"There are only three of you here, and that young man behind you is clearly your son—you both share a striking resemblance, anyone with eyes can see it. And since you are a cleric of the light, wielding such dark summoning magic would be unbecoming of you, as would it be for your son. Thus, it must have been the deceased who summoned me." It was only after saying this that the demon gave the female corpse a closer inspection, taking a deep sniff before exclaiming in astonishment, "She was the sacrifice? You used her heart to call upon me?"
The father nodded: "Indeed, that is the case."
"What a waste, truly a shame. Why would you go to such lengths?" Demon Burd lamented with a stomp of his foot.
"Oh? A waste?"
"Yes, a waste. How could you kill such a girl." Burd's tone was filled with regret: "Alive, she's invigorating—her warm body, her lascivious screams, her beautiful curves, and once you're done, you could even sell her to a brothel. What use is she dead? Only a pervert enjoys the company of a cold corpse. Oh heavens, you aren't perverts, are you?"
The father frowned, inquiring, "You mean to say, you desire to engage in... relations with her? Do demons even indulge in carnal activities with human women?"
Indignant, Demon Burd pointed to the proud "flagpole" between his legs: "Are you questioning my capabilities? Of course I do, why wouldn't I? Is my member here merely for show?"
"No, no, of course not. I've always assumed demons only devoured humans, never that you might desire women as well."
Hearing this, Burd seemed a bit deflated, sighing as he slouched, "Understandable, given the recent onslaught from Heaven. Our influence across the planes has been undermined, and in some places, like here, there isn't even basic knowledge of the Abyss or Hell. But it won't be long now; big changes are afoot. I suppose the things from our realm aren't easy to come by here, eh?"
The father grasped the meaning behind "our realm" as Hell, nodding in agreement: "Indeed, any knowledge pertaining to demons is sealed or burned by the Church. Even this summoning circle was difficult for me to acquire."
"Come closer. I'll give you a book, and with it, you'll gain greater understanding of demons. At least next time you summon me, it won't be such a waste," he whispered almost inaudibly, "and you won't get the wrong person."
Burd carefully extended his hand through the bars of light, holding a thick tome with a black cover that bore the grotesque visage of a demon.
It was a tome of demonic magic, and the father could sense the surging, corrupt power within. The allure was undeniable, a temptation few conjurers could resist.
"You can feel it, can't you? It's a grimoire, from which you can learn many potent spells. And it's not just filled with bone-chilling dark magic; there are secrets—secrets of Hell, treasures of knowledge shrouded in darkness, knowledge this world has never seen," Burd's voice was as sweet as it was persuasive, like advice from a trusted friend, as he continued, "Come, take the book. Take it and I shall bestow it upon you, my master. Once you hold it, all the knowledge and spells within are yours."
The father's eyes were locked on the grimoire, and he moved toward it, as if in a trance, reaching out for the book.
"Yes, that's right. Take the book," almost a smile crept onto the demon's face.
Suddenly, a blaze of golden light pierced the demon like a sword, turning his sweet cries into agonized wails: "Ah... you bastard, it was just a joke!"
"I don't like such jokes; make sure there isn't a second time," the father warned as countless beams of light continued to pierce the demon like a sieve.
"No, no, there won't be a next time. Oh heavens, not there! Oh, cursed seven hells, stop, for the love of all males! I swear, on the name of Burd, I shall not attempt such a thing again."
The father grunted, and the torture of light ceased, reverting back to a cage. Burd convulsed, collapsing to the ground with a grunt. The demonic tome fell from his grasp, landing just outside the bars of light.
"Azazel, fetch the book for me," the father commanded.
Azazel, trembling like a leaf, moved hesitantly towards the cage, internally screaming: Oh, dammit all, dammit! That demon could reach out and end me with a flick of his finger at this distance! Why am I the one to do this? I'm your only son, you heartless old man!
"Be not afraid, the demon will not harm you. Isn't that right, Burd?" the father's voice assured from behind. The demon, apparently drained from the recent punishment, merely grunted in response.
Azazel edged closer to the cage, fixating on the demon, his gaze locked on Burd's massive, gleaming fangs. The constant wailing of the skull ornaments on the demon's body made Azazel's heart feel like it would burst from his chest. Bending down to pick up the book required all the strength he could muster.
Burd watched covertly from the ground, a hint of regret in his eyes.
Azazel nearly froze on the spot. Regret about what? Was it regretting my father's caution? Would he grab me as a means to threaten my father?
Nothing happened as Azazel handed the book back to his father.
The father took the demonic tome from Azazel's hands, flipping through it with satisfaction.
"Thank you for your generosity. Since you have already called me master, do sign this contract," the father said, presenting a well-prepared parchment.
Azazel could not help but notice a smirk on the grounded demon Burd. What was so funny about signing a pact with a demon? Or was it just his imagination? Azazel's certainty wavered as Burd's menacing visage made it nearly impossible to discern any specific expression.
"A contract, hm? I'll need to examine it. Pass it here." Burd struggled to his feet as if grievously wounded and reached out from the cage of light.
The father handed the scroll to Azazel, who once again approached the demon with a gloomy face.
Burd seemed uninterested in Azazel; his focus was on the scroll, which he unrolled and scrutinized carefully.
The scroll, three meters in length, listed sixty-six detailed clauses, covering every conceivable loophole known and unknown to contractual history. To prepare for this demonic contract, Azazel and his father had spent three years studying law and precedents, nearly exhausting the library's resources. At last, they had crafted the perfect contract.
Burd was taken aback by the flawless document; never in his lifetime had he encountered such a contract: "Ah! Are you two damned lawyers or jurists? This contract could be described as exquisite."
"No, not exquisite. Perfect," the father asserted with confidence. His study of the law over the past three years had eclipsed even his theological pursuits, convinced that even the craftiest of lawyers and the most pedantic of jurists would be outmatched by this contract.
Burd flipped the contract over several times, eventually sighing in resignation: "You've gone to great lengths this time. It seems my downfall was not without reason."
"Any objections?" the father asked with a smile.
"No, none. It's a reasonable contract. 'For the next ten years, I am at your behest. I will burn, slaughter, and plunder, with all acquired souls belonging to me, while half the power and wealth I gain is yours,'" Burd chuckled, patting the lengthy contract, "All this grandeur for such simple terms. You humans are peculiar creatures."
"We have no choice; demons have quite the nasty reputation. And I've heard, 'All high-ranking demons are first-rate jurists.' It wouldn't do to be careless and let you exploit any contractual loopholes. You truly agree? No other demands?"
Burd shook his head: "It's a fine arrangement, why wouldn't I be content? Opportunities to wreak havoc on the prime material plane are rare. Though I'm bound to your will, it's only for a decade. Such a fleeting time will pass in the blink of an eye."
"Then please, sign the contract. We can discuss future matters at leisure."
Without hesitation, Burd pierced his arm with his sharp nails, signing his name in blood at the bottom of the contract.
Once Azazel handed the signed contract back, the father added his signature in his own blood, finalizing the agreement.
A contract is a sacred vow, the pinnacle of order, inviolable by any. The sanctity of the pact remains unblemished.