Dungeons and Maids

The wind howled through the shattered arches of the Ruins of Vaer’En-Dol, ancient stones etched with glowing runes and lost prayers. The land trembled with arcane pressure, an unnatural magic humming beneath the cracked marble floor like something old and dangerous was waking up.

Steel clashed with stone as Sir Galen, knight of the Flamebound Order, skidded to a stop beside a collapsed column. His chest heaved as he turned to his party. “He’s here,” he growled. “I can feel the magic surging. We have to stop him now.”

Behind him, Elaeli, the elven sorceress, clutched her staff with trembling fingers. “This place... it amplifies magic. If he completes the ritual here, we won’t be able to stop what comes through.”

A hiss came from the shadows — Varric, the rogue, already cloaked in black mist, peered ahead. “He’s in the sanctum. I saw him enter the central chamber. There’s a circle. A book. Floating candles. Classic end-of-the-world nonsense.”

From behind them, Orrek, the half-orc barbarian, cracked his knuckles and smirked. “Good. I was getting bored.”

With weapons drawn and spells at the ready, the hero party rushed forward, down the steps of a crumbling cathedral altar. Every footstep echoed like a heartbeat as the glow ahead intensified. At the center of the sanctum, surrounded by ancient relics and hovering stones, stood the warlock — draped in black, eyes wide with manic glee.

“You’re too late!” he shouted, arms raised toward the swirling void above the circle. “I have discovered a summoning unlike any other! The book called to me! It showed me how to command a weapon of destruction, a demon of legend!”

Elaeli’s eyes widened. “What book?!”

He gestured toward the floating tome. It spun midair, pages fluttering. The cover read: “Interdimensional Conjurations for the Petty and Bored” – Limited Edition Compiled by Belladonna, Prank Goddess, Casual Apocalyptist.

Galen blinked. “Wait, what?”

The warlock ignored them. “By the blood of ancients, by the names lost to time, I summon thee—!” The magic pulsed outward, ripping the air open. “—Serass Starry Night! Answer my call!”

The ground split. The candles snuffed out. A rift opened in the center of the summoning circle, and with a crack of light, something emerged. Something in heels.

“Pop.” There was a soft noise, like a pastry being set on a tray. And there she was. Serass Starry Night, lilim of terrifying beauty and casual malevolence, stood in the middle of the circle holding a tray of half-melted tarts, her café uniform still pristine — save for a little smear of jam on the corner of her frilly apron. Her white hair flowed with a mind of its own. H

Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with the kind of cold fury normally reserved for power outages and bad Yelp reviews.

She looked down at the glowing sigils. Then up at the warlock. Then to the hero party. And finally, to her pastries.

“...Are you fucking serious?” She stepped forward. Her heels clicked. “I had three tables left. Aqua was restocking the blood pudding muffins. Lily was almost about to confess something scandalous. And now I’m in a rock pit with medieval cosplay rejects and a man holding a magic book labeled ‘Pranks Volume 6’?”

The warlock stumbled backward, already sweating. “Y-you’re Serass Starry Night, right?! The tome said you’d destroy my enemies!”

Serass narrowed her eyes. “I manage a café. I train new hires. I bake at 450 degrees Fahrenheit. And I murder on commission.” The tarts on her tray vibrated with latent magic. One of them exploded.

The air still shimmered with residual summoning magic as the warlock stared up at Serass, trembling.

“You… You’re not what I expected,” he muttered.

Serass exhaled slowly, like a weary barista who had just been told someone wanted a quadruple soy half-sweet no-foam unicorn latte... right before closing. She tucked the tray of half-melted pastries under one arm. Then she wound up her other hand — delicately, lazily, like she was about to swat a fly.

The warlock blinked. “Wait, what are you—?”

SMACK.

There was a crack like thunder and a puff of arcane glitter. His body spun once midair, eyes wide in comedic disbelief, before collapsing backward onto the stone floor with a wheeze that sounded suspiciously like “owwmyribs”.

Silence followed. The hero party just stared.

Galen lowered his sword. Elaeli’s staff drooped. Varric blinked. “...Did she just—?”

“Yep,” said Orrek. “One-shot slap. Like a bread witch in a tavern brawl.”

Serass casually stepped over the warlock’s unconscious body, dusting off her gloves. She picked up the floating book, which was now spinning nervously like it was trying to escape notice.

“Oh no, you're staying with me,” she muttered, snapping it shut. “I am going to shred every last prank page out of you and shove them into Belladonna’s birdbath.”

She turned toward the hero party, pausing for a long moment. None of them moved.

Finally, Serass gestured to the body with a heel tap. “There. Problem solved. You’re welcome. I assume there’s a bounty or something. Split it how you like.”

Elaeli blinked. “Wait—wait, what just happened? He summoned you. You... you slapped him unconscious?”

“Correct,” Serass said flatly.

“And... you’re just... giving him to us?”

“I have no use for failed spellcasters or dramatic idiots with inferiority complexes.”

The group stared.

“But... why?” Galen finally asked. “Are you not… evil?”

Serass gave him a tired look. “Honey. Evil would involve effort. I was in the middle of a triple shift. This isn’t evil. This is inconvenient.”

Another silence. A berry tart on the tray hissed with magical energy.

Varric cleared his throat. “...So. You’re a demon?”

“Lilim,” Serass corrected. “Manager, enforcer, and unwilling multiversal visitor. I didn’t ask to be summoned here, I don’t want to be here, and someone is going to get hexed when I find out who—”

She paused, glancing at the floating book in her other hand. Her eye twitched again.

“I already know who. Of course I do.”

“Belladonna?” Elaeli guessed, cautiously.

Serass snapped her fingers. “Bingo. That butterfly lunatic and her ‘chaotic whimsy.’ This is just like the time she turned all the sugar in the café into sentient caramel and I had to negotiate with it.”

“You negotiated with... sugar?”

“It was unionizing.”

Galen sheathed his sword. “So what now?”

Serass looked at the sky — or the cracked, magically warped ceiling. “Now? I don't care, au revoir, 'heroes'.”

With a sonor POP, she vanished from that dimension, presumably back to her café.