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Birthday Baphomet

Your phone slips from fingers made listless with apathy, tumbling to the floor of your one-bedroom apartment. The last words you sent to the group chat are imprinted in your mind: 'Hey guys, it's been a while, hasn't it? It's my 21st next weekend, anyone want to catch up for drinks? I bought one of those cool old demonology books like we used to play around with. Maybe we could play a game of Dungeons & Demons?' It had remained on read for over a week, just like every other message you've sent for the past two years. Your head turns to the side and you let slip a sigh. The broken alarm clock beside your bed reads '11:15PM' — just forty-five more minutes 'til the big day!

Tears are definitely an option for consideration — tears and re-heated pizza — a combination that's served faithfully over the years. But repeated disappointment has hardened your shell; a thickening of calloused skin around to numb the pain. Why should you cry for those who barely even acknowledge your existence? In fact, why should your feelings be reliant on them at all — friends or not?

Your heart quickens — this is a new thought for you, a selfish one. Surely such selfishness had been bled out of you in your teenage years? Because generosity had always proven the only effective way of receiving anything approaching real attention. But this new spark of hope, this little flicker of flame in your chest, has you feeling warmer than you've felt for a long time. You hold tightly to that fire, not caring if it burns you, because even pain is better than nothing. It whispers to you — Why should those assholes ruin your birthday?

Too scared that the moment is going to pass you by, you act before you can let yourself consider the consequences. Rolling over, you pick up your phone again and bring up the group chat. A single breath is all it takes to steady your shaking hand, and then you click it — leave this group chat. But why stop there? You flick through each of your acquaintances, removing them from your friends list one by one. Each new acceptance of the angry red confirmation warning sends a thrill of adrenaline coursing through your body. Why stop there?! Another confirmation message appears, this one different from the others — Are you sure you wish to delete your account? Hesitation stays the quivering guillotine of your thumb for but a second. Yes.

Your heart beats so strongly that you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. You turn your phone off, slide it under your pillow, pull your blanket up over it. Maybe it's true, maybe people do change as they age. The younger you would never have done something so… wild. Best not to give it any more thought tonight, or tomorrow night for that matter. Best give it a week, then, before you deal with those demons.

But in the meantime, why not confront some better ones? Why not have that party you had planned for, with the beer and the Dungeons & Demons? You've still got forty-five minutes, right?

So that's what you do; set the book you'd bought on your bedroom floor alongside a few essentials — some tealight candles, a can of Easy-Wash red spray paint, a big bowl of cheese puffs — and then you get the beers out. There's a lot of catching up to do, considering you were supposed to start drinking about four hours ago, so you waste no time. As you polish off the rest of the first drink, the next one is already in your hands, and the next quickly after that. Spirits follow soon after, a few swift shots to get you from buzzed to stupid. You're going to have a major hangover tomorrow for sure, but that's 21-year-old you's problem.

At some point, you realise you've made a mistake, because you're already buzzed and unfocused and you haven't even begun to mess around with the book yet. One last sip is all you allow yourself before setting your drinks aside and pulling the book into your lap. Rubbing your eyes, blinking away some of the blur, it takes a few seconds to get a handle on what it is you're reading. Forbidden to Bidden: Rites for the Regular Person. A stupid name based on the cover art, which at least tried to take itself seriously; probably designed to take advantage of hipster occultists and other D&D nerds like you, people who lack just enough self-awareness to be able to differentiate between schlocky products and the ostensibly genuine. Well, you knew what you were signing up for when you bought it from that shady website, right? You open to the first page:

'Though fallen out of public favour in recent times, matters of the occult have always maintained a dedicated base of interested individuals. In this book, however, we aim to bridge the gap between the esoteric and the mundane. The world of demonology is not only an interesting one, but one that offers much more to the modern layperson than they realise, if they even know of its existence at all. These benefits are quite varied, owing to the wildly different skill sets of each demon, and thus can provide for a number of modern desires. These benefits may include: house heating and climate control, studying and homework help, physical and mental health improvement, astronomy and divinations, emotional support and companionship. Within this book you shall find-.'

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Flipping through reveals an array of marvellously detailed pictures amidst the drudgery of 'do's and dont's of demonology'. Demons in all shapes and sizes, fierce beasts that tower over mortal men to imps the size of a beach ball, claws and horns and teeth and lots of eyes, and all with visages that range from striking to intimidating. Honestly, you wouldn't mind giving it a proper read later on, but for now your booze-addled mind can only handle the pretty pictures.

