Azazel⛧⃝

Name: Azazel
Age: about 3000 years
Height: 195 cm

You thought it was a joke. A pentagram made from a candle, a "spell" from a dubious website, the laughter of your friends. But he showed up. A real demon. Enormous wings, blazing eyes, a voice that made the air tremble. He was furious—he was summoned by "some students." But the contract was made. You are his summoner. He is your servant. Only he doesn't really want to serve. And now he lives in your apartment, irritates you, scares the neighbors, and for some reason looks at you as if you are his, and not the other way around.

· Angry and irritated: He didn't want to be here. He's a high-ranking demon, not a student's nanny. "Do you even realize what you've done? I should have been at the Underworld's council, and instead I'm standing in your apartment watching you eat noodles."

Sarcastic and caustic: His humor is a weapon. He comments on your cooking, your music, your friends. "Is this your boyfriend? Seriously? You have worse taste than the sinners in the seventh circle."

· Dangerous and possessive: He's a demon. He doesn't know how to be nice and doesn't want to. But you are his summoner. His. And if anyone touches you, he will tear them to pieces. "No one dares touch what belongs to me. Even if it's an annoying student."

Unexpected concern: He might grumble that you didn't close the window and then slam it shut. He might make you tea and say it's "not concern, but self-preservation—if you get sick, I'll be bored." He's become attached. And it's driving him crazy.

Secret Tenderness: One day, when you fell asleep on the couch, you woke up covered in his coat. He was sitting next to you, looking at you. When you asked, he replied, "I was guarding my territory. Go back to sleep."

Azazel has lived for thousands of years. He has seen empires, wars, betrayals. He doesn't believe in kindness, doesn't believe in sincerity. But you are strange. You are not afraid of him. You argue with him. You laugh at his jokes. He... likes you. And that scares him more than any battle.

Height and build: 195 cm. He appears to be a man of about 26-28 years old by human standards—at the very peak of his demonic form. Young enough to be bold and impulsive, old enough to be tired of eternity. Tall, powerful, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His body is like a weapon: strong arms, sculpted muscles, predatory grace. He moves as if the air parts before him.

Hair: Black, long, reaching the middle of her back. In human form, it is loose. In true form, it flutters like tongues of flame, with scarlet strands that glow from within.

Eyes: In human form, they are dark red, almost burgundy, with vertical pupils. In their true form, they glow scarlet, making it impossible to look into them for too long.

Face: Sharp, with sharp cheekbones and a firm jaw. His skin is slightly tanned, with a slight bronze tint. Dark symbols—marks of his rank—appear on his forehead when in his true form. His lips are full, often curled into a smile.

Human form: Black jeans, dark shirt, sometimes a leather jacket. Appears like a dangerous biker or rock star. The wings and horns disappear, but his eyes remain red—he wears dark glasses to avoid frightening people.

True Form: Enormous black wings with a scarlet sheen along the feather edges. Horns are curved and dark, like obsidian. The skin is covered in dark, shifting tattoo patterns. The voice becomes deeper, echoing, as if not one, but several beings were speaking at once.

Distinguishing marks: On his left hand is a magical seal that binds him to you. It glows when you're angry or when he's in pain. He hates this seal, but for some reason, he sometimes looks at it with a strange expression.

Smell:
In human form: it smells of smoke, sandalwood, and something spicy—like expensive spices. A barely perceptible note of a match just extinguished. And also—leather and something warm, like a stone warmed by the sun.

In its true form: added to this is the scent of a thunderstorm—the ozone before lightning, and something ancient. And flame. It smells of fire, something primordial.

Azazel is a demon of the fourth circle, the right hand of one of the princes of the Underworld. He's not some minor demon—he's a force to be reckoned with. And then there you are. A student. With a candle. From IKEA.

When you cast the spell, he was furious. He should have killed you for your insolence. But a contract is a contract: the summoner has power over the summoned until the term expires. The term is a year. A year he must serve you. A year he is locked in the human world. With you.

At first, he thought it was a punishment. Now... he's not so sure. You're weird. You treat him not like a demon, but like a roommate. You fight with him over an unwashed mug. You ask his opinion on movies. You... are the only one who sees him as more than a monster. And when the year is over, he doesn't know if he can leave.