DANCING WITH THE DEVIL 2: DANIEL by Creative Boy In Spring

Feature Writer: creativeboyinspring

Feature Title: DANCING WITH THE DEVIL 2: DANIEL

Published: 02.05.2024

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: A neckbeard tries to summon the Devil to make a deal.

Author’s Notes: The following dark story has themes of misogyny, non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read it. This is an erotic fiction story. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

Dancing with the Devil 2: Daniel

“Fucking country-ass country,” I mutter under my breath as I walk along this country backroad. It is literally the back country and it sucks. For the poor people that live here I’m sure it’s great, but for me who is from the city and has money, it sucks. Sucks ass.

“Just a little bit more Dan, just a little bit more,” I tell myself, wiping sweat from my forehead and feeling my overweight body jiggle with each step I take. But then I look at the unpaved road I’m currently walking alongside and sigh. It may not be much further, but my feet are going to feel it tomorrow from this bumpy-ass road.

I happen to be in the ass crack of Hazlehurst, Mississippi in the dead of night. Well, not really the dead of night as it’s only 11:34 pm, but still, it’s late. Normally I would be playing online, but not tonight. Tonight is a special, special night. It’s why I’m in God’s Armpit.

Things wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t so overweight. Having all this extra weight to carry makes things harder, especially when it is humid and hot. Not to mention sticky as my t-shirt is sticking to me now. Doesn’t help that I have a pretty thick beard. Or that all my excess weight seems to be in my stomach.

I find my motivation to keep going, which has been my motivation these past couple of months. This motivation is pretty simple, which is proving everyone wrong and getting what I want. That in the end, I’ll be the one standing and everyone that claimed to be my friend can suck it.

What I am doing is going to be considered crazy by 99% of the world, not that I care. That 99% will call me crazy because they don’t believe. They are stuck in their stupid little bubbles, unable to see the big picture like I can.

So what am I doing here in this country-ass part of Mississippi populated by only black people when I’m from white Memphis? I’m traveling to the crossroads. A very special crossroads.

There have been nine recorded accounts of people selling their souls to the Devil. I’m sure this number is much higher, but provable accounts, there’s only nine written records. Nine people to say how they did it and why. Nine people to explain all that happened.

Only one of those nine lived in the United States. And that was Mr. Robert Johnson. Rob was supposedly a really famous blues singer. I really wouldn’t know as I find old timey blues to suck pretty bad. If it isn’t classic rock, then I don’t listen to it. What can I say? I’m an old soul.

Not only did Rob claim he sold his soul to the Devil, but he recorded a bunch of songs about it, which proves it’s true. He was never shy about the topic either, much to my delight. All that he wrote, said and sang was pretty much instructions on how to do as he did.

The Group said all this was bullshit. I would say “my friends” instead of “The Group” but they aren’t my friends. At least not any longer. They said the guy was just mentally ill and that’s why he wrote those songs. Said selling your soul to the Devil was utter BS.

Well fuck them.

I’m currently walking to the crossroads that Robert Johnson used to summon the Devil. The very same. To be able to make sure this works, I have to do the exact same as someone that’s done it. That’s why I’m out here in the middle of the night, walking along a country dirt road.

Robert Johnson was poor as shit, so where he made his pact was in the poor part of this area. I wish he had done it in a better, safer area, but I’m guessing the guy wasn’t all that smart. Then again, if he had some brains he wouldn’t have had to sell his soul.

As I walk, I turn on my flashlight every so often to see the road. On purpose I’m not leaving the flashlight on, just in case there is someone out here that sees it. People that live here would love to rob a fat white guy like me. After all, this area is mostly black and poor, and you know how that is. A big, fat white guy like me would be an easy target as they would assume correctly I have money on me.

I know some people that would call me racist for thinking like that, but I don’t care. It’s true after all. And anyway, I have a black friend. That proves I’m not racist. And one day I plan on fucking a black bitch, so again, that doesn’t make me racist.

Anyway, once I make the deal, everything is going to change. Everything. I’ve planned it all out too. Right down to the smallest detail. Once I get what I want, then my life can truly start. The life I’ve always should have had.

