The Kid Who Sold His Soul To Satan

❀❀❀

At the bright young age of eight, Park Chanyeol is already a genius.  A child prodigy, really.  While all his friends are stuck inside their houses doing extra chores or being super nice to their siblings for more allowance, Chanyeol has a different idea entirely.

There will be no sore fingers or ringing headaches for him.  Not at all.  That’s because Chanyeol is smart.  He’s already figured out how he will be getting his hands on the newest Master Blaster game that’s coming out.  It’s all the rage.  The advertisements are everywhere - posters on the walls in the mall, commercials that play during the cartoons he watches in the afternoons, ads in the newspaper his mother cuts up for coupons on Sunday.

Chanyeol wants the game, and he’s not going to ask his parents.  He already knows their answer.  It’s always no.  So this time he’s taking matters into his own tiny hands.  He’s going to ask someone else - someone dependable.

He’s going to ask Satan.

Chanyeol is so proud of himself that he can barely pretend to be asleep later that night when his mother comes in to check on him.  He almost, almost feels guilty for what he’s about to do, but it’s the best new video game of the year and Chanyeol must have it.  There’s a letter beneath his bed; Chanyeol heard from his friend Hongbin down the street that Satan prefers the darkest places in the room so he can appear without the light hurting him.

Chanyeol isn’t afraid.  Part of him even wonders if it will work.  He never did question his belief in God or the Devil, but when it comes to Master Blaster, he’s hoping that they exist.

Chanyeol does, eventually, fall asleep.  There are toys scattered over the floor, a space cleaned out in a neat circle by his bed in case his visitor arrives.  Chanyeol doesn’t want to be rude.  The old clock downstairs, the one his mother got from her grandmother, tolls when it strikes midnight.  Chanyeol has always slept through it.

The clock, however, doesn’t toll this evening.  In its place, an eery silence has taken ahold of the house.  Chanyeol wakes because it’s too quiet.  He sits up in his bed, his hair in disarray and the heels of his palms wiping over his sleepy eyes.  When he blinks to adjust to the darkness, Chanyeol discovers that he’s not alone in his room.

There is a man standing in the circle, a familiar piece of paper - the letter that Chanyeol wrote in his favorite purple crayon - in his hand.

“Master Blaster,” the strange man says with lilt in his voice.  “I’ve heard this is quite an enjoyable game.  I daresay you want it very much to ask me for help.”

Chanyeol nods, his little head bobbing up and down as his hair flops around.

“Do you know the requirements for making a deal with me?” the man queries, bending to his knee so Chanyeol can see him.

Chanyeol was expecting someone more . . . imposing.  He thought Satan had fiery horns and red burning eyes, his body covered in blood.  He’s thankful there’s no blood.  His mother hates cleaning it out of the carpet.

“I’ll do anything,” Chanyeol whispers, careful so he doesn’t wake his parents in the next room.  “Anything.”

The man - Satan - extends his hand.  Chanyeol takes it, jolting when he feels the heat that’s now flowing into his skin.  It almost burns, but Satan pulls back before it’s too painful.  Chanyeol’s eyes are watery, but he doesn’t cry.  He’s a big boy.

“One soul for one copy of Master Blaster,” Satan tells Chanyeol.  He stands back up and reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket.  Chanyeol watches with a wide stare as Satan pulls a brand new factory sealed copy of Master Blaster from his jacket and holds it out for Chanyeol to take.

Little Park Chanyeol, eight years old, has made the best deal of his whole life.
 

❀❀❀

As with all things, the events of that night fade from Chanyeol’s memory.  His parents never question how he got the game, and he never volunteered the information.  Time goes by as it does and soon, Chanyeol himself seems to forget where it came from.  When Master Blaster is no longer the newest, most coveted game on the market, it gets tossed in a box full of old cartridges and shoved under the small television set in Chanyeol’s bedroom to sit.

The game sits in that box for ten years.

On Park Chanyeol’s eighteenth birthday, it remains unseen, not even a lingering thought in the back of Chanyeol’s mind.  There’s a party at his home, the living room and kitchen filled with friends and acquaintances from high school.  It’s his senior year and he can’t wait to graduate and make that giant leap to college.  He still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, but there’s plenty of time for that.

