The demon whittled himself a toothpick from a thigh-bone, using a molecular blade. He jabbed it into his mouth, removing a gobbet of a quivering grey matter that looked loathsome. Then he threw them both away.
"There's never any shortage of donors' brains to dine on when you've as many enemies as I have," he said, spitting as though hoping to loose another clot of meat from between his teeth. "I've a six-and-a-half billion to none record of wins so far. You'd think people would learn...but they don't. There's always another thinking he's found a way to beat the system. Even though they realise the Game's rigged. People...fools...they're one and the same. No exceptions."
I tugged at the manacles looped about the gas-pipe that ran overhead, hoping to either get free or to release enough Butane to explode, killing me within seconds. The demon looked uninterested. He knew he'd get my soul whichever way things played out. He always have the advantage if he chose to play the long game.
"You might be interested to know you've called for a house party," he dead-panned, raising a pointed ear toward the ceiling. "Or at least someone who can carry off a pitch-perfect copy of your voice. Everyone you've ever known is upstairs at the moment. Even your very first teacher from primary school, Miss Watkins. She's very old now but she's still in very good health. She's thirty-two doting grandchildren who'd be devastated if she were killed in a freak household explosion. So many of them with their little tear-streaked faces. It'd be a tragedy, wouldn't it?"