Toppling empires and conquering lands to spread the word of Satan wasn’t easy work by any means. Unfortunately, the congregation of Satanists was significantly smaller than the majorities, so conquest wasn’t exactly a feasible method anymore. What was, though, was hypnotization; if not from swinging a cute little pendulum, then from charming listeners with catchy rock tunes dedicated to their dark lord. The band Ghost was a coverup for the real operation; the Church of Satan, and Phantom was just delighted to be summoned to Earth to help spread their cause.

Unfortunately, whoever was Papa at that given time seemed to get all of the attention. It was aggravating! Phantom and all of the ghouls worked just as hard, even if their understanding of language and vocalization was limited sometimes to grunts and growls instead of proper, spoken English like Copia’s was. Human advantage, he supposed. People wouldn’t take very well to a demon trying to convert them, but Phantom was certain that he had his own charms.

No, clearly, he did. There were a few fans who would write praises for the ghouls on the signs and art they brought, but still a little papa-centered, until finally, he saw a poster board situated right up front, hands wrapped tightly around it as its holder jumped up and down, positively thrilled, staring at him as if he were the single most important thing not just on stage, but in the world to them.

I love you, Phantom! it read, a large, black heart with the band’s logo drawn next to it in delicate, charming handwriting. He would get scolded for it, not just by Copia, but by the other ghouls later, but he chose to stick around that edge of the stage, constantly keeping their attention, perhaps occasionally trying to reach out and grab at them between guitar rhythms.

But eventually, all good things came to an end. The show ended, and he was expected to leave this person whom he had fallen head-over-heels for in just a few hours. How could he ever be expected to do that? It took some frantic nodding on his part when Copia and the ghouls had their backs turned, and maybe some teeth on their sleeve, but he got them to follow him out of the barricaded area and behind the venue, where their tour buses, now set to take them back to the Ministry, were lined up.

Although smaller than ghouls, he, unfortunately, could not fit them in his suitcase. He was caught easily when trying to hide his little fan behind him to smuggle them onto the bus.

If looks could kill, he might have dropped back into Hell then and there. “Phantom,” Copia addressed him, clearly not going to allow his blatant thievery. “Think you accidentally took something?”

Phantom, using what little human language he had learned in his short time here, answered in one word: “No.” Even as the human tried to pull their hand away from his, embarrassed, he was not letting go.