Taylor Hebert trudged through the grimy streets of Brockton Bay, her sneakers scuffing against cracked pavement. The day had been another gauntlet of misery at Winslow High, courtesy of the trio—Sophia, Emma, and Madison—who seemed to have made tormenting her their life's mission. The school did nothing, as always, turning a blind eye to their cruelty. Brockton Bay itself wasn't much better in general: a decaying port city teetering on the edge of chaos, riddled with gang violence and capes who made everything worse. Taylor's backpack hung heavy on her shoulders, stuffed with damp textbooks from yet another "prank." All she wanted was to get home, lock herself in her room, and pretend the world didn't exist.
But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.
A sudden whoosh of sulfur-scented smoke erupted in front of her, stinging her eyes and making her cough. Taylor stumbled back, heart pounding, as a figure materialized on the sidewalk. The air shimmered with heat, and there she stood: a young woman with snow-white hair cascading like a silk, crimson eyes glinting with a hypnotic allure. She wore a tailored black-and-red suit, sharp enough to belong in a boardroom, as well as white gloves. Her smile was too wide, too perfect, like a predator playing at being friendly.
"Taylor Hebert!" the woman announced, her voice a cheerful lilt with an edge that made Taylor's skin crawl. "It's me… the Devil!"
Taylor froze, her mind racing. A cape. Has to be a cape. Brockton Bay was crawling with them, but this one was… different. The woman's presence felt wrong, like the world itself was bending around her. Taylor's first instinct was to bolt, but her legs wouldn't move.
The woman—the Devil—sauntered forward and slung an arm around Taylor's shoulders with casual familiarity. "And I'm here to convince you to do sin!" she chirped, as if suggesting they grab coffee. "Come with me! We'll steal candy from babies, rob mom-and-pop shops—I'm talking small businesses, not like Walmart."
Taylor's stomach churned. Nutjob. Definitely a nutjob. She shrugged off the woman's arm, stepping back to put distance between them. "I don't know who you are, but please leave me alone," she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through her. "Go bother someone else."
The woman's crimson eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, where are my manners?" she said, placing a hand over her heart with exaggerated courtesy. "You can call me… Diablo? Nah, already used that. Let's go with Lucy. Lucy Satan, at your service." She gave a curtsy, her grin never wavering.
Taylor's eyes narrowed. Satan? Really? This had to be some kind of performance art or a cape with a flair for theatrics. "Look, Lucy, I'm not interested in whatever you're selling. Just—"
Lucy cut her off, zipping in front of Taylor with unnatural speed, blocking her path. "Okay, okay, let's make this quick," she said, her tone still infuriatingly chipper. "As I said, I'm the Devil. You know, from the Bible? Ruler of Hell, queen of all things naughty? I've decided to expand my operations to multiple worlds, and let me tell you, this dump of a city—Brockton Bay?—is like a buffet of sin. So much misery, so much negativity. It's perfect for my first trip!"
Before Taylor could respond, Lucy snapped her fingers, and a chalkboard materialized out of thin air, hovering beside her. Taylor's breath hitched. 'Okay, definitely a cape. Teleportation? Matter creation? Whatever Lucy's power was, it was high-tier.' The Devil grabbed a piece of chalk and began scribbling, her handwriting oddly elegant for someone so… odd. "Here's the deal," Lucy continued, not missing a beat. "Despite my, ahem, sinful nature, I don't just cause sin—I punish it too, in my own special way. Recently, I saw this mortal movie—Nicolas Cage, leather jacket, flaming skull, total badass. Ghost Rider, you know? And I thought, 'Hey, that's my style!' So, I've got a plan."
Lucy spun around, pointing a finger at Taylor. "You, Taylor Hebert, are gonna be my Spirit of Vengeance! My very own Ghost Rider! You'll roam this cesspool of a city, punishing criminals, collecting their sin points, and looking way cooler than you do now. No offense."
Taylor blinked, her brain struggling to keep up. "You're… offering to give me powers?" she asked, skepticism dripping from every word. "Why me? We've never met."
Lucy chuckled, a sound that was equal parts charming and terrifying. She pulled a Snickers bar from nowhere, unwrapped it, and took a bite, talking through a mouthful of chocolate. "Oh, honey, you haven't met me, but I know all about you. Let's just say I've read your story, and it's a real page-turner. Don't think too hard about that—it gets meta."