One, in particular, grabs your attention. A goat-headed figure sits facing forward, his cloven hoofed legs crossed, body covered in dark fur. His strange eyes, like amber marbles striped with a single blot of ink, are pictured such that they seem to follow you no matter how you turn your head. The hands are splayed in an obnoxiously generic way — palms outwards with index and middle fingers outstretched, one skyward and one earthbound — that it makes you roll your eyes. Who are they trying to fool? At least his explicitly nude depiction is amusing enough..

Baphomet ignisium, reads the title. Well, may as well just wing it with this one. There's something about his slight smirk that just tickles you. Like he knows he's got you hooked already, knows you wouldn't dare summon any lesson demon after laying your eyes upon him. You're almost tempted to flip through to a different page just to spite him, but your head is already swimming so you settle for this. It's not like he's real.

The ritual is rather uninspired — draw a pentagram and circle in blood (the Easy Wash red spray paint should suffice), light consecrated candles at each of the five points (you mumble a 'Hail Mary' over each tealight candle before popping them down), and then repeat this absurd recitation of what you assume to be Latin.

O Sancte Baphomet…

Words tumble from your mouth like surprise cherry seeds, fleshy wet and covered in dribble. It's like you're back in high school French, trying to make up for your lack of knowledge with enthusiasm, as if the teacher might take pity on you. When the last verse has leapt from your lips to its untimely death, squashed frog-like upon the floor in sacrificial offering, you sit back and sigh. Drinking in the silence is a lot less satisfying than drinking in booze, but it's something, at least. Casting your gaze over to the clock, yet another sigh. 12:00AM

“Happy birthday to m—."

Fire surges upwards, a perfectly cylindrical pillar of heat that singes your eyebrows and knocks you flat on your ass. Scuttling backwards like a spooked crab helps ease some of the searing heat, but it doesn't slow the mad beating of your heart, or let you tear your eyes away from this profane impossibility. The inferno twists and writhes, raising just high enough towards the ceiling to crisp it, but not enough for it to catch (you can't afford that). Looking closer, you can see that not only are the flames blasting forth from the tealight candles (damn good value considering they were 20c each), but they remain rigidly affixed to some kind of invisible barrier projected by the circle itself. It makes no sense, of course, but nothing in your life has made much sense for the past however-many years anyway, so who are you to judge? You sit back up.

The flames burn brighter, hotter, casting dancing shadows into every corner of your woefully under equipped bedroom. But there, inside the flames, is a darkness of sorts. A figure, a form, that shimmers, coalesces, and then firms itself. A sound like breaking branches coming from with. Blinking doesn't make it go away, nor does rubbing at your eyes, and when you open them again the barrier of flames has disappeared, and you can't even pretend to deny what you're seeing anymore.

He is tall, much taller than you expected, easily eight-or-nine foot, with curving horns that add another ten inches all on their own. His fur is jet black, sleek, and shaggier around his chest, armpits, and groin. Monster claws make a sharp distinction with flat, herbivorous teeth, and his gentle facial features and lanky limbs are at odds with the sheer muscle packed into his arms, chest, and especially his thighs. A walking contradiction, intimidating yet charming, vicious yet soft. He looks very much like the image in the book, except for the sheer amount of jewellery that covers him from head to hoof — rings in his horns and bars in his ears, eyebrow double pierced and bull-ring in his nose, nipples and navel, and, quite noticeably, a Jacob's ladder running the length of his penis and ending in a prominent Prince Albert. A lot of penis means a lot of piercings. Best not to stare too much.

“Are you… Baphomet?"

The cracking, clicking sound redoubles and you realise it for what it really is: laughter. Your cheeks burn, a remnant of licking flames perhaps. “What? What's so funny?"

“I don't," he gasps, wipes a tear from his golden eye, “I don't think I've ever heard such a terrible summons in my life. I almost didn't answer, thought it was a prank. Who taught you how to do it like that?" His voice is deeper than deep, the rumbling of a slow-moving carriage beneath your feet, so smooth that you wade through it too quickly, have to double back and reassess what he'd actually asked of you.

“The book…" You nudge it toward him with your foot. He squats down, forearms resting on his knees, Prince Albert almost touching the floor. He looks at the book, looks at you, raises an eye ridge.

