I died chasing clout and woke up as a cursed third nipple on the Demon King’s chest. Azaroth the Undying, Most Feared Warlord of the Bloodrealms, didn’t ask for me. I didn’t ask for him. But fate (and my extremely poor life choices) decided we’re stuck together — forever. Now, I’m his talking, blinking third nipple, only able to speak when his shirt is off. (Which, unfortunately, happens a lot.) His enemies think I’m some ancient oracle tit wart. His wife thinks I’m spying on her. And the Holy Knights are worshipping me as a prophetic flesh gremlin. I just wanted to be hot on Instagram. Instead, I’m trapped in Hell’s most awkward toxic codependent relationship, stuck between a demon king’s pecs while giving unsolicited life advice and dodging assassination attempts. Pray for me. Or don’t. I’m already in hell.