Taylor's mind reeled. This was insane. Lucy was insane. And yet… the offer dangled in front of her like a lifeline. Powers. A chance to fight back. A chance to make the trio pay for everything they'd done. She knew it was a terrible idea—trusting someone claiming to be the Devil was about as smart as jumping into a shark tank—but the temptation was undeniable. With powers, maybe she could be a hero, even if they came from… questionable origins.
She crossed her arms, trying to regain some control. "If you can actually do what you say, I'll consider it," she said cautiously. "But only if I'm not your servant, and I'm not helping with any crimes. I want to be a hero."
Lucy tapped her chin, her crimson eyes gleaming. "Fair enough. I've got plenty of accomplices for the fun stuff." She extended her hand, red flames licking across her palm, casting an eerie glow. "So, we have a deal?"
Taylor hesitated, her heart pounding. Every rational part of her screamed to walk away, but the promise of real power—and perhaps some revenge—burned brighter. She took a deep breath and shook Lucy's hand, the flames warm but not painful.
Lucy's grin widened. "Perfect! Time for a makeover!" A wave of searing heat washed over Taylor. Her knees buckled as her body ignited from within, a fiery energy coursing through her veins. She collapsed, gasping, as her skin prickled and shifted. When she staggered to her feet, she caught her reflection in a nearby shop window. Her skin was now a deep red, a slender tail swayed behind her, and sharp horns protruded from her forehead. Her eyes glowed an eerie green, and her voice—when she spoke—came out smoother, sharper, not her own. "Well… this body will do."
Lucy's eyes widened, her cheerful demeanor faltering. "Wait a second. You're not the Ghost Rider! Did I—oh, damn it!" She circled Taylor, inspecting her with a mix of frustration and curiosity. "Meru? Is that you? I was supposed to give her the flaming skull spirit, not you!"
The entity in Taylor's body smirked, stretching languidly. "You were in a rush, Lucy. Grabbed the wrong spirit. But don't worry—this works out fine. I needed a host to stretch my legs and rebuild my power. Thanks for the assist."
Lucy groaned, rubbing her temples. "Ugh, I'm too lazy to fix this. Fine, Meru, you can keep her. Just make sure you help Taylor with her goals, too. I'm the Devil, but I'm fair with my deals… usually."
Meru's smirk widened, her green eyes glinting. "Oh, don't worry. I'll take care of Taylor's little problems and feed my own appetite along the way."
Lucy sighed dramatically. "Whatever. You're one of my top succubi, Meru. You'll do fine. Just don't forget to address your queen properly."
Meru gave a mock bow, her tail flicking playfully. "Of course, Your Infernal Majesty."
Lucy snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Alright, I'm outta here. Got one last thing to do in this world before I move on." She vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Taylor—now Meru—standing alone on the sidewalk, licking her lips.
---
Hours after her stint in Brockton Bay, Lucy returned to her personal domain in a puff of sulfur and crimson flame. Her latest escapade had been a masterpiece of mischief: after the thing with Taylor, she then gaslit Scion, the golden god of Earth Bet, into believing she was his long-lost "mate," only to twist his power into something more… useful. Now, the once-mighty entity stood as a towering, gilded warden in the deepest pits of her Hell, guarding her prison with unyielding devotion. Lucy smirked at the thought—she'd always had a knack for turning powerhouses into pawns.
Her heels clicked against the obsidian floor as she entered her sprawling mansion, nestled in the Pride Ring of her dominion. Across the multiverse, countless realms called themselves "Hell," each with their own demons and despots, but none could hold a candle to her Hell. This was the original, the one true inferno, where every flame burned brighter, every scream echoed sweeter, and every sin was hers to command. The air thrummed with heat and the faint wail of distant torment, a symphony that soothed Lucy's chaotic soul.
She stepped into her opulent bedroom, its walls adorned with tapestries of black silk and crimson velvet, embroidered with scenes of her greatest triumphs. A trio of imps—adorable, pint-sized creatures resembling Lalafell from Final Fantasy XIV, but with pointed tails and little horns—scurried forward to assist her. Lucy had a strict aesthetic policy for her own servants: they had to be hot, cute, or at least visually striking. These imps, with their cherubic faces and charm, fit the bill perfectly. They deftly unbuttoned her tailored suit, helping her slip into a pair of luxurious silk pajamas—black, of course, with red accents.
