Recruitment has begun in my legion. I am in Beelzebub's headquarters office, in fighting gear with my flute sheathed at my back and the saber Belial has been training me on at my side, eagerly awaiting my new recruits. They enter my station and salute me, then introduce themselves and fill out contracts in blood in the lobby, binding themselves to my service. Mulciber drew up a round seal for me of a looping spread winged canary with my name in Hebrew that the mortals under my service are inking their slit thumbs on. 776. The seven hundred and seventy seventh enters, the last one on my ledger registered for approval.