Right now, his focus is on the pretty girl on his arm, the sweet smile she sends him, and the warmth of being surrounded by the people that care about him the most.  The party goes on until well after the sun sets, and a figure in a pressed black suit sits outside on a high branch in the tree right outside Chanyeol’s bedroom window.  This person watches the frivolity with patience, his foot bouncing to the heavy bass of the music that filters out, and a pleasant smile on his face.

Today’s the day.

Chanyeol parties until midnight, seeing his guests out with a happy wave.  His parents won’t be home for another day, so the mess can wait.  He’s amped, but exhausted, trudging up the stairs.  He stares at his reflection in the mirror.  His hair is longer than he’s used to, falling in his face in auburn strands.  He’d dyed it only a week ago and he likes the color.  He pulls at the skin beneath his eye and lets it go, head tilting to the side.  He doesn’t look older.

With a shrug, Chanyeol brushes his teeth, getting ready for bed after by leaving a trail of discarded clothing from his bathroom to his bed.  He falls atop his mattress in a pair of boxers with cartoon flames all over the material.  He barely has his eyes closed when he hears someone clear their throat.  Chanyeol cracks open an eye to see someone standing by his bed.

“Party’s over, dude,” Chanyeol mumbles.  “Lock the door behind you when you leave.”

Chanyeol doesn’t give it another thought, but when he doesn’t hear the person leaving, he sits up.  He glares at the man standing by his bed, only to blink in faint recognition.  There’s something very familiar about him, about the way he holds himself and the set of his pearly white teeth as he smiles at Chanyeol.  “Who - who are you?” Chanyeol demands.

The smile on the man’s face fades a little.  “I guess it’s to be expected,” he finally says.

That voice.  It’s like something out of a dream from years ago.

“You’d think I’d get used to it after all this time, but it still stings.  This face is carved from marble.  It’s perfect and no one can ever remember it until I make a grand reappearance.  Honestly, you humans can be so forgetful.”  The man leans close.  “Remember this face, kid,” he sighs.  “It’s the best one you’ll ever have the pleasure of seeing.”

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol apologizes, although he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for.  There are a lot of conflicting emotions now running rampant through his body.  It’s like the running of the bulls, only with more emotion and teenage hormones than actual animal carnage.  And so far, there’s less screaming too.

“That’s better.”  The man stands up straight again, smoothing down the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.  “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business.”

“Do I owe you money?” Chanyeol squeaks.  He knew Hongbin’s beer connection was too good to be true.  He’s going to kick his so hard tomorrow.

The man sighs, turning and walking over to Chanyeol’s desk.  He picks up all the clean laundry Chanyeol has draped over the back of the chair and drops it on the floor.  Then he pulls the chair up to the side of Chanyeol’s bed and sits.  He crosses his legs, leaning back, and there’s a glint of something infinitely dark in his eyes.  Chanyeol swallows.

“You were eight when we first met.  Do you remember that?”

Chanyeol shakes his head.  “Are you a friend of my parents?  They’re not here right now, but I can tell them you stopped by.”

“I am here for you, Chanyeol.  When you were eight years old, you signed your soul over to me for a copy of Master Blaster.”

Master Blaster?  That game has been obsolete for ages.  Chanyeol vaguely remembers playing it, showing it off to his friends because he’d won some contest and got a copy before the official release.  Man, they’d had so much fun until they memorized their way through every level and it lost that spark.

“I remember the game,” Chanyeol begins carefully.  “But I don’t remember you, and I certainly didn’t sign over my soul.”

The man reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a piece of folded paper.  He unfolds it and holds it for Chanyeol to inspect.  He recognizes the purple crayon, and his own handwriting.  And he cringes as he realizes that yes, he wrote this.  “But I don’t remember -”

“Well you wouldn’t, would you?” the man tells him.  “What human child wants to remember that he made a deal with the devil?  Especially for a video game.  Cheeky little thing, weren’t you?”

“Look, if you’re here to kill me and take my soul -”

The man laughs.  Chanyeol stops talking.

