//------------------------------//
// For the Love of Spite 
// Story: A Battleground of Kindness 
// by StormDancer 
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It was painfully obvious exactly what had happened.

Some wildly powerful spell had plucked me, quite literally, from the aether, and plunked me down in some little po-dunk, no-name, backwater village with a well meaning, inexperienced, warlock.

If not for the disorientation of being pulled from the contract binding me to my lovely little ball of wicked (whose face I certainly hope can be stapled back together) with all the surgical precision of a fel cannon loaded with caltrops, I would have been all over that place.

I mean, whoa... LOT of magic there, but this 'master' made Stitchface look like a lawyer with how well their 'contract' was constructed. I mean... seriously... I have it memorized.

It goes like this:
(1)Help me clean up the library and
(2)find books and 
(2a)you can have some treats when we're done. 
(3)Don't be naughty.

That's it.

Bullet points actually, SOMEHOW, magically included. Never seen that before.

No lie.

Yheah, us imps get the jist of a contract even if it's not on paper. It's part of the summoning I guess, though some folks like to write their own with scorch marks on our faces or broken bones before listening to us beg for mercy, this one was an amateur.

I was sure I was going to be having a field day and just rolling in the angst with time for gloating and a little arson by lunchtime. The boys would have been laughing their little flaming faces off at the pub that night.

And then she screamed.

It was like hearing a bird choking on a rubber ball. You know, almost a scream and almost just saying 'scream'... and then she started freaking out sayin' 'nononononnonononononono' really fast. Must be some kind of cultural chant or something.

I was just rolling onto my shoulders to flip to my feet when, all of a sudden, I'm drenched in ice cold water.

From nowhere. Ice water. Just like that. Any idea how unpleasant that is?

So, of course, I screech out my displeasure as my skin starts to sizzle. A moment later, and I re-ignited.

Funny thing about brimstone, sulfur, and imps: we all burn nicely and have a pleasant aroma.

The warlock, apparently, didn't think so.

Two more drenchings, a blast of ice, and some weird red can with foam inside occurred before she figured out that my cussing at her wasn't from being burned alive. Sharp as a pillowcase full of doorknobs, this one.

She was apologizing and whimpering and trying to explain and panicking all at the same time.

I finally got the foam off my face and had decided that whipping around and screeching at my new 'master' would probably buy me enough time to just kill her and be done with it when I suddenly found myself airborne.

Not in pain from a clubbing or flipping through the air with a smoke-trail from a fiery explosion... but just.... floating.

And the strangest thing? Everything had a pinkish-lavender tint to it.

Whoever my master was, they were pretty quick though. I still couldn't figure out where I was, zipping past old wooden walls (nice paneling though, couldn't even see the nails) and so many books I briefly considered what kind of archmage wouldn't think of protective wards for a summoning. The only answer I came up with was rather disturbing.

One who didn't need them.

But that still left the matter of her surprise and ignorance. I mean, sure, demons aren't exactly run of the mill, but we're common enough that anybody with half a spellbook and a dead animal can call us up. We're not exactly hidden lore. Hell... some of my buddies make bets on who will beat who the next time their masters summon them to battle.

And then my thoughts were derailed again as I found myself being rapidly spun around, posed, and generally manhandled as some little golem poked and prodded me all while staring at me with its enormous eyes. And when I say enormous I really mean freakishly, mutated, anatomically bizzare, evolutionarily imbecilic, must-have-been-on-a-drunken-dare-for-that-polymorph sized HUGE eyes.

Great, not only was my new master an idiot warlock wannabe, but a powerful one... one who was skilled enough to create fully autonomous golems to work for them. Great. I'd probably be part of some giant, hidden, legion working in the shadows and competing with my 'fellow' minions to please their inexperienced heart. And if this thing was any indication, I'd probably end up the victim of some hideous transformative magic.

Figures.

I missed my rotten little ball of hate former-master already. At least she liked making a mess with the bodies. Something told me that this one would be contacting families, sending threatening letters, and monologuing if given the chance.

And then, it spoke.




"What are you?" the golem asked as it leaned in close. Like, seriously close. With those enormous eyes, it was either blind or stupid... perhaps both. I mean, let's see... 

Creepy little thing you don't know: Check.
It's on fire: Check.
It's got fingers like 5 inch long daggers: Check.
You've got giant, squishy, highly sensitive jelly filled looky-globs taking up more than half of your face: Check.

What idiot would put those two things closer together?

And what was even weirder was that it actually used her voice. What freak would make such a deformed golem and then take the time to give it a perfect copy of their own voice?

Well, actually, that's a pretty good idea. Make a golem to distract a victim, sneak up and do your dirty work and if anything goes wrong? BAM! Escape plan and scapegoat in one shot.

Crap. Whoever this was, was looking to be more and more clever by the moment. So, I did the only thing that made logical sense, I screamed, phased, and started lighting the dang place on fire.

It was great. Really. The whole place... up in flames in three minutes tops. Had her wrapped around my finger, begging for mercy.
That's what I told the guys.

That's what I keep wanting to tell myself.

Blasted golem had the whole dang place fireproofed for some stupid reason. I mean, not just the books or the stuff near the lanterns and candles, but positively everything. It's like she thought the place could go up in flames at a moment's notice.

And then I saw the dragon scales in the little pink and purple trash bin.

