Cuphead just wanted his brother back.
That was all he'd ever wanted, really - money would have been nice, so would power, but he never realized exactly what his most valued possession truly was until it was gone.
Mugman. It was always Mugman. They'd been together longer than either of them could remember - together in their mother's womb, together in their first crib, together in the orphanage later on, and together in Elder Kettle's cottage.
Sure, they had fights - all siblings did. But they always reconciled in the end. Mugman was always there for Cuphead, and vice versa.
Cuphead wished he'd just given back the Devil's pitchfork, then they wouldn't be in this mess - but he didn't, and their situation was as real as the Devil himself.
Cuphead had gone to Quadratus for help after his brother was taken. The wise old deity in the pool had been extremely unhelpful at first, but had finally given him the tool needed to create his only means of transportation to the underworld. Cuphead created his elevator and packed up the tandem bike Mugman had made inside of it, and then he was there in hell, standing in front of the Devil after a failed escape attempt.
The Devil, unwilling to hand over his hostage for any small price, offered Cuphead a deal - a heartbreaking one.
Mugman could leave, but Cuphead would be staying right here in hell.
What could he do? Cuphead couldn't just leave his brother here in hell - even if Mugman had lasted this long, he'd surely start to feel the heat eventually. The Devil wasn't likely to be kind to him in the least if Cuphead rejected the deal.
But at the same time... if Cuphead accepted the deal, what unspeakable horrors would await him there? It was hell. It wasn't known for being a vacation spot - especially not for the Devil's most loathed person. Even if he could escape, he'd surely never be the same again...
Was it worth it?
Cuphead took a deep breath.
"Yes."
The Devil smiled.
"I knew you would make the right choice," said evil incarnate, holding out his hand. "Now, if you please, give me my pitchfork - and kneel for me, would you?"
Cuphead handed the stolen pitchfork to its owner and lowered his head, his face burning with anger, hatred, and humiliation as he bowed to the Devil.
But nobody left hell that night.
The Devil was happy to have his pitchfork back - he twirled around and kissed it, humming a little tune happily - and then turned back to the brothers, who were staring at each other, Cuphead smiling sadly and Mugman on the verge of shocked tears.
The Devil started to laugh. The brothers glanced at him, then edged closer together as his laughter grew louder.
"You... utter... fools!" the Devil laughed, wiping a tear of laughter off his face.
"You didn't really think that I was going to let you both go free, did you?"
Cuphead suddenly realized just how badly he had messed up, as the Devil grew huge above them and reached down to grab him and a frozen Mugman.
As the two of them closed their eyes they grabbed onto each other, both determined to never let go.
Cuphead and Mugman had been imprisoned for so long, they could barely remember the feeling of a cool breeze, the taste of Elder Kettle's pancakes, or the sight of the blue sky overhead.
Maybe it had been three days, maybe it had been three years, but the time made no difference to the sweltering heat of the flames that often licked the bars of their cell and the painful chips and cracks they had sustained from the guards who would occasionally rattle their cage, or pull them out and shove them around.
The only thing keeping Cuphead sane was Mugman, and vice versa. Every day, Mugman would remind Cuphead to recite his name, age, birthday, and favorite things in the morning. Every once in a while, however, Mugman would break down crying and rattle the bars, screaming for the guards to let him out - and then, Cuphead would hold him as he sobbed his heart out. Gone were the days of petty arguments and hitting each other - so was everything about their childhoods.
Now, demons always scuttled through the area. Sometimes they would laugh at the boys and taunt them. But one night, two especially large demons came right to the cell.
The demons opened the doors, and one ducked inside as the brothers backed away fearfully, holding onto each other tightly.
"Cuphead?" Mugman whispered, eyes wide. "Why are they here?"
"How should I know?" Cuphead hissed, trying to seem brave despite how hard his heart was pounding.
The large demon looked over them. He grunted and grabbed them both by the handles, yanking them away from each other.
"Hey!" Cuphead protested, kicking and punching air and trying to turn around. "The hell is this?"
The demon carried them both out and threw Mugman uncarefully to the other demon, who caught him. The blue-strawed mug was too frightened to move, let alone resist, as the demon twisted his hands behind his back and tied them. Cuphead kicked and struggled, but a few minutes later, both boys were bound and being marched through hell.
"E-excuse me, sir - w-where are you taking us, exactly?" Mugman stuttered.
Neither demon answered.
They marched the boys through hell at a quick pace, and all arrived at a large double door.
The doors opened into a huge stadium. It was very well-lit for hell - there were many large lanterns hanging among the seats and above the arena. However, despite the relative brightness of the stadium, an aura of dread hung in the air, infecting the brothers and making both feel queasy. Even more disconcertingly, the seats were nearly all empty but for a few in a VIP box. Cuphead, squinting, managed to just barely make out five figures - a gray and horned one, which was clearly the Devil, but several unfamiliar silhouettes as well.
Cuphead didn't have much time to ponder, as before he knew it, a club was being shoved into his hand and he was being dragged out into the middle of the arena.
"Wh-" Cuphead looked at Mugman beside him, who was rubbing his arm where the demon guard had held him. "Mugsy, what the hell's going on?" Cuphead hissed.
"Well I don't have a clue!" retorted a wide-eyed Mugman, tightly gripping the club he'd been given.
A door on the other side of the arena opened, and a large, gray cloud swirled out. The cup brothers backed away from it as it assembled itself into... a giant cigar?
