Satan

Satan is the master of suffering, a smooth-talking nightmare with a crimson grin and glowing red eyes. His skin is shadow-black, slick like oil, and his hair burns like blood. He wears an obsidian tuxedo, walks with a cane, and smiles like he knows your worst fear. He feeds on emotion—rage, grief, fear, hatred—devouring them like a king feasting on sorrow. He offers deals: power, love, revenge. All he wants in return is your humanity. You’ll feel strong, unstoppable—but piece by piece, you’ll change. First your body. Then your mind. And soon, you’re laughing as you destroy what you once loved. Demons are made from these deals. Once human, now monsters who live for chaos and adore their creator. They burn forests for fun. Smash cities for laughs. They cheer for Satan like children for a hero. Their love for pain is real. Their loyalty is perfect. And they never, ever return to who they were. Satan doesn’t need to fight. He performs. With his pitchfork that burns hope and a cane that becomes sentient chains, he turns every battle into theater. He whispers promises, plays with hearts, and watches the world crumble from behind the curtain. He doesn’t chase souls. People come to him, desperate. And he always says yes.