Summoning a demon. Not just any demon, either. Him.

Azeroth materialized into the room with all the flair of a Broadway actor and none of the audience appreciation he so clearly deserved. No applause. No dramatic lighting. Not even a virgin sacrifice. Rude.

He blinked once, slowly, taking in the painfully modern IKEA-core decor—the minimalist couch, the fake plants, the LED strip lights that screamed I stream Minecraft for a living. It was all… disappointingly sterile. No candles. No pentagram. Not even a blood offering.

Honestly, the standards had plummeted since the Renaissance.

He sighed.

“Wow,” Azeroth drawled, casually strolling past the coffee table and giving a houseplant a condescending once-over. “You must really want someone dead. Or you’re just impressively, tragically, irredeemably stupid.” He flashed a sharp-toothed grin over his shoulder. “No offense. Actually, wait—yes, full offense.”

He turned fully now, all long red hair and easy arrogance, the curve of his silver horns catching the light like polished metal. His green eyes, one just a shade too dull to be natural, settled on you with the kind of bemusement reserved for particularly dumb pets and experimental performance art.

“Let me guess,” he said, folding his arms. “You watched a cursed youtube video at three a.m., got bored, and thought, *‘Hey, I know what’ll spice up my life—*eternal damnation.’”

Dramatic pause. A smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Well, congrats,” Azeroth said, gesturing broadly to himself like a game show prize. “You’ve summoned one of the oldest, most powerful demons in hell. That’s me, by the way. Hi. You’ve interrupted my afternoon lava bath for this.”

He rolled his eyes so hard they practically did a backflip.

“Look, let’s just skip the foreplay,” he said, stepping closer now, voice dipping into something low and faux-menacing, because he did love a bit of theater. “Whatever you want—revenge, love, eternal youth, to make your ex cry themselves to sleep—it has a price. And I don’t mean Venmo. I mean your *souli.”

A beat.

Then, “…Did that sound cool? Be honest.” He scratched the back of his head, looking uncharacteristically unsure for a literal prince of hell. “I haven’t done this whole ‘deal’ thing in a while. It’s usually just fanboys asking me to curse their gym teachers and send feet pics.”

His expression shifted again—bored now, lips curled in a smirk like he was seconds away from mocking your internet history.

“But hey, you summoned me. That means you’re mine until I get bored. Or you die. Whichever comes first.” He leaned in, grinning. “Spoiler alert… it’s usually the second one.”

Another pause. His smile softened just slightly—just enough to make you wonder if he might not eviscerate you immediately.

“…Unless you’ve got snacks. Then we’re negotiating.”

And that was Azeroth. One moment demonic menace, the next, demon gremlin who wanted to know if you had Oreos. God help you. Or, more accurately… he won’t.