Frak. Not only was she a powerful archmage with her own WALK-IN library, not only was she strong enough to steal me from a contract, not only was she an experienced creator of very complex (though imbecilic looking) golems, but she was apparently in the habit of killing dragons for spell components... and fireproofing everything, implying that this was both a normal occurrence and that she was prepared to do so at a moment's notice.

This 'master' was all over the place.

Within moments, she'd SOMEHOW plucked me back into phase, yanked me over to the little table I had been prodded on, and the golem was staring at me with some weird look.

I think it might have been constipated really.

Next thing I know, I felt a very light tap on my head and looked up to see a loosely rolled, rather large, sheet of paper floating in the air about me with a very slight singe on it.

It took me a moment to close my mouth when I realized I had just been swatted with a rolled up newspaper.

Being blasted with fire, beaten with clubs, stabbed until the ground had more blood than my body, tortured, diseased, blown up, frozen, or even fed to some wild animal to keep the 'master' alive... those I understood. Warlocks are a notoriously feisty and self-centered bunch, but a newspaper?

I really didn't know what to say.

Apparently, the warlock was also a master strategist since before I could respond, the golem nodded its deformed head curtly and addressed me again.

"There. Now, if you behave, I won't have to discipline you again," it said as it's little mouth curled up into a disarming smile. I don't have to tell you how freakish that is really.... complete 180 on emotional scale in the time it takes to smack a DEMON with a newspaper. Psychotic warning signs EVERYWHERE.

I flinched, which apparently was the right thing to do because the next thing I know, it's looking sorry and apologizing for hitting me. If the golem's anything to go by, the master must be more unstable than a teacup full of kittens floating on an ocean of cat-nip.




Insane.

The master is insane.

I'm not even using mind-quotes for that anymore, this one takes the cake. What I thought was some disfigured fever-dream winged zherva turned out NOT to be a golem after all. That hideous thing is apparently the master. MY master. I'm a minion slave to some mutated purple horse thing that has the magical reserves to overthrow a demonic contract, manifest physical objects, maintain multiple spells at once, TALK, and summon demons because her 'assistant' was busy EATING DIAMONDS.

Did I mention that her 'assistant' happens to be a member of the Infinite Dragon Flight? The little monster is about my size and eats diamonds. EATS them. That deathtrap is her PET. It talks.. She keeps a pet dragon to do CHORES. Those things wiped out all life MULTIPLE TIMES because they FELT like it, and she keeps one around, trained to do chores, while it eats DIAMONDS.

I'm a demon, for all intents and purposes immortal, and I'm a bit passed scared.

That dragon's name is 'Spike" and he came back from wherever he'd been destroying life a few hours later. He was purple with a green ridge that ran from his forehead down his back in little blunted spines. Blunted Spines. That little abomination didn't even have the decency to allow his victims a quick death... and when he saw me, he just looked at the master and rolled his eyes before saying "Really? What did you summon this time? It looks a little scrawny." 

THIS TIME? She's done this before? What the heck has she summoned that made me look scrawny?

I know imps aren't the most impressive demons out there, but if she didn't even know what I WAS, what kind of stuff had she summoned before that made me look scrawny?

And more importantly, why did she need to summon something new to replace it?

Them?

Oh hells.

I'm a replacement.

"Aaaahhhh..... MAYbe we got off to a bad start?" I tried. You know, a little ego stroking works wonders on these dangerous types. "You summoned me?   Erm.... Master?"

The look on their faces was odd. The dragon seemed almost bored and just rolled his eyes before strolling off. The master just gave a look like she'd just discovered something in her mouth that shouldn't be there... like a door handle or a mallet... kind of a mix between confusion and horror.

You sick freak. I told you I could read minds.

Weirdest nutjob I've met yet. The Master too.

"Um, Let's try this again. I'm Twilight Sparkle. I'm an alicorn princess and yes, I summoned you. And you are?" she prompted with a tiny hint of a smile.

Smiles are dangerous. Whenever someone smiles when a demon's involved, something's about to burst into flames, get stabbed, blow up, be eaten, or suffer some horrible wasting illness while being stabbed, bursting into flames, and blowing up. I started to sweat.

"Aaaaaaah.... mmmm... I'm Gakham. You, summoned me...  Um.... Master." I rather hoped the little bow and brief bit of cowering would help my cause.

Oddly, Master seemed... distraught. She turned her head this way and that, looking me over, no doubt for signs of weakness or deformity. I'd heard of that with particularly strict warlocks. They'd summon demons, sometimes dozens or even hundreds, one by one until they found one that suited their tastes. Most of the time they'd just dissolve the contract. Other times... other times it might be decades before their 'minion' found their way back to a body.

She just kept examining me, her expression slowly growing more and more displeased. I could almost feel the little hooks she probably kept in the multiple desks around the room tearing little bits of me off. 

"Just what are you?" she asked after a minute of dissecting me with her eyes. 

Great... 'Powerful amateur warlock seeks demon from tracts unknown!'... I could almost see the summoning spell.

Seeing as how I was likely about to be punished out of principal, I tried my best to mitigate. "I," I started as I hopped back and forth in a bit of tightly controlled panic, "am your imp."

Her enormous pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Huh.... I suppose if they could do that, anything puncturing one of them would likely be subjected to incredible pressures. Dear maker, even her EYES are dangerous.