A shy author who writes a novel series which are super
popular but is on indefinite hiatus. Soon after the ruler of hell appears in
front of them in a dramatic burst of smoke demanding for them to continue
because apparently demons are also very fond of popular literature.
Being a demon wasn’t so bad. All Stiles had to do was meet
his monthly soul quota and other than that, he could pretty much do whatever he
wanted. Stiles was very good at his job, he was the only demon in history to be
named Soul Collector of the Year ninety-nine times. The year Greenburg won is
still a sore spot for Stiles, it was 1967 the Summer of Love was in full swing
and Stiles got a little… distracted. There were more than enough people out
there willing to give up their souls for something and Stiles was more than
happy to oblige them.
Stiles’ journey to becoming a demon was something of a
cliché. He didn’t sell his soul to save some poor person’s life; he didn’t even
sell it for riches. No, Stiles sold his soul for love. Her name was Lydia
Martin, a 5 foot 2 strawberry blonde goddess. He didn’t even have the sense to
negotiate himself a good deal. Blinded by infatuation, Stiles thought three
years was an enough time so fifteen and stupid he agreed. In return for his
soul, Lydia would fall in love with him.
But things didn’t exactly go to plan. Stiles quickly figured
out that Lydia wasn’t really the perfect girl he thought and there was also
that whole life-changing moment when he turned sixteen, and realised that boys
were actually more of his thing. It turns out that demons don’t really care if
things don’t work out so, when Stiles was eighteen, the demon came to collect.
Faced with the prospect of burning in hell for all eternity, Stiles proposed an
alternative – make him a demon instead, with his smart mouth and quick mind
he’d definitely be an asset to the team. So here he was, a hundred years later
and collecting souls for a living.
There was one big problem with the job; it got a little
repetitive. You meet some poor shmuck down on their luck and desperate and it’s
pretty easy to entice them with offers of a better life. You give them five or
ten years, collect on the debit, and then their soul is yours forever. And so
on and so on. Honestly, Stiles was bored; a hundred years of collecting souls
is enough to drive even the finest demon a little crazy.
Away from collecting souls, Stiles had one pleasure in life
and that was reading. Wolf Moon, a series of novels written by the
mysterious author D. H. Sales were Stiles’ particular favourite. The teenage
misadventures of the titular character Scott, a werewolf, and his best friend
Dylan were Stiles’ only escapism from his tedious life as a demon. It had been
two years since the release of the fourth instalment and Stiles was getting a