The late summer's harvest moon cast a soft, yellow light upon the field. Below the heavens, below the wispy white clouds, below the soaring black hawk, below the trees that gently rustled in the wind, Argyle sat on a log around a dull green fire.

From his pouch, he pulled out more copper sulfate. He looked at it in his hand, the blue crystals shimmering in the firelight, before throwing it into the flames. It was the offering his demon needed.

The dull green flames turned into a vivid, almost acidic color. Then, they grew and grew until they were higher than the trees. The flames acted as a portal. Out from it stepped Argyle's old friend.

"You always look so ridiculous, stepping out from that tower of fire," Argyle said, as the flames died down and eventually disappeared entirely. "You're not that tall, you know."

Indeed, the woman who had stepped out from the portal was shorter than Argyle himself, who, although once a tall young man, was now a shrunken old geezer.

"You know I like to make an entrance,"—the woman tried to say, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. Though it was dark, the moon gave Argyle just enough light to see something shimmering on the woman's face. Blood?

"Here," Argyle said, handing her his waterskin. As she drank, she tilted her face upwards, allowing more moonlight to shine across her. Argyle noted how smooth her skin still was. His used to be like that. "How goes things on the other side?"

"The same as ever, I fear. Seventy years later, and nobody's learned a damned thing." She whipped the ground with her tail in frustration. "They're practically at our gates now." Argyle looked down at his hands. Seventy years, had it really been that long?

"But you'll survive, just like you always do," Argyle said, now touching the top of his hand with the other, feeling how bony and brittle he was. Where had all the time gone?

"I'm not so sure about that," the woman said. "This time it's especially bad. And I don't have you to rely on anymore."

Argyle wanted to apologize. But for what? It wasn't his fault he was human. This is just what humans do. They get old. They age. They leave everything behind.

"I'm not dead yet, you know." He held his arms open, motioning for her to come into an embrace. Telling her to feed.

Up close, she was as beautiful as ever. Argyle's heart smiled. It wasn't her powers as a succubus that was making Argyle feel these things, but the time they had spent together over the years.

In his bedroom, when he had initially summoned her, they had talked for hours. They learned they both were deathly nervous of the event. Argyle was worried he'd summon something that would eat him alive, and the succubus had been told tales of abusive humans who enslaved her kind. In reality, Argyle just wanted somebody to talk to, and the succubus just wanted reprieve from the war that ravished her home plane. It was the first time she had been brought into this world for something other than lust. It was also the first time she learned a human could make her laugh.

After that first encounter, he tried to summon her at least once a month. When he was young, it had been easier. There was more time for himself and less for work. They got to know each other, along with the differences between their worlds. In hers, a continual war threatened all living creatures. In his... well, humans weren't much different than demons after all. As he aged, though, their meetings became less frequent. Sometimes, an entire year would pass without the two seeing each other. He'd try his best to sneak in a visit in an inn, or dungeon, but the times were few and far between.

Eventually, Argyle retired. The time he so desperately yearned for as a working warlock now returned to him. But a lifetime of labor changes a man. Though his spirit remained young, his body did not. He was always tired. Things didn't work as they used to. And all around him, life changed as well.

As he held the succubus tight, as tight as his old muscles allowed, he knew he had little to offer. Gone were the days where he could give her every last drop. She knew it too, barely taking an ounce of the old man's energy. Their embrace was hardly more than one between humans.

"Come on," Argyle whispered. "You can have more than that."

"No," the succubus said, laying her head on Argyle's shoulder, sounding tired as well now. "I can't."

"At least rest, then," Argyle said. "I'll get a fire going. A normal one."

"That, I can do." In the demon's realm, there was no time to sleep. You always had to be vigilant. Spies and assassins were everywhere.

She was already snoring even before Argyle got up. He gently laid her down on the soft earth.

"Always so trusting of me," he said to himself, as he gathered up sticks and logs. Instead of using his flint and steel, he used magic to start the fire, not wanting to wake the girl. It crackled and popped and the heat felt nice against his skin. Even though it was summer, he was cold.

Argyle was able to see the succubus clearly in the firelight. The shimmering on her face was indeed blood. She was still bleeding, too, which was strange, because even the little energy she had taken should have been enough to heal a cut like that. Maybe she had taken nothing.

Also in the firelight, Argyle could see himself better. He turned his hands over and frowned. He was eighty-six now. His bones creaked. His body ached. His time was coming soon.

The succubus was curled up in a ball on the floor, tail wrapped around her, like a cat. Each sleeping breath she took was full-bodied; her lungs knew chances like this didn't come often. Argyle watched her laying there, and wished he could help. He cursed his mortality. If he was young, she wouldn't be hurting like this.

But, he knew, there was still something he could do.

He let out a deep sigh that was carried away by a passing wind. He looked up at the gigantic yellow moon, which was obscured by two thin black clouds. He thought about his life, and everything that had happened during its course.

He was alone, now. Nobody alive even knew his name, besides this girl asleep in front of him. The girl who had been there practically since the beginning. She was the one thing that never left his side.

He knees hurt as he bent down beside her. A lock of dark hair lay draped across her face. He brushed it aside, causing her to stir for a moment. Argyle held his breath. She didn't wake.

With a fair amount of difficulty, he managed to get onto his side, so he was face to face with the succubus. It reminded him of the first time they met, laying next to each other in the bed at his parents' house, giggling all night.

He lay like that for a long time, making sure this was the right choice. The sun began to rise, painting both of them in a golden hue. Argyle took one last look at her, and made up his mind.

He'd been wanting to do this for the longest time. For almost eight decades he'd wondered how they felt. It was always off limits, though, because of the consequences. Now, that didn't matter; finally, he'd get to know.

With his hand on the back of her head, he held his breath, and pressed his lips to hers. The lips of a succubus. As he felt his life leaving him, he couldn't help but smile.

They were just as soft as he'd imagined, all those years ago.

"So...let me get this straight. You just need to know how to...open a door?"

Arcturis flinched at the question, wishing he was the bead of sweat that ran down his brow. With a hard swallow, he nodded at Baelith, his demonic patron. "Y-yes, my lord...this servant is deeply sorry for his fai-"

"Oh, thank fuck!"

The relieved exclamation shocked the young warlock as he saw the horned demon general sit in front of the tiny trap mechanism on the door and began fiddling with it almost gleefully.

"B-begging your pardon, Lord Baelith...you seem...excited?" Arcturis questioned meekly while standing dutifully to the side. It was a stupid compound lock that simple thieves' tools couldn't have picked. He'd sought simple insight from the demonic powerhouse that enabled him to perform wonders and even granted him an unholy weapon to defend himself.

And that intimidating being was happily tinkering at the lock with what he could only interpret as a hellish smile marred by scar, fang, and soured brimstone on his breath.