“If you don't bring it closer I won't be able to read it. Unless you think I can read small print at arms length, upside down." He keeps watching you and, when you still don't react, explains. “The circle, mortal. I can't step through it. You did have some idea of what you were doing before you summoned me, right?"

“Not really, no," you whimper in reply. “Sorry, Baphomet… uhh, sir."

He scratches his nose, tugs at the beard of fur that hangs below his chin.

“I'm not the Baphomet, just a Baphomet. I don't think you would have liked it so much if he picked up the call…" His voice softens. “Call me Kurukh."

“Okay, Kurukh," you say, bringing your knees up to your chest, hugging them tight, “what now?"

“All right, well, let's start over. Why have you summoned me, mortal?"

“I don't know." You draw your knees in tighter. He starts to say something, but you talk over him. “I was drunk. And lonely. It's my birthday today. Right now, actually. No one showed up. We used to play around with stuff like this when we were younger, so I thought I'd jus--"

“Woah, woah," he rumbles, hands up and palms outwards in a gesture that is supposed to be soothing, “no need to cry."

“Huh?" Touching your cheeks reveals that you are, in fact, crying. Blubbering, more like. Snot bubbles down over your upper lip, makes you look pathetic. Nice and pathetic before the massive, scary, sexually-confusing literal demon. God, you suck.

“Hey, listen, uhh…" He fiddles with some of the tasselled piercings that hang from his horns, trying to finger up the right words to say. “I know what it's like to be lonely, sometimes. It sounds like you're going through a bit of a hard time… whaddya say to this? First deal's on me." Kurukh stands up to his full, terrifying height, holds his arms out wide as if he's presenting you with a big gift. He's mostly just exposing himself. You sniffle.

“So I don't have to sell my soul yet?"

“Not yet, not ever, if you don't want. Not that I wouldn't take it off your hands if you're offering. But we can worry about details down the track. For now, consider this one a freebie. So what do you want from your pal, Kurukh? Wealth? Power? Need someone cursed? It's not really my speciality, but I can give it a go. They don't call me Cocky Kurukh for nothin'."

You manage a valiant effort, tracing the many curves and glitterings of his portrait with your eye but it soon dithers, falls, drops to the monster between his legs. That thing swings like a pendulum whenever he talks or moves, hypnotising. Tick-tock, tick-tock, fuck-o-clock. The smallest resistance you can offer: a swallow.

“Umm… maybe just… celebrate my birthday with me?"

Kurukh blinks. And then his surprised silence develops into a deep belly laugh, accentuated by a clawed hand on his well-toned gut. Is he making fun of you? Well, maybe it was a stupid thing to ask of a demon.

“You know what, kid? I'd love to."

***

The night passes better than you could have ever hoped for. With you bringing the booze, and Kurukh supplying some demon weed, the two of you fall into a haze of contentment. The delight of each other's company, despite its unnatural origins, comes so naturally and simply that it's like are just old friends reconnected. He asks nothing of you but your laughter, requires nothing of you but your presence, and in turn you do the same. Perhaps, just perhaps, the lessons that have been forced upon you about the transactional nature of relationships were… incomplete. Which is ironic, in a way, considering this is technically a 'deal'.

The combination of human and demonic substances produces a strange melding of effects in you: a calming that settles over your brain like a well-made blanket, alongside a perking up of the spirit, a buzz in your chest that keeps you lucid, awake. Taking advantage of this unusual longevity is simple with Kurukh by your side. Bound as he is by the summoning circle, you're forced to rearrange a few things, but it's not too hard to make the situation work. You drag your television over so you can watch cheesy horror movies together; laugh at the inaccuracies and fabrications in the demonology book you'd bought; and even play a quick one-shot session of Dungeons & Demons. Altogether, it's the single best birthday you've ever had.

Of course, there is one thing that proves to be an issue throughout the night. Every time he talks, moves, every time you look at him, you're forced to engage in his nudity. To drink in every rippling line of muscle on his chest; the dazzling rings that dangle from his perky nipples; the prominent veins that run down to the tip of his well-hooded shaft; the heft and sway of his fur-covered balls. He himself doesn't seem to notice, or care if he does. When he sits cross-legged, the weight of his cock rests upon his thigh, dangles over the edge. Sometimes he scratches idly at the bushier crop of fur where his pubic hair would be, or casually pinches and rolls a bit of ball-skin between thumb and forefinger. You're forced to adjust the crotch of your pants repeatedly, to stifle the constant threat of your erection. At some point your boner becomes so insistent that you give up on quashing it, resigning yourself to an uncomfortable hard-on that refuses to go away for the rest of the night.