“I’ve had your soul in safekeeping since that night, Chanyeol.  You’ve been living a healthy, full life without it.  They’re overrated, you know.  Souls.  Too much value placed on them, but I do find them quite handy.”

Chanyeol shrinks in on himself.  “Then what do you want with me?”

“I want to give it back.”

Chanyeol blinks.  “Excuse me?”

“It’s not damaged.  I’ve taken very good care of it.”

“Why?” Chanyeol asks.  “Why would you just . . . give it back?  Is there something wrong with it?”  For some crazy reason, Chanyeol is offended that his soul may not be good enough for Satan.  It’s a worrisome thought, and he doesn’t know why.

“Because even when I put it back inside you, it still belongs to me.”  There’s an unsettling smile on the man’s face now.  “And I plan to make good use of you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Chanyeol demands, sitting up on his knees.  It’s only then that he realizes he’s in nothing but his boxers.  He sinks back down, grabbing at his comforter to cover himself.  So much for striking an imposing visage - he’s cowering behind Iron Man logos.

“It means that you work for me.”

“I’m not going to work for you!  You’re Satan.”

“You didn’t have a problem with me when you wanted the latest craze video game.”

“That was ten years ago!”  And there’s the hysteria, bubbling up his chest.

“The contract is binding for eternity.”

“I’m too young to burn in a flaming pit!”

“I said nothing about flames or a pit.”

“Satan.”  Chanyeol gestures wildly at the man, and the comforter falls back to the bed.  He scrambles to pick it back up and cover himself, cowering into as small a ball he can make.  Oh man, his parents are going to be pissed.  How is he going to explain this?

“Please stop internally panicking so loudly,” Satan comments.  “I am not going to dangle your frail, helpless body over a boiling pot.  You are going to remain right here.”

“In my bed?” Chanyeol crosses his legs and leans back, tipping himself over the side of the bed and onto the floor.  He lands with a high pitched squeal that escapes before he can stop himself.  He sits up, peering over the mattress.  Satan seems unimpressed.

“You’re going to be a tough nut to crack.”  Satan stands, crawling onto the bed to stare down at Chanyeol as Chanyeol tries to lean away and ends up flat on his back again.  “As much as I’d love to linger and watch you stew in your own fear, I’m on a schedule.  Listen up, kid, I’m letting you join my little club - the perks of which are many.  All you have to do is help me.”

Chanyeol scrunches his nose.  “Help you how?”

“Ooooh,” Satan begins, waving his hand, “this and that.”

“Like killing?” Chanyeol whispers, eyes wide at the thought.  There’s no way he can do anything like that.  He passed out in the ninth grade when he saw some kid take a basketball to the face and his nose bled all down his shirt.

“Not as such.”  Satan lifts himself away and crawls off the bed, standing over Chanyeol with his hand extended.  “Come on.  Get off the floor and act like you have a little dignity.  You’re working for me now.  It’s a confidence builder.”

Chanyeol hesitates to take Satan’s hand, so Satan reaches down and grabs him, pulling him easily off the floor and onto his feet.  “For starters, my name is Suho.”

“I thought you were Satan.”

“I’m what I need to be.”

“What does that even mean?” Chanyeol persists.  If anything, he’s more confused now than he was before.

“Put on some pants while I explain.”

Chanyeol finds himself obeying, shuffling over to where he discarded his pants earlier.  They’re by the bathroom.  He laments having to drop the blanket.  It’s irrational that he feels it’s a shield against Satan.

“Do you know much about religion?”

“Some,” Chanyeol mumbles, trying to rest his blanket over his shoulders as he bends to slide his foot into his pant leg.  “My parents took me to church when I was a kid.”

“Well here’s what I want you to do.  I want you to envision a piece of paper in your mind.  On that paper, scribble down every single thing you know about religion - god, the devil, demons, heaven and hell.”

Chanyeol does as he’s told, standing there like an idiot with one leg in his pants and his comforter now on the floor, pooled around his feet.  It’s honestly not much.  He napped his way through most sermons.  Perhaps if they found a way to present the information in a more entertaining way, he would have paid attention.  He knows the basics though.

