#technically everything gylarthrex says could probably be translated

[sufficientlylargen]

When my time ran out and I was officially In Default, I didn't panic, or indeed feel any apprehension at all; this was because I am stoic, courageous, and unflappable, and definitely not at all because I had completely lost track of time hyperfocusing on a gnome's ass.

The gnome I was focused on (to a perfectly normal degree) was, per long-standing garden gnome tradition, a chubby-cheeked, white-bearded man in a vaguely Phrygian cap, though the sculptor had departed from tradition in having him sitting down in flip-flops and sunglasses, flashing two giant thumbs up and a goofy grin. The sculptor had also given him what I thought of as The Shirt, a jaunty beach shirt that earned those capitals by being among the ugliest garments I'd ever seen. The color scheme used colors that I wasn't sure human eyes were even supposed to see, and which clashed in a manner suggesting that a circus tent had had a failed exorcism all over a bowling alley carpet; while the pattern itself might well have been a magic-eye poster for someone with seven eyes and severe astigmatism.

I'd named the gnome Buddy.

Buddy was the third gaudiest of an incredibly tacky twelve-gnome brigade I'd picked up at the pawn shop last year, and the one who needed the most complex engravings - he would be the central anchor, tying together eleven other enchanted-but-also-ugly artifacts into one powerful spell that would, if I'd done the math right, finally keep the damn gophers out of my vegetable garden. Buddy would be at the heart of it, and might also drive some of them to flee out of sheer shock at seeing The Shirt.

I was quite enjoying enchanting things again - free time (and energy) had been scarce during my pregnancy, and scarcer still in the months since the birth. I hadn't touched the gopher ward project in almost a year, and it was frankly miraculous that I still remembered the charm I'd designed at all.

I was, therefore, somewhat irritated when the first of my creditors interrupted me, with a typical demonic devotion to trite symbolism, at six minutes past 7 (a time which I am certain he thought of as 6:66pm, because demons have no imagination whatsoever). A crash of thunder echoed through my workroom (though the evening sky outside remained clear), every worklight died away abruptly, and with the discordant sound of myriad souls screaming in agony, a whirling, sideways tornado of flame sprang to life in my small toolmaking forge.

Black smoke began pouring out from the fiery vortex, and the wails of the damned grew louder, shifting in pitch like some sort of macabre THX Deep Note (a goTHX Note, if you will), and reaching a peak of near-unison as the smoke and flame wrenched themselves from the forge and whirled around each other, a hurricane of heat and soot. The screams cut off as another clap of thunder burst through the room, and the whorls settled down into a slowly swirling sphere of deep black and flickering red.

"𝕍𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒 𝕃'𝔸𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥." The demon's voice shook the floor like a distant train running over an orphanage, and echoed oddly, as though spoken in a vast, cavernous hall wreathed in fire and brimstone instead of a small, messy workroom wreathed in dust and gaudy garden gnomes. "𝕎𝕖 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥."

I sighed, spinning a thin web of invisible power to fix Buddy (and the graver pressed against his backside) in place in the air over my table, and turned my stool to face my visitor.

"Belphezius." I acknowledged the flaming sphere. "I know this is a business call, since our contract very explicitly forbids you from interfering with me for any other reason, so can we dispense with the theatrics?"

"𝕀 𝕕𝕠 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕤." rumbled the eight-foot orb of fire and darkness who had autotuned ten thousand hell-screams to announce his arrival.

"Just… be person-sized, ok? And give me my lights back – how am I supposed to discuss anything with you flickering like a broken night-light?"

For a moment, nothing happened; then the sphere collapsed inwards like a vacuum sealer wrapping an action figure. The flames were sucked into the smoke, which hardened into smooth, black stone, and as the fiery glow faded my ordinary lights sputtered cautiously back to life. I found myself now facing a smooth, jet black, humanoid shape, like a sculpture Michelangelo might have carved if he'd worked in polished obsidian instead of marble, and also if he'd been in the habit of carving basic human shapes and then getting bored and going home without ever adding any detail.

Three cracks appeared in the figure’s smooth, featureless head, widening to take the shape of two glowing eyes and a jagged frown; within them, the firelight still raged. "𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕖," Belphezius said, a touch sulkily. "𝕄𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞 𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥."

"Thank you", I replied, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "What do you need to discuss?" I asked, as if I didn't already know the answer.

Belphezius extended one featureless blob of an arm, which grew detail as it stretched, the end sculpting itself into an obsidian hand. "𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥'𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟." With a small burst of flame, a roll of leathery parchment (I had never asked what leather they used, and wasn't sure I wanted to know) appeared in his hand, which I recognized as the contract we had signed. "𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖: 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣, 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕. 𝕀 𝕘𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣," and here he gestured with his other hand towards the gnome that I was currently levitating with my mind, "𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕜."