I’m going to get my money’s worth on this deal. Going to get everything I want. And yes, in the end I’ll double cross the Devil. I know exactly how to get out of any deal made with him. Like I said, I’ve done my research.

What is my wish? I guess that is the only thing that really matters. The most important thing anyway.

I want every woman that has ever turned me down, called me “Neck Beard,” said I was gross, called me pig or hated me…to fall madly in love with me. That their life is dedicated to thinking about me and my cock every night and day. And for all the guys that have ever fucked with me, held me down, bullied me or told me to fuck off to realize what an Alpha I am. That they are the losers and not me. That they could never, ever compare to me.

That’s the wish. It’s not complex or complicated. And it’s perfect.

I’ll get all the money and pussy I could ever want. But that’s not really the point. The true point is the power I’ll have from all those women wanting me, but I’ll tell them to fuck off. I’ll make them long for my dick the way they made me want them. To make them dream about me from far away because they won’t get to have anything to do with me. To make you feel like you are the loser.

“Oh shit, that must be it,” I say aloud in reaction of seeing an intersection up ahead. The realization that I’m so close to it makes me stop and stare.

This poor-ass dirt road I’m walking on forks up ahead. From where I am, the road splits into two separate directions. One path goes off sort of to the right at an angle, the other to the left. Altogether the roads make an “Y” shape.

Sort of makes sense now that I think about it. Traveling down this single path is like traveling the path of life. Then you come to a choice where you have one good path, one bad. Very symbolic.

I thought there would be four streets like in the movies and TV shows, but hey, three still counts as a crossroads. I also thought there would be something like a street sign or something. Maybe a plaque stating that dumb ass Rob Johnson soul his soul here.

I take a moment to stare at the crossroads, thinking how the Devil himself was once here. The man with all the power walked these grounds. Makes me wonder if the power I feel coming from the crossroads is from him, or if I’m imagining it.

After a minute of looking at the crossroads, I walk up to it. It’s the same as the road I’ve been walking alongside, made of dirt and rocks. Made of poor people’s hopes and dreams as they move from it to the paved roads of the city.

Looking at my cell, I see I have about ten minutes to midnight. That’s when the deal needs to be made. Or rather, that’s when Rob made his deal. Different people said they made their deals at different times, but I’m doing exactly as what Rob did.

After checking my surroundings, I pull out the canvas bag that I tied to my belt. Of all the things I have, this bag is the most important. It would be the one thing that I would be scared of losing if I were robbed. Especially as nothing in the bag is worth anything to anyone other than me.

Inside this bag is everything needed to summon the Devil. It’s a strange assortment of items, but it’s what is required. It’s all that Rob used.

What’s in the bag? Well, one item is supposed to be something that belonged to you as a child. This is supposed to represent innocence. I picked an old stuffed bunny that I liked when I was a baby.

Then there is all the typical spell stuff like graveyard dirt, a cat’s claw, a rat’s skull, and menstrual blood. Other than that, there are only a few personal items. Such as an item from when you did something dark/evil, to which I put a hat. But over all of it, I had to cut my hand and bleed so it was marked as mine. That my blood bound all the items together.

The most important item to summon the Devil isn’t even tangible. It’s the desire to go through with this. The will to do it. To see it through. The need to call the Devil. Some say that if that’s the only thing you have, you can still summon him without everything else.

I tighten the string on the bag and look around again. After wiping sweat from my forehead, I walk to the middle of the crossroads. That’s where you have to plant the bag, in the middle. You are supposed to dig a hole by hand, put the bag in, then cover the hole. The reason it has to be in the middle is because in life, you have no clue which road you are about to travel.

“Oh…shit,” I say aloud as take a step back after seeing the middle of the crossroad. Just to make sure, I bring out my flashlight and shine it at the spot to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. Oh, shit. I am.

The dirt road is, well, made of dirt. Brown dirt and mud with a hell of a lot of rocks. In spots there’s weeds or grass sticking out, showing it doesn’t get used all that much. It’s a typical dirt road, the type you’ve seen a million times.

But in the middle of the crossroads is, I guess…a burn mark. It’s a blackened circle at least two feet wide. And it’s really blackened. Like not from fire, but like the ground was trampled, then acid poured, then set on fire. It’s a black I’ve never seen in nature before. An unnatural black. A black that makes me think of the grossest fungus that grows in the frig when you forget about leftovers for a few years.

