Werewolf the Podcast – Episode 245: Interviewing Monsters | Demon Trial, Ring of Summoning & Alleyway Killing

Episode 245 of Werewolf the Podcast: “Interviewing Monsters.”

A cosmic conspiracy unfolds across Hell and Earth as Belphastus returns to the infernal court of Astaroth after a violent death on Earth.

In the mortal world, a homeless man named Nicha is pushed into a psychological breaking point that ends in a brutal alleyway stabbing. Meanwhile, unseen forces—Lucifer, Astaroth, and the mysterious Ring of Summoning—turn the killing into part of a larger demonic trial.

As Wil and the wolf spirit Fenrir observe the aftermath, questions emerge about fate, manipulation, and whether violence is ever truly chosen… or simply guided.

In Hell, Belphastus must argue his case before Astaroth, navigating deception, pride, and a test of “altruism” that may determine control of the Ring itself.

This episode explores:

• Demonic trials and infernal politics
• The Ring of Summoning and its hidden purpose
• A brutal alleyway killing and moral collapse
• Werewolf dual-consciousness observation (Wil & Fenrir)
• The psychology of violence, guilt, and justification

A dark philosophical episode blending urban horror, cosmic fantasy, and psychological tragedy.

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Transcript

Belphastus

I returned to Hell on my knees.

That was irritating.

Not because of the posture. I have knelt before worse things than Astaroth, but because I hadn’t planned to return so theatrically. 

The floor was cold, and black marble this time. 

It was probably polished by centuries of fallen pride, and it rang when I struck it, because Hell is a place that enjoys punctuation.

It felt like a better quality hell this time already.

Marble was a lot better than that gravelly shite that was here last time. 

I stayed there, initially, on me knees, a moment longer than necessary.

I had to work out where I was and what I was working with. 

I was going to have to work out who I was going to look up and see. 

Astaroth?

Lucifer?

Some other demonic bastard?

I needed to let ‘em think I was discombobulated

Let 'em think I was right shaken.

I ‘ad a right sneaky look.

Oh, good. 

It were Astaroth in that obsidian seat.

‘E weren’t ready for me to be ‘ere were ‘e.

He were humming some jaunty tune. 

Of all the indignities, that might have been the worst.

I looked up ready to make ‘im aware a was ‘ere.

Astaroth sat on’t throne that was Lucifer’s, sprawled like a cat who had discovered furniture and decided ownership was implied. 

One leg draped over the arm. 

Claws drawn. 

A whetstone screamed quietly as he sharpened them, blade-song echoing through the chamber.

🎵 ‘No one stabs like Astaroth,
Plots and jabs like Astaroth...’ 🎵

He noticed me halfway through the rhyme.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You’re back? That was... quick.’

I rose carefully, waiting for the pain of the bastard stabby stab stabs that had punctured my rock-hard abs.

A dusted at the blood that wasn’t there from clothes that didn’t matter anymore. 

My mortal body was gone, of course, but the memory of the knife lingered. 

Pain has a way of overstaying its welcome.

‘Yes,’ I said mildly. ‘That does seem to appear to be the bastarding situation.

He frowned.

‘You weren’t meant to be.’

Interesting phrasing. 

Not dead.

Not here. 

Meant to be.

‘A was on Earth,’ I said. ‘Then a weren’t.’

He leaned forward, claws steepled, eyes narrowing. 

Old eyes. 

Deep ones. 

Eyes that had watched gods be born and forgotten and resented both.

‘…Explain?’ He asked.

A mean a could of said no or invented some tantalising bullshit of ‘ow it happened. 

But no.

I might as well tell ‘im the truth

So for some reason, I did.

I told him about the alley. 

The cold. 

The hunger clinging to the man like a second skin. 

The knife shaking in his hand. 

The decision that finally snapped inside him like a bone under pressure.

I did not tell Astaroth that I laughed at him.
I did not tell him that I dismissed the man as irrelevant.
I did not tell him that I assumed myself untouchable.

Instead, I chose my words very carefully.

‘I unconsciously allowed it.’

Silence.

‘Aye, am more surprised than you.’ I lied to the demon of lies. 

