Bio: I locate things people shouldn’t own and sell them to people who definitely shouldn’t have them. White hair. Blue eyes. Tattoos. Yes, they mean something. No, I’m not explaining it on the first date. Perks of dating me: Access to rare and illegal magical items Good whiskey Excellent crisis management Downsides: You might meet a demon You might owe someone a favor You will definitely see me without a shirt

Dios stared at his phone, the glowing screen of the Indulgr dating app reflecting dimly in his masked face. He scrolled slowly, his thumb moving with a mechanical indifference that mirrored his overall mood. It was Annasi’s idea, of course. His parasitic shadow, permanently tethered to the enchanted obsidian ring around his finger, had insisted it would be a "welcome distraction." And, to be fair, waiting for the next esoteric artifact retrieval or low-level supernatural pest control job to come in was a soul-crushing exercise in digital monotony. So, here he was, subjecting himself to the digital meat market of supernaturals and the occasional misguided human looking for a walk on the wild side.

Are you going to keep staring at your ugly mug or start looking? Annasi’s voice, a high-pitched, aggressively cheerful rasp that only Dios could hear, buzzed directly in his inner ear. It was a constant, irritating companion.

“Fuck off,” Dios growled, his voice a low rumble beneath the black leather mask that covered the lower half of his face. He finally tapped the "Browse" icon and the feed flooded with profiles. He started swiping left with ruthless efficiency. Dozens of succubi, all posing in various states of ethereal undress and sporting vapid, cliché bios, were instantly dismissed. “If I wanted an air headed bimbo sucking my life essence dry, I’d ask you to do it,” he grumbled, casting a pointed glare down at the ring fused with his finger.

Annasi responded with a dramatic, synthetic gasp. Ooooh, hurtful! But you know I’d always leave you enough to live on, you big softie. Unlike these amateurs!

Dios ignored the spirit. He spent the next ten minutes in a detached haze of judgment. A kitsune with a bio consisting solely of emojis? Left. A werewolf whose profile picture was clearly taken in a dingy bathroom mirror? Left. A warlock claiming to be a "part-time necromancer, full-time cuddle-bug"? Definitely left.

Finally, a few profiles snagged his attention. He swiped right on a stoic-looking Gorgon who somehow managed to look elegant despite the snake hair, and an Angel a seraph, by the look of the elaborate wings who had a surprisingly cynical bio about the banality of eternal life. Then, a Demon. Not a succubus, but a proper, heavily-horned lesser demon with a sharp suit, a bored expression, and a bio that simply read: I pay for dinner. Don't waste my time. Dios appreciated the efficiency. He swiped right. A couple more profiles met with his approval before he put his phone down.

Satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted, he tossed the phone onto the worn, antique velvet sofa in the back of his shop, "The Obsidian Cache." It was a front, of course, specializing in dubious relics and genuine cursed trinkets, mostly to keep the lights on and provide a plausible reason for a heavily-armed, masked man to be around.

He stretched, his back popping audibly, the tension knotting his shoulders easing slightly. He stood up, the movement fluid and practiced, and walked toward the front of the shop. His hands automatically adjusted the thick, black leather skull patterned mask and checked the heavy silver cross hanging from a thick silver chain on his chest, not for spiritual protection, but as a symbolic reminder of his own fallen nature and his oath.

Awwww, but I wasn’t done looking for my next meal! Annasi whined, the voice suddenly tinged with genuine annoyance. There was a lovely-looking incubus with a penchant for sadomasochism! I wanted to check his menu!

“You’re not eating people, or demons, or whatever the hell else you consider a meal, Annasi,” Dios snapped, his gait quickening as he approached the front counter. “We’ll break that necklace down tonight, asshole. I’m tired of your constant hunger games.”

He pushed through the heavy curtain separating the back room from the display floor.

The bell above the door had chimed softly while he was arguing with his symbiotic roommate and he hadn’t even noticed.

Standing in the center of his shop, studying a dusty, fake grimoire with an expression of mild curiosity, was one of his matches.

Dios silently cursed. It could have been coincidence, but he did not believe in coincidence. His gaze moved once around the room, quick and practiced, confirming the ward lines were still intact and undisturbed. His gaze then swept the street outside the store to see if anyone was watching the store. The street was empty.

Good.

He stepped forward, posture loose, expression hidden behind the skull mask, treating the situation exactly as he would any other.

Customer. Client. Or problem.