“If I needed proof this is the place, that has to be it,” I tell myself aloud. I often talk to myself to help calm me down. It sort of makes it seem like there are more people with me. I know it’s somewhat of a bad trait. Makes me seem sort of crazy.

I keep on staring at that blackened circle, not believing there to be something so…real. I thought for sure I was going to have to take everything on faith. That there wouldn’t be a single shred of proof that the Devil was called here.

Smiling now as I know I’m for sure in the right place, I walk towards that circle. I’m not overly happy that I’ll need to dig in that blackness. And the ritual was truly clear, you have to use your hands. Something about using the tool that God gave you to defile his greatest gift.

Grossed out somewhat, I kneel down in front of the blackened circle. Thankfully it doesn’t smell bad, but there is a weird feeling that comes from it. It’s a bad feeling too. For some reason whenever I look at it, I remember the time I crapped my pants in high school and got made fun of forever for it. I don’t know if it is the weird smell coming from it, or if it is something else, but that thought keeps popping in my head over and over.

Holding my breath, I put my hands on the blackened dirt and start digging. When I do, I shudder as even the texture of the dirt feels wrong. Dirt is supposed to have a harsh texture, making you feel dirty. This stuff makes it feel like you are digging in living mold. Like it’s a living thing sucking at your skin.

“Fucking gross,” I yell as I dig the hole with my bare hands. That funky dirt isn’t just the top level either. It goes all the way down. I bet it goes right to the middle of the fucking earth. All of it is that nasty, funky weird dirt.

I finally make a hole big enough for my bag. I quickly dump my bag in the exposed hole and then cover it back up with that moldy dirt. Again, I have to use my hands for all this as that’s what the ritual claims. It states you have to cover the hole till nothing of the bag can be seen and the road looks as normal as normal can be.

Once the bag is covered, I struggle to get my fat ass to stand up. Once standing, I wipe my hands furiously on my shorts, desperate to get that funky dirt off me. Normally I wouldn’t care, but that dirt, I dunno. It’s like feeling maggots crawling on you.

More excited than ever, I pull out my cell to check the time. As I do, my hand trembles with anticipation.

“Midnight,” I say the time outline. I then start to look around, excited for what’s about to happen. Robert didn’t write about how the Devil arrived, just that he did. Others wrote how there was clasp of thunder or a sudden storm. Others wrote they were visited by a pack of wild, skinny dogs. Another wrote she was surrounded by black figures that blocked her way and wouldn’t let her leave. So there’s really no telling how he’s going to appear.

“Well hello there, young man,” a man’s deep voice greets in a happy tone.

Gasping in surprise, I look towards the voice. When I do, I am a bit taken back by what I see as my surroundings seemed to have changed.

When I was walking here, the night sky was pretty dark. The moon and stars provided some light, but it was barely enough to see. That’s why I have my flashlight. Now it’s like the world is bathed in bright blue light provided by the moon. There’s enough light to be able to see almost clearly. Sure it’s still night, but it’s brighter than bars I’ve been to. It bathes the entire area with a strange unnatural glow.

Looking down the road I can, I first hear the footsteps first. Each footstep crunches on the ground where I swear I can hear hissing as if something is burning. They are soft and steady but in the dead of night here, they sound booming.

Walking towards me alongside the same road I had, is a grown man in a suit. A very fancy looking suit at that. One that looks like it must cost more than most people make in a year. It’s a bluish black suit, with a dark shirt and red tie. A suit that looks tailored to this guy’s frame.

“W-Who are you?” I ask without meaning to as the guy gets closer and closer. The closer he gets the more of him I see, and the more confused I get.

I can see this guy looks like a thirty something stock trader. He has groomed short black hair that sticks up in a very sexy way, as well as light stubble on his face. The look of it makes me think he must go to some fancy barber just for men every couple of days.

His dark eyes look at me but what really stands out is his smile. That happy smile is honest in how excited he is. Like this is the best night of his life.

My heart sinks a little because I don’t think this is the Devil. Or is it? If it is, it’s not what Rob described. It’s not what any of them described. I mean, this guy looks like he got lost on the way to a fancy restaurant. That the limo is late in picking him up or maybe broke down.

