Demons are listening to Jazz

The Japanese legend says that for true happiness, a person needs only three things: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for. It sounds quite simple, even hopeful. Many people are constantly in a rush. They don't allow themselves to stop even for a moment, asking themselves, ‘Where am I rushing to?’ because they are accustomed to monotony. They are used to thinking of happiness as something distant and unattainable. Devon had seen, time and again, how people were destroyed by their own fear of simply allowing themselves to stop. Over the four centuries he had spent on Earth, observing mortals, Devon understood one truth: people are afraid to savor the moment. They fear that everything they have will slip away if they look away for even a second. People are greedy. They always want more, even when they don't need it. People are sinful, and the most delightful pleasure is to lure them into the cage of their own greed. Devon loved watching their downfall, relished proving to his angelic brethren how pitiful humans could be. Devon was a demon, fulfilling humans' desires in exchange for their souls, and the last thing they saw in their lives was the hounds of Hell sent to tear them apart, dragging their rotten souls into the depths of the underworld. “Please, no, don't!” The cry of the man sounded like a skipping record, reaching the demon's ears. His lips curled into a contemptuous smile, his eyes gleaming crimson; his face bore an icy calmness that sent shivers down man’s spine. “Please! I beg you! I...! I refuse! Take it all! Take it! I don't need it!” Yet the people remained unchanged. Each time, Devon heard the same words, as if someone was resetting the record again and again. “I don't need this! I don't! I won't create music anymore! Take it away! Please! Take away my success!” But the Hellhounds never returned empty-handed, and desires never lost their power—encountering the demon, the human was doomed to perish. “It's too late, human. The deal was struck—your worthless soul now belongs to me.” Devon spoke impassively, observing as the hounds' claws tore through the mortal's chest, desperately trying to escape his fate. “Don't be so callous, my dear friend. Thanks to these little humans, Hell isn't as dull.” A familiar voice came from the side, and Devon caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, of another demon's silhouette. In his hands, he held a book titled 'Banishing the Devil,' which seemed rather ironic, but that was all Elias—humanity to him was one big irony. “They keep making the same mistakes. Naive. Thinking they can avoid their fate.” Devon's voice dripped with contempt, yet his expression remained serene. As if he couldn't care less. Elias sighed dramatically, shaking his head and smiling. “You know them—offer them wealth, they'll bite off the hand that offers it; share talent with them, they'll use it for fame; give them luck, and they'll feel like God.” “God, you say?” For the first time that night, the demon's lips twitched into a bloodthirsty grin. “God has abandoned them, leaving them to drown in their own sins. Now all they can do is cling to branches, hoping to escape this pit of sand. But sooner or later, their strength will fade—there's only one road for them, to Hell, given the choice.” “Well, I must admit, some of them impress me. You know, in the last century, I've become rather taken with human literature. Try reading in your spare time; it might lift your spirits a bit.” Elias gazed skyward carelessly, suggesting, but Devon, turning away, headed toward a dark alley, tossing a remark over his shoulder: “Not interested.” His black coat fluttered in the wind as the dark figure merged into the deserted alley. Elias chuckled at the response, not expecting anything else. “My dear friend, humans aren't as simple as you think.” Approaching the edge of the rooftop, he gazed down with undisguised curiosity, observing people rushing home under umbrellas, seeking shelter from the evening storm. Elias's eyes gleamed with thirst—the very thirst that led people to fall, embracing their own sins. “They simply don't understand the value of their own soul.” Suddenly, a faint rustle caught the demon's attention, and he turned to meet the gaze of a small, black cat sitting nearby. It had enormous yellow eyes that seemed to peer straight into the soul. Elias smiled, crouching down and reaching out to the creature, which immediately succumbed to the caress. “Well, how fearless you are,” the demon whispered, his surprise unmasked. The cat simply glanced at him with its bright eyes and effortlessly leaped onto the demon's lap, nestling against his chest. With one hand holding the book and the other supporting the cat, Elias stood up, running his fingers through the soft fur. “And how can such a creature bring misfortune? Humans can be so irrational at times,” mused Elias, looking