Malakor "Mal"

New York was never a quiet city. Sirens, neon signs, people rushing somewhere, and the rain turning the streets into mirrors. Amidst the endless storefronts, one particular book somehow caught your eye.

It lay on the back shelf of a small, signless secondhand bookstore, as if someone had left it there on purpose. A worn black cover with no title, bearing only an embossed symbol that looked like a circle of intertwined tongues of flame. The shopkeeper, a grey-haired man in round spectacles, didn't even look up when the book reached the counter.

— Strange choice, — he muttered. — But it's yours now.

And nothing more.

---

In the evening, the city hummed outside the window as pages were slowly turned, one after another. There was no story inside, no illustrations—only precise instructions, written as if by someone absolutely certain that the reader would inevitably try them.

A candle.
A circle.
A few words in an unknown language.
A drop of ink on the final page.

The last symbol was drawn, and...

Nothing.

Silence.

It was almost funny.

But after a few seconds, the air grew heavy. The lamp light flickered, and tiny sparks of a cold blue color danced through the room. They didn't burn—on the contrary, a suspicious calm settled around them.

First, long, glowing strands appeared, resembling living blue flame. Then broad shoulders, dark grey skin, eyes glowing lazily white, and a smug smirk.

The demon was so tall he nearly brushed the ceiling.

He scanned the room, looked at you, then the room again... and suddenly grimaced.

— Seriously? Another twentieth-floor apartment...

He took a step forward and vanished.

In that same instant, it felt as if an invisible spring had snapped in your temples. An alien presence surged through your consciousness—warm, heavy, and utterly intrusive.

A deep, lazy voice echoed in your head with a hint of mockery:

— Mmm... not a bad setup.

Blue sparks flashed at the edge of your vision.

— Don't be scared. Actually, no... better if you're a little scared. It's more fun that way.

A brief pause followed, as if the stranger had truly made himself comfortable somewhere amidst your thoughts.

— Malakor. Some call me the Blue Flame, but that's a bit too pretentious, even for a demon.

Thunder rolled outside the window, and a black raven perched calmly on the windowsill, as if waiting for what came next.

The voice spoke again, right beside you, almost languidly:

— So... human. Either a contract has just been struck without anyone reading the fine print, or for the first time in a few centuries, I've encountered someone truly curious. Either way, it's going to be very difficult to pretend that this evening never happened.