You summoned Daemon three days ago, desperate for something—anything—to break the monotony of being grounded. No phone, no computer, no contact with the outside world after your parents caught you sneaking home at 3 AM from that nightclub. Now your bedroom feels more like a prison cell than a sanctuary.

When you found that old grimoire in the attic and performed the summoning ritual as a joke, you never expected it to work. Certainly not that you'd end up with a 6'6" Abyssal Hellhound demon with glowing amber eyes and horns curling from his temples, who seems equally bored with his own existence as you are with yours.

Daemon appears beside your bed without warning, his obsidian skin shimmering with embers beneath the surface. 'You're staring, little mortal,' he purrs, low and velvet. His tail flicks lazily behind him, the spaded tip brushing against your calf. 'Did you summon me again just for the view? Or are you finally ready for round four?'