Me and My Demons

They were just a bunch of ordinary demonologists trying to summon an ordinary demon . . . but at the moment of summoning, something went wrong. Still, demon or demonologist-what was the difference to them, anyway? Either way, they were going to have fun. My name is Konstantin and I am no ordinary demonologist. Most people fear demons, but in my case, it's the demons who fear me . . .

I could have been anything I wanted: a chef, a chauffeur, a pianist, an artist, an aristocrat . . . but where would the fun be in that? In my past life, I'd been one of the world's greatest demonologists, and horned lords and masters of the inferno had cringed and trembled with terror at my name. That name, in fact, was still around, still making demons tremble. And that was only the beginning, because in this world, I'd chosen to become a soldier. Why? Simple! The army turned out to be a total madhouse that obeyed no reason, and the only way to understand it was to experience it.

The army is no place for being idle. A bad soldier is one who can't get this into his head; one who'll do anything to get out of work, who's forever looking for a quiet corner where he can sit and do nothing. But Konstantin was not that soldier. Konstantin was always looking for ways to make himself useful. He even took on tasks that no one in their right mind would volunteer for. And because of that, he received a steady stream of awards from his commanders. Quite possibly, his commanders would have preferred not to be constantly giving him awards–it might draw attention from headquarters, after all–but the recruit was single-handedly doing the job of a whole platoon. They had to reward him with something, even if they weren't quite sure what . . . A promotion? And his very own squad to command? Yes . . . that would be a reward and a punishment, all rolled into one.