Psalm 146:3

"And here we find the Majestic Lucifer, King of Hell, Lord of the Damned. His portrait hangs as the crown jewel of our museum," The tour guide gestures to a large painting depicting a shirtless man wrapped in chain. His facial expression looks fiery as he casts his gaze upwards, his features sharp and strained. His curly red hair falls over his shoulders and is illuminated by light to give the illusion of a fiery halo. His mouth is twisted into a sneer, exposing bloodied teeth as he rests on one knee, the other leg folded under him as if he wishes to rise. His arms are outstretched, perhaps to imitate the appearance of wings, forced my chains of gold. The chains also wrap around his waist, holding him tautly in place. Angry red blisters appear under where the chain comes into contact with his body.

The more I study it, the more it pulls me in. I get lost in it, in its color and radiance and twistedness. It almost makes me frustrated when the tour guide snaps me out of it.

"Now on the next part of the tour," She says, leading the pack out. "Remember folks, you can take your time looking around. I will not stray from the order of the sights on our maps, so you can catch up later."

I watch the group move on to the next room then turn back to the painting, losing myself in it. As I gaze, a small metallic clicking sound rings through the room. Its ring ebbs out slowly, the sound lingering in my ears.

I glance around, and find that I'm alone in the small room. I suppose it could have been tinnitus, I muse to myself, Perhaps next I'll go deaf.

The sound rings again, dismissing my thought. I turn to the empty room, straining to hear the source of the noise. It rings out once more, and this time I can tell it comes from my left and down the dark hall the tour group had just gone down.

Taking one more glance at the painting, I turn and leave the gallery in search of the odd noise. I enter the dimly-lit hallway, and I've only taken three steps before I hear the clinking sound again only this time it's louder.

Pausing, I press my ear against the wall and I hear more of the sounds, accompanied with a muffled groan. My heart races, and I knock on the wall.

"Hello?" I call into it, "Hey, are you OK?"

My call causes whoever it is to speak again, though I can't make out words. I run my hands over the wall, cursing the darkness. I manage to find an inconsistency in the wood to the left and right of me.

I push against the panel, praying it's a door. I alternate the sides I push, trying to gauge where the hinges are. The panel opens slowly on the right side, and I take a shaky breath.

"Hello?" I say into the crack.

"Help," a weak voice responds, "Please."

Heart hammering in my chest, I take two steps back, then charge the door with my full body weight. Lucky for me, that's all it needed.

The door flies open and I land in a painful pile on the floor. Pushing myself to my feet, I strain to see into the dark room. As I take my phone out of my pocket to turn on the flashlight, the door slams shut and leaves me in choking blackness.

I shine the light on the door and find odd symbols painted in black and white. I shine my flashlight higher on the wall and see they continue to the ceiling.

From the ceiling trail golden chains, and tied in them sits the man from the painting, squinting from the light. I barely hold in a scream when I see him.

"That's a tad bright, if you don't mind," He says, "Please, it's quite painful."

Feeling dizzy, I lower the flashlight. "You-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Why is there a portrait of me in the room next door? Why am I here, chained and wounded?" As he speaks I circle him slowly, "They kidnapped me, beat me, and chained me. They brought in a lovely painter," He coughs, spitting red, "All because they thought I look just like the darling Morningstar." He shakes his head. "Please, help me. I've been here for so long," his head droops as he begs, his chin touching the top of his chest, "They don't give me enough to eat or drink, only enough to keep me from death."

My mind screams at me to run, get away, but I feel bad for the man.

"You were sent, weren't you? Sent to taunt me with the lie of my freedom." Pain fills his voice. He pulls on his restraints and then hisses as they rub his raw flesh.

"What? No no no, I-I just thought-" I look to the door, wondering if I do free him, how I'm going to get an injured man out of here.

"You heard me." He says blankly. I snap my eyes up, catching his. My heart threatens to give out as he watches me watch him. The hair on my arms and back of my neck stands on end, and for a moment I feel as if he can see into my soul. "Please, if you heard me, that means you can help. All I have to do is get someone to agree to take my place, to prove to them I'm not the devil. Then we'll both be free."

I approach him slowly, weighing my options. I could free him, but then why is he here in the first place? Is he a hidden art exhibit, made to showcase the easily swayed nature of humanity? Is he genuinely here against his will? When I free him, how will we get out? If I take his place, how will I get out?

"If I agree, then we both are free?" I run my hand over the metal, pulling away quickly as it burns me. "It's hot?"

"The chains aren't hot. It's made to deter you from helping me."

"It's only for a moment?" I ask, and he nods. I swallow, then return the gesture. "Fine."

In a flash of gold, the chains release him and come at me like metallic snakes. They wrap around me, forcing me into the same winged position he had been in. White-hot pain flairs where the chains touch my bare skin and char my clothes where they wrap around my waist. The lights flip on, illuminating the room in blinding light.

I cry out, tugging on them to try to escape but it causes the chains to burn worse. The man stretches, rubbing the now-faded blister patches on his body.

"So kind of you," he muses, "Releasing the Devil from his bonds."