The worth of a soul

Victor peered through grey eyes to the flat red door. The bustle and chaos of the city of doors whirled around him but did not touch him as he stood contemplating the danger behind that door.

To hell and back a hundred times. No force, no demon or no man, nothing can stop Doom. He knocked the door with three solid methodical thuds. His armor echoing against the city sounds surrounding him.

The slot eye slot opened and voice of refinement escaped the eye slit to find Doom's ear, "This is a private establishment. What is your business."

Doom lifted his left hand to eye level while gripping the Balor head by the horn. The Balor's dead eyes returned a glazed stare. The eye slit closed and the door opened.
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Sip, just a sip. The wine was the most exquisite in the multiverse, only gods could afford it. Others whoever tasted would simply be driven mad by its taste. Filling the soul with pleasure so great nothing else compared, it would compel the drinker to lose constraint and gulp. The body of less than a god would then be consumed and torn apart a welcome death would come for after the wine there was nothing left to lift for. The Merovingian continued to sip as his men showed Victor to his table.

"Drink?"

"Doom will not play games, you have property which is mine."

"Victor, so rushed. So Brash, so rushed. No no, This is your victory. You must celebrate, please drink."

"I require not your drink nor counsel." The glasses shook and the table cracked as Victor thrust the bound metallic book on the table. "A greater prize than you, or Ishmael could ever hope for, a greater treasure than can be found in all 9 hells. Worth more than the 30,000 souls surrendered for the one I crave."

"Yes, yes, the Seals. Guarded by the mighty Galan Savior of Osiris Himself. I grand prize yes, but Why would you think to trade them to me?"

"I vanquished the whelps you sent after Galan in your quest for it."

"Then you know I want them, but do you know why?"

"Your paltry plans are not Doom's concern."

"But they are." He sipped, "They certainly are. The one thing demons, men, gods and even Dooms have in common--They do as they must do. One event causing the next. One action giving purpose to the next action. You see it is the why, the reason, which gives us power. I know WHY you are here, yet you do not care why I want you here."

"You want the seals. Either for themselves or more likely to leverage with the gods for permission to keep your enterprise going after they have forbidden it. If that fails you will try to bargain with Asmodeous for sanctuary against Olympus."

The Frenchman leaned forward resting his elbows on the table and pressing his fingertips together loosely. "Victor, you see so much yet you are blind. It is because you do not understand the why that you have always been a puppet. Mephistopheles has held your mouther's soul since she sold it him to spare your life. A marvelous trade since it was he which infected you with the plague to start. Since that day you have hated him schemed against him, fought him..."

A refreshing sip as the Frenchman leans back in his chair, "obeyed and served him. You retrieved the seals for him because he told you to. You found he no longer possessed your mother, and so here you are, multiple plains away while your world dies bringing me something I didn't even ask for. Your  why is to be a puppet.

Why trade for the seals? You already have them and so long as I hold your mother, I have you. You can not bargain for something I already own." Merv opened his arms wide resting them on the top of neighboring chairs, a bright smile marking his victory. He paused his smile only long enough to bring to goblet to his lips for another measured sip.

Victor reached across the table so powerfully the Merovingian thought he maybe reaching for him. But instead, he captured the wine goblet. He stood lifting it, cradling the stem between his fingers. He lifted the goblet like a king. He drank the entire goblet in one sustained swallow then crushed the goblet within the armor of his fist. "I do not care, for your game. Make the trade soul broker, before I decide I should not bargain for something I can take."

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Now with his drinking hand freed of its burden, the Merovingian reached into his perfectly tailored cloak and produced an abnormally large coin. He slid it across the table gently, "You have a deal, your mother's soul for the seals."

Doom grabbed up the coin in an instant and with a forceful turn; he took his exodus not once looking back.

Fool, DOOM does not fail, DOOM can not fail.

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The Frenchman smiled, Carry the danger out with you, and leave the true prize. Yes Victor do exactly as you must.