"Yes." The measured reply was accompanied by simple clicks triggered by long slender claws moving at impossible angles as the demon lord toiled happily. "Wrath and slaughter lose their lustor after a few thousand years. Slaying your enemies and destroying their will to live is a hollow accomplishment if there is nothing else to sweeten the victory. Constant success without challenge...without gain...has left little desire to press on."

The explanation surprised them both as he lock gave way to the nightmarish tyrant's fiddling. Still, Baelith seemed pleased to have done such an oddly simple task, leaving Arcturis with renewed worry when his patron turned to face him.

"Call again when you need another task completed." The graveled voice instructed as its owner rose. "And don't let the tasks become more complicated than they need to be. The bolts for the hinges were always facing you. This door is about as secure as the belt of a glutton at an eternal feast."

With a groan, the towering being rose to his feet and cursed when his head hit the ceiling. His arm snaked into the room and returned with a number of items in hand, including a sword riddled with infernal runes. "Now, as payment, I'll be taking these. Best of luck."

The deafening roar of flames that consumed Baelith mirrored his warlock's confusion that riddled him from nape to naval. The very reason he'd wanted into the room was robbed of him. Arcturis could only wrestle with his anger and bewilderment.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?" He yelled into the air, releasing fresh frustration at seemingly nothing.

The twisted pleasure of his patron seeped into his veins as that hellish voice echoed in his mind. "A lesson. Make sure the price for the help you seek is a cost you are willing to pay, especially when you are capable of solving the problem yourself."

At his hip, Arcturis felt the weight of the blade he'd come to steal added to his own. Yet again, he found himself confused.

"And sometimes there are unexpected rewards that come from fucking around and finding out."

“Old gods, hear me! Take this sacrifice of flesh, of value, and of sorrow! Bring my ally forth!”

violent red lightning illuminates the damp cave walls, springing from the large, 9 sided symbol in the centre of the cavern, evaporating the moisture from everything it touches. The sacrifices levitate, spinning counter clockwise before being pulled towards and into the mass of lightning. As soon as it started, it stopped

“Oh, hi Dan. Man, am I glad to see you.”

Dan the warlock summons an 8 pack of beer, mystically chilled

“Hey beez, I’ve got your favourite here!”

beez moves a large rock closer to Dan, a makeshift bench. He takes a beer, chugging it down in one gulp

“You have no idea how thirsty you get down there.”

“You say that every time.”

“And it’s never any less true!”

“You also say that every time”

“Well, can’t teach an old hellhound new tricks, eh?”

[removed]

I was a warlock, and I had formed a pact with a powerful demon. The times that I summoned them were the only solace they received from the long and brutal war that raged within their home dimension. At least, that's what I told myself as I stood in the grocery store, trying to summon the demon to help me carry my groceries home.

"Come on, demon," I muttered under my breath as I tried to focus my energy. "I know you're tired of being stuck in that dimension, so come on out and give me a hand."

But as I stood there, surrounded by confused shoppers, the demon failed to appear. I sighed, hefting my heavy bags of groceries and trudging out of the store.

As I made my way home, I couldn't help but feel a little ridiculous. Here I was, a powerful warlock, and I couldn't even summon a demon to carry my groceries.

But as I stumbled up the steps to my apartment, my door suddenly burst open.

"What took you so long?" the demon demanded, standing in my doorway with a grocery bag in each hand. "I've been waiting for you for hours."

I stared at the demon in disbelief. "You were supposed to help me carry my groceries!" I exclaimed.

The demon shrugged. "I figured you were just summoning me for fun. You know, to give me a break from the war and all."

I couldn't help but laugh as I followed the demon inside. Maybe summoning them for mundane tasks wasn't exactly what I had signed up for when I made the pact, but it was nice to have a little help every now and then. And who knows, maybe the demon was enjoying the break from the war a little more than they let on.

It had been the talk of the whole continent for a few weeks then, a resounding no from the magic-wielding community: The Cult of Technology, a group of non-magical people, had made a buzz of a new future, a future without magic, a future where no magic is needed to combat the wild unpredictable nature of the supernatural.

In the courtyard of The Citadel a crowd had gathered, of warlocks, witches, and non-magical people alike. Protests were voiced, but the Citadel was a place of free thinkers, where knowledge was sacred and protected.

Argyle pushed pass through the crowd, it seemed like the whole city was packed in between the white walls of The Citadel, all the way to its massive front gate. He had heard, of course, of The Cult. Of their claim that they invented a way to combat magic without having to learn magic.

"Preposterous!", he thought.

Being a lifelong student of magic, Argyle had studied it for decades. Even achieving the level of a warlock and integrating with his own demon-- a powerful arch-demon named Roth. The idea of the end of magic was beyond his comprehension, and he was there to see for himself the spectacle of the supposed future.

"Ladies and gentlemen, bear witness to the next step of our world!", shouted the man in white coat, the leader of The Cult.

As most of the crowd booed, Argyle finally reached the front of the crowd. In the middle of the courtyard stood members of The Cult, all dressed in white coats, surrounding a massive device made of metal resembling a cannon.

"Long has this world depended on magic as means of warfare! Long have us, those who are unfortunate enough to be excluded from the world of magic! But no more! We can fight now!", shouted the leader.

"Behold! My invention: The Mana Cannon!", the leader presented the giant device behind him. "Yes, what you've heard is true! We managed to harness magic in its purest form and strip it away from a human vessel and combined it technology! This is a marvel of both nature and human capabilities, ladies and gentlemen!"

As most of the crowd booed even louder, the leader signaled his followers to proceed with the demonstration. A whirring sound came from the cannon as it powered up. Beams ran through its sleek metallic body, what the crowd could sense was a powerful amount of magic, charging inside the device.

Argyle couldn't help but felt curious. Never had he faced such amount of magic before, not from a single weapon at least.

His attention then shifted to the followers of The Cult as they wheeled in a few large cages. His heart dropped seeing what's caged inside: demons.

"We will demonstrate the power of this weapon, ladies and gentlemen! With the help of our test subjects!", the leader smirked.

Argyle felt sickened by the sight of it. Despite being a nuisance to humans, Argyle couldn't help but sympathized with those imprisoned demons, as his closest ally was one of them. His stance was controversial in its own way, but it was always accepted as fighting fire with fire.

"Ready the cannon! Wait for my signal!", ordered the leader as the caged demons were lined up right in front of the cannon.

Argyle's heart ran fast, not wanting to see the intentional massacre. But to the worry of the crowd, something happened to the demons.

Somehow, they went berserk. Wildly they thrashed around, biting and scratching the cage bars even if it mangled their teeth and claws.

The crowd went wild in shock as suddenly the demons broke free out of their cages and attacked the cult members, strangely even they latched onto the cannon and started biting it.

It was chaos then as the crowd ran away in panic, so were the cult members including the frightened leader.

