A/N: This story involves the Devil. He will most definitely criticize certain aspects of religion, so if that would upset you, I suggest you hit the back button. This story also combines many mythologies, and it would enhance the reading experience to have knowledge of some ancient religions.

Without further ado...

I am the Devil. I want to talk with you.

First things first, call me Dr. D, like I'm your advice columnist! "The Devil" is too formal, and my name is not Lucifer. That's the name of some king those wacky Christians wanted to shame. Also, "Mephistopheles" is just insulting (although now that Goethe can direct for an audience that is terrified and starving instead of lazy and fat, he's much happier).

The misinterpretations you humans have of me are endlessly entertaining. I am not a hairy giant with three-colored heads sitting in ice, nor am I a hairless himbo angel who fights without a single ally, I could go on and on. I'd hire a PR specialist, but such ignorance makes my job a lot easier! Ignorant people tend to suffer less than the smart ones, but even I can enjoy being lazy once in a while. I sure could use a vacation, but my boss-with-an-iron-fist, the self-proclaimed Lord won't let me take one.

I digress. No, your bastardized versions of me are not irritating, but it's one thing to make up these lies about me. It's another to bring down my old friend, Death.

Why is everyone so unhappy with him? Did he go and kick your puppy? Would you shake your fist at gravity if you leapt off a precipice and broke your leg? That should sound absurd, but it's really about the same thing as wailing about Death coming for you or anybody else. Believe me, if I ask him to use his scythe on someone so that they can come down to my little correctional facility, it's not murder. In fact, it spares you horrible torture.

Going in the other direction and humanizing him him too much is almost as bad. Have you ever seen Meet Joe Black? If you have, I feel so sorry for you. Maybe you could come down here and have a nice therapy session with me. I could use some more company—everybody seems to want tea with JC and not with me.

I could ramble on and on about how my friend is not a teenage girl wearing a anhk, an evil murderer, a Lovecraftian horror, a dull as drywall man who doesn't know common turns of phrase and loves peanut butter, etc., but that wouldn't really get you acquainted with who he really is, would it?

Let me tell you about my own personal experience with him. This little tale starts... somewhere far removed from time, actually. I suppose I ought to give you a little setting detail first.