The father examined the contract, nodding ceaselessly, his satisfaction immeasurable at the sight of the robust demon before him.
My dear, my love, do you realize? I have now acquired power beyond measure.
The wine of vengeance, brewed from hatred, truly becomes more intoxicating with time. And now, the delicious draught sits before my eyes, and I can't wait a moment longer. I must unleash my revenge, savor the taste. The world of sinners will soon know destruction!
"Master, now that the contract is signed, what shall we do next?" Demon Burd's inquiry startled the father from his reverie.
"Just start by killing everyone in this inn!" the father blurted out without a second thought, his eyes gleaming with madness. Then, as if coming to his senses, he quickly added, "Except for me and my son—everyone else, slaughter them all!"
"Ha! No need to be so cautious. I find I quite like you, and your commands too. But I must warn you, once the slaughter begins, I can't control my desires."
"It doesn't matter. Even if you lay waste to this town—no, this entire country—it doesn't matter. Kill all the men, and the women... Well, do with them as you please."
"I'm already boiling with anticipation. So release me. In this glittering cage, I can do nothing."
"Of course."
With a mere gesture from the father, the luminous cage of holy light dissolved into nothingness.
The demon eagerly rose to his full height, stretched with a lazy yawn, and with a thunderous boom, the roof of the inn's second floor was obliterated by the demon's uplifted hands.
"Ha-ha! Well done! Such magnificent strength. Go now! Go forth and slaughter, let fear grip the hearts of men," the father laughed wildly, feeling a rush of euphoric power.
Nothing could stop me now. I shall stir storms of blood and mayhem in this world, make the whole earth tremble beneath me. The souls of those foolish mortals will be harvested by demons, doomed to eternal torment.
"I shall go at once, master. But before I do, I require something from you." With that, Demon Burd planted his great axe into the floor of the inn and extended his hand towards the father.
The father furrowed his brow in question:
"What do you want?"
Those were the last words the father ever spoke.
"Your soul," the demon replied. And before the father could protest, his head was effortlessly crushed between two of Burd's fingers.
Red and white splattered all over Azazel, who stood with eyes wide and mouth agape at the unfolding horror.
This can't be a joke, oh God, not like this, not so suddenly?
The world changes too swiftly, often too fast for us to accept.
The powerful, twisted, mad, clever, and cautious father was dead, leaving himself to the mercy of the demon.
Now what? Weep? Flee? Perhaps a quick death like the father's would be a blessing before such a demon.
Before Azazel could even begin to process his grief, his father reappeared.
Muttering an incantation, the demon waved his hand through the air, weaving complex sigils, then lightly tugged at the headless corpse of the father—where his head should have been was nothing but air.
With a mere pull, the father was wrenched from his body.
"Hello, master," the demon's lips curled slightly. "We meet again so soon, my apologies. I accidentally crushed something just now. You're feeling alright, aren't you? Well, perhaps a bit light-headed, but you'll get used to it."
The father's spirit seemed as stunned as Azazel, struggling to grasp the sudden turn of fate.
Just moments ago, the father had everything. He had thwarted the demon's schemes, bound him with a contract, and could command this force of destruction to sweep through the town with bloody fury.
But in the next, he was dead. And worse yet, it wasn't the end; not only was the father slain by the demon, but his soul was now captive as well.
Minutes ago, the demon had been tortured in the father's "cage of light," and now their positions were tragically reversed. The father's face contorted with despair.
"Ah! Such a delightful expression. Are you afraid? Do you remember what you did to me just before? Clever man, can you guess what I'll do to you?" Demon Burd taunted the father's spirit, relishing his fear.
The father struggled not to be swayed by Burd's words, making a colossal effort to free his mind from horrific imaginings, whether from scholarly determination or simply a dead man's refusal to die in vain.
The soul of the father trembled as he spoke his first words since death—not a farewell to Azazel, nor a desperate plea to Demon Burd for mercy, but a question.
"This is unbelievable, even in death, I must understand. Where did I go wrong?"
The demon burst into laughter so intense that he rolled on the ground, struggling to stand before addressing the father's spirit: "Mortal, you need to recognize your plight. See, though it's no big deal to ask about such things, you now have nothing."
"No, I have something—I have knowledge, all my knowledge. There's still something you want to know from me, isn't there? Like how I could wield divine magic and summon demons."
"Ah? Your soul is in my grasp, so all that knowledge is mine now. See, both demons and devils are masters of soul torture. You'll tell me everything, trust me, you will."
"Demon, you can't deceive me. I am a conjurer, and I've interrogated souls before." (At this point, Demon Burd interjected that he was only a former conjurer, but the father ignored him.) "My soul will go mad with pain, I'll lose all reason, and you won't gain a thing from a lunatic's thoughts."
"What a pity, you're correct, but it's not enough." Demon Burd replied, seemingly regretful. "For a trade, you'll need to add something... like..." At that moment, Burd's gaze shifted to Azazel.
Azazel saw his father's spirit shake violently, flickering like a candle in a tempest, almost snuffed out. After a long time, the father's soul let out a muffled roar, terrifying as if it originated from the depths of hell: "You dare to take my son, Burd? Don't push me too far. You know you can do anything, why torment me like this!"
The demon was not one to be frightened by such rage, not with Hell as his playground. Instead, he found the father's anger delightful, which only brightened his mood. Smiling, he replied: "Indeed, I can take everything from the boy, I can do anything without needing anyone's permission. But right now, I find adhering to some semblance of rules more amusing. I want you to say it aloud, that I can have the boy. Do you consent?"
"Damn the seven hells! Yes, he's yours! Now it's your turn, is it so difficult to answer the question of a pitiful, dead old man?" The father's soul screamed hysterically, a furious blaze burning in his eyes. But the rage was fleeting, quickly extinguished when he realized what he'd uttered. His soul shrank into a small ball, and the demon let go, allowing the father's spirit to drift aimlessly within the roofless room. The father tried to flee, but invisible walls erected by Burd's sword-bound spell confined him. In the end, he was forced to cower in a crevice, peering out at Azazel.
"Forgive me, Azazel, forgive me! Oh, my dear Susan, forgive me for what I've done. Look at what I've become over the years. Look at what I've done to our son." The father's soul wept helplessly in the corner. He was utterly defeated by the demon, both body and spirit crushed.