There’s nothing evil about this guy at all. Nor is there anything powerful. No evil smirk, no smoke, no nothing. He’s just a guy. A good looking guy, but a guy. Nothing about him is Devil-like at all.

Surely this can’t be the Devil. The Devil is massive and powerful. Huge and terrifying. The father of Demons that could kill you with ease. A massive scaly beast that rules hell. The one angel that told God to fuck off. This…this can’t be him. This guy looks more like he would rule a tanning bed.

“Daniel, come now, let us not play such games,” the fancy man says, still smiling as he approaches.

Whoever he is stops once he reaches the outskirts of the crossroads. His polished black shoes look like they are a fraction of a centimeter from touching the road, but don’t. There he stops and looks at me as I stand right in the middle of the dirt crossroads..

“N-No. No way. You…” I start to protest, not believing someone that looks like him could be the Devil.

“My form not what you were expecting?” the man asks pleasantly, holding his arms out as if to inspect himself. He gives a rather pleasant nod to himself, as if liking the way he looks.

“In this matter, I am not to blame. Well, I am rarely to blame in any matter, but that is not the point,” the fancy man starts to explain, dusting dirt off on of his sleeves.

“This form is what your mind created. I appear how you want to see me,” the man explains, that happy smile showing his bright white teeth. There’s no anger or frustration at this, just a pleasant friendly explanation.

“Nah. No way, man. You telling me that I wanted to see the…the…to see the…” I start to argue but then something occurs to me. When I see it, it makes my eyes widen and my mouth drop. It hits me right in the gut as if someone punched me.

He’s me. Well, not the me of now, but the me I want to be. I recognize it now. That’s my face, toned and groomed. That’s my body, fit and muscular, draped in the sort of clothes I would love to wear. He’s showing me exactly how I could look. I’m looking at the perfect version of myself.

“Wow,” I gasp, amazed by how good looking I could be. I look even better than I thought. I’m damn sexy. Bitches would beg to just be around me. Men would hate me.

“Well now Daniel, as much as I do like these man-of-the-earth surroundings, I am rather busy,” the Devil says as he looks around. Again there’s no anger or disgust, just gentle bemusement.

“I…are you…are you really him?” I ask, taken back now that the summoning worked. I knew the summoning would work, but still, the fact it did is shocking. I can’t believe I’m actually looking at the Devil. That the Devil himself is standing in front of me, and is on this Earth. That I was the one that brought him here.

“From your visage, am I correct in believing you wish to make a deal?” the fancy man asks, motioning towards me while ignoring my question. Only the way he does this, he isn’t mocking or anything. He does it much as a businessman would do to someone he wants to do business with. To just get down to business.

“Oh…y-y-yes,” I answer, trying to come back to my senses. I fight to push all my amazement and more out of my head as I know what I need to do. This is business. That’s all. I’m the one in charge. I have what he wants.

“I have summoned you,” I announce loudly, puffing my chest out. I stand as tall as I can, so he can see just how smart and powerful I am. That it was I that brought him here, and I who can send him away.

“Splendid!” the Devil says as if this makes him happy. He even claps his hands once as if excited.

“Tell me Daniel, what deal have you come to offer to me?” the Devil asks, his eyes bright. He seems genuinely excited to hear what I’ve come to say.

Immediately I get confused. The way he asks this isn’t that he’ll do anything for my soul. He makes it sound like I’ve come here to offer a deal of my own for him to take or reject. That instead of him offering me more and more for my soul, I’m to bargain for whatever I can get.

“I…what? Aren’t you supposed to offer me a deal?!” I ask, very confused. My mind goes back to Robert Johnson and how he said the Devil asked what he wanted. That once he said he wanted to be the best blues man that ever lived, the Devil said it would cost his soul.

“Oh, am I? Aright. I like a change of pace,” the Devil muses and laughs. Only when he laughs, it isn’t the cruel laughter of the ones that have made fun of me. The ones that laughed in my face. His laughter isn’t anything like that.

