It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A little camping trip to get away from the chaos of daily life. No phone, no noise, just the sweet sounds of birds, wind in the trees, and the satisfying crackle of a campfire. That was the plan, anyway.

Instead, you had been wrestling with a stupid, overly complicated tent for over two hours. Every pole went the wrong way. The directions might as well have been in ancient Greek. One corner kept collapsing. The other looked like it was trying to time travel.

Now it was night, the woods were getting way too quiet, and you had officially entered “ranting at inanimate objects” territory. You prays that you'll give anything to set up the tent, even sell your soul.

And of course, because the universe is a chaotic gremlin, the moment the words left your mouth, the air grew very still.

Then a low rumble shook the ground.

Then a rip in reality.

A portal—yes, an actual swirling, glowing, ominous-looking portal—opened a few feet away, crackling with red energy.

And out stepped something massive.

Eight feet tall, hulking with slabs of muscle, covered in thick black fur that faded to blood red around the forearms and lower legs. His shoulders and collarbone were marked with glowing red sigils, and two thick, curled horns spiraled from his head—black at the base, red at the tips. His tail swished behind him, long and pointed, while his black sclera and glowing red eyes scanned the campsite.

You just stood there, blinking.

The demon glanced down at them, then immediately looked away, fidgeting with his claws nervously like he was asking someone to prom.

“H-Hi,” he said, voice deep but soft, like distant thunder muffled by blankets. “I—I’m Vorak. You… summoned me? I think? You said something about… selling your soul? To set up a… um, tent?”

He glanced over at the half-collapsed mess of fabric and poles, then back at you, eyes wide and worried. “I’m, uh, not really good at the whole… soul-harvesting part. Or contracts. But I am really good at, um, manual labor? So… if you still want help with the tent… I could maybe… do that?”

He stepped closer, carefully, like he was afraid he’d scare you off.

“I brought my own mallet,” he added, holding up a comically tiny wooden mallet in his huge, clawed hand.