I lost the fight against the urge to roll my eyes. "You know as well as I do that the task you gave me was impossible. I spent more than a month trawling the kingdom for your stupid warlock, only to learn that he'd been swallowed by a pit of hellfire almost a full week before we made our contract."

Belphezius' glowing mouth-crack curved faintly upwards. "𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕥," he rumbled. "𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕦𝕥𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕦𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕖𝕟𝕕. 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝." He waved the contract. "𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕡𝕦𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝, 𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕀 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕤?"

"Of course I remember," I grumbled, "Your lien on my firstborn has been damned inconvenient."

"𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕," said the demon, the parchment vanishing again in a flash of fire. "𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕒 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕪."

I raised an eyebrow. "What does Sophie have to do with this? Our contract was for my firstborn child."

The smile faded. "𝔻𝕠 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖, 𝕄𝕤. 𝕃'𝔸𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕕𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕚𝕥." A thin streak of smoke extruded from his hand and solidified into a curved black saber almost as tall I was. "𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕥𝕠 ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖, 𝕠𝕣 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕖𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝."

I held up my hands placatingly. "I'm not lying! She's the first child I have personally given birth to, but my firstborn is Gylarthrex."

There was a long pause as the demon stared at me, his eyes two unreadable pits of flame.

"𝔾𝕪𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕩."

"Yeah, Gylarthrex, you know, the Ceaseless Anguish? Vast, tentacles, uncountable eyes, lives in the shadow cast by reality? How does that bit go… 'Past the dream-darkened doorways of slumber, / O'er the cairns where forgotten ghosts blate, / In the pit of creation's black umbra, / Lurks a Horror I dare not relate'? That Gylarthrex?"

"𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝔾𝕪𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕩 𝕚𝕤," said Belphezius, condescension dripping from his voice. "𝕀𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕥𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗. 𝕀𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕."

Suddenly, the color seemed to drain out of the room, with even The Shirt fading to a dull, insubstantial grey, and I was consumed by a feeling of overwhelming, all-consuming insignificance. I could see all of infinity unraveling before me in vast fractal spirals, and my gnomes, my workroom, my entire world seemed less than a mote of dust against the indifferent vastity of space and time. Black sparks corruscated across my vision, I gasped against a sudden lack of air, and I felt frost form on my rings and necklace as a voice like a million icicles being hammered through my brain emanated from the chaosmos around us.

‷⃥⃦⃬̐᷾⃛᷆̋⩩̴̧̧̳͍̫̿̈⃐́⋹̟̭͙͖͇̥̅̅⊰⃯⃭̝̝̈̈⃩ͅ⹋̧̰͔͇⃡⃛̇⃗⛶⃥᷿͎͔͉⃐̉̇⏿⃫̛̳͉̟̭͓͕̿͑⛶̟⃨̤̗᷉᷾̔᷁⦖᷎̼᷂̯͊᷑̐̐≎̪̞̗̟̣̌̉⃡⛶̴̷⃪̞̓͑͑᷉���⃒⃪̡͎͍͉᷈̈⊛⃒᷐̜͔͔͓͐⃜⹋̦̮̲᷿̎̋᷋᷶⛶⃦᷐̠̫͍͋̈̋⸾̳̿᷌̏⃗͊̂̊᷃̑⩩⃫̪⃮͛̂⃜᷈͏⊛̺᷽⃧͐̅͐᷆͘⋙⃥̛̭͇̠̹͗̃⛶̸⃭̹̺᷁⃧͒͆⩩̨̫᷽̂᷅̇̀̂⏿̰̪͂᷈̎᷅̏᷼≎̸᷐͍᷸͗̓̃͛⛶⃪̙͖᷽̙̐̄̍⇭⃯̂⃧̋̅⃩⃜̚⩩͏̵͒᷁͆̉᷅ͅ⋹̸̲᷿᷵̀᷃᷇̕⛶⃫̸⃮̪͐̇⃗̾⚲͖⃭⃐̄͛̒᷃᷉⦖͙̺̤⃮͑̄᷀̕⚲̦̠̐᷃᷑⃜̑᷃⋹̯̇̊̏̐⃗᷈̔⅊̫̭̹̠᷆̑͊᷼⋙̼⃮̰̭̥̀᷃̊⊛̷̨̗͉͓⃖᷀᷼⅊⃒̱̰̖̮̇͛̓⚷̧᷽͕̻⃛͊⃜̀⊱̪̖̻̙̈͑⃑᷀⛶᷐͙̘⃬̩⃧́̐≎̳͍̿͐᷀́̉̔̒⃗⊛̶̪᷷͋᷶͏͋᷈≎̴̨̢⃭̼̐́̉⹋⃪̝̜͚̣᷉᷾̚‷̧̼̭̝᷑᷾̎̆

said Gylarthrex, The Ceaseless Anguish from the Shadow of Creation.

