Evenson looked at the lineup before him.
Four demons.
One dog.
Ordered neatly from tallest to shortest.
When he’d first summoned them, he’d nearly burst with excitement.
A Warlock without demons was like a knight without a sword.
Or a gamer without Wi-Fi.
The problem was...
Reality had neglected to include the quality-of-life patch.
The first in line stood well over seven feet tall.
His name was Tyler.
A Demonguard.
Built like a walking fortress of muscle and scar tissue, he carried an enormous Arcanite axe across one shoulder. His face looked as though violence itself had learned to grow skin.
He was the sort of creature who could stand quietly on a street corner without doing anything at all...
...and still generate emergency calls within minutes.
As Evenson’s strongest summoned demon, Tyler possessed terrifying combat ability. If he truly fought without restraint, he could probably exchange blows with the Hulk for at least a short while before being torn apart.
His only flaw?
Everything else.
Tyler lived by a simple philosophy.
Fight.
Kill.
Repeat.
If he disliked someone, he’d split them in half with his axe.
If he was in an especially good mood...
He might split them twice.
Fortunately, the summoning contract prevented him from murdering random pedestrians.
Unfortunately...
It didn’t teach him any useful life skills.
He couldn’t cook.
Couldn’t clean.
Couldn’t keep accounts.
Couldn’t even pretend to be approachable.
These days, he served as the shop’s security guard.
Most of his working hours consisted of sitting in a reclining chair, silently watching television while his terrifying appearance discouraged troublemakers from entering.
Evenson rubbed his forehead.
"He’s less an employee and more a very dangerous houseplant."
Next came Sarah.
The Succubus.
Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her.
She radiated temptation with every smile, every glance, every effortless movement. Even without makeup, one playful look from her could leave perfectly rational men forgetting their own names.
Her weapon was a black leather whip.
Her combat ability wasn’t exceptional in a direct fight. Someone like Captain America could eventually overpower her.
That had never been her specialty.
Stealth.
Seduction.
Charm magic.
Creating openings for her Warlock master.
Those were her strengths.
Since she was intelligent and happened to be the only female demon in the household, Evenson had assigned her the cooking, cleaning, and general housekeeping.
He’d also tried letting her work the register.
That experiment lasted less than a week.
Her appearance attracted entirely the wrong clientele.
More than once, some sleazy customer had leaned across the counter and whispered,
"So... how much for a night?"
A normal Succubus might have accepted.
After all, draining life force and souls from willing victims was practically part of the job description.
Sarah preferred a different solution.
She kicked them between the legs.
Very hard.
Repeatedly.
Why?
Because, much to Evenson’s utter disbelief...
Sarah was only interested in women.
The world’s most alluring Succubus...
...had absolutely no interest in men.
Evenson had stared at the ceiling for a long time after learning that.
"So even my demon is rejecting me."
Life was cruel.
Third stood Dumen.
At first glance, he looked like a gloomy, overweight man with dark skin and an expression permanently fixed somewhere between boredom and disappointment.
In truth, he was a Voidwalker.
A creature composed entirely of Shadow energy.
Voidwalkers excelled at one thing.
Getting hit.
They could withstand punishment that would flatten almost anything else.
Even better, they possessed an uncanny ability to make people want to punch them.
One look from Dumen somehow conveyed the unmistakable impression that he’d borrowed several million dollars and had no intention of paying it back.
Naturally, enemies focused on him.
Which was exactly what a Warlock wanted.
While opponents wasted time attacking the nearly indestructible Voidwalker, the Warlock was free to unleash devastation from the rear.
Dumen could even transform part of his own body into protective barriers for his master.
Outside combat...
He was almost completely motionless.
Going an entire day without speaking wasn’t unusual.
Remaining in one place for hours was equally normal.
Once, Evenson forgot he was standing in the corner of the shop.
Three days later...
Dumen was still there.
In exactly the same position.
Had Evenson not remembered him, the Voidwalker probably would have continued standing there indefinitely.
Fortunately...
He didn’t eat.
That alone redeemed several of his personality flaws.
The fourth member wasn’t actually fourth.
He was simply taller than the last one.
A Siberian Husky named Habs.
Or at least...
That was what he looked like.
His true identity was a Felhunter.
In combat, Felhunters specialized in devouring magical energy and tracking enemies across great distances.
In daily life...
Habs mostly served as an early warning system whenever strangers approached the shop.
Beyond that?
Well...
He still behaved exactly like a Husky.
Evenson had learned a valuable lesson.
Never underestimate a creature that looks harmless.
Especially one capable of somehow arranging deliveries of premium dog food that nobody remembered ordering.
"It’s difficult explaining to the delivery driver that the dog apparently placed the order himself."
Finally...
At the very end of the line stood Tripsy.
He was actually two inches shorter than the Husky.
A small, sharp-faced Imp whose favorite threat was:
"I’m gonna burn your knees off!"
For exceptionally tall people, he thoughtfully adjusted the target to their shins.
Imps were physically fragile.
Cowardly.
Annoyingly loud.
They also happened to possess a natural affinity for fire.
Even an ordinary Imp could throw fireballs rivaling those of trained human mages.
Powerful ones bordered on terrifying.
Large packs of Imps became stranger still.
Their courage increased dramatically when gathered together.
Instead of fleeing danger, they’d happily charge an enemy and explode.
Literally.
Since Tripsy barely reached the height of the display shelves, Evenson hadn’t assigned him any work.
There wasn’t much point.
Besides...
The little menace ate enough for three adults.
Evenson still had no idea where it all went.
"Demonic servants..."
He sighed dramatically.
"They were supposed to make my life easier."
Instead...
He’d somehow become the one supporting them.
Fortunately, he’d discovered several reliable income streams.
Criminals who tried to rob him generally left behind valuables.
His investments in Stark Industries had performed remarkably well.
Most importantly...
He’d discovered an unusual business model.
Most Warlocks traded souls to demons in exchange for forbidden knowledge or greater power.
Evenson preferred a different negotiation.
He imagined the conversations perfectly.
A mighty demon would declare in a voice that shook the Twisting Nether,
"Mortal... do you seek power? Knowledge? Offer your soul, and I shall grant your deepest desire."
Evenson would calmly produce a soul crystal.
"So..."
"Do you accept payment in souls for gold?"
Silence.
"No."
"Thanks anyway."
He’d close the portal.
"Wait!" the demon would shout.
"I have power! Ancient secrets! Forbidden magic!"
"Sorry."
"I’m in a hurry."
Portal closed.
Leaving a thoroughly bewildered demon wondering what kind of lunatic summoned creatures from the Twisting Nether just to exchange souls for cash.
It turned out demons considered gold almost worthless.
Which meant they were usually willing to part with absurd amounts of it.
For Evenson...
Business was business.
Just as he was wondering how to cover this month’s food bill for his increasingly expensive household...
The bell above the shop door rang.
His first customers of the day stepped inside.
One man.
One woman.
Evenson’s eyes lit up.
Finally.
A paying customer.
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