Later he got some tapes of his own, smuggled in from Vienna: Iron Maiden, Venom, Slayer, Dio, Tankard. He listened to everything with fanatical respect. He was given his first guitar at the age of thirteen, along with a tiny amplifier. He was stubborn even back then, too stubborn for his own good. He could have easily saved himself had he accepted my offer back at that time. But it’s kind of my fault too that he didn’t.

I made another mistake; I thought if I based my appearance on the visuals of the heavy metal album art he would trust me more. I put horns on my head, I grew a tail and hooves. I wore leather vests like the demons on some of the covers. He was practicing on his guitar when I first revealed myself to him. I even broke a mirror in his room to make my entrance more dramatic. I admit that I should have chosen a different strategy. Perhaps if I had chosen a more attractive look I could have won him over the first time around.

He didn’t get scared, or not as much as he should have, seeing a demon appear in his room. I attribute this to the fact that I had prepared him for my arrival with the records. I had read in Western papers that heavy metal was the music of the devil, and I thought that listening to it would lay the groundwork for my manifestation. That’s why I put so much effort into the horns. They seemed to make or break a demon.

I got off on the wrong foot about it from the beginning. I only talked about our task, our mission, his and mine. Had I started off in a different way, he might have said yes right away. Because the mission isn’t important; it’s not the real reason he should say yes, anyway.

I should tell you about the first moment of my life. I had no form yet, but I awoke with a purpose. In that first second I didn’t know what I was, but I knew him already. He was the reason I existed. I woke up roaring, born ready, waiting for my work to begin. Waiting for Csaba to be born. The wait alone was several aeons, it started even before Earth was formed from burning-hot rocks.