heart of sunshine, soul on fire

where: the midnight altar

Morning light spilled through the high windows of The Midnight Altar as the cleaning crew filed in behind him, armed with gloves and industrial disinfectant. They moved with quiet efficiency, scrubbing away the evidence of last night’s indulgences: sweat, perfume, the kinds of fluids mortals always pretended they didn’t leave behind.

Yet, Asmodeus felt wonderful.

Three hours of sleep after a performance like that would have left a human half-dead. For him, it was bliss. He’d fed deeply on longing, devotion, the feverish ache of bodies desperate to be witnessed. He was practically humming with it, loose-limbed and luxuriously content.

Which is why he noticed the stranger almost immediately.

Lingering at the foot of the staircase. Out of place. Pretty, though. Very pretty.

Asmodeus plucked a rose from one of the vases, rolling its stem between his fingers as he descended the steps with the unhurried grace of someone who never rushed for anything. The petals brushed his lips as he smiled—slow, sharp, predatory.

“You look lost,” he purred, voice still husky from last night’s whispers. “I understand my show is a must-see but unfortunately the next one isn’t until later this evening. Invite only.”

He circled the stranger, unobtrusive to a mortal eye but deliberate in intention. Drawing closer, inhaling, trying to sense the flavor of this one’s desire.

But it was… faint. Almost muted.

A wash of peace—repulsive. A thread of loneliness, though… now that he could work with.

“However,” he murmured, stepping back into the boy’s line of sight, “a face like that deserves exceptions.”

He offered the rose, holding it delicately between two fingers. “Would you like a private tour?”

He was not entering a place like The Midnight Altar unaware. The almost cloying atmosphere (as if the concept of “pleasure” had been distilled and was being pumped through the vents); the grandiosity of the whole endeavor (as if the production he’d been told happened only at night were actually an altar to ambition); even the enormous windows, and the royal-looking staircase, served to solidify an impression that Chanwoo might have had with his eyes closed:

The demon who runs this show likes to have fun.

It didn’t take rocket science to deduce that the individual in question—the “ethereal” one, the (former) member of the heavenly host Chanwoo’s contact in Vegas had tipped him off could be here—was none other than Asmodeus.

…Consequently, Chanwoo was on high alert. Asmodeus played with desire—and, because he’d lived for such a terribly long time, Chanwoo knew that meant he played with not the heart, but the mind.

Chanwoo’s power negation, therefore, might not be enough to protect him.

Running into Asmodeus himself the instant Chanwoo paused next to the staircase? Unexpected…yet typical of a demon, to be controlling at every level of a place’s operation.

The air of seduction rolling off of Asmodeus in waves? …Well, that meant that Chanwoo was past expectation, past deliberation, and handling the day’s challenge head-on.

Asmodeus circled him. Chanwoo let it happen; though Chanwoo knew how to fight, Asmodeus’s posture indicated that he was not intending to take out someone who was so plainly not a threat.

A face like that deserves exceptions.

And then the offer of the rose. Would you like a private tour?

Hot damn, was he good.

Chanwoo couldn’t help but smile. The gesture was natural; it lit up his face, he knew, and it reflected a truth that was slowly dawning on Chanwoo himself:

I actually like this guy.

Chanwoo accepted the rose, twirled it between his fingers, and looked Asmodeus in the eye. “I’ll take the private tour…but it might go different than you expect,” he told the demon honestly. “Let me lay my cards on the table…because I’m not here to try anything tricksy, actually, unlike someone else who’s in on this…other world might be.

“I know who you are.” Chanwoo gestured to the rose and smiled again, understanding and partially impressed. “My name is Lee Chanwoo, and I’m…well. I’m Adam and Eve’s son—the one who shouldn’t be standing here, the one who fell years and years ago.

“I’ll bet you haven’t noticed anything different about your powers?”

That would pique Asmodeus’s interest.

“It’s because I’m not nullifying them,” said Chanwoo. He looked down at the rose and said, “But I have my power set to stop any other power if I’m in direct danger. Just so that’s clear.”

Chanwoo looked at Asmodeus then, letting the weight of his mission—and what was at stake (including death or worse at the hands of the demon in front of him)—show in his eyes, in the set of his mouth.

“I want to talk to you about the recent…shift in heavenly power,” Chanwoo said, and he offered the rose back to Asmodeus. “Yes, I’ll take the private tour. Just…be genuine with me? Be yourself, as we talk?

“Because I’m trying to help everyone,” Chanwoo said at last, “and I think that’s a better offer than you’ve heard yet.”