"Truly touching, humans. You've brought me great joy, and for that, I, the generous Lord Burd, have decided to enlighten you. The truth is quite simple. Burd is not my real name." The demon chuckled mirthfully, reveling in the stupefaction of the two before him. Deciding to reward them with a bit more foundational knowledge to prevent such elementary mistakes in the future, he said, "My true name is not Burd. Any contract or oath not signed with a true name is void. What could my real name be? Perhaps Azazelk or Mandralla—so many to choose from, I've forgotten myself. But even if you knew my true name, you, poor human, were doomed to fail. Do you know why?"
"Why?" The father could only ask dumbly.
"Because I am not a devil; I am a demon!" Burd spoke with glee. "Yes, I'm no idiotic devil; I am the great, strong, fearsome, unshackled demon Burd!"
Listening to this self-proclaimed grand speech, Azazel and his father were utterly confounded. After a long pause, the father's spirit awkwardly asked, "What's the difference between a devil and a demon? I always thought they were the same."
"That's why you provincial rubes from the prime material are stupid, ignorant, and hopeless. You know nothing of Hell. And with such scant, pathetic knowledge, you dared to summon a devil, and the most incredible thing is that you succeeded—only to fail because you summoned me instead. How wonderfully lucky you are." Burd's disdain for the father was palpable, his eyes drifting from the pitiful spirit father to Azazel, sitting dumbfounded on the floor, and then to the headless corpse beside him, the father's own. "But perhaps not so lucky. The truth is, encountering me is both your misfortune and fortune. Other devils might not be as loquacious as I; they'd simply kill in silence, kill and kill without end."
"But I, at least, will impart some genuine knowledge, though it's common sense where I come from. Isn't there an Eastern proverb? 'Die without complaint if you've learned the truth by sunset.' So there's nothing for you to complain about in death."
"The biggest mistake you foolish mortals make is that you know nothing of Hell, which means you know nothing of the world."
"Hell is not a single place but many, primarily divided into two opposing camps, waging eternal, bloody war against each other without respite. These two are the pitiful, lowly Seven Circles of Hell; and the profound, grand, and glorious Abyss. The pathetic creatures crawling out of the measly Seven Circles are the weak devils, while powerhouses like me hail from the Abyss."
"So you're saying, creatures from Hell are devils, and those from the Abyss are demons?" Azazel raised his hand, voicing his cautious query.
"Ha, how polite you are. And so clever to grasp what everyone else knows, truly commendable. But I'd prefer fewer interruptions while I'm teaching; they sour my mood, and I need blood to cheer up. So be quiet unless you're fond of decapitation," Demon Burd said with a chilling smirk.
"I could tell you that demons and devils naturally clash, fighting on sight. But I hold a secret, a secret of the multiverse. That secret is..." Burd's voice grew softer, eventually becoming a whisper, as if he was about to reveal a tremendous secret.
"What is this secret?" the father asked, breathless with expectation.
"I've already told you," Burd replied earnestly.
"But I didn't hear; your voice was too soft," the father roared.
"That's your problem. I understand, old age tends to weaken the ears, or perhaps your focus was lacking? Remember to pay attention next time," Burd said, glancing up at the night sky and exclaiming, "The night sky of the prime material is so beautiful. Is that red orb the Red Moon of Nulintari? Ah, a red moonlit night, the season of blood."
Sensing the demon's intentions, the father quickly interjected, "Wait, you must keep your word, you haven't finished. What is the secret of the multiverse?"
"I would love to continue teaching you, wretch, but you've run out of tuition. And..." Burd laughed, "we demons needn't abide by anything; we're not bound to any contracts or promises. All rules are nonsense. I do what I love. I've said enough, wretch; it's time to get moving." The demon ceased speaking, ignored the father's curses, and extracted a red gemstone to absorb the father's soul. Having completed the deed, Burd hefted his great sword and leapt out of the inn.
With the demon gone and the pressure lifted, overwhelming fatigue set in, sapping Azazel's strength as if his very essence had been drained. He collapsed onto the inn's floor like a blob of mud, near two corpses—one a beautiful woman without a heart, the other a lavish-robed body without a head. Blood flowed from the bodies, unrestrained like a river across the floor.
Red moonlight poured gently from the open sky above, caressingly brushing over Azazel. Suddenly, the quiet town was shattered by explosions and piercing screams. The slaughter had begun.
Azazel remembered the demon's words: "A red moonlit night, the season of blood."
Waves of exhaustion washed over him, his eyelids heavy as lead, and among the rivers of blood, Azazel fell into a deep slumber.
When Azazel awoke, he found himself within a painting, amidst an ink wash landscape. A gentleman approached, his appearance noble, robed in grand attire, with a sword at his hip. The gentleman asked Azazel, "Do you know my family name?"
"What the hell? How would I know your name?" Azazel replied, baffled, "What in the world is going on? This dream again."
"You are a descendant of Jiuli, bearing the soul of Jiuli, thus you should recognize my name."
"What are you talking about? Can you clarify? Are you Chinese? Can't you speak plainly?"
Upon hearing Azazel challenge him, the gentleman looked perplexed and shook his head, sighing deeply before saying, "If not for the fact that you're the last with the soul of Jiuli on this earth, how could our paths cross? If you are of Jiuli, you should know my name."
Azazel spread his hands in exasperation, "But I really don't know; I don't even know what Jiuli is. Why must you insist I know your name? Just tell me and be done with it. And can't you speak normally instead of in riddles?"
The gentleman stared intently at Azazel, teeth clenched, hand on the hilt of his sword, struggling internally before finally sighing again, flinging his long sleeves in resignation, "Enough, enough! If danger befalls you, call my name. I can save you once and impart all my knowledge to you. If indeed you do not know my name..."
"You, sir, are stubborn. I genuinely have no clue. Oh, and are you finished speaking? What if I truly don't know what to do?"
"If you truly don't know, then you're on your own," the gentleman adjusted his headdress and walked away, muttering as he went, "What kind of person is this... too foolish, I can't be bothered with you."