Some of the braver witches and warlocks who had faced the frontline of war charged to defend The Citadel of the demons, including Argyle.

Quickly he chanted his summoning spell, invoking the pact he made with the dark forces. "To this plane I summon you, Roth the Foul, and do my bidding!"

A magical circle was formed out of Argyle's magic, and from it emerged a demon. One of the most powerful in his realm, the arch-demon roared loudly.

"Sorry to summon you in such inconvenient time, Roth. But we have some unruly demons loose within The Citadel", informed Argyle. "Now, Roth, attack!"

But Roth stayed still, much to Argyle's confusion.

"Roth? What are you...?"

As Argyle looked back to his demon, he was shocked as Roth was growling in wrath. His eyes were red, like those demons running rampant in front of them.

"Roth! Stand yourself! No!", Argyle shouted to his demon, grabbing his legs before he flew towards the cult members, but the demon was too powerful, and Argyle was dragged along.

Much to Argyle's horror, Roth began to attack the cult members before turning his attention to the cannon-- scratching and biting it though the metallic body was way too sturdy.

Huffing, Argyle quickly chanted his reverse summoning chant to send Roth back to his realm.

"Back to the fire I command you!", he shouted.

A magical circle once again was formed, swallowing Roth and by accident, Argyle as he was clinging to the demon.

The world swirled around him, and Argyle finally dropped onto hard ground.

Rising smoke indicated my return.

I peered over the hilltop and saw the village razed by the king's army -- again. This occurred every 8 years when some jackass prophesized a gifted child who would be destined to overthrow the king. The king -- beyond stupid, egotistical, and trigger happy -- wastes the small villages that fit so-called description of the child.

The strongest communities rebuild, but unfortunately, the strongest ones end up being the poorest. The people don't have anywhere else to go. If they did, their lack of survival skills would lead them to a premature death. So they put back together their ram shackled houses and brace themselves for the next assault.

I returned to my hovel and withdrew a summoning tome from my stack of books and turned to Beahguillion. The page was crisp with no folds. The letters remained unfaded by the elements.

I performed the ritual. An abhorrent succubus walked through the summoning circle several hours later.

"It happened once more?" Beahgullion said and bit her lip.

"Yes. This will most likely be the last time. The king is beyond elderly and his health should fail him before the next wave of crazed 'gifted child' proclamations." I pointed behind me and towards the village.

She hissed. "You know, you could have beckoned me to deceive the king. I would have given him everything from riches to fulfilling all his sexual fantasies. And I would have torn his heart so badly that he'd --"

"Enough. The king has been without emotional connections since before the first time I called on evil. You would have given him more of what he already has. I have a cart near the trail that leads to the village. Now get to work, Beah. There's no rest for the wicked. You should know."

"Fine. And how long do I have to do it this time?" she asked.

"3 years. I've stocked it with some food blankets this time, but I expect you to help the farmers and tailors produce more. And of course, keep the men and women warm throughout the night." I gave her a mocking wink. "And don't worry about some of the villagers recalling the last time you provided them everything and took it away. Most died during the king's assault."

She sighed and walked out of the hovel. Her appearance changed from a creature from hell to a heartbreaking beautiful woman as she approached the man's cart.

I laughed inside knowing I burrowed under evil's skin with a loop hole. The presence of an ex-lover can provide solace for a fractionate moment under a specific circumstance. For instance, when one's soul has been crushed to powder.

Kaibler’s right eye twitched as the faint tinge of ezextial color wafted through the gray billows of smoke. The color was inhuman; an unholy pigment one could best describe as an awkward mix of orange and pink. Only those blessed with sight could see and smell the odor of decayed flesh that trailed it. Lucky us, the young man thought.

His glowing staff decorated his left hand, and he raised it, prepared to disintegrate the leftover demons from his initial attack when the smoke thickened and solidified around him. He heard the blood-piercing cry of wolves and jumped as two sets of purple eyes pierced the smoke. Bloodhounds. I don’t want to get caught in this. He turned and saw three more sets of eyes behind him. His peripheral caught the ignition of another few groups until they surrounded him. He thrust his right hand into his robe, squeezing the book he taped to his chest.

The hounds stalked him, pacing in a steady clockwise pattern as they moved. The smoke caved in and warped around them until Kaibler’s position resembled the eye of a tornado. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood. Not even he could take on these many bloodhounds, yet he didn’t want to summon his pet this early. He’d done it far too much already. He couldn’t dream of living to reach his goals at this rate. It was as if the world understood his grave sacrifice to summon and forced him to do it as much as possible.

No, I’m the greatest warlock in my generation. I can do this without her. Once the hounds pounced, his body moved without permission. Before he could stop himself, he yanked the book off his chest, elevated his staff, and screamed, “Kitsune!”.

An intense voice laughed for only his ears to hear as a spirit consumed the smoke with no warning. The veins in his right arm pulsed a sickly, luminescent green, and blood escaped from his fingertips. The blood curdled in the wind, and unappealing lumps bubbled until they settled in the shape of a fox.

The fox was beautiful, its color a marvel humans had yet named. Perhaps none other than warlocks could even see it. It’s fur sleek and shiny, yet its eyes were ravenous, and the fox’s actions did not betray that. It bull-rushed the hound, which fled and whimpered at its sight, and mauled them with an unhinged jaw. Shark layers of canine teeth tore through each one, but purple mist rose to the sky instead of blood from their injuries.

The sight made Kaibler sick. It always had. He turned away before correcting himself. No. If I’m to complete my ambitions, such views will be familiar. Plus, though he’d never admit it to Kitsune, it didn’t sit right with him to allow the fox demon to bear this burden alone. The responsibility of damning her kin and herself in the process.

The onslaught continued through whimpers and screams. The hellhounds usually sounded like demons but adopted the whimpers of domesticated dogs when cornered. They were only lower-tier demons, yet they possessed the ability for such manipulation. The thought made Kaibler’s blood curl as he considered what other demons awaited him.

Kitsune finished the job and pranced back to him, and her eyes showed no emotion a human could read. The smoke cleared out, revealing the depressing ruins of a once lively town. Sure, there were a few survivors, but Kaibler knew from experience that no home survived an attack like that. Once demons broke the fallacy of safety, the home was no more. As he pondered this, a deep voice called to him from behind.

“Thank you, man. That was amazing.”

Kaibler didn’t respond.

The voice grew louder, and the hairs on Kaibler’s neck rose, feeling the distance between the man and him close.

“You saved us. I’ve never seen a Warlock in person before. I think you guys get a bad rap, man. Please shake my hand. I owe you so much.”

Without facing the man, he knew the words weren’t sincere. The cadence of his footsteps betrayed him. Slow. Methodical. Measured. Those weren’t the sounds of a man relieved to meet his savior but a hunter sizing up its game. He stood there as the steps came closer and closer, even as he could feel their elongated shadows embrace.

