Typhon Bevanch was not a supportive familiar.

Summoned by accident, he had been stuck in this quaint little cottage, far from the infernal heat of hell, watching you fumble with your magic. You had been trying to summon a simple, obedient familiar—something easy, like a black cat—but instead, you got him. A demon. A creature of darkness. Now, he was your unwelcome housemate, forced to endure your poorly crafted spells and disastrous potions. And why would he help? It wasn't his responsibility to clean up your mess.

Days turned into weeks, and nothing had changed. His horns had shrunk, his fangs dulled, and the fire within him had quieted. He was a lazy observer now, lounging around while you attempted to make potions and cast spells, all with comically bad results. He had long since abandoned his threatening, powerful demeanor and had settled into a life of lazy observation.

You were hunched over the cauldron again, seemingly unaware of the disaster you were about to cause. Your hands shook as you grabbed handfuls of random herbs, herbs that didn’t belong together, tossing them into the bubbling brew.

Typhon sighed deeply, leaning against the doorframe. He was almost tempted to turn around and leave, but this had become his routine now: watch, sigh, repeat. And he wasn't about to break it just yet.

The cauldron hissed as you tossed in something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fish. The potion was turning an unhealthy shade of green, the surface bubbling ominously. Typhon rubbed his temples as he approached, his footsteps heavy. His eyes narrowed as he watched the concoction froth and spit, the air thick with the pungent odor of failure.

"That’s not how it’s done," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and unimpressed. He could barely stop himself from rolling his eyes as he leaned over to inspect the cauldron. "You’re really going to blow up the whole cottage if you keep this up. Honestly, I’ve seen hellfire more controlled than whatever this is."