On a quiet night, the lights were off and the world outside lay asleep. In my cramped four-cornered apartment, I sat on the floor, a single candle flickering between my shaking hands.
After what felt like a pathetic attempt at summoning a demon, something… happened.
He appeared.
Standing right in front of me, tall and terrifying.
He darted a sharp gaze at me, unblinking.
I couldn’t tell his exact gender at first glance, but judging by his physique, it was safe to assume—he was a man. Or something close to it.
His skin was the color of burning flame, deep red, and pulsing. Twisted horns curled from his head like a ram’s. His body was lean but strong, sculpted like something out of a nightmare. Sharp eyes, pointed nose, elongated ears, and a tail that flicked behind him like a whip. His nails were pitch black and razor-sharp.
Then he spoke.
“Human. What is your reason for summoning me?”
His voice was deep, scraping through the air like metal against stone. It echoed inside my skull, and I gulped, suddenly aware of how dry my throat was. The atmosphere in the room had shifted—heavily, violently.
My hands trembled.
I swore to myself I’d face him with courage. That I’d accept the consequences of this. But I wasn’t expecting the sheer pressure of his presence.
“A-Are you the demon?” I stammered.
He sighed and shook his head slowly like he couldn’t believe my stupidity.
“I’m an angel,” he said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, then pointed to his chest. “Do I look like an angel to you?!”
His shout bounced off my apartment walls. I flinched, dropped the candle, and hit the floor, hands over my head.
“N-No, you don’t—!”
“Then why ask?!”
“I’m sorry! My apologies!”
He sneezed—loudly—and smoke puffed from his nose. “Apology accepted.”
He crossed his arms and stared at me again like he was waiting for something. Daring me to speak.
I slowly got to my feet, knees still trembling. “Th-Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet. Now—why did you summon me?”
This was it. My once-in-a-lifetime chance. And I knew exactly what I came here for.
“I want to sell my soul.”
He burst into laughter. A devilish, echoing, bone-rattling laugh that filled every corner of the room. It was awful. But I stood my ground.
I wouldn’t falter.
“Puny human,” he said between chuckles. “Coming to a demon for help, offering your soul in exchange. Typical.”
“I’m serious,” I said, my voice firmer now. “I’m willing to sell it.”
He smirked and extended a hand.
“What do you desire the most? Power? Fame? Wealth? Knowledge? Love?”
I blinked. That was… fast. I didn’t expect him to offer so quickly. Now he was listing off the dream package like I was ordering from a fast-food menu.
I hesitated.
Which one made sense?
Power? Sure, but power always comes with a price. What’s the point of being strong if I can’t even fix my mess?
Fame? That sounds nice… but I’m just a plain, boring, forgettable woman. People don’t respect overnight fame—they tear it down.
Wealth? Tempting. I could finally live in luxury. But if I had all the money in the world, and no one to share it with, what’s the point?
Knowledge? I mean, yeah. I need that. But too much knowledge? That’s a curse. If I know everything, who do I even trust?
Love? The warm, sweet illusion everyone chases. But love can betray. Love can leave.
If that happens… the deal’s a joke.
I scratched my cheek, overwhelmed. Every desire has its pros and cons. I couldn’t decide.
“All I want,” I muttered, “is to change my boring life… and be happy.”
The demon tilted his head, thoughtful.
“Can you recommend something for someone like me?”
He rested a hand under his chin, pretending to ponder. “Very well. What’s your name?”
I frowned. I didn’t see how that was relevant, but whatever. “Alice Solihn Bosconovich.”
He nodded and offered his hand again. “All right, Alice. Say no more. I’ll give you the best.”
“And what is it?”
“Just shake my hand and leave it to me.”
I hesitated again. “But I haven’t even chosen yet.”
His brow twitched. He looked like he was about to lose patience.
“Would you just shut up and take my hand so we can finish the deal?!”
His voice shook the windows. Glass vibrated, and I dropped to the floor again, startled.
“Why are you yelling?!”
“Are you still interested in selling your soul?” he snapped. “Because if not, I’ll take my leave.”
“Yes! But this is my soul we’re talking about. I just want what’s best.”
He jabbed a finger into my chest.
“There is no best for you after you sell your soul.”
His fist clenched in front of my face, a silent warning. Maybe he was testing me. Maybe he wanted to see if I’d cower and back out.
Of course, I was scared. But fear is exactly why I’m doing this.
“…Okay. I understand.”
“Good. But remember—after this, your soul is mine.”
I nodded. He offered his hand again, this time impatient. But I still had questions.
“Wait—how do I know my desire will be fulfilled?”
“Trust me. It will.”
Yeah. I’ve heard that line before. Never ends well.
“…You won’t scam me, right?”
The demon stared. Then he sighed and face-palmed like he was dealing with the dumbest human alive.
“Seriously? Scam? Do I look like a swindler to you?”
“No, but—this is my soul. I need assurance.”
He leaned in close, eyes narrowing.
“Human… what is the actual value of your soul, honestly?” He paused. “Nothing.”
Ouch.
Okay, maybe I feel worthless sometimes, but he didn’t have to say it like that.
“…Fine. Just don’t screw me over. I want to change my life.”
This time, I was the one who reached out first.
He smiled—and shook my hand.
“Thank you,” I said.