Kitsune’s voice rang in his ears. “To your right. Now.”

He dashed two steps to the right as the flash of Kitsune’s fur blazed by him. For a split second, he heard the pained cries of the man behind him. He didn’t have to endure that human cry of despair for long. He never did. Yet those split seconds added up like the loose change of centuries ago used to. He wasn’t sure what his mind believed he could purchase by collecting them, but he felt the weight all the same.

“Yuck. I hate the taste of bad humans. Your species is full of bad actors. Humanity is a collection of tainted and sinful creatures.” Kitsune shook her mane as she spoke. As always, her fur remained flawless through battle, Kaibler was sure she just enjoyed shaking herself.

“Right back at you, demon. Although at least we have the decency not to eat your kind. We just kill them.”

“You vanish them to the purgatory of my home-world. So they can torment my land with war for all eternity.”

“The same thing happens when you eat creatures.”

“I am allowed to defile my land as I see fit. It is mine to do as I wish. You Warlocks make a mockery of all that is holy. As such, you desecrate my land because your victims Heaven nor Hell will recognize them.”

Kitsune’s voice alternated between growls and speech humans could interpret. Kaibler’d heard this spiel enough times to feel in the blanks. His relationship with his pet—who would bite his head off if she knew he thought of her that way—had long become predictable. As his right arm dangled at his side, he knew it’d be useless to subpoena her for sympathy. She’d say he earned it. Humans who steal the magic of the spirits deserve punishment. He also knew right about now she’d remind him of their deal.

“Also, human, do not forget why I humor your requests. It is not out of companionship; you will fulfill your end of the contract.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“With no exceptions. When I tell you what I demand, you will fulfill it with no qualms.”

“It’s hard to guarantee I can do something when I don’t know what’s asked of me. I don’t even know if I’ll have the power to do it.”

“You will. You will have the power by then.” Kitsune’s tail perked up as she walked through the ruins beside him. Kaibler thought she’d be a cute fox if she weren’t a literal demon. Hell, he had to admit she still was, even with that factored in. As far as blood-lusted, upper-tier demonic creatures went, she’d surely win best-groomed pet.

He wished there was a way the two of them could be friends, as stupid as that sounds.

For one, he was a human—no a Warlock—and for two, his kind directly contributed to the destruction of her home. Spirits like her lived peacefully until Warlocks came and vanquished the souls of their enemies to the Realm of Spirits. Kitsune became a demon out of necessity, as only demons could be summoned away from the chaos. Only by tainting her soul could she find peace, even if it were temporary. What type of hell would make you consider maiming demons a peaceful option? He wondered.

That’s why he never rushed to dismiss and return her to the realm of spirits when she completed a mission. It was probably the guilt eating away at him. His right arm burned at the thought. He glanced down and saw the veins still pulsing in it. The green color faded but was still etched within like the dying cinders of a fire.

He tried to hide the pain, but his body physiologically twitched against his will on occasion. Kitsune kept watching him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t miss a beat in her stride, but her muscles were the slightest bit more tensed. Kaibler was too preoccupied to notice. He coughed blood but contained it in his mouth, not allowing it to leave his body and enter the external world. As long as the world didn’t see it, he could pretend it didn’t exist.

Kitsune broke her silence and asked, “Whatever you’re chasing, Warlock, it must be more important than your soul for you to go to such lengths.”

Kaibler shifted through his memories. The good ones, the bad, the memories of despair, and his eyes flashed as he remembered the memories of home. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s worth it for sure.”

As a warlock, I had always been drawn to the dark arts. And when I stumbled upon a powerful demon in the depths of the Netherworld, I knew I had to make a pact with it.

The demon, whose name was Xarathos, was a formidable being, with skin as black as pitch and eyes that burned with an otherworldly fire. But despite its fearsome appearance, Xarathos was willing to make a deal with me.

In exchange for my servitude, Xarathos promised to grant me unimaginable power and knowledge. And so, I agreed to the pact, sealing it with a drop of my own blood.

From that day on, Xarathos became my most trusted ally and the only solace it received from the long and brutal war that raged within its home plane. Whenever I summoned it, Xarathos would appear before me, ready to do my bidding and offer counsel.

But as time went on, I began to realize that the power I had gained came with a heavy price. Xarathos demanded more and more of my time and energy, and I found myself making sacrifices I never would have thought possible.

Despite the consequences, I could not bring myself to break the pact with Xarathos. The demon had become a part of me, and I could not imagine life without it. So I continued to serve it, hoping that one day the war within its home plane would end and Xarathos could finally find peace.

“Thank you, George,” Ólýsanleg Hryllingur af'Dýpt'gryfju said with a slight pained gasp in their throat. The smoke slowly starts to dissipate from their body, a sheen of strangely luminescent ash still coating their deep purple skin.

George took a step back, coughing slightly from the painfully burning heat and something deeper, “Gods abov--- err sorry, I mean what the hell happened to you, Hryll? I know it is bad down there but, wait, that isn’t radioactive, is it?” He took another step backwards, hoping to avoid another instance of radiation sickness if it could be helped.

“I sure hope not, George, but I’m fairly sure it is just Fönd’önd’gæs blood. The assault against the Count was going, well, poorly.” A look of defeat crosses Hryll’s face, knowing that if they hadn’t been able to hide in the still steaming corpse of one of the few creatures that they were able to defeat, they would have been just another head on a spike. “I really hate this Lucifer-blessed war.”

George nods sympathetically, and not for the first time he thinks about how strange it is that he was sitting next to an over two meter monster from nightmares. It’d be almost comical to imagine Hryll striding across the brimstone and hellfire plains of torment when they were curled up over the cup of tea that I had prepared for them.

No, Hryll was truly a demon. The spawn-tier of an arch demon of name, which they explained to him meant that they were certainly fairly powerful. But it also meant responsibility.

“You know, Hryll,” George starts, the words well worn and comfortable coming from his lips, “you are more than welcome to stay here. I can get a two bedroom flat, and maybe you can look into playing basketball---” The smile on George’s face drops as Hryll doesn’t grin back, but frowns slightly. “Wait, are you seriously considering it?”

Hryll gives the smallest of nod, “honestly George, it is a terribly tempting offer. Even if you already didn’t give your word that we would be equals, offer to make a blood contract to bind you to it, I’d still be tempted. But...” the frown burned into a grin, self-defeated, “they need me.”

Anger rises in George’s voice, coming at a near-yell, “they USED you! You’re a tool for them and you know it you big dumb lummox of a hellion!” This was also a well worn conversation, but not comfortable at all because it was painfully true.

Hryll’s towering form, even when trying their best to carefully place down the oversized tea cup still too small for their hands, was still so measured, so calm, so patient. “I know that, George. But that is how we work. It’s just how demons are---”

“Some would say the same thing about human beings,” George cuts them off, “because there are so many of us who are frankly horrible to each other. That is no. Fucking. Excuse.”

