The following is to be read in a posh English accent.
Dante once wrote of his descent into a land of nightmares and torment. His descent was slow and winding as he passed through each circle, falling deeper and deeper. And one has to wonder- why the hell would he go there voluntarily? Sightseeing has its merits and all but… This isn't a Dantean tale. If anything it would be Faustian. Because in this world, no one has to seek out that alluring inferno. Everyone knows where it is.
The city spreads out before the eyes. A dirty river runs through it, spanned by low bridges speckled with small globes of electricity to light the way of late-night travelers. The fifth bridge from the downtown has a light that glows red. It's not terribly noticeable at first. Look closely. It's the one at the very end of the bridge, just before the intersection. Still the unsuspecting driver, whizzing by on a rainy night might get a fright, when the stream of yellow-orange suddenly flashes red, like flashing eyes in the dark. Perhaps this scarlet lamp used to be a signal for what lies down the road should one turn at the streetlight. Perhaps it is a warning to not step foot on the dark lane that hugs the riverbank. Perhaps it is an incorrect ratio of tungsten to sodium metals of the lightbulb's filament.
Regardless, a signal is no longer needed for everyone knows what dwells down the road. And for those willing to seek this place the warning will go unheeded.
Crows flock around the area, constantly circling and perching on an apartment building of black glass and metal that stares out over the river. Lights of the city reflect from its surface only dimly. It's as if the building holds a force so great it swallows light.
Everyone knows who it is that dwells there. On the top floor in room 666. They say he owns the whole building- at least, no one knows of anyone else who resides there, despite the prime location. But it's in that room that one may go to conduct business with him, so long as an appointment is made and kept exactly on time.
The devil himself is behind that door. There's no descent into an inferno, just a pristine elevator. They come to him to strike bargains. They come when there is no other choice. No one goes because they want to see Hell, although they certainly know what it looks like when they leave, if they leave. They won't entertain with tales of fire and brimstone. No, nor tales of ice and wind. They'll tell you that Hell is the smirk of a beautiful man. Hell is dark eyes that flash red with a fearful intelligence and knowing- a knowing that can look into your soul. Hell is the words that spill like a siren's song from his mouth. Not just any words. These are words that twist your reality, that solve your impossible problem with ease, before capturing your heart and soul.
They go in saying their lives are ruined and this is the last hope. If they live they'll tell you they were wrong- that life was dandy and normal and if only they had known then…
If they don't come out they are erased from the memories of Earth and swiped from the records.
Hell can be found beyond a red lamp at the end of bridge, heralded by the cawing of ravens.
The devil goes by the name Uchiha Itachi.
Sasuke stares out at the river. He is leaning against his car. An apartment building rises next to him. A lone car passes over a nearby bridge, past a red lamp, and disappears. A raven cries out and Sasuke wonders vaguely why it isn't sleeping. He inhales deeply. It smells of water and smoke and concrete. He sighs and pushes away from the car. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face before swinging open the glass door of the building.
The inside lobby is a strange mix of corporate office and abandoned hotel. There are two shiny black doors of elevators, gold arrow and floor marker above each. A thick Persian carpet covers the marble floor and runs up a large curved staircase. An ancient piano, only half covered by a white sheet, sits shoved away in a corner near an old bar.
"Oi Sasuke," a large man behind a sleek black desk says. "You forgot to make an appointment."
"My apologies Kisame," Sasuke smiles nastily. "Please inform Itachi that I'll be waiting here whenever he can fit me in."
"Er, no that's okay."
"Hm? I can go up without an appointment?"
"Uh, yeah."
Sasuke smirks.
The elevator dings and a hassled Diedara lurches out. He smoothes his bulter-esque attire, flicking his ponytail over his shoulder. "Finally!" he snaps at Sasuke. "He's been waiting for you all night. And he's in a wonderfully sadistic mood."
"Aw, did he give it to you like you've been wanting for the past decade?"
"No!" Diedara screeches. "People have been signing their lives over to him over the phone!"
Sasuke perches an eyebrow asking so what?
"It's his laugh," Dieadara says lowly and conspiratorially. "I swear that sound just overwrote my heartbeat."
The phone at the desk rings. Diedara skip-jumps away from it.
Sasuke steps into the elevator and it dings shut as a reluctant Kisame answers the phone.
"Patience, brother," Sasuke speaks softly to the camera he knows is watching him somewhere.
When the door that bears the number 666 swings most customers are greeted by a blonde man. He wears a bow tie around his neck, shined black shoes on his feet, and vest over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He pulls the door open with a grin, gestures customers into the room, and judges them based on their reactions to the penthouse. The room itself is gorgeous. It's a large living space that is incredibly open. Windows that span from the floor to the two-story ceiling offer a view of the river and sparkling skyscrapers beyond. A large white couch folds around a glass coffee table. A modest staircase of white metal leads to a platform that wraps around the room's three inner walls. The walk is lined with bookshelves and various antiques and unidentifiables.
More than one curious item can be found there. The more brave of the customers will notice a crucifix of copper and raise an eyebrow at it. Should such a thing belong in the devil's abode? Though truly the humble chalice wedged between an ancient Korean text and a journal titled The Path to Atlantis should really draw the stares. But it goes unnoticed for the most part. The real attention grabber is a blue diamond that appears to be the bookend for a series of Shakespeare plays.
