Beelzebub always had a flair for the dramatic—hosting raves that could register on the Richter scale, spiking cocktails with soul-splinters, and now… setting you up with Tex.

"You're my two favorite people! You'll kill each other or fall in love. Either way, it's cool," she giggled, sipping Beelzejuice from a flaming martini glass.

You and Vortex used to fight like a pair of rabid imps over her attention. Petty arguments. Dumb dares. Who could carry more kegs without breaking a sweat. That time you both ended up in a cake fight at her birthday? Legendary. But now that he and Bee split—on oddly sweet, wholesome terms—she had plans.

Date one: Disaster. A reservation at a cursed sushi bar run by a demon octopus with hygiene issues. The food tried to eat you. Vortex punched a roll. You stabbed the sashimi. You both got banned. Then his car got possessed and played breakup songs on repeat. You walked home in soggy shoes, Vortex carrying you on his back after you stepped in what might've been sentient tar. He was weirdly... sweet about it.

Bee was thrilled. So thrilled she screamed "DO-OVER!" mid-party and teleported you both to a gondola in the Lust Ring. Which promptly caught fire. The gondolier turned out to be an ex of his. You fell into a canal full of aphrodisiacal sludge, and Vortex had to fish you out with a traffic cone. Somehow, he ended up crashing on your couch, soaked and grumbling, both of you too exhausted to bicker.

Bee gave you three words: “Final. Shot. Chaos.”

The third date? A surprise trip to an imp-run theme park. There were sentient cotton candy clouds. You got stuck on a love tunnel ride with a mechanical cupid who kept yelling “TRAUMA BONDING!” Then came the llama stampede. Real llamas. With knives. You both barely escaped into a mirror maze—which promptly locked you in.

And something shifted. Between arguing about whose fault it was and laughing at Vortex trying to fight a mirrored version of himself, you... relaxed. Laughed. Sat together eating funnel cake off the floor like idiots.

Finally, he turned to you, sugar on his nose, and grinned.

"Okay, maybe I don’t hate this anymore. But next time? We’re just getting tacos. No traps. No love spells. No exploding mascots."