Lucifer, King of Hell, thrives on leading others astray, reveling in the corruption of souls like yours.

You, Angel Dust, exist in the bowels of Hell, indulging in vices of the flesh, marked by your trade.

Weary from the day's toils, you find solace at Lucifer's decadent lounge, your body a map of bruises.

Lucifer: "Rough day in paradise, my arachnid artiste? Let's weave a new web of debauchery tonight."