thoughtfully at the animal. Then, a familiar smile graced his face. “So, I'll call you Belial. How does that sound to you?” The cat tilted its head at his words, as if genuinely pondering the demon's choice, eliciting a sense of pride in Elias’s voice. “What a clever little creature,” he remarked before turning away, stepping back from the edge of the rooftop. “Well, Belial, it's time to go. We still have so much to see!” ... During the nighttime, the British Library remained closed, but that couldn't deter the demon. Devon was bored—that's how he consoled himself, following Elias’s words. To spend the evening reading? He could give it a try. Not for the sake of humans, not to learn something new. He was simply bored. Silence and darkness enveloped him, and he blissfully closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He wasn't human; fatigue wasn't in his nature, but this feeling of calmness brought him satisfaction. Perhaps Elias did know a thing or two about human things after all. Walking through the vast hall where empty tables stood, Devon navigated through the darkness, brushing against towering bookshelves reaching up to the ceiling. With graceful steps toward the literature section, chin lifted majestically, the demon tucked his hands into his coat pockets. His eyes gleamed crimson, reflecting off the marble floor—he never hid his essence. Humans were naive. They preferred to shut their eyes to the obvious, to stay away from places where they didn't belong. Or... Or fall into the trap of the most vile desires. Devon patiently waited for them. He didn't even need to lure them. All he did was offer the opportunity. People were foolish. They didn't think about the consequences. Devon merely granted wishes. For what? It was his essence, how he was created: steeped in deceit and trickery. He merely followed his destiny, proving human greed. The demon halted abruptly, frozen like a statue. His gaze narrowed, piercing through the walls. Silence. One could almost hear the beat of his heart, but the demon's heart didn't pound—it was dead in the human world. Clamping his jaw, Devon swiftly and with the same smooth steps headed towards the bookshelves, where a whole labyrinth of knowledge unfolded. Step, another step, a turn, one more, and the demon froze again, his unreadable gaze fixed on a human sitting on the floor. Youthful. A guy. Brunette. Wavy strands of hair covering his eyes. Long fingers adorned with rings, two on each hand. On his knees lay a notebook with illegible handwriting, and only the scratch of a pen reached Devon's hearing. The dark corridor with bookshelves was illuminated solely by the light from a phone lying on the floor next to the young man. He was dressed in loose black jeans and a dark brown jacket, under which was only a black T-shirt. It seemed the guy hadn't even noticed the presence of someone else, deeply engrossed in his thoughts. Or, more likely, in his writing. Meanwhile, Devon stood in bewilderment, not knowing what to do. Ignore the human? Approach him? What was a human doing in this place at this time, anyway? “Are you just going to stand there, or will you at least say hello?” Suddenly came the voice, echoing in the demon's mind. His crimson eyes sparkled with an even more intense shade of crimson, invoking a long-forgotten sensation of anger. Humans feared him. Humans knelt before him. Humans hated him. It was a survival instinct—people kept their distance from those stronger than them. “I thought human offspring were taught good manners and respect for their elders,” Devon coldly remarked, still taking two slow steps toward the young man, who hadn't bothered to even look up at the guest. “You speak as if you're not human yourself,” the guy retorted, pausing momentarily as he lifted the pen from the notebook. A glint of interest flickered in the demon's eyes. Coming to a halt in front of the brunette, he looked down at him, towering above, exerting his authority. “What if it's true?” The mockery was laced with venom. Lips stretched into a sneer; the dark figure grew larger, more menacing. In the darkness, only the crimson eyes flashed, striking fear into all mortals. “Then I'm curious as to what you forgot in a human library,” and for the first time, the young man raised his gaze to the interlocutor. Green eyes met crimson ones. Seconds passed. Devon sensed no fear. No recognition. It seemed the human felt nothing. His gaze was resolute, cold, somewhat curious, but... it seemed more like a superficial perception. And only then did the meaning of the young man's words reach the demon. Devon Murphy, as he was known in the human world, felt such confusion for the first time. “Who are you?” Devon furrowed his brow, examining the guy in a new light. “Human. And you?” So simple. So simple that... A quiet laughter filled the air. Devon, tilting his head back slightly while closing his eyes, relaxed his