vapid

(Just a quick note, I'm a bit poor at approaching people, bad case of a nervous brain, so approaches are appreciated deeply and if I don't respond, it's nothing personal, probably just anxiety playing up. Sorry about that!)

Personality:

Vapid is mainly defined by empathy and obsession, he’s time blind, easily bored when pushed out of his comfort zone, and almost rigidly pro-mortal in every way.
The demon speaks in a stilted or cryptic way, often splicing riddles into his speech or something from whatever he’s been reading most recently.
While always kind, he’s also a demon, and by nature, wants something reciprocal, if you have a use and you receive help, prepare to do one of his ‘job



Backstory: (sorry it a bit long)
A creature born of mixed blood is usually thrown into the lowest class of people when born to a group with a more xenophobic nature; to assume those of an unholy descent are any different is foolish. Vapid's father was nothing more than a slave, though his mother was a rather
powerful demon, enough to hold the ears of the most powerful out there.
For the majority of his childhood, he was sheltered and spoiled, bathed in love and attention or at least their demonic equivalents, taught styles of enchanting, chemistry, alchemy, etiquette, and eloquence,
never seeing outside into the horrors that lay waste to those deemed unworthy for a myriad of reasons, some relatively mild.
However, that changed at his coming-of-age ceremony, he was given a tour of the tortured souls and felt something no one had described to him: a pang of guilt.
He had been living in luxury, treated as a king as those he was going to help rule over thanks to his lines skill in inflicting suffering; in a moment of rage and sadness, he spoke up.
What's worse? He quickly realized the implements of torture they were using were his designs and enchants.
He began verbally dressing down the tour guide, throwing out insults most wouldn't just call crude but flat-out incendiary,
Soon, a complete examination of who he was came about to be tried correctly for his place in the hierarchy. A slew of tests were done genetically, mainly as a formality these days,
In the courts, it was used as little more than an assurance that someone wasn’t a low-ranking imp or such so they could justify the importance and give little more than a slap on the wrist for the outburst.
Tests like this usually didn't produce anything, so Vapid didn't understand just how much trouble he was in. He wasn't purebred.

His mother, desperate for an heir given the danger of a power struggle she was involved in at the time of the conception, used a human. However, genetically behaviour like this doesn’t lead to any adverse effects; it's considered a great taboo for at least the upper echelons. With eyes of those she couldn’t hope to control trained on her, she claimed he was adopted, a weak lie, but she was integral to many old schemes, so authorities barely gave her words a cursory glance.
A few months in chains left Vapid well and truly in his own head, and in there, he found opposition to what he saw and obsession with it, unable to reconcile his emotions with those he grew up around. The only way left to move was out.

His trial was to be held in months, little more than a kangaroo course; execution loomed as the sword of Damocles hung over him next. If unchallenged, his end was inevitable. Despondency never had a chance to set in with his internal conflict, fingers rubbing in anxiety, eventually grinding some of the rust off his chains.
Figures dwarfing him on either side shadowed him into the colosseum-esque court; even his defender showed disdain in their looks. He was kept in chains for the proceeding. There was no contest; he was guilty before he was born and was now. However, an unpleasant scratching could be heard all throughout the session.

The judge, a spindly-looking demon finally came down with the hammer, declaring guilt after the brutally derisive session. Almost at the exact time of the strike, the chains turned to little more than slag, coating his hands in molten metal. It sank in until his hands turned a vermillion red. Adrenaline pumping and a plan being enough to not think about the searing pain, fleeing for a door before the giant bailiff of a demon knocked him straight through the Roman concrete. The clothes on his back were little more than dusty scrap by the time he wriggled away from the cloud of concrete dust.

Despite his relative toughness, the land ended up hurting him badly, likely a broken collarbone, as he ran to his lab. That cloud was temporary at best and leaving a trail of dust at worst.

Several other court guards trailed behind him, Winding through oversized streets to a small door leading to his workshop. Inside, he started setting up a portal to the surface with a smile on his face. He stuck close to twenty enchanted rings on, being far more resistant to their influence than most.
The portal's base was set up fairly quickly. Gathering that much mana, though, would take close to half an hour. As long as they viewed him according to station instead of ability, he had a fair chance.
Luckily, instead of sending an archdemon or a few generals, they sent a colonel and three squads of imps. With what he had? He couldn't win, especially not with the damage and the fact the military took his best pieces,
but holding them off? It's one hundred percent doable.

The standoff eventually ended, and an imp approached the doorway; the workshop was positioned a few buildings into an alley. As the imp walks towards it, a sickly red light reveals the reason for the location; a wall of flame engulfs them before heading back down. Even with fire resistance, the traps were enough that they couldn’t be charged right through
The very premise turns into a fireball as Vapid walks out, bottles filled with napalm in his bejeweled hands as they land nearby, bursting up and maiming multiple imps as he stares down the leaders.
Eventually, one pulls out a pistol; no demon of his age could take a bullet. Vapid was the paranoid sort, so while his equipment was limited, he had a trick. He specifically put on his entire supply of reaction time and thought-to-action speed increases. They are too dull for most, but with a time limit, they work great.

Violence breaks with a single gunshot, whizzing next to Vapid’s head after moving with a sickly smile, even without directional pupils, all that could feel the stare as it fell on them.
A stalemate once broken reformed, with a small squadron of enemies on one side and a boxed-in alleyway with enough traps to liquidate everyone around. With a wave and taunting salute, a portal formed behind him, to the shock of the encroaching force.
A shapeshifter escaped to a plane not under their thumb? The Colonel wrote him off for dead to avoid swift punishment instead of explaining his failure to his higher-ups.

In this new world, he took on the looks of a human with nothing but his rings and rags on his back. Inevitably, he had to pawn them, leaving himself without a single piece of magic gear and weak enough to fall victim to humans, let alone his brethren.
Though he was a better enchanter and conduit for magic than most people could dream of, he wasn’t physically much more than okay. With the money from his rings, he finds a tiny two-room jeweler's shop in an alleyway that reminded him of home, using some good old-fashioned 'negotiations.'
He forces them to give him use of their equipment. Given the high quality, he quickly gains enough cash to buy the place outright, renaming it " Sulphur's Fire."

After a few years, guilt took root in his mind again. Even after all this time, people are still dying and suffering, unprotected like his obsession called for, though he was building up resources for something unique.
Blackened gold of some sort gave it a life of its own that vermilion veins showed through—a ring with something unique: It was paradise in a ring.
Costing every cent he had, he built it, arguably the most complex enchantment ever done by anything except the gods.
Though it has a limitation, the only way it can trap the souls of others is by consuming their bodies. Otherwise, it wouldn't be able to divert the soul.
If the mortals he wanted to save were consumed, though, he could force their souls into the ring to save them from suffering.

Working on it for almost a decade, sequestering himself from the world until he made it, working close to 24 hours a day, leaving him emaciated and looking bad, though upon finishing it, he got something else.
His power appreciated through concentration. Finally, his domains came through.

He became the demon of the obsessive.




Species/subspecies: He's an arch demon, human blood isn't able to change much when interacting with that of one of hell's upper class.

Age: being immortal, he never really cared to keep track, though he's fairly young, especially by immortal standards. (equivalent of late teens, somewhere between 18-20)

land: He only owns his storefront, which has the shop itself (named Sulphur's fire) An enchanting and brewing room and his bedroom, which has a small kitchen in on corner
and a door to an ensuite bathroom in the other

powers:
Shapeshifting

Items:
Ring of black paradise