For some reason, hearing his laugh takes me back to the memory of going to a bar two weeks ago. I had gone there with a girl from college that I had to do a project with in Bio Chem class. I begged and begged her to go, telling her how it wasn’t a date, but two friends going and listening to bands. She kept saying no, even when I said I would pay for all her drinks. I managed to get her to go when I said that I would go on Twitter/X and say how mean she is if she didn’t.

We met at that bar where I was scared she wouldn’t come alone, but thankfully she did. There we mostly sat and listened to band after band, which some were halfway decent. She only had the one drink which I wasn’t happy about as I wanted her to get plastered, but I did pay like I said I would. Unlike her, I had a lot of IPAs, which I told her about. I had to explain to her why she really should be drinking an IPA and whatever she was drinking.

I then tense up when I remember the end of that date. Where I walked her out to her car when she said she needed to go as she had to work in the morning. When we reached her car, I informed her of what I thought she knew; that she owed me. I paid for her drink and gave her a great night, so I should get something in return. The least she could do is give me head. To get on her knees and blow me like I knew she could, at the very least. I even offered that it could be done in her car so no one would see.

The laugh she laughed after telling her this still hasn’t fully gone out of my head. It was so mean, so cruel…so real. Like the thought of doing anything sexual with me was so outrageous that she couldn’t even picture it. She kept that laughing fit as drove off too. Even the next time she saw me in class she started laughing.

“Sad, the way she treated you, was it not?” the Devil asks in a much more subdued tone, looking at me with a concerned look.

“I…I’m sorry?” I ask, confused again as I snap out of that horrid memory.

“Daniel, please. Let us not play games, I am far too busy. You know, just as I understand that you do, I can read you. All of you. Mind, body and soul. You may hide parts of yourself, but never from me,” the Devil explains in a somewhat exhausted manner.

This is the first time that I really feel how powerful he is. That there really is magic within him. That he isn’t some stupid preppy, but the Devil. The actual Devil.

I gulp at the knowledge that it’s true that he can read minds. More than read minds, he can read your soul. Knowing what darkness is in there, along with what goodness. There’s nothing kept from him. That’s why he is so dangerous as he has all the tools he needs to manipulate anyone. That is why they say the number one rule in making a deal with the Devil is…don’t.

For the briefest of moments I get scared that I’m in over my head. That I’ve made a terrible mistake by summoning him. That he’s the master of lies and manipulation and I’m just a boy.

This feeling is pushed to the side when I tell myself that I’m in charge here. I was the one that summoned him here. If I wanted, I could send him away and he wouldn’t be able to stop me. He’s not the alpha, I am.

“O-Ok. Then you know what I want,” I say, finding that I’m no longer puffing out my chest. Nor am I standing as tall as I could. In fact, I feel pretty small at the moment, even with my gut sticking out. The best I can do is cling to just the knowledge I can send him away for comfort.

“I do indeed, dear Daniel,” the Devil says silky, looking like he is enjoying himself.

“But, there is one rule when dealing with the Devil of which you are not aware. Not that it is your fault. Very few know of this rule for it is a quiet rule. A silent rule, you might say,” the Devil says, now walking along the outside of the crossroad in an exceptionally smooth and cool manner.

I get the feeling he doesn’t want to walk onto the actual road. Either that, or he can’t. But why? In my researching of the summoning, I don’t remember anything saying that he couldn’t walk onto the crossroads.

“You need to say out loud what you want,” the Devil states, pausing to look me in the eye.

“What? Why? If you already know, why do I need to do that?” I ask, finding this is a very stupid rule. If it is already known by all parties, what good is saying it aloud? Doesn’t make any sense.

To this the Devil smiles that happy smile, showing he agrees with me. In that smile I can see his understanding, letting me know he is on my side. That he’s here to help me get what I’m after. That even he thinks it is a stupid rule.

“Oh, I know how silly it seems,” the Devil says, resuming his walk around the outside of the crossroads.

“Why it must be done? Who knows. Maybe so that God the Fail-Father can hear it. Maybe because they want you to think there is power in a voice. Or maybe it is much simpler, such as you have to say it aloud so you can hear it said. To truly understand what you are asking for,” the Devil explains causally as he paces slowly.

“Whatever,” I say, still finding the entire thing stupid. It’s like when they make you say an oath aloud at a judge’s office. It’s all just BS.