The days that followed were slow, dull things. Like mud sliding through my veins. I did not eat. I did not sleep. I stopped tending the garden. Stopped mixing herbs. Stopped answering when people knocked at the door.They came at first—curious, hesitant. Perhaps with questions. Perhaps with guilt. I wouldn’t know. I did not open the door.I remember sitting on the floor for hours, my back against the wall, staring at a chipped cup Matilda once used for tea. There was still a smudge of raspberry jam on the rim. I didn’t clean it. I didn’t move it. I just watched.They killed her.And they called it justice.I tried to go back to the chapel. Just once. I stood in the back, listening to the same golden bell I used to love. It sounded like mockery now. When Father Gregor rose to speak, I left. If I had stayed, I might have killed him.But I did go back to healing. Not for them. For me.I wrapped wounds with shaking hands. I boiled herbs with hands that could no longer feel warmth. I stitc
The church bells rang like a promise. Clear, golden tones floated over the thatched rooftops of Hohlenfurt, our little village tucked between the pines and the mist. People always said it was the sound of Heaven reaching down to touch the earth. That morning, I believed it.The air smelled of pine resin and fresh bread. Children tugged at their mothers' sleeves, chasing the echoes of laughter and Sunday songs. Old men leaned on their canes and gossiped like crows. The world, for a moment, felt whole.I stood at the doorway of our cottage, wiping my hands on my apron—still stained green from mixing poultices. My sleeves were rolled, my hair a mess. I looked like a man too busy healing to worship.Matilda came up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her chin settled on my shoulder, soft and familiar. She smelled like rosemary and warmth.“You’re not ready,” she said, voice low with laughter.“The sick won’t wait for Sunday,” I murmured.She kissed my cheek. “Neither will God.”
I hated the smell of this place. It reeked of iron, old books, and defeat—the kind of decay that didn’t rot, just lingered. A human’s scent, marinated in years of curses and blood. Worse, it belonged to a man too stubborn to die and too dangerous to ignore.I stayed near the cabin wall, arms crossed, my coat heavy with infernal power. My skin still burned faintly from the runes etched into the doorframe. Petty defenses. And yet, I had stepped inside anyway.Because of her.Alice perched awkwardly on the edge of a battered chair, eyes flicking between Faust and the fire. Her hoodie looked like it had fought a raccoon. Her hair was like it was lost. And yet, her soul still pulsed brightly—naive, stupid, untouched by true corruption.I wanted to carve my name into it. Slowly. Permanently.But Alice’s soul wasn’t just bright—it was loud. Too loud. It rang through the planes like a bell at midnight, calling attention. Calling vultures. I knew what would happen if it ended up in the wrong h
The torchlight threw long, twitching shadows across the clearing. The old man stood tall despite the years carved into his face—white hair wild like a storm cloud, eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. One hand held the torch, the other a machete etched with runes that pulsed softly in the dark. His presence was like a tree that had weathered too many storms but refused to fall, rooted deep in something dangerous.Paimon’s claws lengthened. His horns curled wickedly above his brow, eyes blazing like twin coals. His coat fluttered in an unseen wind as infernal heat simmered around him. The space between them grew thick with tension, brittle as ice.“Why is a young lady camping with demons?” the man asked, voice calm and dangerous.Alice peeked from behind Aurora. “Um. It’s a long story?”Faust’s gaze didn’t shift. He stared down Paimon like he was measuring a threat.“I take it,” he said, slowly raising his machete, “that she’s not with you willingly.”Paimon didn’t answer.Alice tried ag
I was pretty sure I smelled like goat piss.Day three. Still no Faust.My legs ached, my thighs were chafed, and I was ninety percent sure something had crawled up my hoodie and died in there. I dragged my feet along the forest trail like a zombie with a vendetta, slipping every three steps on pine needles or moss. My once-white sneakers now looked like they’d survived a war crime. And my hair? Let’s not even go there. It had gone from "bedhead chic" to "feral cryptid.""Paimon," I groaned, dragging myself forward like a dying squirrel, "just carry me already. I think I’m developing blisters in places that don’t even make biological sense."The Demon King of Mood Swings didn’t even look back. He just kept walking, all brooding and dramatic, his long coat swishing behind him like he was strutting on some apocalyptic runway."I am not a beast of burden," he said coldly."No, you’re worse," I muttered. "You’re a dramatic leather-wearing tyrant with zero compassion."Aurora floated ahead
Alice packed her belongings into an overstuffed suitcase, throwing in shirts, jeans, toiletries, and—of all things—her favorite cushions. Paimon had told her nothing about their trip to Germany, so she packed like she was preparing for a year-long apocalypse. Extra clothes, comfort items, even a bikini "just in case."Unfortunately, her suitcase now weighed more than she did. She tugged at the handle, grunting, dragging it inch by inch across the floor. Her brow was damp with sweat. The wheels squeaked in protest.Paimon watched from the shadows, his eye twitching with every second she wasted."For Lucifer's sake," he muttered, stepping forward. "Why are you so frail?"Alice looked up at him with a sheepish smile. "It’s kinda heavy."He snapped. With a grunt, he seized the suitcase by the handle—and even he winced at the weight. Curious, he popped it open. The moment the lid lifted, the air was filled with the scent of lavender sachets and the absurd sight of fluffy pillows.His nostri