Both brothers blinked a few times. Yes, it was a cigar - a huge cigar with large eyes and a grimly smiling mouth.
An upbeat jazz instrumental began to play from somewhere, registering only as white noise in Cuphead's rapidly-overloading brain.
Cuphead looked around wildly, from the giant anthropomorphic cigar, to the Devil in the stands, to the ceiling high, as a disembodied voice blared from an unknown place.
"A brawl is surely brewing!"
Suddenly the realization hit him, and by the looks of him, Mugman as well.
This was a fighting arena.
This was why they had clubs.
This was their enemy.
They looked at each other in horror as the cigar took a deep breath in, ready to begin his attack.
"Now go!"
Bendy knew he was a bad son. He always had.
He was so different from his father, the Devil. He had no interest in torture, soul-collecting, or causing chaos beyond a few pranks. Really, the only thing he had in common with his father was their shared love of dancing.
Bendy loved to dance. He found it difficult to sit still, in fact - at least one of his feet was always tapping, at least one hand always drumming its fingers. The Devil had always found it annoying, in fact - even he didn't like dancing that much.
More of a problem, however, was that Bendy also loved living things. The young demon had always possessed a passion for organic things - the first time he had ever felt a living person's touch was long, long ago, before he could even remember most things.
That first living creature had been the Devil - Bendy's older sister, Allison, had told him the story many times, but he knew he remembered the most important part. It might've been his only memory from his old home - the softness of the Devil's fur, the strangeness of the constantly moving muscles under his skin, and above all the unmistakable warmth of life.
On his first trip to the surface, at the age of nine, Bendy had been mesmerized - by the light, by the blue sky, and by all the diverse creatures.
The young demon had been so hypnotized by the surface, he had managed to dig up a few small Daffodil flowers and sneak them back to hell in a little bowl he'd found. Bendy still had those flowers five years later - the group had grown, and by now there was almost a full patch in there.
Bendy was glad his father had taken him and his siblings to hell, regardless of the problems they had - according to Allison, nothing was worse than their birthplace. She was older than him, and remembered better. She said that it was a dismal place - nothing but hostile creatures, the odd lost human, and deep, dark pools of the very ink they had been created from.
Allison had never explained the story of their creation in detail. She had told him that he was too young. All she had told him was that their existence was fought for by a very affluent, very greedy man named Joey. He had created them all with ink and paper years before their births, as cartoons. They became beloved among young children, making Joey and his business partner, Henry, very affluent. One day, Joey decided that it would be a sound idea indeed to bring to life his beloved characters, and allow children to pay to interact with them.
His first attempt at creating life failed.
The result was a deranged creature consisting of pure instincts with no mind or emotions - a twisted, evil Bendy.
This failed Bendy seemed like a bad omen of things to come - and so Joey had struck a bargain with the Devil.
The bargain was that the Devil would supply Joey with souls to infuse his characters with - but Joey would owe him his own soul, to be collected as soon as he had reached his goal of a perfect, living character. All other souls would also be owed to the Devil but the one infused in the perfect character.
That day came years later. Allison had been born, imperfect and cast aside - so had Alice and Tom, Bendy's other two siblings. And one day, the miracle was finally achieved.
A perfect Boris.
And the Devil swooped in to take all that he was owed - but Joey didn't want to give up his soul so easily.
He had been the first person in centuries to ever escape the Devil.
But the Devil didn't give up. He kept coming after Joey for years and years until he finally got the best of him.
And then, the Devil had set about taking back the other souls he'd lent Joey.
Bendy had been the last one to be taken back. He didn't remember much, but there were fragments - a comforting voice telling him to just stay quiet and he'd be okay, hiding under a table of some sort, a tall woman in a long skirt brandishing a weapon, her scream as the Devil had incinerated her, and the strange feeling of warmth from the Devil's skin as he picked Bendy up.
He didn't remember who the tall woman was, but he rather tried not to dwell on it. He supposed she'd taken care of him at some point - he knew he had no mother, but perhaps she had been a substitute.
Bendy contemplated his past as he watered his flowers. Who knew why any of these things happened? It wasn't as if anyone was going to answer him in detail. He didn't even know how his own body worked. For one thing, his head wasn't attached to his body, it just sort of floated. For another, when he was younger, losing his temper had caused him to become bigger, scarier and more durable, for whatever reason. Bendy had mostly learned to control it by now, but he still had outbursts every now and then. Luckily, he hadn't killed anybody yet - at least, not that he remembered.
There was a knock on his bedroom door. "Oh, Bendy!" sang the Devil cheerfully from outside. "Put on your suit, we have another fight to watch! It's a special one this time..."
Bendy panicked and dropped the watering can, quickly shutting his closet door to hide the plants and their grow lights. "A-all right, Dad!" he stuttered. "Be right out..."
"Thank you, my son," the Devil said grandly. Bendy could tell that his father was doing many dramatic hand gestures on the other side of the door. "Be ready In fifteen - we have two very special fighters this time..." He walked away from the door, footsteps thumping.
Bendy waited until the Devil's footsteps faded away, then sighed with relief and started to dress. Which poor prisoners could his father possibly be pitting against each other next?
Bendy rather disliked his father's pastime of forcing his prisoners to fight each other, but he had no choice but to go along with it.
After all, the Devil might've been Bendy's father, but no demon should ever stand up to the Devil himself.