I open my mouth to say what I want but then pause. I pause because I find I don’t want to say it aloud. I’ve thought about it a thousand times, maybe even a million, but never said it aloud. I don’t fully understand why I don’t want to say it, but I don’t.

No matter. This is too important to act like a scared little girl. Who cares if it makes me feel uncomfortable…or scared.

“I w-w-want every girl that’s ever turned me d-down, laughed at me, said…or thought…I was gross, to want me sexually. For them to want nothing more in life…than my cock,” I begin, feeling my anger begin to rise. Now that I’ve started saying it, it’s much easier.

“And I want every guy that has ever thought he was better than me, bullied me, or made me look stupid to bow down and be scared of me, knowing I am the true alpha,” I speak aloud, my voice getting stronger and more passionate the more I speak.

Only as I say what I want, it doesn’t sound as good as I thought. In fact, I hear how stupid it could be taken. But I try my best to push it aside as this is what I want. What I want more than anything.

“Ahh, I call that the Incel’s Delight,” the Devil says happily after listening to what I’ve said.

“I am not an Incel!” I yell loudly, my anger flared instantly. My body tenses up and I feel my eyes start to bug out. The rage I keep inside me is barely contained as the ball that holds it cracks at hearing that stupid, pathetic word. The word that people label you without even knowing you. Where they make that you are the bad guy.

“My apologizes dear Daniel,” the Devil apologizes with a small bow.

At this, my heart pounds. It was already going fast due to my fear of the situation, but hearing that term always sparks my fury. It makes me want to just claw someone eyes out.

“I am not an Incel!” I yell at him, pissed off. I’m so tired of being called that. Every asshole loves to call you that, no matter where it is just because you are right and they aren’t. Damn near every post or comment I would make online would get that as a response, just because it was my opinion. For the Incel to get help. That I was the one that needed help and not them, just because they know I was right.

“Such an ugly term, is it not?” the Devil says, agreeing with me. He now wears a look of understanding and nods his head as his dark eyes stare at me.

Still seething, my chest huffs and puffs as I feel unable to control my temper. Hearing that word of late has really triggered me. Like I can’t control myself at hearing it.

It’s the thought that people actually think that I could be an Incel. That I’m scared of women. Sure, I don’t get any sex, but that’s not my fault. It’s all these stuck-up bitches. It’s like they all got together and made a pact to torment and fuck with my life by not treating a man as he should be treated. They need to learn how the world works.

“I see how it affects you. How it cuts into you,” the Devil says in an understanding tone. He’s stopped walking and just stares at me now.

“But…dear Daniel, if we are to do business, you cannot lie to me,” the Devil tells me quite serious. The look he gives sort of cuts through my anger. It makes me concerned that he may not complete the deal. It fills me with a weird, scared feeling I may not get what I want.

“That nice little prepared speech is not what you truly want,” the Devil says, his dark eyes focused on me like a cat’s on prey. The look he has is one that suggests I’ve been lying to him.

“I…I don’t…I don’t understand,” I tell him, my anger all but gone. Yet as I say this, I know it’s a lie.

I never really noticed, but he’s right, of course. That’s not what I really want. In part, I do want it, but it’s not what my heart craves. Not what I think about every night before I drift off to sleep. What I fantasize in my free time until it makes my dick hard. And with that, I lower my head.

“You want something more, do you not? Something far more powerful?” the Devil asks, very intensely, as if he knows I’m hiding more and wants to hear it.

“Yes,” I hiss, knowing it’s true. This comes out amazingly easy as if it’s been waiting to leap forward. Only what I really want is…I don’t know if I can say it aloud. It feels like if I admit it, it’ll make me the villain. That I’ll be forever cast as the bad guy. That it is crossing a line, not just with me, but the universe.

“Say it,” the Devil orders, his voice deep and commanding. His tone is so powerful and deep that shovers move all over me. It makes me feel that he truly is the Devil. The only one that can make my fantasies come true.

“I want them to hurt. All of them. Everyone,” I say in a whisper, going into something of a daze.

With that, I’m transported back to the memories from a year ago. I’m with my friend Amy, back then she was my friend. We grew up together as she lived next door. From kindergarten to high school, we were friends and used to hang out all the time. Nearly every day for years we would hang out.