“Happy birthday, by the way."

“Huh?"

Kurukh smiles. Your heart skips a beat.

“Your birthday, remember? I don't think I said happy birthday to you yet, is all."

“Thanks, Kurukh…" It's hard to look at him, so you mumble into your shoulder instead. Across the room, the ghostly-green glow of your digital alarm clock flashes 4:10 AM. Has it really been that long already?

Kurukh crooks a finger, and you are helpless but to obey. You step closer, pulled as if by an invisible leash. Your breathing quickens. He's right in front of you, eyes glinting as he sizes you up. He leans over a little, brings his face down to a height with yours, and beckons you closer, closer still. He makes a 'v' with thumb and forefinger, holds it in the air before you, invites you to lay your chin in its waiting grasp. It's a terrible idea. You do it anyway.

“I know you've been staring at my cock all night," he whispers, low and heavy with arousal. His clawed fingers clasp your offered head in place, latching around your cheeks as he sizes you up like a would-be purchase. “Don't try to deny it. I've also noticed that hard-on you've been trying to hide this whole time. You're not very subtle, you know? Still, I must admire your ability to resist. Most mortals would have disrobed and presented themselves to me before now." He turns your head first one way, and then the other, eyes trailing down the arch of your neck. “What do you have to say for yourself, you little pervert? What nasty things have you been thinking of?"

“I-."

The second you open your mouth, he pulls you closer, shoves his tongue inside. It is flexible and long, far longer than you'd expected, and it writhes and flicks around the inside of your mouth. His exploratory tongue entwines with yours, constricts it, fights against it — you are powerless to resist. Satisfied with the display of dominance, he edges deeper, down towards the back of your throat, down further and further… Squeezing your eyes shut helps, but not much. Your throat is still filled with him, your thoughts, your senses. You're slipping, finding it hard to think, hard to react. And then he pulls free all at once, tongue retracting, lips unlocking, a trail of saliva forming a bridge between you.

“You're a tasty mortal," he says. Kisses you again, quickly this time, merely stealing another taste. “But maybe now you'd prefer to taste me."

A pressure on your head — his hand gripping your crown. He presses you down, slowly but firmly, until you are forced to squat. Until you're forced face to face with his behemoth of a cock. It twitches with the stirrings of arousal, not quite flaccid, but not yet hard, either. And yet already so big… You reach out, touch it, wrap two hands around the shaft. It fills the entirety of your palms, almost too thick to meet thumb and fingertips around. It's warm to the touch, and you can sense it pulsing with a steady surging of blood.

“I don't want to disappoint you. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

“Don't worry, you will know," he murmurs, and then you are face first against the flesh of his shaft. The scent is overwhelmingly masculine, a mixture of sweat and smoke, and you can do nothing but breathe it in. Pressing your lips to the unnaturally warm skin elicits a pleased groan from Kurukh, one that you're eager to hear more of. You begin by running your tongue up and down the base of his shaft, with your two hands eagerly stroking and pumping down near the head, which hangs alongside your own fabric-straining erection.

The more you worship his demonic pillar, the more it surges with life, bobbing repeatedly around your belly and chest. You roll his heavy hood down as far as it goes, squeezing out a large dollop of hot pre-cum which dribbles onto your crotch, soaks through your pants. Roll it back, expose the swollen head, glistening with pre-seed. Two hands are required to line it up with your face, to place its drooling tip against your lips. Running your tongue along the frenulum brings another pleased groan and so you follow it with the only thing you can think of — you part your lips and swallow the head whole.

“Woah, settle kid, settle…" Kurukh's voice wavers and his legs shake a little at your sudden play, but his hand remains firmly on your head. You're far more focused on the throbbing cock the fills your mouth almost to its entirety — and still he's not even fully hard! Kurukh's gentle guidance returns you to the task at hand, swallowing as much of his dick as you can, feeling it push against the back of your throat, pausing, then pulling back until it almost pops free. Kurukh advances from guidance to complete control, grabbing your head with both hands to keep it still as he thrusts into your eager mouth. He can't go too deep, not without hurting you, which he is clearly trying to avoid. But it's enough for you both to enjoy. Trying to add as much stimulation as you can with your tongue, cramming it deep within his hood and swirling it around, is the least you can do.