“Okay,” he states when he’s done.  “Now what?”

“Now I want you to take that piece of paper, ball it up, and toss it out the window.  Forget about all of that.”

Chanyeol stands up straight, pants forgotten as they slide down his leg.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  You’re Satan.  And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

“I told you my name is Suho, and yes.  You should believe me because I will only tell you the truth.”

“Satan,” Chanyeol hisses, pointing at him.

Satan - Suho, whoever - lets out a groan and rolls his eyes.  “Here, will this help?”  Suho snaps his fingers and now, instead of one of him standing there, there are two.  The second one has the same face, but where Suho has blond hair, the other one has black hair.  He’s also in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  It’s quite the contrast.  “I’m the devil,” he begins, gesturing to himself.  “And the man beside me is God.”

“Hello,” the man greets, smiling softly.

Chanyeol takes a step back, tangling his feet in his pants.  He hits the floor again.  This is too much to process.

“According to your mainstream religion, we are two opposing forces.”  Suho slings his arm around the other one’s shoulder, pulling him close.  They share a smile.  It’s super weird.  “But in reality, we’re one and the same.  We have the same purpose.  So really, even if you’d written that letter in crayon to God, it still would have been me.  And I’d still be here to collect.”

“That’s not - “  Chanyeol huffs, knocking his head back on the floor a few times.  This can’t be happening.

“Imagine this,” Suho says.  Chanyeol glances at him and he’s down to being one person again, thankfully.  “In the beginning, when all the cosmic debris was scattering into the emptiness of space, pieces began crashing together, melding and coalescing into the formation of our universe.  Stars are born, galaxies and solar systems come together in this amazing event.  Out of all this chaos, a planet is formed.  It orbits a young star, helpless as asteroids and other large objects rain down on the surface before it can solidify.”

“Should I be writing this down?” Chanyeol interjects.

A glance from Suho shuts Chanyeol right up.  “In your science books, it teaches that life began on this planet in the ocean, a single cell organism that evolved into what you are today.  It’s mostly accurate.  In truth, the first life on this planet was the planet.  In the midst of all this energy bubbling and churning in the center of the planet, it formed a will of its own.”

“This doesn’t sound scientific,” Chanyeol states.

“I’m dumbing it down,” Suho sighs.  “Are you getting any of this?’

“I think?”

“Look, kid, I am essentially the caretaker of the planet.  I maintain the balance between the light and the dark.  It’s an energy thing.  And now I am enlisting you, amongst many of the others who have come to me, willing to barter their souls.  You’re going to help me keep the balance.”

Chanyeol sits up, scooting back to lean against the wall.  “So . . . you’re not . . . Satan?”

“Well I am,” Suho offers, “but I’m also God.”

Chanyeol pulls in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly.  “I can work with that.”

“Great!” Suho exclaims with a clap of his hands.  “Get your pants on already, kid.  I can’t take you seriously when you look like that.  It’s pathetic.”

Chanyeol grabs at his pants, finally slipping them on and shimmying them all the way up.  He stands to get them buttoned, standing proud in his jeans.  Still shirtless.

Suho sighs.  “It’s a start.  But you can’t go demon hunting like that.”

“Demon hunting?!” Chanyeol exclaims, eyes wide.  “I thought you said there was no hell or heaven or any of that!”

“I say demon, when I really mean other creatures with gifts that come from the same energy that created me.”

“And by gifts you mean?

“Powers,” Suho clarifies.  “I told you that I keep the balance.  Well, these demons are my responsibility, and while the balance was more or less even, letting them roam around on the world wasn’t doing any harm.  But now there’s a massive dip and the scales have tipped to the side of darkness.  It’s time to round up the demons and send them back home.”

“Hell?” Chanyeol squeaks.

“More like another dimensional plane, but you can call it Hell if it makes you feel better.”

Chanyeol doesn’t feel so good.  “What happens if you don’t fix the balance?”

Suho smiles, his teeth gleaming unpleasantly.  “The planet will be ripped apart at the molecular level.”

Chanyeol passes out.