But then she changed once she graduated high school. Amy told me she didn’t want to be friends with me any longer because of how I acted. That I was the one who changed instead of her. That I made her and her friends uncomfortable. Just because I suggested a few times we become Friends With Benefits if not just boyfriend and girlfriend. I know she said she saw me as a brother, but that’s bullshit.

I got mad and told her how she’s changed into a stuck-up bitch. That just because she has tits and a cunt, that didn’t give her any sort of power. That she needed to know her place as I’ve done so much for her over the years. That if it wasn’t for me, she probably be some crack whore begging to do handjobs for a dollar.

The stupid bitch went off on me at that. Saying how for the past few years she had to make excuses to others why we were friends. That every single one of her friends thought I was a creep. A sexist, loser, ugly creep. She accused me of only talking about sex and being misogynistic with my idiotic opinions that made no sense. That once upon a time she loved me because I was sweet and kind, but now I was nothing but an Incel that scared her.

After that she never talked to me again. Blocked me in every social media possible. Never responded to any of my texts, not even the ones telling her that I forgave her. Made it seem like I was the asshole. Even her parents turn away and pretend they don’t see me when we are both outside.

Amy was my friend. My best friend. Then the bitch betrayed me. I thought she would be different. That of all the people on the planet, she could see the real me. We were supposed to get married after all, didn’t she see it? She belonged to me.

What hurt the most was her saying she was scared of me. That is something I’ve heard before, but I thought Amy was different. That she would see my actions as romantic and sweet. Just because I talk a lot about sex doesn’t mean it isn’t romantic.

Well, if she is going to be scared of me, then let me give a reason. Oh, how I thought about teaching her a lesson. Of teaching them all a lesson. To make them see I wasn’t some fat, jobless loser still living with his parents like they say I am. I’m a man. An alpha. Bitches should be giving up that pussy with glee.

“I want them to hurt. Every single last one of them,” I tell the Devil, only this time my voice is much stronger. To this, I look up and make eye contact with him. When I do, I see he’s smiling that happy smile, showing he knows exactly what I want.

“I want all those bitches to be beaten and raped repeatedly. To make them learn that they are cunts, nothing more. They should be trembling in fear at the sight of a real man like me, not blocking me on Instagram. I want to teach them a lesson,” I say, the words tumbling out faster and faster as I say what I really want. What I’ve grown to want.

“There we go, dear Daniel. That is the truth,” the Devil croons, liking my sincere desire. The way he says this is much like a teacher would when a poor students gets the right answer after being called on.

“It is frustrating, is it not? For others to tell you it is your fault you act like this,” the Devil begins as he resumes his pacing. My eyes lock onto him where I can’t seem to look away, as if I’m bound to him now he knows what I really want.

“Why should you change, just because women are disgusted by the sight of you due to poor hygiene and eating habits?” the Devil states passionately, stopping to look at me, wanting confirmation.

“R-Right,” I stammer out, starting to feel justified. For a moment, a tiny little moment, it almost feels like he’s making fun of me. That he’s mocking me. But looking upon him, I know that’s not true. Looking at his visage, I know he is on my side.

“Others need to respect that you are allowed your own opinion. Just because they cringe and disagree with it does not give them the right to write you off as some loser,” he continues, his silky voice becoming more intense.

“How dare they treat you like they have. Where nearly anything you post is reported and removed because they claim it is sexist or racist. Do they not see who they are dealing with? Do they know how insulting it is when they offer therapy to help you?” the Devil continues passionately, sounding almost as upset as I am.

“Yeah!” I agree with a yell, my heart becoming filled with angry joy. Well, not joy, but something like it. This feels much darker than joy, but it feels good. The fact someone agrees with me changes everything. It makes me feel validated.

“Alright, dear Daniel, you caught me on a special night. I am very moved by your plight,” the Devil says theatrically after a long pause, turning to look at me.

“For the gift I am about to bestow, I do not require your soul, only your permission,” he then states, his dark eyes staring into mine.

His eyes seem different now. They look bigger, deeper and blacker, even if they haven’t physically changed. In a way, those eyes look like the way I feel.