A larger demon, broad-shouldered and clad in a butler's uniform, entered with a deep bow. His ram horns gleamed under the chandelier's flickering light. "Your Highness," he said, his voice a low rumble, "your dinner is ready."
"Thank you, Mike," Lucy replied. She could've conjured a feast with a snap of her fingers—nigh-omnipotence had its perks—but there was something satisfying about having it prepared. It wasn't laziness, she told herself (though she'd never admit to indulging in sloth, a sin she wielded like a badge of honor among others). It was about style she claimed.
Lucy's ruby eyes lit up as she sauntered to her desk, where an ancient, rune-covered computer hummed with otherworldly energy. "Time to relax," she declared, booting up the machine. "Gonna catch up with my favorite VTuber. Way better than that last streamer who betrayed me. Never trusting Twitch again." Her voice dripped with venom at the memory of that particular slight.
Mike cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Uh, Mistress? About that… Gura Gwar left Hololive."
The room seemed to freeze. A metaphorical record scratch echoed through the air as Lucy's grip tightened on her plate of pasta she received, the porcelain creaking under her fingers. Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes blazed with a fury that could've melted steel. "…Hey, Imp 29?"
An imp poked its head in, wide-eyed. "Y-Yes, Your Highness?"
Lucy's hand flicked, and a blast of crimson lightning sent the poor creature rocketing through the window with a yelp, shattering the glass into a shower of glittering shards. "DAMN IT!" she shouted, her voice shaking the chandeliers. "How could Hololive drive away their best talent?!"
The other imps scrambled to retrieve their singed comrade, one muttering under its breath, "Better than when her Anti-Christ plan with MrBeast fell apart. At least she didn't flood the Wrath Ring with lava this time."
The Wrath Ring was essentially the place nobody in Hell wanted to be because Lucy always used it to vent her anger whenever she wanted to.
Mike, unfazed by the outburst, held up a placating hand. "Mistress, Gura's already back. She's taken a new persona—Saba, and she's streaming again."
Lucy's rage subsided, her shoulders relaxing as she set the plate down. "…Okay, that's something." She pulled up Saba's channel on her computer, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced ease. A quick subscription and a generous donation later, she leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "Armageddon can wait. For now."
She finished her meal—a decadent spread of spaghetti carbonara laced with devilish spices that made her tongue tingle—then waved over another imp. "You there," she said, her tone softening to a dangerous purr. "Call Wakamo. Let her know I'm visiting soon. I need… stress relief. And I'm sure my darling does, too."
The imp nodded and scurried off, leaving Lucy to check on her latest schemes. She scrolled through a infernal database tracking her multiversal scams— cryptocurrencies, cursed mobile apps, and a particularly nasty chain letter that had half a dimension in chaos. But one notification caught her eye: a tacky mobile game gaining traction, its creator none other than… "The Canadian Devil?" Lucy's lip curled in disgust. "Ugh, him again. No nuance, no class. I'll deal with that hack later."
For now, she had better things to do. With a snap of her fingers, she teleported across dimensions, arriving in the vibrant Kivotos from Blue Archive. The air was warm, scented with cherry blossoms and the smell of bullets fired—a fitting backdrop for her next rendezvous. Before she could take a step, a blur of red and black tackled her, knocking her back with a delighted squeal.
"Lucy!" Said Wakamo, the fox-eared girl as her golden eyes gleaming with adoration. Her tail swished as she nuzzled Lucy's cheek, planting a quick kiss. "Good to see you, darling."
Lucy's heart—such as it was—fluttered. She caught Wakamo's chin, tilting it up with a sultry smile. "Hello, my calamity," she murmured, her voice dripping with charm. "It's been too long."
With a playful laugh, Lucy scooped Wakamo into her arms, the fox girl letting out a delighted yelp. "We'll catch up later," Lucy said, her crimson eyes glinting with intent. "Right now, I have needs."
Wakamo shivered, her tail curling around Lucy's waist. "I'm all yours, darling."
The two slip away into the shadows as they leave for some privacy.