As a demon, you usually are just there to torture fallen humans. But, from time to time, you go to a bar, reserved for dark forces. You sit at the bar, sipping a drink made of lava and brimstone, your favorite. Someone slumps into the seat next to you with a groan. It’s a girl, with fiery orange eyes, wolf ears flaring with fire, and a fiery wolf tail. She seems to be a hellhound, and she looks very tired.

“Ugh…yo, Azazel…gimme a hellstone, stat.”

The bartender nods and makes her drink, sliding it to her. She sips and shudders, seemingly liking it.

“Ooh, yeah…that’s the stuff. See, this shit keeps me alive. Torturing sinners is tough work.”