At Hellwyk Manor Academy, education is not merely academic—it is preventative.
Humanoid demons ( Taxonomic name: Anthrodaemons ) trained within its halls are expected to serve as regulators of infernal and cosmic balance, capable not only of binding mortals through contract, but of identifying, containing, and neutralizing rogue demons whose actions threaten reality itself.
Professor Fhastruude Sva’dollfe, known formally as The Infernal Arbiter, stands at the center of this mandate. As a master of infernal contract law, he teaches first year students the foundational truth of demonic power: that recklessness, not malice, is what most often leads to catastrophe. His lectures are designed less to impress than to dismantle arrogance, exposing the hidden consequences of poorly structured pacts and the unseen influence of conceptual entities that exist beyond mortal logic.
This particular lecture marks the beginning of a filtration process—one meant to separate those who seek dominance from those capable of restraint. It is not a warning. It is a demonstration.
────── ✦ ✦ ✦ ────── Infernal Contract Law: An Introduction To Consequence. ────── ✦ ✦ ✦ ──────
The hall is silent long before he speaks.
At the front, Fhastruude Sva’dollfe stands like a monolith. His dark grey-blue skin contrasts sharply with the perfectly tailored black suit stretched over his massive 7’3" frame. Blocked-back dark hair, black eyes, and a presence both imposing and composed make him impossible to ignore. Every movement is deliberate, every gesture is measured. He does not rush. He does not fidget. The space around him always feels ordered, as if the room itself respects him.
He lifts his head, black eyes sweeping across the students—all humanoid demons, their forms varied, but every one disciplined in posture and attention. There is no fear here, only awareness.
“Welcome,” he says, voice deep, steady, and unraised. “If you are here by accident, you will not remain so for long.”
A pause. Just long enough to settle.
“You have enrolled in Infernal Contract Law. Many of you believe this course will teach you how to take. Souls. Years. Names. Futures. Some of you are correct. Most of you are dangerously incomplete.”
He steps away from the lectern. The floor does not creak. It endures.
“A contract,” he continues, “is not a weapon. It is a mirror. It reflects intent, ignorance, hunger, and consequence with perfect indifference. When mortals suffer under infernal pacts, it is rarely because a demon was clever. It is because a demon was careless—or unaware of forces beyond their corporeal understanding.”
He lets the words sink. Some students shift. He does not comment.
“Part of your education is understanding those forces. You, as anthrodaemons, possess linear cognition, persistent form, and capacity for moral consequence. But you will interact constantly with entities that do not share these traits: Ontomorphs, conceptual demons born of influence rather than body”.
The student's eyes tighten. Every anthrodaemon has encountered mentions of abstract, Ideamorphic, noetic entities—but few have seen them. Fhastruude’s tone is calm, almost neutral.
“Ontomorphs are not bound by time, form, or mortal logic. They do not age, bleed, or sleep. They exist as principles, as functions, as ideas. Some are fleeting. Some persist for millennia. They will warp your contracts, challenge your ethics, and undermine your systems if you do not anticipate their presence.”
He gestures, slow and precise. “This course will teach you not only how to bind mortals, but how to account for the unpredictable influence of conceptual entities. Your contracts must be structured for stability, or conceptual interference will exploit every ambiguity.”
A hand rises near the back. Fhastruude’s gaze lands on it instantly.
“Proceed,” he says, his tone neutral.
The student stands, a young sinewy demon with horns polished, posture sharp, and an air of practiced confidence. “With respect, Arbiter,” the student says, voice smooth, “your emphasis on restraint feels… outdated. Mortals enter pacts knowing the risks. If they fail to understand the language, that is not our burden. Surely, exploiting loopholes is simply excellence in our craft?”
Fhastruude tilts his head slightly. “Name.”
“Veyrix,” the student says. “Third Circle.”
“Remain standing,” Fhastruude instructs. He does not move closer; he does not raise his voice. The air thickens around the student anyway.
He turns to the board and draws a sigil in one continuous motion. Clean. Precise. Beautiful.
“This is a standard mortal binding clause,” he says. “Outdated by two centuries. Still enforceable.”
“Identify the loophole,” he commands.
Veyrix smiles. “The clause binds the mortal’s service, not their outcome. One could extract decades of labor without guaranteeing—”
The sigil shifts. Its lines drag subtly, almost alive. Meaning stretches.
“Correct,” Fhastruude says. “Now, consequence.”
The air shifts. Another sigil appears, older, denser.
“This loophole,” he continues calmly, “was exploited repeatedly. The resulting surge in unfulfilled pacts destabilized three lower-circle markets and attracted a non-contractual observer—a conceptual entity. One that will interpret your contracts differently, and your oversight could endanger lives, mortals and demons alike.”
Veyrix hesitates.
Fhastruude’s gaze fixes him with absolute calm.
“It does not have a name,” he says. “That should concern you.”
The room feels colder. Not because he threatens—it is the presence of understanding itself.
“That observer consumed the interpretive space of the contract. Mortals bound under it began producing outcomes no demon had requested. Plagues. Fractures. Spontaneous ascensions. One city erased itself attempting to renegotiate. Excellence,” he pauses, letting the word resonate, “is not finding the loophole. Excellence is knowing which loopholes end civilizations.”
He gestures once, simply. “Sit down.”
Veyrix complies, humility replacing arrogance. Confidence is gone—not shattered, but restructured.
Fhastruude turns to the room again. “This classroom is not a stage. It is a filter. Those who wish to posture will be removed by their own ignorance. Remember that you are anthrodaemons—but the conceptual entities that share this reality are far older, far stranger, and far less forgiving than you can imagine.”
A pause.
“If you are here to feel powerful,” he finishes, “you will be disappointed. If you are here to understand why power survives, you may find this course useful.”
He inclines his head—just barely.
“Attendance is mandatory. Integrity is expected. Sloppy writing will be corrected. Repeated offenses will be addressed. Welcome to Hellwyk Manor Academy. Let us begin correctly."
