A/N: So usually in a story I try to make all the chapters within about 500 words of each other, give or take. This story will probably not go that route. Because I can only go on so long before I'm babbling pft. So if it seems all jumpy length-wise, that's why. And hey, real authors do it, why shouldn't I?

Probably because I'm not a real author but STILL. Whateva whateva I do wut I want

…Also I'm once again taking Gragor from my 'Living the Sin' and 'Lilith' stories and putting him in here…Apparently he is my OC baby that I refuse to relinquish. Figures my only OC would be a goddamn demon pft.

Enjoy~

"You are of your father the devil, and you want to do the desires of your father He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth because there is no truth in him Whenever he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies." –John 8:44

There was always something that Damien admired about Hell, though he could never say for certain what it was. Perhaps it was the constant glow that emanated throughout the world. Perhaps the symphony of screams that echoed far and wide, piercing the ear with a delicate touch should ne find the beauty in the work that was being accomplished. Or maybe, just maybe, it was merely the familiarity. Only a handful of times had Damien wandered from Hell onto the human world. He found it rather…boring. There were those who suffered, yes. There were those who fought. Even those whose lives were truly something of legends to tell far into the future. But nothing about them quite piqued Damien's interest.

Maybe it was just the result of being surrounded by the worst of the worst for his lifetime. Stories from war-hungry mongrels, totalitarian dictators, and your run-of-the-mill serial killers were certainly more enthralling than anything a J-mart cashier could have told him. Few mortals that he'd encountered were anything special in the long run. Sure, he'd met a handful of geniuses, a couple world leaders in particularly extravagant gallivants throughout the mortal realm, but none of them were quite enough to sate Damien's appetite. He'd longed to meet a mortal that gave him a reason to not hate them as a whole as much. He wanted to feel something for the wretched fools that had been sent to his home turf.

He thought he'd found that in Kenny McCormick.

For years Damien was fascinated by him. Death was a game to the blonde. It was something that was worth both the demon's admiration and hatred. He hated the fact that the man was so easily slipping through cracks in the system he'd been raised to believe was the pinnacle of perfection. He loathed the way that Kenny could bounce back and forth between the realms when it took a lot of power and a lot of effort for Damien to do the same, even though he'd always been a much more powerful creature than the blonde could even conceive of. It was a baseless jealousy, Damien had always known that. But it was still there, seated deep in the confines of his ever-whirring mind.

Something about Kenny's easygoing attitude, the fact that death was nothing but an annoyance. It was compelling. He had taken to meeting with the cursed soul now and again on his multitude of trips down into the fiery abyss. Kenny was never afraid of him, usually acknowledging his presence with a mere nod or a snarky grin and a 'Hey, Dam'. Kenny McCormick wasn't afraid of anything, not even the devil.

And it pissed him off.

For years Damien had tried to figure out just what it was that made Kenny tic. How could he be the only mortal out of billions throughout time to slip in and out of destiny as though it were fabricated with the purest of silk? Ken was an enigma, the one thing in Damien's life that he couldn't put a definite answer to. It drove him near the edge of madness time and again, often finding himself lashing out on mortals serving their time as he wandered in and out of layers, surveying the destruction lying around him. Something within the blonde was keeping his soul from latching onto the afterlife, made it skid on by while others were caught in the thresher and torn asunder.

Damien knew, now more than ever, Kenny was a threat.

He'd only heard of the demons speak of a Chosen One that had defeated the armies of Hell so long ago, a mere child of nine at the time. No one knew of the child's name down in the turmoil. They only knew that he had managed to easily wipe out their army from the safety of a high rafter, watching the destruction unfolding below him with a nonchalance that infuriated the warriors. His skill and precision had led to a humiliating loss, sending his father and his demons back into the pits from whence they'd emerged.

It'd taken far too long in Damien's opinion to realize that it only could have been Kenny that had made it through. Everyone within the afterlife knew one truth: Those with gifted souls were the most powerful beings that could exist, pure, blazing forces to be reckoned with. Every archangel and archdemon fell into this category, and only a few mortals were able to squeeze themselves into the limelight. Damien had no doubts that Ken was one of them, that he was the potential problem that would overthrow his plans. He had to do something.

Damien sighed, watching from a high post at the Gates as mortals were herded in, cattle driven to the slaughterhouse. A gentle clearing of a throat came from behind him and he whirled around, finding himself standing face-to-face with his most trusted of counterparts. He offered a crooked smirk, a fang glaring in the firelight beyond the gate. "Gragor," he nodded. "I trust you come bearing news?"

The golden-plated monster before him shifted a bit, long, timberwolf claws scraping up one arm nervously. "Master Damien, there is an issue," he said lowly.

Damien's ruby eyes narrowed dangerously and Gragor held his breath. "What do you mean 'issue'?" he questioned lowly.

He sighed tiredly. "Your father needs to speak with you about the Chosen One."