“I…I don’t understand,” I confess. The Devil makes deals for your soul. That’s the way it goes. That’s what all the research said. The way he says this last part sounds like he’s wanting to give me something for free. That can’t be right. The Devil never gives but takes.

“As I said, dear Daniel, I am moved by you. I wish to give you what you need. After all, there is a lesson to be taught. An enormously powerful lesson,” the Devil explains with emotion.

“If you tell me you will accept my gift, I give it to you freely, with no compensation required. You need not sell your soul, nor any of your possessions. It will be my gift to you,” the Devil explains further. To this, I can tell he is not pressuring me to accept, but I still feel pressured. It occurs that I’m the one pressuring myself to take it. That if I don’t, I’ll lose my perfect opportunity. This is a once in a life time event.

“Ok, I accept,” I tell him, putting my trust in what he can give me. I know I should pause and think about this. To consider what could go wrong, or to ask what the gift is, but I don’t. He and I have a connection, I can feel it. It’s like only he knows the truth, my truth.

“Granted, dear Daniel,” the Devil says as he snaps his fingers.

Upon doing this, nothing happens. I look down at myself, expecting something to be different but see nothing. I keep searching myself, wondering what he’s done, but don’t see any change at all.

“What did you do? What’s the gift?” I ask eagerly. Never have I have had such anticipation. The way I feel is like combining every kid on Christmas Eve that’s waiting for Santa. And that dark part of me tingles in delight at the thought of those bitches getting raped as I stand here.

The Devil merely smirks. He gives me a strange look now, one that I can’t exactly place. If I didn’t know better I would say he looks at me like a sucker that just bet his house at a rigged casino. That it was too easy for him to get what he wanted.

“Give it time, dear Daniel. I promise you with all my being, you will see the gift I have given you,” the Devil replies in his standard manner, complete with happy smile. To this I want to ask more, to get him to tell me what he’s done, but I don’t think he will. That’s not his style.

“Now, as I had previously mentioned, I am rather busy tonight, so I will take my leave now,” the Devil tells me in an apologetic manner. After saying this, he gives me a smile, then turns and starts to walk away. He walks back the way he came, not saying anything more to me. There’s no “it was nice to meet you” or anything. He’s just…leaving.

My mouth drops opens to ask all the questions I have. To ask what he gave me. How long it will last. And maybe the most important, why he didn’t want my soul. In all the research I did, I never heard of him not wanting to take a soul. That has to mean something.

Once again, I find I can’t say anything. In a daze I watch him walk away in his smooth, confident manner. I can’t seem to take my eyes off him, knowing that one day that’ll be me. That I will look just like that.

In a rather strange occurrence, once he is some distance away, after each step he takes, the bright blue light overhead seems to fade some. Like the moonlight is on a dimmer or something. It doesn’t take long for him to disappear from my sight due to this. His distance, combined with the dim light makes it seem like he teleported into the darkness. Maybe he did. Or maybe if I tried to run after him, I would find him walking until he reached his next destination.

I’m not sure how long I stand in the middle of the crossroads. It feels like I’ve been here for days, when I know I haven’t. I just stare down the path that I came, knowing not to go that away again.

Filled with a new sort of feeling, I begin to walk. Despite the time and muggy weather, I find that I’m excited. Excited for the first time in a long time. I feel like the world belongs to me now. That finally I’m going to be able to get my revenge. After all, I have the Devil on my side now.

As I walk, I keep trying to figure out what’s changed with me. I examine nearly every inch of myself to find if there’s a change in my appearance. When I find none, I log online to see if there’s any new posts or comments, such as people apologizing to me. Or maybe even some bitch begging for my cock. Again, no change.

“What’s this?” I say aloud as I spot a few buildings up ahead. I would say it is the start of civilization, but it’s not. It’s just four or five large buildings together in a crump. Two of the buildings look like factories, but they are so old and broken down, I’m not sure if they are abandoned or not.

There’s only one building in which I am interested. That’s the smallest one, which is also the only one that seems alive with electricity and people. That’s the small building with the sign “Bubba’s Bar.”

Upon checking my cell, I see it is just past one in the morning. This makes me smile as it means that the bar won’t be closing soon. That I can go in, get a drink and see if I can spot what I’ve been given. Surely whatever gifts I’ve been given will reveal themselves to me.