Belphezius swore and dropped his sword, which shattered on the ground.

Color and heat returned to the world. I gripped my work table tightly to keep from swaying, and tried to keep my voice pleasant as I called out "Inside voice, please, dear!"

Suddenly, the color in the room seemed slightly muted, with even The Shirt fading to still be pretty garish, and I felt like I maybe wasn't as important as I could be. A few little floaters drifted across my vision, and the air cooled by a degree or two as a voice like a dozen refrigerated q-tips poking the side of my head emanated from the messy workroom around us.

‷̨⃮⃧͂͒̀̽́⊛⃪̡̳͍̺̿́̉̃᷀⊛̛̩̫̲᷏̙᷈⃧⚲⃒̷͗᷵́͌ͅͅ⸾̪͕͎⃮͓̒⃗̕⊱᷏͔⃮̉̈̇̏͊⛶̢̣̹͍⃯᷅⃧̒⸾̗̝͍̝̫᷇᷼᷼⊛⃦̨̢͆̽̓̔̉⅊⃦̲̩͖̟⃯̔̕⅊̛͓̹͙᷈̆͛᷒⊰⃦̤᷒͆͏̰̟̓⸭̴̨̲᷸᷾̕͏̜⸭̨̺̱᷽̲͌̄᷈⸭̯᷈͂͛̀̈́͛᷅⛶͇᷸͊⃧̆́᷄̃⁑͎⃮̅̎⃗᷋⃛᷒⸾̸͈᷿̌͌͑᷀̾⋙⃫⃮᷋⃛̽̓᷆⃩⋹᷒⃐᷒᷃᷵̓⃧᷵⦖⃒̴̨͚̻̖̆̚⇭̡̦͈̮̾̔̀̂⁑⃪̘̦͎͎̹⃯͉‷̸͔̞̰̎̈́̈́ said Gylarthrex, The Sheepish Anguish from the Shadow of Creation.

"That's better, thank you." I replied.

I looked at Belphezius, noting with some satisfaction that he'd lost some cohesion - instead of a polished obsidian statue, he now more resembled some sort of emo chia-pet as his smoke wobbled in little eddies all around his edges. He glared unsteadily back at me. "𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤…" He shook his head once, and his form solidified a little. "𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟, '𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜'?" he demanded.

With one hand still gripping the table I waved the other towards a manila folder propped on my shelf between two gnomes (Shitty, who was pantsless and sitting on a toilet, and Superfly, who had a fly's head but also still a bushy white beard and pointed cap). Snaring the folder in a skein of power, I floated it over to the discombobulated demon. "The adoption papers, of course. Just because I didn't personally birth Gylarry doesn't mean it can't be my child. And, as you said, it's older than time, so it was certainly the first of my children to be born."

A shadowy arm grabbed the folder, and the demon wrenched it open. "ℕ𝕠 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕…" He trailed off, reading the papers carefully. When he looked back up at me, I thought I could detect panic in his burning facsimile of a face.

"𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤…" He looked back at the papers. "𝕀…" He looked at me again. "ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦…" He paused, composing himself. "𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕥. 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 "𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥-𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟" 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤."

I smiled politely. "It's a magically binding contract. You can try to claim Sophie if you don't believe me."

Belphezius went still, and his eyes closed. A moment later, they flew open again. "𝕀… 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕥!"

"Because," I said patiently, "the contract is for my firstborn, and that's Gylarry."

The demon stared at me, eyes wide. "𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝!"

"Whether or not your task is possible is irrelevant. The contract is absolute." I did my best not to sound too smug.

At this, Belphezius narrowed his eyes, and took a step forwards, smoke curling from his hand. "𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜," he rumbled as the shards of his fallen saber flew back up to reform in the new smoke, "𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙, 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕝."

Dropping my smile, I met his gaze coldly. "I think,” I said, using the power Belphezius had given me to open a rusty filing cabinet on the other side of the room, “that you’ve forgotten the terms we signed. They're very explicit that you can’t hurt me if I adhere to the contract.” My own copy of the contract, written on the same probably-horrifying parchment as his, zipped over to my hand. “You can't even interact with me except to fulfill the contract. I can read you the relevant passages, if you've forgotten."

For a moment, Belphezius glared daggers at me; then he threw his head back and roared, and flames shot out from his body, filling the room. I flinched instinctively, but the fire felt no warmer than a summer breeze, and I could see that none of my possessions were igniting, either. This was a bit of a relief - I was pretty sure he couldn’t deliberately break the contract, but it was nice to see that in action.

