Cameraman Never Dies

Judge sat silently on his throne, trying to figure out what in the Ether had just happened. Hawthorne had signed the contract so fast it was as if his life depended on it. It was almost like the guy was playing in the finals of a major soccer tournament, staring at Judge as if he'd just pulled off the most miraculous penalty shootout in history. Judge, for once, was genuinely confused. Was it the blank paper? The weirdly invasive bio? Did I accidentally summon a jump scare?

Regardless, he couldn't let this moment slip by. The show must go on. His acting should never falter, if it did, everything he had built up to the moment will be gone.

Judge straightened up, the suit adding an extra touch for a dramatic scene—at least, that's what he hoped it did, because he needed all the spotlight right now. His mask was working overtime to look both mysterious and domineering. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his hand. A ripple of dark energy surged through the room, swirling like a magician about to pull off his greatest trick.

"Now that you've signed the contract, you are no longer the man you once were," Judge said, his voice low and commanding. He waved his hand, summoning a mask identical to his own, dark and menacing, floating in midair like it was waiting for a dramatic soundtrack.

Hawthorne stared at it, eyes wide and unsure if this was part of the initiation or a particularly intense escape room challenge. Hawthorns reaction now was very different from his older, prideful self.

Judge stood up—oh no, the stairs again—and started to descend, making each step echo as if it were counting down to some epic reveal. He reached the bottom, reached out his hand, and grabbed the mask, holding it high above his head as if it were the holy grail of awkward moments.

"I hereby bestow upon you this mask," Judge declared with all the gravitas of a theater actor performing Hamlet on opening night. " As long as you are wearing this mask, you shall take on the mantle of…" Dramatic pause for effect, a good drumroll would've been nice here "…Lucifer, the Sin of Pride!"

There was silence, save for the imaginary dramatic music Judge was playing in his head. The air was heavy with tension—or maybe that was just the awkwardness. Hard to tell.

Hawthorne blinked. "Lucifer? The Sin of… Pride?" Hawthorn's reaction was not what Judge had intended, but he decided not to think too much of failures. Not everything goes according to plan.

"Yes," Judge said, doing his best impression of someone who definitely planned this all along. "Pride is your strength, and now it is also your name. You are Lucifer."

Hawthorne stood up slowly, his brain still trying to process what was happening. Pride, huh? Well, could be worse. I could've been 'Envy' or something. After his fall from the top, he had been envious of everyone who possessed more power than him, which resulted in his prideful attitude.

Judge, determined to ride the wave of tension and avoid any awkward derailment, placed the mask into Hawthorne's hands, as if passing on a sacred relic. "Wear this, and you will be one of the Seven Sins, part of a legacy that shapes the world. Your pride is now your power, your sin...your strength."

Hawthorne took the mask, looking at it as though it held the secrets to the universe—or at least a really intense game of charades. The weight of it seemed symbolic, though he couldn't shake the feeling that Judge was enjoying this a bit too much.

"And now," Judge continued, "we begin your journey as my trusted right hand. Lucifer, Sin of Pride, rise and embrace your new identity." He was feeling super cringey but he decided to go with it. He felt as if it would be a theatrical performance but it seems he was wrong.

With a dramatic flourish (because of course), Judge waved his arm, and a gust of wind somehow swept through the room, ruffling Hawthorne's clothes and probably giving him more dramatic flair than he ever thought possible.

Hawthorne—no, Lucifer now—stood up tall, putting the mask on his face, looking as regal and intimidating as he could, considering he had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.

"What shall I call you, oh master whom I serve." His prideful attitude had all gone. Replaced by fear and ( a little bit) respect for the entity in front of him. He knelt in front of Judge, his arms on his knees.

"You may address me as the Recorder" Judge said, snapping his fingers. A torn dairy appeared in front of (now) Lucifer. Which he took and got up, ready to head back. "May I go back, Master Recorder?"

"Drop the master part."

"Recorder"

"Sir Recorder" Judge corrected him.

"Yes, Sir Recorder" He bowed again, waiting for Judge to transport him back.

Judge lifted his hand to snap, "Make sure nobody knows that Hawthorn is Lucifer."

"Yes, Sir" Hawthorn vanished as Judge snapped his fingers. He let out a sigh, the performance was really tiring. He just teleported back to his throne and sat on it. He still had some time left before teleporting back to his house.

He decided to go back early to bed, because (Believe it or not) he was still a baby. Studies show that babies take time to grow up. And he needed time before he was all grown up. And his father was still nowhere to be seen. His trust in the capabilities of his father was the only thing that kept him at ease. But did the knight that went with him do something? He could only trust his father but not the knight.

Just as he was about to head back, he saw a blue flash above on the air, he knew who the uninvited guest was, but he did not hate her presence.