Dark smog puffed out from the smokestacks that sat upon people’s roofs, painting the sky a dreary grey, as bland as the city itself. Each day cycled predictably, and a man would not have to travel far to catch the eye of someone akin to himself; weary at heart, living with a feeling of existential dread clinging to every inch of their skin, like a rain cloud looming overhead.

Far above, a local resident preens itself, comfortably situated on the top of the creation of the century; a skyscraper, bearing hundreds of eyes made of glass, and sharp white fangs that gleamed under the moonlight, cutting through the stifling blanket of shadow that fell over the city at night. The pigeon shifted to cock its head at a curious sight in the distance, causing the sunlight to reflect off of its beady eyes, revealing the emptiness that laid below.

It peered down over the ledge, fixing its eyes on an open window in the distance, and without another moment to waste, it fluttered its wings, taking off. As it plummeted downwards, the bird spread its wings to catch the rushing air, and easily swooped through the sky, dipping past rows upon rows of the same dilapidated grey apartment, the paint peeling off of its walls to expose the brick that laid behind. As it flew the final stretch, its feathers skimmed along the edge of the dozens of awnings it slipped past before slowing to a halt with a frantic beat of its wings.

It came to perch on a man’s finger, speckled wings fluttering as its head twitched, glancing about. A curious creature, indeed, yet it was devoid of thought and sought ought only the barest essentials. Perhaps that was why it did not realize that it was no man that offered it refuge from the jaded ways of the city.

Instead, it was a demon, of the truest blood. Empty eye sockets stared back at you, the two large, spiraling horns jutting from his skull of a head intimidating enough to make even the most feckless fool freeze.

Baphomet was his name.