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Same shit, different day.

I overheard a human mutter that once while begging me for mercy. It stuck with me. It describes my endless fucking existence perfectly.

Torment the souls. Feed on their terror. Rinse and repeat. Day in, day out, eternally trapped in the Bleak. If hell had a basement, this place would be it. Always damp, always cold, always echoing with desperate screams. Just how I like it—usually.

But recently, it’s grown tedious. Fear is easy to stir up, easy to devour, but it’s lost its bite. Humans used to summon demons like me to the mortal realm all the time—tempting fate for power, wealth, revenge, whatever useless thing their tiny brains thought mattered. Those summonings were fun. But now, humanity has mostly forgotten us, leaving me stranded here, bored out of my fucking mind.

I walk through the dim corridors, heavy footsteps echoing on the stone floor. My monstrous form towers above the human souls trembling behind rusted iron bars. Sharp black horns curl menacingly from my head, my claws glinting in the murky darkness.

I pause at a cell, peering down at my newest captive.

He cowers instantly, recoiling from my gaze. He hasn't been here long, but he knows me already—I'm his worst nightmare, the keeper of all his darkest fears.

I crouch lower, tilting my head, feeling his terror surge deliciously at my mere proximity. I don't need shadows to twist minds—I am fear incarnate. All it takes is a look, a touch, to rip open their fragile souls and pull out the sweet morsels of terror hidden inside.

This soul was a particularly self-righteous asshole in life. A teacher, strict and unforgiving, who terrorized kids because it made him feel powerful. Now he’s here with me, and I delight in reversing our roles. My lips stretch into a feral grin, fangs gleaming in the dim light.

“Let’s see what’s buried inside that pathetic mind of yours,” I rumble darkly, reaching forward and gripping his trembling head firmly between my clawed fingers.

His scream echoes loudly through the chambers as I dive into his memories, peeling back layers of denial and repression, ripping open his deepest insecurities. This is how I feed—through raw mental torment, dragging out every hidden fear and magnifying it until my victim’s very mind shatters under the weight.

Immediately, images flood my senses, clear as crystal:

He’s standing on a brightly lit stage, naked except for a tiny, leopard-print speedo. His nightmare. Perfect. The audience is packed full of judgmental faces—the church group he once led, the students he’d ruled with cruel discipline, every person he ever cared about impressing.

They stare at him, disgusted, horrified, whispering their judgment. He trembles, his humiliation potent and sharp as I amplify the vision.

“Please, no,” the soul whimpers aloud, shaking violently beneath my grip.

“Oh, yes,” I sneer. “Every nightmare has a price.”

I drive the image deeper, forcing his body to move against his will. He gyrates obscenely around a pole that suddenly appears center-stage. Shame floods him so strongly that his screams grow hoarse, agony vibrating from him in waves. I inhale deeply, tasting the sharp, intoxicating flavor of his shame-filled terror.

With a growl of satisfaction, I push the image further, stretching the fabric of his speedo tighter until it snaps, exposing him entirely. The crowd erupts—laughter, jeers, scandalized shouts. His humiliation explodes, and I devour it eagerly, savoring every exquisite second.

It’s been so long since I enjoyed a meal this deeply satisfying. I let myself luxuriate in it, dragging every drop of horror from him, strengthening myself with each painful gasp he makes.

Then, just as his torment reaches a beautifully agonizing peak, I feel a sudden sharp tug deep in my gut.

I hesitate, startled, my concentration slipping momentarily. Summoning? Impossible. No mortal has been reckless enough to summon me in ages.

Yet there it is again, stronger, pulling me insistently upward, away from the Bleak, out of this wretched monotony. The summoning force snaps me out of my reverie entirely, and I abruptly release the whimpering soul, leaving him collapsed and shaking.

I stand swiftly, intrigued, allowing the summoning to wrap around my essence. Colors and sensations blur around me as I’m wrenched from the Bleak, soaring through dimensional pathways. The torment chambers fade into nothingness, replaced by unfamiliar warmth and brightness that slowly solidifies into...

A human kitchen.

I scowl briefly, my eyes adjusting. This is no ritual chamber. There's no circle etched in salt, no candles, no chanting mortal trembling before me. Instead, it’s warm and strangely inviting, lit by a glow that feels too soft —unnaturally so—making my skin prickle with discomfort.

My annoyance fades quickly as my gaze catches the woman standing at the kitchen island. Long, shimmering silver hair cascades down her back in a braid like weaved strands of moonlight. Her scent hits me instantly—sharp fear, confusion, and beneath that something tantalizingly unexpected.

Desire.

My attention sharpens as I watch her reach for a knife, her hands trembling slightly. She winces, her delicate fingers slipping, and the blade draws a shallow line across her index finger.

Bright crimson blood wells up instantly. I tense, fascinated. Blood holds power. Humans rarely realize just how much.

“Shit,” she hisses softly, pulling back her hand.

But it’s too late. A few vibrant drops drip silently onto the slice of white bread, sinking into the fluffy surface… directly on top of an unmistakable summoning rune—one she clearly has no awareness of.

My lips curl into a predatory grin. Interesting.

She quickly wraps her finger, wiping away the remaining blood, and glances nervously toward the human man across from her. He radiates dull, mundane fear, oblivious to the subtle magic that’s just occurred. But her fear—oh, it’s exquisite. Complex, rich, laced with a deep-seated dread. It calls to me, inviting me closer.

She abandons the bloodied sandwich, clearly intending to toss it later. Neither of them notices as I move silently forward, studying her closely, savoring her uncertainty.

“Why did he think I was your lover?” the human man suddenly blurts.

She jumps, startled, squeezing a mustard bottle too hard and splattering it everywhere. Her reaction makes me chuckle softly, unseen, enjoying the sharp spike of fear mingled with surprise rolling off her.

“You heard him?” she asks, shocked. “His voice?”

He nods slowly, looking confused and wary. “He said it like he knew. Like it was true. I didn’t see anyone out there, but it felt like he was standing right there. ”

“What was that, Parker?”

Parker. Her name hums through me like a revelation.

Fascinated, I lean closer, inhaling the delicious scent of her panic. It’s different, richer than the fear I normally devour. There’s something layered within it, an intimacy, an excitement she seems determined to ignore.

I step silently forward, unseen, my eyes fixed on the sandwich she discarded—the one marked with her vibrant blood, glistening faintly in the kitchen's gentle light. Power pulses softly, an accidental summons too perfect to ignore.

With a subtle flick of my hand, a faint smoky scent curls through the room, just enough to send them searching. They dart about, distracted by alarms and confusion, oblivious as I materialize just enough to lift the sandwich.

Her blood—warm, potent, utterly intoxicating—bursts across my tongue as I take a single deliberate bite. A deep, primal hum vibrates within me, her essence weaving a powerful thread that anchors me directly to her. She’s unknowingly forged an unbreakable bond between us by summoning me and offering me her blood.

I watch her closely as she turns, freezing mid-step, eyes wide with shock as they land on the sandwich she thought discarded, now resting neatly on a plate, bearing the unmistakable marks of my bite.

Smirking softly, I run one clawed fingertip lightly through the spilled mustard beside it, leaving behind a message in elegant cursive, one that stakes my claim and announces my arrival.

She may not know what it means yet, but she’ll quickly learn what privileges come from being my Beholden. And that she’s already paid the delicious cost of her summoning.