something small, and eventually, you'll get all your answers and wishes," John whispered against her lips. "By the way, your lips are tasty."
He pulled back and flicked his fingers, teleporting Maze to her room.
--
Next: Seducing a demon