The Deal with the Devil—the story is more disturbing than the name, Yohan thought.
He sat alone on the terrace, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. Smoke curled into the cold night.
"There were two people in a village—Big Mouth and Big Eyes. Big Mouth was rich and had a large farm, while Big Eyes was poor and had almost nothing. One day, before winter arrived, the Devil came to Big Eyes and said, 'I will give you enough food to last the whole winter, in return I will take life from your farm.' The man with Big Eyes refused the Devil. So the Devil went to Big Mouth. He gave him the same deal. Big Mouth agreed, and fruits grew out of nowhere. He ate until his stomach was full.
But when winter arrived, all the crops in Big Eyes' farm died. He starved, crying, regretting that he hadn't made the deal. And Big Mouth—he had eaten all his food. Nothing more would grow. He cried too, regretting that he had ever agreed with the Devil."
Yohan dragged deep on the cigarette.
A kid should have been reading comics. Instead, he was reading books like this.
Both men were doomed from the start, Yohan thought. The Devil didn't give them choices—he gave them despair. If the Devil never arrived, neither would have suffered. But when the Devil comes with a deal, both paths lead to hell. So why… why does an Angel make a deal with the Devil?
He stared at the smoke rising into the sky.
What do you want to tell me, Headless? What are you trying to show? What does the Angel have to do with a dead boy?
The phone rang.
Yohan answered. A voice on the other end, panicked.
A police officer had been kidnapped—the same officer Yohan had ordered to track down the Angel.
Yohan grabbed his keys and rushed toward the mountains.
The house stood abandoned, cold, a shadow among shadows.
Inside, the officer's body lay lifeless. Headless had already struck. The men around Yohan whispered in confusion—when, how?
Yohan crouched, touching the body. The warmth was still there.
"He died minutes ago," he growled. "The Angel isn't far. Search the forest!"
He looked up, and through the rain-smeared window saw him—
a figure walking through the trees, too calm, too steady, blood dripping from his clothes.
Not hiding. Not running.
Almost like he had been waiting to be seen.
Yohan stormed out, revolver drawn, and plunged into the forest. For the first time, he was ready to kill.
The rain began to fall. Thunder rumbled.
And then, in the clearing, Yohan saw him.
The Headless Angel. Face hidden by cloth, body motionless, as if carved from stone.
Yohan leveled his revolver, his voice shaking:
"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
Silence. The Angel stood as if he didn't exist at all.
Thunder crashed overhead.
"Are you the masterpiece?" Yohan screamed.
The Angel slowly raised two fingers to his forehead.
"Pull the trigger," his voice was low, almost swallowed by the storm.
"But how do you kill what's already dead?"
The words froze Yohan's blood.
The Angel turned his back and began to walk away.
"Don't move a muscle, or I'll shoot!" Yohan shouted.
Without turning, the Angel's voice cut through the rain:
"Like your mother."
Yohan's hand trembled. His revolver slipped, crashing into the mud. His chest tightened. Breath shallow. His knees buckled. He collapsed, gasping, choking on the weight of the words.
The Angel disappeared into the storm, leaving only silence and rain.
When the officers finally found Yohan, he was still on his knees, drenched, lips moving, whispering to nothing.
"He's already dead… he's already dead…"