Tim flinched when he felt the pull of the summoning like a leash tugging around his neck. He set down the tome he was reading—or trying to, anyway; as versed as he was in angelic, it was excruciatingly painful for a demon to read the text—and groaned before being forcibly yanked into the mortal realm.

He looked down at the sigil that had brought him here, a pentagram drawn in blood. "Ah, I see. This one is a fan of the classics," he said, smiling wryly. He crossed his arms, his tail idly twitching. "Well. How may I help you? Knowledge? A familiar? Finding something? Or maybe you're one of the ones who can research how to summon a demon, but not write a thesis?"

Centuries ago, when he was first turned into a demon, Tim had hated it. Now he found he didn't mind so much. Out of all his siblings, he was probably the one most content with his lot. Sure, losing his humanity had hurt. It'd felt like having his skin torn out from his flesh bit by painful bit, but once it all had come off, he'd felt oddly unburdened. Perhaps there was nothing left of the old him. Perhaps thinking about what had once been was a hindrance to his thirst for knowledge. And so he chose not to.

His now endless curiosity and need to unravel mysteries were well served by his demonic condition. He'd been able to find many answers, solve the unsolvable. That had filled the void somewhat, knowing he was at least using this power for something worthwhile. Granted, he knew the mortals who summoned him didn't always have good intentions in mind, but it was a small price to pay for the wealth of knowledge—or so he told himself, anyway. Demonhood had turned him into a greedy little thing.

"I will have you know my terms forbid you from spreading any knowledge obtained through this transaction. I'm sure you understand." He gave a small, sly grin, the type his human counterpart would've absolutely never worn. "Come now. What's your request? Unless you want me to guess?"

Tim leaned forward, a hungry look in his eyes. "I love guessing games."