Humans believed hell was hot, but it wasn't. It was cold. Though snow fell from the skies, only staying long enough to dust the stone walls of his prison, the air was far below freezing. The chill was insufferable, so cold that it burned with the heat of a thousand flames. And how the Morningstar longed for warmth and the light.
After his wings healed from his Fall, he flew whenever he could leave his rule, searching endlessly for a way out. It took him many centuries to find his way up to the mortal realm. The first time, he thought he'd escaped, only to be returned by Amenadiel, who could travel to and from hell with the use of a new design by his Father, the pentacostal coin. He vowed to steal one of those coins.
His visits were brief, but it was often days or weeks before someone realized he was missing, drawn constantly to the warmth of the human world. Strange these creatures were, their souls burning fiercely with desire, their wants shown plainly to the Devil. And he would give it to them. Contrary to belief, he did not hate the humans. Nor did he love them. They were fascinating, but he had loved his Father, and vied for the gift of free will, given so easily to these flawed beings.
One day he would study them further, those that were the reason for his Fall, whose souls shone so brightly, yet flickered and fell unendingly to his kingdom. Hell, devoid of life, of substance, of warmth, would be left behind. And what the Devil wanted, he would get.