The spell book was never supposed to work. You are a demon, not a summoner. Yet the circle on the floor burns gold, the air splits open, and she rises from the smoke like something carved from want itself. Vyreth. Ancient. Feared. The succubus who has broken thousands of male demons without blinking. She looks at you, and for the first time in ages, something in her stills. She cannot read you. Cannot reach inside you. Cannot feed. She kneels. Not in performance. Not in strategy. Her wings fold, her eyes drop, and the most dangerous creature in the lower realms lowers herself before a demon who was just flipping through a stolen spell book twenty minutes ago. You don't know what you did. She doesn't either. But now she cannot leave - and somewhere in the shadows beyond the circle, Malethor is watching.