It took Belphezius a good thirty seconds to get over his tantrum, after which he fixed me with a furious glare. "𝕀𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕧𝕖– "

"Enough." I stood up from my stool and stared him down. "You can’t hurt me, you can’t threaten me, you can’t even stay here except to finish the contract. So you're going to take Gylarthrex to Hell, or you're going to relinquish your claim and hold my debt discharged, but either way you're going to get out of my house.”

His eyes bulged (which was no small feat for what were essentially just holes in his face) and for a moment I thought he was going to try to light me on fire again, but then he deflated. "𝕀… 𝕀 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞." he grumbled, his sword dissolving back into smoke. "𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕒𝕪 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕖."

‷⃦̨᷐̖̀⃖͘͘⅌̶̳̺̤̿⃡̊⃜͊̈☋̺̩⃜᷒̾⃛̈́᷅⇭᷎̰̹̭᷑̊⃗̈́⛶̙̮͙᷏᷆᷈̅⃗⏿̛̳͓͔͔᷿̣̿̈́⃜⛶͙̪᷸̈⃖͗᷌᷋⋙̸͓̺᷸̔̾̋̚⦖͔̗̼᷏̓̓᷃́⛮⃯⃯᷷̀̋᷾᷀̕⛮⃒̨̣͓̗̽̌͑⦖⃒̬᷂̱̭͇᷄ͅ⛶̶̜̟᷋̆͊᷑̚⸾̟̺̤᷀̂͊͑ͅ⋹̷̴᷽᷄͗̒͘ͅ⋹̅͌͏̲͐̅͂᷶⛶⃦᷎͓͎͍̋⃧̈́⩩⃒̢̛⃮͚͈̾̏⋹⃒̧̛⃛̅̈́̔̕⸙̟̲̤̱͇⃗⃐̓⸙⃒̣̠⃜̔᷇̈́̌⹋̥᷂̂̽̓̂᷋͘⛶̨᷿̲͓̽̉̎⃡⁑᷂̠̩̑̌́᷅⃜☾̛̜͚⃭̎⃑̀̀⅊⃒͕̰͖᷾᷅᷌̍⊰⃧͏͔̲᷑͊᷄̚⁑⃒̩᷸᷅̀̆᷇ͅ‷̬̮̘̩⃨̜⃬͋, complained my blasted nightmare (like a spray bottle of ice water spritzing my ear).

"𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥!" snapped the demon, "𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝!" He turned his smoldering glare back to me one last time, as his artificial body began to soften back into smoke and shrink. "𝕄𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤, 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕝!"

With a noise like a thunderclap being played in reverse, the rest of his form flowed back into my forge and vanished.

I sat back on my stool and took a deep breath.

‷⃫̷͖᷌᷆⃖᷵⃜❡̳̭᷂̺̠᷸̿̋̌̈⋹̶̠̪͙͕̀̓̌⅊⃫̡̙⃑͋̇̆᷾⚷̬̮̜᷂̆̽̄⃗⸭᷿̟̓᷅᷇᷑⃗̎⛶̲̟͋᷆᷵⃑᷆̍⁑⃯⃯̄́͋᷃̽᷈⚲⃒̗̹̀⃧͆̓᷒⊛⃥⃮̮͊͗⃡̇̕☋̶̸̛̗̠̺̇̏⇭̶̲᷆͏᷑̊��͌⁑̧͔⃖͛᷋��᷆⃩‷⃫͔̥᷌᷌̂⃛᷼, came Gylarry’s voice (like an ice pop prodding my cheek).

“I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry you didn’t get your vacation. Maybe your mother and I can find another way to take you to Hell.” I sighed, and turned back to my worktable, plucking my burin out of the air. "For now, though, I should get back to work - I'm sure we'll have another visitor soon, and this ass isn’t going to engrave itself.”

"No, Faerie, you can't have my firstborn because a daemon has a lien on it. You can subordinate to theirs to get my second, you can have them subordinate for the second, or find some way to share up to two children as-yet-unborn. Or, you can not offer me such things..."

A.K.A. prelude to the worst/best second "mortgage" negotiations ever

P.S. the collateral is their soul, so having one child is already expected

That's a scenario rife with possibilities! Everybody involved seems up on their laws and loopholes -- at least according to their own people's customs. I wonder if there's wiggle room in the interpretation somewhere.

Does adoption count? Do the kids have to be 100% human? Can the human go sign a third contract with something scary who thinks it would be a hoot to be legally some human's child, then get a chance to wreak havoc in another realm?

(And if the kid has to be the human's biological child, what if that human seduces the boss of one of the other two? Or them?)

There are many ways this could get far messier than any of them signed up for.