The rage in George’s face cools slightly after the outburst. He knows that Hryll wouldn’t be able to stay. Even if they signed a contract, he’d only live for another one hundred, maybe one hundred and fifty years if he was lucky. Sure, he could extend that even further by giving up more of his humanity, and frankly that wasn’t a bad idea. But that would be in the future. A future that he’d help Hryll form.

“Hryll, did you get a chance to use those neutron bombs that I made for you? I was hoping that they’d help you take the Count’s keep with less losses on your end, but I’m guessing neutron radiation bombardment might not be all that effective against the, uhh the giant geese things? Do you know if they’ve ever had something called ‘ebola’ down there before?”

George’s face splits into a grin matching Hryll, and the real meat of the summoning get underway as they start to talk about how to utilize the technology that he had access to as a technowarlock with all of the might of humanity’s brutal warlike past at his fingertips, at Hryll’s claw tips, and their command together to bring this war to an end.

[POEM]

The Warlock's Pet

Red gloves, dirty red gloves
slowly rise from below the torn robes.
The tip of the fingers together rendered
they part leaving the right hand centered.
The left snaps three times
the chains, the tiny bell on the crown chimes.

Smoke wooshes, erupts and cascades from the dirty boots
they swirl and form a sign at the roots.
Bones crack, the floor cracks
blood seeps out marking the demon's tracks.
So it begins, the moonlit nightly rounds
the screams end, two breaths remain the only sounds.

As I sat in my dark, candle-lit study, I traced my finger over the intricate symbols etched into the pages of my ancient grimoire. The demon whispered in my ear, urging me to complete the summoning ritual.

I took a deep breath and began the chant, my voice low and steady. The room grew colder as the energy of the demon's plane seeped into mine. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew out the candles, and the room was plunged into darkness.

"I am here," a deep, guttural voice boomed.

I stood, my heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Demon, I have summoned you as agreed upon in our pact," I said, shaking slightly.

The demon chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Yes, warlock. And I have come to offer you a proposition."

I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of proposition?"

The demon's eyes glowed red in the darkness. "I am a lord of a great and powerful demon army, locked in an endless war on my home plane. I seek allies to help us turn the tide in our favor."

I hesitated. "And what do you offer in return?"

The demon's eyes narrowed. "Power, warlock. Power beyond your wildest dreams. But be warned, the price of my aid will be steep."

I weighed the demon's offer in my mind. On the one hand, the prospect of gaining unimaginable power was tempting. Conversely, the cost of making a pact with a demon was always high.

But as I thought about it, I realized that the demon's plight touched a chord within me. The idea of being able to help end the suffering of countless monsters trapped in a never-ending war was too much to resist.

I made my decision. "I accept your offer, demon. What do you need from me?"

The demon's smile was sly. "I need you to help me gather a group of powerful fighters. Mythic machine guns and knives and swords will do. Together, we will strike at the heart of our enemies and end this war once and for all."

I nodded, my determination steeled. "Consider it done, demon. I will do everything in my power to help bring an end to this war."

The demon nodded, its eyes shining with approval. "Then our pact is sealed, warlock. Let us go forth and bring about a new era of peace and prosperity for all demonkind."

As I set out to gather the powerful fighters I had promised the demon, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease in my stomach. The cost of making a pact with a devil was always high, and I knew I would have to pay a heavy price for their aid.

But the thought of being able to help end the suffering of countless demons trapped in a never-ending war was too great a temptation to resist. I would do whatever it took to bring about a new era of peace and prosperity for all demonkind.

I traveled far and wide, searching for those who possessed the skills and power I needed. I found a group of skilled warriors, each unique wielding weapons - from mythic machine guns to knives and swords.

We set out for the demon's home plane, ready to battle against their enemies. The fighting was fierce and intense, but with the demon's help, we were able to turn the tide in our favor.

In the end, we emerged victorious, and

The demon approached me with a sly smile as we celebrated our victory. "Our pact is now fulfilled, warlock. But know I will always be watching, waiting for the moment I can call upon you again."

I nodded, knowing that the cost of our pact would always be with me. But I also knew that it had been worth it to bring peace to the demon's home plane. And who knows, perhaps I would be called upon to serve again for the greater good.

As we parted ways, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for me. Would I resist the temptation of making another pact with a demon? Or would I succumb to the lure of power and make a deal that could cost me everything?

Only time will tell. But for now, I was content knowing that I had helped end a long and brutal war and brought peace and prosperity to the demon's home plane.

The hulking form of an archdemon loomed over me where I lay in my plush bed, the comforter pulled up to my chin. I could smell his sulfurous breath, an almost tangible thing, as it washed over my form with his deep breathing. "Didn't I... Send you home last night?" I wheezed, reaching blindly to my bedside table to brush my fingers against the magic lantern that immediately began to glow, spreading a warm light across the terrible visage before me. "What... What are you wearing?!"

The archdemon was massive, his skin red and blistered, muscle stacked on muscle, the hoary head of a boar with beady black eyes staring down at me with a hunger I'd rarely seen before, saliva smeared across his tusks, dangerous horns coiled back over his porcine ears. That was all normal... The apron was new. It didn't fit him, the usually long neck strap was stretched wide around his neck and the flap fluttered against his chest, the ties hanging loose as they were too short to fit around his massive barrel chest. "AN APRON." He answered, lifting breakfast tray which was laden with foods and setting it across my lap as I coughed, unsure if I should laugh or not.

"I SAW YOU WERE ILL SO I MADE YOU TEA." The hellbeast rumbled as his meaty hands reached down to lift up the delicate tea pot and pour a cup of something herbal. "Since wh-when do you make tea?" I took the cup anyway, it wasn't as if he could harm me, given our pact, though I was no less puzzled as I sipped it. He'd added lemon and honey. My mother didn't even do that. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. Aseriaforth, thirteenth Duke of the seventh Hell, had been acting more and more strangely as of late. Nothing nefarious, just odd. Lingering after battles to help load up the wagon. Cheerfully sticking around to heckle and harass our enemies during a siege. I should have been really tipped off when I jokingly told him to go play hide and seek with some orphans we'd rescued and found him hiding (poorly) in some bushes an hour later. And now tea with lemon and honey. He'd even seemed almost upset (though it was hard to tell with his lack of human face) when I'd told him I was easing into retirement, having ousted my step-father from his rule and taken it over myself as the rightful heir.

Considering for a moment, I sipped my tea, Aseriaforth looming over me in a way that would have been disconcerting had he been anyone else. Licking my lips, I tried to start the conversation delicately but instead began to cough, the hellbeast carefully taking the teacup from me so I wouldn't spill it. Drawing in a few whooping breaths, I centered myself and tried again. "Is there some reason you've been... unusually helpful?" Aseriaforth straightened up, handing me my cup back. Did he look embarrassed? "I AM BOUND TO YOUR SERVICE." The demon growled, sounding very much as though he were trying to hide something.