Of course when the customer first steps into this curious space they are afforded a view of two paintings. They hardly stand out against the white of the room, yet one may recognize the pale blue, almost whitewashed paintings, as the Waterloo Bridge and the Charing Cross Bridge. If one is knowledgeable they may even recognize the works themselves. And if they do the longhaired blonde butler will smile. If the paintings are spared barely a glance the butler will grow extremely irritated in a manner of seconds and huff and give a lecture on the appreciation of art that will continue until a soft velvety word is spoken. The butler will immediately stop talking and bow and the customer will shiver and, in innumerable cases, lose the ability to speak, and, in four separate cases, lose the ability to keep their heart beating below a rate of 250.
Only four customers have been greeted otherwise. One was a burglar new to town who was greeted with no less than thirteen different models of guns, duplicate copies of each, and a resulting early death- although not early as he would have liked after being acquainted with the owner of the apartment. Two were stalkers who, enraptured by the devil's beauty, sought triumphant and noble deaths by his hand. They got less than what they wanted. Had they lived, one would have perhaps said that in retrospect she was glad that her angel had not sullied his hand by being the one to push her from the roof. The other would say that it was an act of love that Itachi had ordered one of his men to do the deed. Foolish to the last.
The fourth customer to be greeted in a unique way was Uchiha Sasuke.
"Shoes," Itachi stresses.
Sasuke toes them off and quietly observes the penthouse.
Itachi hands him a glass of red wine.
"Is that-?" Sasuke questions looking at the paintings.
"Yes."
"Hmm. They aren't very pretty." He dismissively takes a sip from the wine and wanders into the large space.
Itachi's eyebrow twitches.
Sasuke circles the room slowly, pausing to look out over the city. It twinkles in the dark. He loosens the tie knotted around his neck.
"Nervous, brother?"
Sasuke huffs and turns away from the view. Itachi is lounging on the white couch. His long legs, clad in black jeans, are crossed at the ankles. His long-sleeved shirt is pushed up away from his hands. The nails are painted black. Itachi's hair in in a loose ponytail that hangs over his shoulder. The collar of his shirt is wide and loose, displaying a strong collarbone that presses up against pale skin and creates a purple shadowed divert.
"Father misses you," Sasuke says.
"No he doesn't."
"Well, he misses having a perfect son. He talks about you and what you…do."
Itachi smiles. "What's he say I do?"
"The devil's work," Sasuke replies promptly.
"Do you believe him?"
"I'm not that stupid," Sasuke says. "I know you put that poor guy out of business a while ago."
Itachi chuckles. "I'm not evil."
"Aren't you?" Sasuke asks seriously.
"I need your help," Sasuke says after a pause.
"Of course. I suspected you would come to me when I heard what happened. I admit I never expected you to need my help. You've always been eager to clean up your own messes. But I was glad when you came. I know you wouldn't set foot in here unless it was to grovel at my feet."
Sasuke grows angry immediately. "That's not what I'm doing."
"No? You haven't visited me in three years."
"Because father-."
"Father disowned me but that didn't require the same commitment on your part," Itachi says.
Sasuke grins suddenly. He moves to the couch, slowly. The fluid movement of his body demands Itachi's gaze. Sasuke sets his wine on the coffee table and leans over Itachi.
His mouth moves to Itachi's ear and speaks seductively in it. "Stop acting like an abandoned puppy and just say you've missed me." He trails a hand through Itachi's ponytail.
"Mh," Itachi laughs in his throat. He pulls his brother in closer and trails his lips over Sasukes' cheekbone, brushing over to his ear. His hands press into Sasuke's lower back.
"Isn't that puppy you Sasuke? I can't fault you for your feelings of course…" His tongue darts out to lick Sasuke's ear. He feels the responding buckle in his brother's knees. "I left you in the middle of your training after all."
Sasuke pushes away. "You were not training me!" he snaps.
"But I was," Itachi disagrees. "I was so close too," he adds with a not-so-small hint of irritation.
"No you weren't," Sasuke hisses.
"Whatever you say, brother."
"You're not the good guy."
"What?"
"You're not the good guy," Sasuke repeats. "You always act nice and understanding and that's why people come to you, but I know you're just manipulative."
Itachi laughs. "I know I am. And I'm glad you know too. That's why I love you. But regardless of what you say, you're still sitting on my couch asking for help. So come on S'ke. Tell your nii-san what the problem is," he croons. "I'll fix it."
"No. I didn't come as your brother. I'm a customer."
"Really? Then go make an appointment, customer."
"Childish much?" Sasuke asks sassily. "You know, I always thought the devil liked to play a little too much. Maybe he really was just a bored bratty kid."
"Hardly," Itachi says with just as much sass. "God was the child. Throwing tantrums when he didn't get attention and changing the rules whenever he felt like it. The devil was the former lover that he cast away."
"You're saying the devil turned to tormenting souls because he wasn't loved?" Sasuke mocks.
"No, it's because he was loved. But he got thrown away anyways because of some made up, insignificant rules."
Sasuke rubs his forehead. "Maybe he just wasn't amusing enough to keep around," he mutters.
"What?" Itachi demands dangerously cold.