“Well, this is fucking cozy,” I say to both of them. Asmo doesn’t even stop his thrusts, just keeps pounding into Kas. Her ass jiggles with each thrust as his balls clack against her.

“Join in or get the fuck out,” Kas says sharply. Fortunately for her, all I can see is her reddened ass in the air. I’m not really inspired to take a deeper look.

“I’d rather keep my dick fully intact. You’re not exactly my type.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” she barks.

Asmo smacks her ass sharply. “No talking, you’re ruining it.”

“On that note, have a lovely evening.”

Since they don’t seem to be putting any work hours in tonight, I decide to. I’ve sent multiple letters to demons both in Hell and in this dimension about a demon named Mara. It’s odd, but no one seems to know who she is. The familiarity in Lucifer’s and Milcom’s eyes was unmistakable when we mentioned her name.

I hear Kas’ moans through the wall and I grab my jacket and keys. No way I’m going to get any work done here tonight.

The best place I can think of to get some answers is a local dive bar that is known for housing supernaturals called Eternity. Fitting, since most of these beings live an immortal existence. I drive my bike down the coast. I could portal, but there’s something about a motorcycle that I enjoy too much. The cool breeze against my face, the low rumble under my body, the lightness of the bike as it turns a tight corner. It might be one of the best inventions the mortals in this dimension have created.

The bar is located not far from the docks, where Asmo and I found the possessed woman. Even from the outside, I can sense demons, werewolves, and a few vampires. I groan, getting off my bike and making my way inside. The bar is disheveled and disgusting, clearly just enough maintenance is done to keep the place standing. The floor is sticky and the lights are low. I locate an empty wooden bar stool and plop my ass down. The stool creaks like it’s crying from supporting my weight, and I wisely decide not to put my arms on the desecrated bar top.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks. Vampire. Interesting.

“Whiskey.” He nods and pours me a lowball glass and slides it over the bar top. No particular person here sticks out to question. Except for one. He’s standing in the corner, nearly enveloped by shadows. I’d know this snake of a demon anywhere. I can practically smell his stench from here.

Beelzebub.

Bringing my whiskey with me, I make my way to the corner of the bar, where the little weasel is standing.

“Beelzebub,” I greet him, with too much kindness.

“Daxaddon,” he replies skeptically.

“Why are you in Hallowsdeep?”

“No reason.”

“Hmm, you know anything about these rogue possessions?”

“Of course not, Lord would be so displeased.”