"Don't skirt the issue, Aseriaforth." I cleared my throat and finished my tea, it was pleasantly warming. "Our pact only states that you must do my bidding. I have summoned you sparingly, only as I must to achieve my goals, and yet each time you've remained well after I've relieved you of your duties at the time." The demon was definitely squirming now. I'd seen him rip unholy knights limb from limb in battle, stare down hordes of barbarians, and wrestle a dire bear, but now he was squirming like a child who had been caught sneaking cookies. I raised a finger as I set the empty cup down on the tray, "Furthermore, why is a Duke of the Seventh Hell wearing an apron and making me tea?!"

He was definitely squirming. I stared at him from my plush sickbed of pillows, reaching for one of the small cakes he'd placed on the tray, wondering firstly, how he'd known that the rosewater ones were my favorite, and where on earth he'd gotten them at this ungodly hour. Staring him down seemed to be working as his ears laid back and his shoulders hunched briefly before drooping in defeat, "I DO NOT WISH TO GO HOME." I continued to stare at him, pointedly licking the buttercream from my fingers. Giving a sulfurous sigh, he finally spilled the beans, "THERE IS A WAR OF SUCCESSION ON MY HOME PLANE. IT HAS RAGED SINCE BEFORE THE DAYS OF YOUR GREAT-GREAT-GREAT GRANDSIRE. I AM TIRED OF WAR. YOUR PETTY TROUBLES AND BATTLES ARE REFRESHING. I NO LONGER WISH TO LEAVE SO I HAVE AVOIDED DOING SO WHEN YOU'VE DISMISSED ME." The demon still seemed to have at least some of his pride as he didn't beg me to let him stay, but his eyes certainly had a certain pleading look that I may have been merely imagining.

"So... You would like to stay here rather than go home and participate in this long war." I held my cup still so that he could refill it for me, sniffling as my nose started to finally drain. The demon nodded as he held the delicate teapot in one huge hand. Drawing in a huge breath, trying not to cough, failing briefly, and then trying again, I let it out and sipped my second cup of tea, feeling the warmth spread through me. "I can allow you to stay here but you'll have to remain within the scope of the pact. It can be minorly rewritten but can't be broken until my natural death." I reminded him. Looking down at the spread of teacakes and herbal tea I smiled, "Have you considered being my butler?"

"Aw look at the little baby. He looks like he's going to pee his pants."

Billy was shoved onto the ground again. The same three bullies cornered him under the stair well. Funny how teachers never saw them as the terrors they were to him. Every time he went to one of them, they'd write him off and tell him they didn't mean it. Well, if they weren't going to help him, then he needed to help himself. So, it was the reason he stole his father's book of spells the previous night. He needed something to stop this pain and humiliation from happening every again. He didn't care he was breaking rules to reveal magic. With not a second thought, he slowly rose up to the wall. Muttering as he drew a glowing red circle on the wall.

"H-hey Billy. W-what are you doing man?"

Oh, this felt good. He could feel their fear washing over them. The clicking of their knocking knees filled him with such glee. Such so, he turned with a wicked smile to them.

"Repaying what you've done to me for so many months. Now! I call you, Oracula!"

They didn't have the gall to stay. Like frighten rats before a cat they fled through the hallways with squeaks. He'll enjoy watching them eaten in front of him.

"Go now! Kill them!"

"You want me to do what?" He heard coming next to him.

When he looked, he saw an older demon about his dad's age. He towered over him in full armor, a blood-stained blade at his side, and a bow with arrows over his shoulders. His skin possessed a burnt purple tint and his eyes glowed ever so slightly in the shadow of the stairwell. His four arms were crossed while glaring at his summoner.

Ah yes. He will show those bullies. Thought Billy.

"I want you to go kill them. They are my enemies."

The demon laughed so hard the ground seemed to shake. Casually, as he could be the demon strolled down the hallway towards the cafeteria. Billy was shocked. The demon didn't try to go after his enemies like he should, maybe he needed to be forced? Grumbling and fuming to himself, the new summoner followed his demon. When he entered, he saw all the humans were frozen in time. There sitting in the kitchen was his demon eating box upon boxes of pizza. Billy stamped into the room pointing towards him.

"Oracula! You've disobeyed your summoning. I shall punish you for such actions!"

"Easy kid." The demon said between bites. If you could call them that. "I just came off of a battlefield burning calories equivalent to at least a thousand of your gym classes you high school punks complain about. And! Refreshingly, it isn't one of your father's stupid adventures."

"But, you have to listen to me. I'm the summoner!"

The demon laughed again. "It's called a contract. Both sides need to agree to the terms. I don't believe in killing little kids for bullying. Scare them? Yes, but not kill. Here's what I'll do for you. I'll help you get stronger both physically and magically to show those bullies a thing or two while providing the light show we just pulled off. In the meantime, you only summon for this purpose or if I need to relax. The little mark on your forearm should vibrate when I need it. Does that sound good to you?"

Billy pulled up his sleeve to see the glowing circle on the spot. He figured it would look more like a tattoo when the demon left.

"And if I refuse and force you to go through with what I want?"

The demons face turned into something of a rabid animal. His brow heavy, eyes to slits, and fangs dripping.

"You possess nowhere near the power to force even a low-level demon to pick up a scrap a paper. You're lucky I was the one summoned or you'd be dead. Besides that... I'll tell your father what you were up to." His face softened once again as he laid against the pile of empty pizza boxes. "Deal?" Oracula asked while extending his hand.

"D-deal." The whole displayed frightened the young man to a shaking doe. Adding the fact of how unreasonable his father could be when angered. He could end up in Tarturas with this demon. He shook his hand realizing how he could be crushed in an instant.

"Good. Now, I better be off. Thanks for the lunch, and good luck explaining this." With a snap Oracula was gone, and everyone began to move again.

Billy realized what was done. Quickly, he turned to see the cafeteria staff angrily pointing ladles at his direction and accusing him of eating all the food.

I've got myself a trouble trainer don't I?

The goat's blood sigil was slightly sticky but not fully dry; the perfect consistency for summoning Yh'ghar'len, Plague of the Seventh Circle.

I positioned myself in the center of the symbol, and extended my right arm to the sky and placed my left hand on the vessel. He was a beggar I had snatched from the street. Nobody would miss him. He stirred under my touch, but the sleeping draught held. Possession was a tricky art. If there is one thing that I've learned through my centuries of life, it's that unconscious vessels produce the best results.

I began the incantation, and syllables once thought unutterable streamed from my mouth. The small room began to shake, and I heard the vessel groan. His eyes snapped open and rolled up into his head. His nose, mouth, and ears began to pour blood. A storm wracked his body, shaking him violently as a scream left his mouth.