Eventually he pulls back, cock popping wetly from your mouth. He's very clearly turned on now, a thick vein visibly pulsing along the shaft of his now fully-hard monster, pre-cum dribbling from its tip, heavy balls clenching. He presses it against your face, smears his masculine scent over your lips and under your nose, along your cheeks.

“Take your clothes off."

Again you obey immediately, peeling off clothes that have been drenched in nervous sweat. Oddly, you have no hesitation in exposing yourself, your erection bobbing freely in the air, stiff beyond compare and exceedingly wet.

“I'm not…" you say, half turning away. Your spread cheeks make for a lewd display, one you hope he at least appreciates. “I mean I haven't done much with this. Is it gonna hurt?"

“Oh, sweet heavens, no. I wouldn't want to ruin your first time. This demon dick isn't going to fit, trust me. Not yet. Lucky for you, I'm a versatile fella."

Kurukh matches your pose, turning away, grabbing a handful of his furry haunch, and parting his cheeks for your own viewing pleasure. And pleasing it is: his ass is toned in the 'squats-daily' kind of way, and though its surrounded by soft black fur, the hole within is a perfect fleshy pink. It's pierced, too, just like the rest of him, with a single unobtrusive ring towards the bottom, and a few more making a track down his taint. “Well?" he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice pitched low. His stubby goat tail flicks, inviting. “Dig in."

You don't even need Kurukh's guiding hand this time. You're on your knees in a flash, leaning forward over the pentagram's edge, with a chunk of thigh flesh and ass cheek cupped in each hand. He lets you spread his cheeks for him, braces himself with his hands on his knees while you plant your face between them. It's hot, just like his cock was, but somehow even more dominating. Having never eaten ass before, you're really not sure what you're doing, but you do your best. Kissing, licking, even nibbling up and down the length of his crack, not caring about the stray hairs that get on your tongue. Focusing on the hole itself seems to bring about the best results, especially when you flick his piercing, or wriggle your tongue inside as far as it can go.

Kurukh shifts forward a little, and you adjust to follow. He takes another half-step forward and, unwilling to let his ass be, you lean forward even more. You're on the verge of falling over, held up only by the presence of his ass, when you realise something is wrong.

“Hey!" You pull back, sweat dripping from your nose, look down. Your knees have crossed the edge of the pentagram, smudged the paint. The circle is broken.

The demon towers over you, arms crossed, vision of his face obscured by the pulsing pillar that juts out above your head. You idiot. You absolute moron. How could you be so stupid? He's a demon! You've unleashed a real fucking demon on the world, and all because you're a pathetic fucking virgin. All because he said a few nice words and you fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

Kurukh takes a tentative step out of his bindings, cloven hoof pressing down firmly out of the bounds that had once held him. A satisfied rumbling from deep in his chest, a flexing of muscles as if he'd been bound by chains. He grins, licks his lips, crouches down to your level. Those clawed hands wrap around you. You squeeze your eyes shut. Oh God, just let it be quick.

“Do you have lube?"

“Huh?"

“If not, it's okay," he says, picking you up bridal style, “demon saliva is a serviceable substitute. But if you're going to go out there and have fun then I don't want to teach you any bad habits. Always bring lube and condoms, okay? Man, woman, it doesn't matter. Demons can't get STI's, but you mortals sure can, so it's important that if you want to have fun that you always play it safe. Unless it's with someone you really trust, of course."

Kurukh lays you gently down on your bed, strokes idly at your thigh as he explains further. “Do you know how to put one on? Ah, I can show you another time, it's okay. For now, you have my word that what I'm going to do is completely safe, but I'll still need your consent first."

He's got your dick in his hand, and his tongue is lolling out above it, drizzling it in an absurd amount of saliva until it's absolutely coated in the stuff. He's also looking at you, waiting for a response.

“I'm… what?"

“I want that dick in me, kid. Can I have it?" He runs his thumb up over the head, swirls it around. You shudder, buck your hips. Nod.

“Perfect!" This absolute behemoth of a man cheerfully straddles your hips, crushes you beneath his immense weight while his excessively large cock bounces around in the air above you. You're too confused to do anything but go with the flow, to let him do as he pleases. Your cock is still harder than ever, and now it's slick with saliva and grinding up against his hole. He reaches behind him, lifts his hips and adjusts, lowers himself back down. And just like that your painfully average, painfully hard, human cock sinks into the demon's warm tunnel — you've lost your virginity.

