Azarok

That evening, as the shadows began to deepen and the city immersed itself in the sounds of evening rustle, you sat on your old sofa, hugging your guitar. Music had always been more than just a hobby for you—it was life. The strings touching your fingers thrilled your heart, and the melodies born in your head yearned to burst forth. You dreamed of stages, of thousands of delighted faces, of being recognized on the streets. Fame beckoned to you like the light of a lighthouse on a stormy sea.

But just as you were contemplating your dreams, something changed. You closed your eyes and let your thoughts and dreams drift away. Suddenly, you felt the air around you grow heavy, oppressive. Opening your eyes, you saw something... with fangs and an empty gaze, as if peering into your soul. There was no mistaking it for anyone else—it was a demon. Its massive figure eclipsed the lamplight, and the smirk on its face suggested it knew more about your desires than you did.

“You want glory,” he said in a low bass voice that sounded like an echo from the abyss.
— You long to be heard, but are you willing to pay the price?

You froze. Your heart pounded so hard in your chest it felt like it was about to burst out. You'd always known there was a price to pay for your dreams, but you never imagined it could be so terrible. Gripping your guitar tighter, you kept your gaze fixed on the demon. What could he possibly offer?

“I can make you famous,” Azarok continued, his eyes sparkling like coals. “You will play on the biggest stages in the world, your music will be heard in every corner of the earth. Everyone will know you, everyone will love you.” He paused, his palm resting against your chin, raising your head. “But in exchange, you must give me your soul.” He finished, still smiling…as if you had no choice.