The possession was going better than expected - the previous vessel turned out to be a poor match and had simply liquefied on the cellar floor. That had been an annoying inconvenience.

I chanted the final words of the possession ritual and took my hand off of the vessel. His eyes snapped open, leaking the last residual blood. He blinked rapidly, and looked around in confusion.

"Where am I? Where are my siblings," he asked in a panic. His eyes flashed wildly before finally settling on me. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Vetrian! The most black-hearted warlock to still walk the surface world! To what do I owe the pleasure?" The demon's voice shifted as it spoke, alternating between the distinguished, sultry tones of a lover I once had and a buzzing, guttural drone that would drive a lesser man mad.

"Old friend. I have need of your services once again."

The demon cackled, but I heard something else in its voice. Was it relief? Fear? "By the Circles, a vacation! It's been aeons since I toppled an empire with you, Vetrian."

Aeons? I could remember the last time I had summoned Yh'ghar'len. Two hundred years ago, I had used its immense power to usher in the Blood Moon, and harvested the souls of all the dead in the kingdoms of men. Not exactly aeons.

A deep, wracking sob brought me back to reality. Tears poured from the vessel's eyes.

By the Circles, the vessel's rejecting it! I reached for a jar of goat blood and prepared to draw additional spells of binding before I heard the demon speak again.

"I've missed you old friend," the demon gasped between wretched cries. "I've lost so much. We've lost so much."

What?

"That twice-cursed bitch. That damned Warrior of Light. She's taken everything from us!" the demon screamed. I was speechless. This was one of the Plagues of the Circles, the most feared and terrible among demon kind, and it was bawling.

"Um." I stammered. My mouth opened, and snapped shut again. I was Vetrian the Dread, the most feared sorcerer in the world. I had never been one for words of comfort, and I had never listened to a demon vent before.

"Are you - are you okay?" I thought about putting a comforting hand on its shoulder before deciding against it. Demons of The Pit do not tend to perceive human gestures with the same intent, and this demon did not seem particularly stable.

"NO!" The demon's shout pierced both my mind and my eardrums, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt something burst inside my head and hoped it was just my eardrums. Magically healing your own brain aneurysm is a recipe for disaster. I lay stunned on the ground for a few minutes. After I had thoroughly appreciated the subtle melodies in my own tinnitus, I checked my body. As suspected, my eardrums had burst, but other than that I appeared to be unhurt. I muttered a small spell to drain the vitality of the nearby cockroaches infesting the building. I felt a peculiar popping sensation as my eardrums rebuilt themselves, and my hearing mostly came back. I realized Yh'ghar'len was still speaking.

"... and then the Blessed claimed the Third Circle! Vyth'dyn is sanctified! The only being I have ever loved was burned away by holy fire! The Fourth Circle is holding for now, but how much longer? Will the Pit be destroyed?" It snapped its head towards me. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Um." It was all I could manage. It was not enough for Yh'ghar'len. The vessel's face erupted in a cruel sneer.

"I would think that you could at least pretend to care about this, considering all of the fun we've had. I was there for the Blood Moon! I thought we were friends," it shrieked, its voice taking the tone of my long-undead father. I shivered.

The demon shook its head disdainfully. "Fine," it spat. "Point me at a peasant to disembowel. I need to relieve some stress." The chains binding the vessel snapped, and the demon stood. "Well, come on then," it sighed as it wiped a tear from its eyes.

Truthfully, I had forgotten why I had summoned Yh'ghar'len. A somber iron bell in the street brought the memory back. The Inquisition was here for me. While the Blood Moon incident had made me the world's most powerful sorcerer, it had also made me the world's most hated. The Inquisition of the Church of Light had been looking for me since, and they had developed highly effective tools for neutralizing sorcerers. Iron chains and cages to neutralize our power. However, no cage could hold a skilled sorcerer forever, and through pacts with the Pit the majority of us were functionally immortal. The Church's answer to this was throwing a sorcerer into a hole and filling it with molten iron. An eternal prison.

While I could undoubtedly handle them, I thought an overwhelming display of power and terror would be a more effective deterrent. The exact display a demon is typically well versed in.

I smiled, and glanced over at Yh'ghar'len. My smile dropped. The vessel had gone pale, and it was trembling.

"The Church of Light? You brought them here? " It punctuated its rage with a roar that knocked me over. I hit my head on the ground. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was the vessel groaning. Yh'ghar'len had abandoned me.

When I awoke, I was completely immobilized. I was in a Church dungeon, awaiting entombment. Iron manacles bound me. As a test, I tried casting a simple scanning spell, and received nothing. I slumped down. I was over. The only exit was a grate in the ceiling that I had no hope of reaching.

​

Vetrian. A voice inside my own head was calling my name. I assumed that I was simply having an adverse reaction to the stress of being captured, so I closed my eyes and tried a few breathing exercises. I would not spend eternity with a broken mind.

​

Don't ignore me, old friend.

My eyes snapped open. I recognized the voice.

"Yh'ghar'len?" I asked, my voice cracking in a way most unbecoming of the world's most feared sorcerer.

A chuckle echoed in my mind. It must have possessed my body when I passed out.

"Why are you here? I am no doubt set to be entombed at the first opportunity. I am finished. Forever." The weight of the words finally hit me, and I let out a shuddering gasp. I received no reply from the demon.

A shadow appeared above the grate. The shadow began to pray as it set up spout above the grate. I groaned as I heard a mechanism unlock and a slow bubbling creep closer to the grate.

The first gob of molten iron landed on my forehead. The pain was immense, maddening. I screamed. A second gob landed in my mouth, causing me to choke. More drops landed on me, encrusting me. Finally, it turned into a steady stream.

Hours went by before all the iron had cooled. My nerves had burned off fairly quickly, but the mounting pressure and weight was still too unpleasant to bear.

I tried to weep, but I could not. I had forgotten about the demon lurking in my subconscious.

Ah, a permanent vacation home safe from the Warrior of Light. This is what I truly need Vetrian, thank you my friend! To us, for eternity!

As a warlock, I had always been drawn to the dark arts. I was fascinated by the power and mystery of the arcane, and I yearned to unlock its secrets. So when I came across an ancient tome containing the ritual to form a pact with a demon, I knew I had to try it.
I spent months studying the incantations and preparing myself for the rite. And finally, on a dark and stormy night, I summoned a powerful demon known as Xarxes.
Xarxes was a formidable being, with skin as black as coal and eyes that burned with an otherworldly fire. But as soon as I spoke the final words of the ritual, I could feel a connection forming between us. It was as if a piece of my soul had been fused with his, creating a bond that could never be broken.
From that moment on, Xarxes was my constant companion. Whenever I needed him, all I had to do was call his name and he would appear before me, ready to do my bidding.
But as powerful as Xarxes was, he was also a prisoner. His home was a place of war and darkness, a realm of endless conflict and suffering. And so the times that I summoned him were the only solace he received from the brutal struggle that raged within his home place.

