He placed his claws on the keys. Not to summon fire, or to break minds, but to play the Nocturne in C-sharp minor . His fingers, built to tear spines, moved with a gentleness that would have shocked Heaven.
Asmodeus shook his head. "I can't find the anger anymore. It’s all just… tiredness." sad satan ost
It was Belial, once a great duke, now a skeleton in a moth-eaten tuxedo. His eyes were hollow. He placed his claws on the keys
Belial sat on a shattered pew. "Play the old one. The one from the Crusades. The angry one." Asmodeus shook his head
Asmodeus, however, found his escape in the music. He practiced for an audience of zero.
Asmodeus finally turned. His face, once a mask of terrifying beauty, was streaked with grey. He wasn't crying—demons don’t cry. But his eyes held a moisture that looked suspiciously like regret.
"I remember when you used to make popes weep," a gravelly voice said.