Beelzebub and Belphegor were discussing their family as the flashback faded.
It was revealed that their father was born to a German father and an Italian mother. He grew up in Italy before being brought to the northern part of Korea, which was vastly influenced by European cultures.
There, he built his empire of crime—the Binsfeld family.
He never married but had two mistresses. One of them produced Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Belphegor. The other birthed Satan, Mammon, and Leviathan.
No mention of Asmodeus's mother was made by the two brothers.
The scene changed.
Sarah had returned home, but something was amiss. The house was terribly silent, and no matter where she looked, her husband could not be found. He wasn't in the kitchen, the bathroom, or the bedroom. Slumped in her chair, she absentmindedly tried to call him, but he wouldn't pick up the phone.
While Sarah was anxious and confused, Asmodeus was in bed with a girl from one of his brothels.
She informed him about how the mistress of the brothel lied on the ledgers. There were more customers on average than she had let on.
"Mistress Bella is stealing from you," the girl confessed.
Asmodeus caressed her head and whispered, "Good girl."
It was always so easy for him to gain information from women. They adored him, after all. None of them were impervious to his sin—not even prostitutes.
Everyone desired something, even if that something happened to be a lie. And the girl clinging to his body under the sheets also desired something: a lie that Asmodeus was more than willing to provide.
She craved the warmth of his bed and the safety of his home. As a reward, Asmodeus provided her with all that and more.
He showed her how profound was the art of sensual pleasure. In that singular moment, there were no worries—no stressing over next month's rent. There was only a sin so severe that earthly matters ceased to exist.
For an instant, she hallucinated the great devil's grasp on her figure.
From atop the hill behind the mansion, Leviathan watched the two through a pair of binoculars. He had been spying on Asmodeus for a while through the gap in the curtains of the second-floor window.
His face was distorted. It was turning more and more twisted by the second.
He chewed on a piece of leather he couldn't even recall where he had found. His mental stability was worsening, and no one but the audience could tell.
Meanwhile, Lucifer and Mammon sat facing each other. The air was heavy, and tensions were running high.
"Go ahead, tell me," — Lucifer crossed his legs and folded his arms — "why am I receiving the exact same amount in taxes even though your businesses are doing increasingly well?"
Mammon nervously licked his lips and ground his teeth.
"Profits are high, aren't they?" Lucifer continued, looking around the well-furnished room. "Do you not understand how percentages work? Do I have to teach you numbers now?"
Mammon's brows twitched. He hated how his brother was always so calm. It made him scarier.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, chuckling nervously. "Profits may be marginally higher, but the operation costs have increased. And as—"
"You owe me," Lucifer interjected.
He didn't so much as care to listen to Mammon. No matter how many times the greedy man tried to deny the allegations, he was simply ignored.
"By the end of the month, I will require you to bring me what I am owed," Lucifer added, getting up from his seat. "And a formal letter of apology addressed to the head of the family, Lucifer Binsfeld."
Even after his brother had left, Mammon stayed seated. He was in a very foul mood.
In a fit of anger, he cursed at the top of his lungs. He threw the table aside and poured himself a glass of brandy. He drank it all in one large gulp and smashed the glass on the floor.
"Head of the family…" he muttered, spontaneously like a lunatic. "Will it still be you by the end of the month, Lucifer?"
That evening, Mammon invited Satan to one of his bars.
"What's the occasion?" Satan asked, seeing as Mammon wasn't charging him for the drinks.
Mammon chuckled. "Oh, nothing really. Just wanted to relax and vent a little. Can't charge my older brother for that now, can I?"
Throughout the night, Mammon kept ordering drinks for himself and his brother. While Satan drank the strong stuff, the sly Mammon mostly nursed soda. For hours, he complained about Lucifer, confirming Satan's reaction with a brief side glance.
Lucifer this, Lucifer that—oh, he could not shut up.
Greedy Mammon was good at one thing: manipulating others into giving him what he wanted. It had earned him money and favors. And he wasn't above using this skill on his own brother.
He called Lucifer names—narcissist, unworthy, hypocrite, etc. He brought up every little thing, every little incident Lucifer was responsible for since he was a child.
"Father was dying; he was not in his right mind. He couldn't possibly have preferred Lucifer over you as the head of the family."
Inebriated, Satan recalled the past. There was so much wrong there—so much frustration, unfairness, and regret. It was lunacy that he even allowed it to continue.
"Yeah…" he whispered, his eyes half-closed.
That was his first word in a while. All this time, he had only been listening to Mammon blabber. But now, he looked pensive. He had something on his mind, but his expression bore resolve. There was venom in his intoxicated eyes.
Noticing it, Mammon smiled the most hideous smile known to mankind.
From across the street, from the comfort of a black sedan, Leviathan watched the two with his binoculars. He was curious about their intentions, but he could not concentrate. Noise was emitting from the trunk of his car for a while.
After making sure that no one was around, he stepped out of the car and opened the trunk.
Inside was a girl tied and gagged. It was clear—from the way she was dressed—that she was a prostitute. But there was one concerning detail that could not escape the eye. She was the exact prostitute Asmodeus had spent the day in bed with.
Mammon reached his hand towards her as the terrified girl squealed and squirmed. He put a shaky finger to her lips and shushed her.
On the verge of tears, she shook in fear.
"Screaming will only make it more difficult," Mammon said, his voice low and heavy. "Right?"
Weeping silently, the girl nodded.
Mammon caressed her cheek.
Yes, this is how it should be, his expression seemed to scream.
The disgusting, murky emotions of his had disappeared the moment he impulsively abducted the girl while she was returning home.
It felt so right, so liberating.
Some other intense feeling was overwhelming his envy. Why hadn't he done this before? Why had he believed that he was shackled?
'They will have consequences. They will not flaunt in front of me.'
The chilling scene faded out as music lightly began playing.
In a candlelit room, Asmodeus stood surrounded by a dozen or so women in their forties. They were wearing black dresses and black Colombina masks. In their hands were whips used for pleasure.
These were the mistresses of Asmodeus's many brothels. Immensely loyal, they wouldn't steal so much as a coin from him—except for one: the one kneeling in front of him.
Stripped naked, she was covering her chest anxiously.
"You stole from me," Asmodeus said, his voice wispy. "Do you admit to your crime, Bella?"
Shivering, the woman eked out a barely audible 'yes.'
Asmodeus nodded pensively.
Admitting to her mistake was the correct choice. He gestured for the mistresses surrounding him to take care of it. They bowed politely before making way for him. And while taking off his gloves, he began a leisurely walk out of the place.
On cue, the masked mistresses dragged the naked Bella to one of the bloody walls of the room, tied her to it, and strapped a Zanni mask to her face.
With fanatic smiles, they lashed out at her with unprecedented savagery. A symphony of cracking whips, berating words, and pained screams rang out. Blood splattered over the silver candleholders, coloring the dripping wax red.
All the while, dancing shadows in the candlelight presented a vivid display of the gruesome and violent nature of mankind.
Just then, the outro song picked up.
The screen turned black, and the credits rolled.
The theater of lunacy had come to an end.