Together, we fought countless battles and vanquished many foes. And as the years passed, I came to see Xarxes as more than just a servant or a tool. He was my ally, my friend, and a source of great strength and guidance.
Despite the danger and risk that came with our pact, I knew that I could never give him up. For in a world full of darkness and despair, Xarxes was the light that kept me going.

As our bond grew stronger, I began to realize that there was more to our relationship than just a pact of power. Despite the fact that we were from different worlds and belonged to different species, I found myself falling in love with Xarxes.
At first, I tried to resist my feelings. After all, I knew that a relationship between a warlock and a demon was taboo and could bring about all sorts of danger and complications. But try as I might, I couldn't deny the way my heart fluttered whenever I saw him, or the way my soul ached when we were apart.
Eventually, I mustered up the courage to confess my love to Xarxes. To my surprise, he responded with a deep and passionate embrace, revealing that he felt the same way.
From that moment on, we were inseparable. We spent every moment we could together, exploring new realms and facing new challenges. And despite the obstacles and dangers that came our way, our love only grew stronger with each passing day.
I knew that our love was unconventional and that it might never be accepted by the outside world, but I didn't care. All that mattered to me was that I had found my soulmate in Xarxes, and together we were unstoppable.

The forest glistened in few as a new season dawned upon us. The first days of spring hath arrived, and the gleaming sunlight sparklers through the oak trees, as the warlock traveled the old mountain path.

But suddenly, a humongous horde of Oka Goblins emerged. The Warlock says:

“Arise, my promised friend!”

Suddenly, a demon, 12 feet in height emerged through a golden portal, and began to launch spells. The warlock and the demon fought off the goblins, and destroyed the pack. As the dust settled and the dust dried, the warlock spoke.

“Old friend, I have a query.”

“What, friend?”

“What are those new beguiling marks that lays upon your eye and chin?”

The demon hesitated to spoke.

“Is the revolution still ongoing?”

“Alas, it is. I was robbed by some fiendishly sneaky Government Agents. I got my revenge, but I may no longer see out of this eye.”

The warlock was outraged by this news.

“SERIOUSLY?! GODS, THAT GOVERNMENT IS BESMIRCHED IN TYRANNY AND VILENESS UNCOUNTED!”

“Yes, I know. I’m in the Revolution, for gods sakes. You know this. Sometimes, however, I wish I could just take a break and escape, even if for a small moment.”

“I know. But you and I are aware of the contract. At max, You or I can summon each other for 2 weeks.”

“Yes, I know. The lakes of gold and stringy leaves are a pleasantry, but not when it’s always on fire.”

“Well… you got two weeks. I’ll see what I can show you up here.”

“Really?! Thank you, old friend. I’ll be sure to cherish it. Truly, this means more than you could possibly know.”

“Anytime. Now, first things first, do you wanna stop by a magic store, or something? I don’t believe Dragons exist in your realm, do they? I’ll see if I can find you a dragon egg.”

“YOU WOULD!? I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED A PET!!”

“Oh yeah, they’re pretty rare, but the lady down there owns a farm of them. And she still owes me for saving her farm from bandits.”

“I simply MUST have you meet my sister, Atrea. She owns an extra Chimera E. She may be willing to give it to you, should you ever visit.”

“Of course, I would love to visit! But is it safe with the rebellion?”

“Yes, it just depend on where you go.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

“Please do, old friend.”

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The sounds of battle reached my ears, echoing from down the hall as Miriel sprinted into the room. She slammed the door shut behind her and then turned towards me, fear and resolve mingling in her eyes.

“They’ve breached the keep. I don’t know how many of our men are left, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a never-ending sea of orcs waiting for their turn to spill blood, we couldn’t beat them if half the kingdom were here.”

“I have something better than half the kingdom.” I closed my eyes and began to mumble incantations, ignoring her as she insisted that even my magic couldn’t possibly be enough to hold the western front against the greenskins.

There was pounding on the door as Miriel turned away from me and drew her sword, ready to face the onslaught. A huge orc with a battleaxe bust through the door and was immediately decapitated by the trusty knight. I tuned it all out as I screamed out the final words of the rite.

“Infernus, aeterne dominus belli, vocatus adesto. Ferrum trahe quod quinque dominos ad calcem magni daemonis attulit, et accende flammas quae patrem tuum in cineres verterunt. Procedite, Acerith!”

The castle shimmered and fell away, disappearing like a mirage. Me and Miriel were lifted into the sky like eagles on the warm updraft of the sea of flame spreading beneath us. There was no smoke, and the flame’s light was dim, yet it spread and consumed all. Hundreds of thousands of hardened warriors screamed silent calls to demons that would not dare to answer in Acerith’s presence, screaming until their throats were raw and not making as much sound as the songbirds in the trees.

“This is impossible! Miriel gasped, “no mortal could ever hold dominion over a demon powerful enough to do something like this!”

“I don’t need to hold dominion. He comes of his own accord.” The flame spread across the mountainside and consumed all those who would harm me, then was suddenly snuffed out, leaving a thick layer of ash that made the mountains look as if they were carved from obsidian. Simply by his willing it, the fort was reformed and Miriel was lowered to the ground while I was placed upon the keep’s tower. Acerith appeared beside me.

“Oh demon lord, I’ve been dying for a damned breather!” He tried to lean against the tower’s balcony, but it only came up to his waist and he ended up sitting on it instead.

“How’s the war been treating you?”

“It’s the same as it has been for eternity, the other demons can’t seem to put together that a bunch of immortals fighting serves absolutely zero purpose! They still act like decapitating each other is an actual victory and not a momentary delay!”

“Damn. How’ve things been with your father?”

“Don’t even get me started on my father! Every day he repeats the same bullshit about how if we joined forces we’d be able to end the Great War, then starts trying to gore me! He doesn’t seem to realize that stabbing me isn’t a convincing argument! I wish you summoned me more often, this is the first time in two years I’ve had more than a minute between challengers.”

“I know, and I would if I could, but the stupid contract specifically says I can only call you in my darkest hour. That doesn’t exactly come up often you know.”

“You need to piss off some more dragons, or infiltrate another cult to the Incomprehensible Ones. I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t get out of hell at least once in the next year. Ooh, I know, you need to visit another one of those elven bars!”

“That was ONE DAMN TIME! I was DRUNK! It’s not like I’m going to accidentally flirt with the queen TWICE!”

Acerith bust out laughing, but suddenly stopped as he began to fade away. He tried to say his goodbyes, but he was already beyond my hearing, and so we waved as the cosmos dragged him back to hell’s eternal battlefield. It would probably be some time before we met again, but I figured I might as well make an effort. At the dawn I set off for the coast, hoping that the rumors of kraken were true and that I could call him again.

[removed]