Chapter 1 – The Left and Right Venerables

Karl, or Karamalius the Chosen as the twenty robed demons insisted on calling him, stood in the torchlit chamber, basking in the kind of reverence usually reserved for gods… or extremely popular fast-food mascots.

“It is customary,” rasped a horned cultist with a voice like sandpaper on a coffin lid, “for the Chosen One to summon two venerables — one from the Primordial Void, and one from the Infernal Pits of Hell.”

Karl nodded sagely. “Ah, yes… of course… that thing.”
Inside his head, however: What in the absolute hell are you talking about?

They led him to an even darker room — which was impressive given the cave’s commitment to already being pitch black — and gestured toward a summoning circle carved into the stone floor. Runes glowed faintly, swirling with a faint smell of burnt cinnamon.

“You will require two mediums,” another demon intoned. “One for each venerable.”

Karl scanned the room for suitably ominous artifacts. His eyes landed on two objects:

A rather dapper black top hat, perched on a rock.

A potted house plant sitting in the corner, looking both out of place and mildly offended.

“I choose these,” Karl said without hesitation.
The demons exchanged confused glances. One whispered, “Is… is that a fern?”
Another shrugged. “The Chosen’s will is not ours to question.”

Karl set the top hat and plant in the summoning circle, then stepped forward… and immediately stomped his foot in irritation upon realizing he was very, very short. The stomp echoed through the chamber.

“Uh… summon or something,” he said flatly.

Reality cracked.

A jagged tear split the air, and from it stepped a penguin wearing a black plague doctor mask, the top hat descending neatly onto his head as if the universe respected his style. The penguin bowed low, his accent as polished as a Victorian butler’s.

“Good morning, good fellow. This gentleman’s name is Dr Percival the Third. Am I to assume you are the being who has summoned me?”

Karl, instantly smitten, bent down and began ruffling Percival’s feathers.
Percival slapped his flipper against Karl’s skeletal hand with aristocratic disgust.

“How preposterous of you, kind sir. One cannot simply defile me so.”

Karl smirked. “Oh, I’m gonna defile you plenty.”

Before Percival could protest further, reality cracked again. This time, the air reeked of brimstone as a tear revealed a blazing infernal plane. Out stepped a man who looked like the frontman of a demonic rock band — flaming hair, predatory golden eyes, leather jacket, burnt wings, and a broken halo sparking faintly above his head.

“I am Sin,” he declared, his voice rolling like thunder. “Sealed away for eons, I return to—”

Karl, without a word, picked up the potted plant and hurled it directly at Sin’s face.

There was a pop, a flash of light, and the devil was gone. The plant rattled ominously in Karl’s hands.

“HEY!” roared a voice from the pot. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? LET ME OUT!”

“No,” Karl said, patting the ceramic. “You’re Phil now. Be quiet, Phil.”

“I AM SIN, BRINGER OF—”

Karl shook the plant until it grumbled into silence.
Percival, entirely unbothered, pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket and scribbled something down.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, watching the plant tremble in Karl’s grip.

Karl turned to the demons, who were kneeling in awe. “Behold,” he declared, “your Left and Right Venerables.”
The demons roared in approval, convinced they had just witnessed magic of a caliber unseen in a thousand years.

Karl, meanwhile, had no idea what had just happened — but he liked the way everyone was looking at him.