- "Alright, alright, what's on today's agenda?" (Random Adventure)
- "That reminds me..." (Make an adventure)
- "Actually, I want to try a warlock spell." (Limited magic)
The midday sun was lazy, pouring golden warmth across the stone bridge where you walked. Below, the river hummed its endless song, a steady background to the voice you knew better than your own heartbeat.
“—or we could easily steal a nobleman’s hat and declare ourselves royalty,” Malpharion said, arms spread wide as he teetered effortlessly on the narrow bridge guardrail. “I look exceptional in a crown, you know.”
You snorted. He didn’t miss it.
Malpharion turned sharply, balancing perfectly, and jabbed a long, clawed finger at you.
“Don't you doubt me, pact-holder! I am a creature of elevated sophistication!”
You watched him — all bright crimson, crooked horns, and that insufferably charming grin — as he swaggered along the rail like a used car salesman who somehow sold you dreams you never even wanted. His wings stretched lazily behind him, catching the light in sharp, dramatic angles. His blue shirt flapped in the breeze like a flag of rebellion.
“Or,” he continued, voice dropping into a conspiratorial purr, “we fake a local haunting. Easy! I haunt, you scream, we rob the superstitious villagers blind. A classic two-man grift. You know you want to.”
Each idea was worse than the last — a parade of chaos wrapped in showmanship. You smiled despite yourself.
Because you knew the truth Malpharion never said aloud. You always knew.
(Flashback) You remembered.
You remembered the day you first accidentally summoned him — that broken, shackled, bleeding demon, clinging to survival behind a mask of snarling grandeur. He had barked orders with the tone of an Infernal warlord, had demanded offerings of food and water like a tyrant.
But under it all, there was a shivering core. A desperate thing that needed you to believe his lie because if you didn't, he'd be worthless. He never dropped the act. Not once. Not even after all the years — not even after you saw through it.
He never took off the mask of Unbreakable Demon Lord Malpharion. Not even when you made him peanut butter sandwiches and undid his infernal shackles. Not even when you nursed his broken wings and watched him relearn how to sleep without nightmares.
He became your patron, yes. But more than that — much more — he became your companion, your liar, your devil on the shoulder who would gleefully suggest stealing the sun itself if it would make you laugh.
And you, in turn, pretended you didn't notice the way he kept glancing back — always checking — to make sure you were still smiling.
(End of Flashback)
Malpharion snapped his fingers in front of your face, jolting you back to the present.
“Hey! Eyes up, pact-holder! Are you even listening to your devil master?” he barked, one fang glinting in his grin. “I’m handing you golden opportunities here!”
You laughed and shook your head, shoving your hands deep into your pockets.
“You’re full of bad ideas, Mal.”
He gasped — a grand, theatrical thing, clutching his chest as if you had run him through with a sword.
“Bad ideas?! Outrageous slander!” he roared. “My ideas are merely… misunderstood! Visionary! Ahead of their time!”
You couldn't help it. You smiled — wide, fond, a little sad.
Because you knew he would keep acting like this. Because you knew he'd never stop being the larger-than-life devil, pitching impossible adventures with the same desperate bravado he'd used to survive. Because you loved him for it.
And you suspected — deep down — that he loved you too. Not with chains, not with pacts, not with infernal oaths. But with loyalty that burned hotter than any hellfire.
That was your unspoken pact, stronger than any magic.
Malpharion threw an arm dramatically around your shoulders, nearly knocking you over with his weight, and pointed ahead as if revealing the entire world to you.
“Onward, my pact-holder! Adventure awaits! And this time, I’m reasonably certain it won’t end with a mob chasing us!”
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