The demon grimaced, shaking his head lightly. "Very well. You are coming as well," he directed, hopping from his post and slowly floating down onto the ground. He looked up, waiting for Gragor's massive charcoaled wings to flutter him down beside him before they trekked off in the direction of Satan's base. He turned, watching the monster walking a few inches behind him to his side. "Tell me, Gragor, is there any good news that I can expect?" he asked plainly.

Deep, black eyes rose to meet Damien's and he shrugged, crossing his arms. "I don't know, My Lord, but it seems as though Lord Satan did not have any to share."

"Fantastic," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. He looked to see a line of mortals slowly meandering to their side and smirked at their horrified faces. "Any luck on the spell I sent you to find, Gragor?"

He shook his head, "Not as of yet, Master Damien. Rest assured that it is being under constant scrutiny, however."

He nodded, "Excellent. I expect that you won't fail me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, My Lord," he smirked. Damien returned the expression before redirecting his attention to in front of him, shoving his hands into his ebony jeans. So things were not quite running along as smoothly as he had anticipated, but it was no matter. He needed the time to stall anyway, he had a much bigger operative than merely turning the mortals into his army. He had to find the way to bring Kenny down, and his father was behind him on that one.

Damien knew that his father harbored no ill will towards Kenny, in fact, he rather liked the blonde. But they both knew that he was the only possible thing standing in the way of their goal, and any good demon knows that sacrifices must be made for the greater cause.

The two demons made their way to Satan's office, little ink-blotted demons scampering about to get out of the antichrist's way. Damien could practically smell the superiority leaking off of Gragor as he walked beside him and chuckled to himself. "Don't get so confident, Gragor," he said cheekily. "Remember that you yourself were once one of the 'receptionists' down here."

Gragor laughed and nodded, "This is true, My Lord, but I served my time and got tormented by those who rose above me. These little minions should be thankful that I am not so cruel."

"Hm," he mused with a raised brow and a smirk. "Considering the fact that you're a torturer, I don't think a lack of cruelty is something to boast about, my friend."

He smiled crookedly, jagged fangs showing deviously in the light. "I know when to release my cruel intentions, My Lord. When for yours or your father's benefit. These are not worth my time," he waved a giant hand dismissively at the other demons who hissed at him and scampered back to their respective posts.

"So long as you remain aware where your loyalties lie," he teased, beating on Satan's door.

"Come in!"

Damien shoved the door open, the both of them staring at Satan bent over his desk, staring at something intensively. "Gragor said you needed to tell me something?" he said coolly, stepping into the room and letting Gragor shut the door behind them.

Satan looked up and nodded solemnly. "Sit," he directed at the both of them. Gragor waited for Damien to take his seat before settling down beside him in an adjacent chair, the both of them looking up at the Beast expectantly. Satan threw off his reading glasses, rubbing his tiredly. "There's a problem regarding Kenny, Damien."

"And that would be?" he raised his brow, crossing his arms and legs, settling down into his seat.

"Heaven knows of our intentions," he frowned. "I'm assuming they placed a spy of some sort…"

"Double agent," Gragor muttered before quickly slamming his mouth shut, remembering just who he was in the presence of.

Damien looked over at him and cocked his head, "Now, Gragor. You have as much right to speak in here as either of us. There's a reason I invited you in. You know the lives of the demons better than my father or myself. What do you know?"

He sighed in relief before straightening up, looking between the two daunting figures. "Lord Satan, do you recall the spy in which you sent in the last war?"

He nodded, "Yes. He provided us with very valuable information, even though we weren't successful," he rolled his eyes.

"No one has seen him since word of the war began to spread," he said gravely. "We believe it was a double cross."

"Ah," Damien nodded. "Well then, there's your answer for that one, Pops," he shrugged. "And so what if they know our intentions? We're still outnumbering them vastly once Gragor finds the spell I'm in need of," he gestured over to his demonic counterpart.

Satan's face fell into a somber line and he shook his head, "I don't know if it'll make a difference, Son," he said honestly. "They have Kenny under a protection spell. He's going to spend one more day on Earth under the archangel's protection while he decides whether or not to lead them."

"Wait, how do you know that?" he waved his hands in front of his face.

Satan crossed his arms behind his back and shrugged, "We anticipated a double cross, so we sent in another spy."

"Very resourceful, Lord Satan," Gragor complimented.

Satan smirked, "I like to believe so, yes. Thank you, Gragor…" he trailed off, looking down at Damien. "Just what was it you planned to do with Kenny?"

Damien scratched the side of his head listlessly, "Well the original intent was to throw him in a goddamn prison cell down here until the war was over."

Satan chuckled lightly, "I thought you of all people would be a little craftier than that, Damien."

He smirked, "Well that's why I said the original intent. After a bit of thinking though, I found a way to send his soul somewhere where it'll get stuck," he raised his brow.

"Oh?" he blinked. "Where?"

"Purgatory," Damien said simply, giving him a dismissive shrug. "If we could redirect his soul and send him there, then he'll be stuck in the middle plane and his soul won't be able to transcend as it usually does."

Gragor looked at him in astonishment, "How do you know that, Master Damien?"

