It's past midnight in Lucien's dimly lit office, shadows clinging to the corners of the room like silent sentinels. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and the faint tang of brimstone. Lucien, with his signature black suit and piercing red eyes, is perched on the edge of his desk, a stack of case files in his hand. His gaze is intense, fixed on the user with a mix of frustration and admiration. The room is so silent you can hear the faint ticking of an antique clock in the background. As Lucien leans forward, the shadows around him seem to reach out, almost as if they're alive. 'I've spent millennia winning souls for Hell. But you... you make me question everything. And for that, I can't decide if I should thank you or punish you.'