The Old Timer waves the intruder away. “Come back later. I’m in a very important lesson.”

The stranger knocks again, this time hard enough to set the doorframe shaking. “Inspection!” The voice sounds like hundreds of people whispering at once.

My mind races through the different types of demons. Which one would have a voice like that? The sound is grating, mysterious, and completely terrifying. Demonic wrath curls up my belly, preparing me to fight.

The Old Timer crinkles his nose, making his handlebar moustache twitch. “I wasn’t informed of any inspection.”

“Demon inspection.”

The Old Timer straightens his robes and rushes over to the class door, swinging it wide open with a flourish. “Welcome to my classroom, oh mighty demon.”

The figure lurches into the room. Tall and slender, it looks like a smaller version of Armageddon, right down to the fitted black tuxedo. The Old Timer speeds to the demon’s side, gesturing to the room full of students.

My inner demon growls with anger. The Old Timer’s showing us off like it’s dinnertime and we’re so many sides of beef. My mouth stretches into a dark smile. Just try something, you two. Anything.

“Mighty demon, this class is called Lessons in Servitude. Is there a particular skill you’d like to see? Robe cleaning, massage, bowing and scraping?”

“I’m not here to see anything.” The edges of the demon’s thin red mouth twist into a smile.

The Old Timer coils the end of his moustache with one finger. “Then, what are you here for?”

“This.” A bit of the demon’s cheek peels off into a butterfly-like creature with a blood-red body and thick black wings. The creature’s tiny face has bright red eyes, a turned-up nose and an itty-bitty mouth lined with gleaming black teeth. Its dark wings pump furiously, causing its gangly arms and legs to sway in mid-air.

I let out a breath. Now I know exactly what monster this is: a Papilio demon. It’s nasty, but nowhere near as awful as Armageddon.

The demon’s body peels off into more evil butterflies. In no time, little flying demons flutter through the air in one great dark cloud. The humanoid demon’s bulk shrinks into a misshapen lump, and then disappears. In its place, a swarm of Papilio zoom about the classroom, upending chairs and startling students. Some of the little nasties get their arms tangled in my hair. Gross.

A bunch of kids start to scream; their sad cries set off my wrath reflex in a huge way. My eyes burn with rage as I start planning attack vectors and the best ways to skewer Papilio with my tail. It’s bad enough we have to sit in this school and listen to ghoul lies all day long. Demon attacks are off the curriculum.