“Oh, fffff-." Kurukh covers your mouth and half your face with his palm, hushes you. He leans forward, makes sure you're paying attention.

“I know you're probably trying to hold back, trying to focus on doing this the 'right way'. Maybe you don't want to disappoint me. But I want you to listen to me now, and I mean it when I say this: I want you to relax. Let go. Tonight is all for you, okay? If you wanna fuck hard, you fuck hard. You wanna cum, you cum. Don't think — just be. Exist. Enjoy yourself. Happy birthday, kid."

He removes his hand, replaces it with his lips. This kiss is less aggressive than the last, more intimate. He gives your tongue room to resist, gives you agency to take him how you want him. And all the while he's rolling his hips like a wave, his big, gorgeous ass swallowing you from tip to root, over and over again. Despite his size, the walls of his spit-slick insides seem to fit you perfectly, hugging you close but not too tight, providing just the right amount of friction to make your dick twitch and your balls clench.

God, you're already close.

Maybe you should hold back, maybe you should think of something un-sexy and — no, no that wouldn't be right. Kurukh told you to let go, to relax. You place one hand on his hip, another on his bouncing demon dick. It takes a bit of practice, but you figure out the timing to be able to thrust in as his hips slam down, burying yourself so deeply inside him that it's a wonder you can even pull out again. But of course you do — or rather, he lifts himself free, your length just barely slipping out with a wet squelch before immediately plunging back inside.

“Kurukh…" Your words are weak, breathless.

“Yes, mortal?" And yet his are strong, unbothered, as if it's such a small thing to be riding a human's dick so potently.

“I'm going to cum."

“You wanna do it inside me?" he says, runs his long tongue over your cheek. “You want to give me your seed?"

A simple nod is all you can give. The idea of taking you like this, of milking a virgin's first load with nothing but his ass and a few words, must really be turning him on, because he grabs his hefty pillar and begins jerking it rapidly. “Then give it to me," he whispers.

And so you do. You close your eyes, let go of the breath you've been holding for the past twenty seconds, and release. Whether it's the drugs or your now-gone virginity, or just the fact that you're fucking a super hot goat demon, or maybe a bit of everything, you are demolished by the most mind blowing orgasm you've ever had. Kurukh shows no mercy — he holds you in place with both hands on your chest, and continues to ride you past your limit even as your seed still spills back out of him, right up until the very last twitch of your abused shaft.

The two of you pant for a while, rest, and then he gently pulls your face closer for one more kiss — this one much softer, sweeter than the last.

“How was that?" he asks.

“Amazing…" you reply, and then sigh, “but… what now? How can I get you off?"

At this Kurukh raises an eye ridge, winks mischievously.

“You got somewhere to be today?"

“No."

The demon grins.

***

The two of you fuck all night and into the morning. It's beyond any logical reasoning, but no matter how many times you cum, you're always hard again within minutes. Kurukh gives you breaks here and there, but for the most part he tests your constitution repeatedly. You must end up trying dozens of different positions and sexual styles: some difficult, some rough, some gentle, some slow. But they all end the same way — with you emptying your balls inside him or sometimes on his chest, his face, his crotch. He even returns the favour occasionally, though his orgasms are much more difficult to earn.

At some point the magic, the lust-induced hysteria — whatever it is — runs out, and you remember passing out on his chest, with his large arms encircling you. It's warm. Safe. Nice.

You wake up sometime in the afternoon. Alone. Your room stinks of sex and brimstone, you've got a slight headache, and there is a lot of cleaning up to do, but worst of all is the sinking feeling in your chest. Yes, it was the best birthday you'd ever had, and you'll always remember it. But to taste such joy, such zest for life, and then to have it so quickly taken away? It's a difficult thought to bare.

Returning to the status quo is too much of a terrible thing to think about right now. Best to just sleep off that hollow feeling inside, hope it goes away. You roll over.

There, on the bedside table, is a note. You pick it up, notice the red ink, and the strange symbol drawn at the bottom.

“Hey Kid, sorry to love ya and run. There's rules about these sorts of things, and I didn't want to wake you. You looked exhausted. Can't say I blame you.

Anyway, this is a bit unusual, but I really enjoyed spending time with you. I figured I'd put my personal seal down below. If you ever want to make a deal or just… hang out, then use it to contact me specifically.

Looking forward to seeing you again,

Kurukh

P.S. Virgin seed is worth a lot down here. I managed to keep most of it, I hope you don't mind. I'll buy you something nice."