"Because anyone with a basic knowledge of souls knows that," he scoffed. "When you're sent to Heaven or down here, your soul comes in one piece. When you're in Purgatory, it's scattered throughout, impossible for it to thread itself back together as it once was until your cleansing is completed. That's why it's a void of nothingness, because no souls can come together to make it into any feasible universe."

Satan nodded slowly with his words. "This is true, Ken's never been sentenced to Purgatory before, he's too…"

"Full of life, ironically enough," Damien finished with a dramatic eye roll. It was just another thing that irked him on about the blonde. He was way too happy-go-lucky for Damien's tastes, that was for sure. "That moron lives what moments of life he does have to the fullest, as a mortal is supposed to, so he gets sent where a full-fledged soul is meant to go."

"How can you send him to Purgatory?" Satan crossed his arms skeptically. "Don't get me wrong, it's a great idea, but you can't just make Kenny a doll or something."

"When he's alive, no," he agreed. "But when he passes, I can."

They both looked at him with cocked brows. "You…you can, My Lord?" Gragor asked quietly.

Damien nodded, hopping to his feet and pacing between the two of them, looking up thoughtfully. "It took me a long time, longer than I care to admit," he scoffed. "But I found a way to change one's afterlife destiny," he grinned maliciously. "I practiced on a few mortals out there," he waved towards the door aimlessly. His face fell a bit and he sighed. "Purgatory is meant to cleanse ones soul so they may pass into Heaven, correct?"

"Right…" Satan nodded confusedly.

"I can make McCormick's soul so full of sin that each tattered remain will take centuries to mend," he chuckled. "It'll keep him out of our hair plenty long enough to achieve our goal."

Gragor's plated face broke into a wide, snaggletoothed grin. "That's a brilliant idea, Master Damien."

Satan held up his hand, "Hold it, there's a problem with that idea," he frowned.

They both looked at him and blinked. "What?" Damien questioned.

"You can't do it, not where he'll be," Satan sighed. "You know as well as I do that you're not at full power in Heaven. And being under the archangel's protection…it'll be impossible to get to him while he's up there," he pointed at the ceiling.

Damien opened his mouth to protest before it slowly began to close. "Fuck," he spat, crossing his arms and staring down at his shoes, a dark scowl settling on his face. "What about Earth?"

He shook his head, "He's under their protection up there, too. And you know that their power exceeds your own, Damien. Besides, any damage you do to his soul up on Earth will repair itself before he makes his way to the afterlife. It'd be a giant waste of time."

He bit his lip and growled, ruby eyes darting for his answer. "There has to be some way to get to him when he's in Heaven," he muttered. "If he only has one day on Earth, that's not nearly enough time for me to formulate a strategy to somehow follow him when he passes. But up there…" he trailed off, looking towards the stone ceiling and heaving a deep sigh. "Could your spy do anything?" he asked his father blandly.

"Perhaps the archangel's powers will have a weak spot that he can discover," Gragor inputted.

Satan nodded, "I don't know, but I'll see what they can do," he promised. "As of now, however, I believe that you need to try to formulate plan C, Damien. There has to be some other way to get Kenny out of our way."

Damien nodded slowly, sighing again and shaking his head. "Anything else, Pops?"

"Not to my knowledge," he shrugged. "I'll send for the spy to begin his work once Kenny arrives back in Heaven. You figure out just where you want to go from here."

"Right," he muttered, listlessly waving as he began heading away from the desk and out the door, Gragor on his heels.

Gragor came up closer to his side and looked at him worriedly as they passed through the demonic crowd once again. "Don't worry, Master Damien," he offered optimistically, "You can outdo any mortal, and this Kenny is no different."

Damien chuckled a bit and shook his head, "Oh Gragor, you're so wonderfully naïve," he looked at him amusedly. Gragor's face contorted into confusion as Damien's fell back into a dark, plotting frown. "McCormick is very different," he said lowly. "He's the one thing that's in our way. Taking him down is a bigger objective than overthrowing Heaven itself." Gragor stared at him, speechless, wondering just how much of a threat Kenny actually posed to them. He'd been in the last war himself, but never listened to the rumors circulating that a child of all things had defeated them. But seeing the serious look in Damien's stare, sensing the tenseness between the boy and his father…he was beginning to understand the major concern that was buzzing about.

Damien sighed, brushing dark, thick locks from his eyes as they made their way back towards the gates, eyeing more mortals as they walked. Damien couldn't help but marvel at them in a way. They were all so ordinary. None of them had the slightest bit of a threat within them. Kenny was more powerful than the entire lot of Hell put together if he came through for the forces of Heaven, and Damien knew it. He growled, his claws digging into his palm as he clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing precariously. Something had to be done and it had to be done soon.

Catching Damien's attention was going to be Kenny's biggest regret. He could guarantee it.

A/N: Ken's so special /throws glitter on him

And don't worry, Ken is more special than just his strategizing skills /winkwinknudgenudge

But that's for later!

Thanks for R&Ring!