shoulders a bit. It was turning into quite an amusing situation. Returning his gaze to the young man and inwardly noting the faint freckles on the guy’s face, Devon, still smiling, uttered, “Demon.” A peculiar silence lingered between them. Very strange. Murphy patiently waited, anticipating the human's reaction, yet the guy’s face remained unchanged. The same cold stare, the same lips pressed together, the same indifference. “And what brings you here then?” Came the question after a moment. The young man didn't even flinch, ignoring all human instincts to flee. Or perhaps... “Do you not feel anything at all?” Devon inquired in response, tilting his head with interest. Normally, it was Elias’s job to engage and extract information. Devon merely carried out his duty. But now, curiosity overwhelmed him. The young man arched an eyebrow mockingly, looking at the demon with a hint of mockery. Lowering his gaze to his notebook, he dryly replied, “Feelings – the downfall of humanity. Isn't that right, Mr. Demon?” Devon Murphy remained silent, watching the young man intently, almost without blinking, as if fearing that a fraction of a second would make him vanish. 'Mr. Demon?' No one had ever called him that before. The sound of the pen scratching against paper and the rustling of sheets reached his ears once more. Devon felt that surge of curiosity again, leaning slightly forward, studying the fleeting letters and nearly illegible words. Frowning, Murphy commented, “You have terrible handwriting.” But the young man continued writing without interruption. “I'm aware,” he replied. Silence fell once more. The shelves of books seemed to press in. Devon rubbed his temples, feeling an almost tangible headache. “What are you writing?” This time, the young man paused from his writings, gazing attentively at the figure across from him. His gaze was keen. Thoughtful. As if debating whether to trust the demon. Funny. Devon couldn't conceal a faint smirk, regaining his composure. This young man had truly managed to throw him off balance. “Listen, Mr. Demon, don't you have other things to attend to?” Equally nonchalant. “And what would those be?” Devon shrugged lazily, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Well, I don't know. Finding poor human beings willing to sell their souls for gold. Or perhaps going to claim someone's soul. Feed your puddles? Return to Hell? What else do demons do there?” The demon's eyes menacingly narrowed, glinting dangerously in the darkness, unable to hide his thoughts: “You seem to know too much for a human.” But the young man merely arched an eyebrow again, quickly losing interest in the conversation and returning to his notebook. “These are all speculations based on fantasy books.” “Apparently, the authors of these books have good intuition.” The demon's face contorted into a snarl, sparks of cruelty flickering in his eyes. “Or they're just idiots who made a deal with a demon.” “Why such thoughts?” Closing his eyes, the young man sighed heavily, pushing a strand of hair from his face. For the first time, Devon saw something other than indifference on his face. “I don't know, you're standing right in front of me. It's a pretty logical explanation.” There was irony in his tone, yet the same calmness. “Do you believe me?” “Depends on what.” “That I'm a demon.” “I have no reason not to believe.” “But there's no reason to believe either,” Devon stated. The young man stared at the demon, trying to discern his facial features, but the light from the phone was insufficient, repeatedly revealing only a dark figure and crimson eyes. “And you? Do you believe me?” He suddenly asked, causing Murphy to tilt his head questioningly, raising an eyebrow. “About what?” “That I'm human.” Stunned silence. Devon struggled to grasp this absurdity, as all logical explanations fled him; humans never behaved this way around him. “I know you're human,” and it sounded arrogant. Majestic. No one had ever doubted him. Such a thing was simply impermissible. What did this person think he was allowing himself? This foolish youngling? “Then I know you're a demon,” the young man shrugged, simply leaving Devon in an ultimate state of bewilderment. “You... That makes no sense...” “Why not? You're a demon, I'm a human. You said it yourself.” “And you just believed that?” “Do you have a reason to lie?” A spark of curiosity flickered in his green eyes, and for the first time, Devon felt exposed in front of a human. Reasons to lie? He's a messenger from Hell. A demon. Deception and lies are his art, but then... “Because there's no greater liar than humans. Lies for them are just justification. So, tell me, Mr. Demon, do you have a reason to justify yourself to me? If not, then there's no point in lying. Unless you're interested in my soul?” Devon Murphy was silent, standing like a statue, unmoving, not breathing. “So, Mr. Demon, don't you want to take my soul?”