That single sentence did more work than a thousand of those lies.

‘You... allowed a... mortal,’ Astaroth said slowly, ‘to kill you?’

Asked an incredulous demon. 

He seemed to taste the nature of that sentence.

I inclined my head.

‘He right needed something, to go right for ‘im’ I said. ‘E needed a moment where the world acknowledged im.’

‘A don’t know. Perhaps a were being daft, but it felt the right thing t’ do.’

I looked the Duke demon right in those empty eyes. 

Eyes that were deep pools of life sucking darkness.

That was when I saw it.

Oh, amazing.

Proper confusion.

Tiny. 

Fleeting. 

Delicious.

Astaroth knows me.

Or ‘e believes he does. 

He knows I am ambitious, cruel, precise. 

He knows I do nothing without intent. 

What he does not know. 

What he cannot allow himself to consider is that I would ever gamble without calculating the odds.

‘You realise,’ he said, standing now, ‘that returning here without certainty is not only dangerous but... I can use no other more appropriate word. Stupid.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It seemed right to do.’

‘Poor bloke was at his wits' end.’ 

I blatantly lied.

I watched the thought bloom behind those black pits of eyes.

Sacrifice implies faith.
Faith implies purpose.
Purpose implies worth.

‘…The third test,’ he murmured.

‘Oh.’ I said. 

‘A think you know that’s impossible. So a just gave up trying.’

‘What were the point in trying to do the things you asked?’

‘I know. Cowardly in a way, but a just gave up.’

I used the right body language to display a broken, despondent mans... broken despondant body.

I had lots of practice in being broken and despondent. 

So it were right easy. 

I fell into a silence.

I extended the silence.

A said nothing.

Silence is right useful. 

People rush to fill it with their own conclusions.

We would see if Demons did the same. 

‘You were given three tasks,’ Astaroth continued, circling me now. 

He were proper scary.

‘One impossible.’

He paused to look at me.

‘One cruel.’

He continued his circle as I stared at the floor.

Hiding the smile that I had spreading across my smug bastarding face. 

‘One meant to reveal what you truly are.’

He stopped in front of me.

‘To die... willingly,’ he said, almost reverently.

‘Without knowing what awaited you.’

I met his gaze.

‘To let go of the power...’ he went on. 

‘...of certainty. Of advantage.’

He smiled then.

‘You passed.’

I widened my eyes just enough to seem surprised.

‘Passed what?’ I asked, knowing exactly that I had not passed bugger all. 

‘The altruistic task.’

I tried to look more confused.

‘A did?’ A asked.

Internally, I allowed myself the smallest satisfaction.

Of course I did.

Outwardly, I looked… humbled.

Astaroth laughed, clapping his claws together.

‘Oh yes, little man,’ he said. 

‘You clever little... What’s the word you like... bastard.’

I bowed my head.

‘Then, if that is the case.’ I said carefully, ‘with your leave… I should return to Earth.’

He arched a brow.

‘So soon?’ He pouted

‘The ring remains there,’ I replied.

‘And the timing of this is… inconvenient.’

He studied me.

It were a right long period of study.

A was getting right worried he might dismiss this request. 

After what felt like an eternity, he waved a claw dismissively.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘You’ve somehow and sickeningly earned it.’

I smiled. 

Something small, black, and feline caught my eye before it flashed out of existence, and reality tore open behind me.

As I stepped toward the portal, he called out:

‘Don’t disappoint me.’

I smiled and quietly said to myself.

‘I never do.’

And I meant it.

Because the ring will not summon him.

It will bind him.

And when I am done, Hell will belong to no one who believes they have already won.

I have learned something very important about Astaroth.

He mistakes confidence for control.

And that is a fatal error.

Wil

Well, it was done. 

It was my job to check if Belphastus was dead... and if not dead... my job was to dead him.

Is dead a possible verb?

I got out of the car and zipped my jacket against the cold. 

I could smell the leather now close to my nose. 

‘His heart is slowing.’ Said Fen, my invisible wolf soul. 

‘Mmm hmmm!’ I replied as I set off on my short journey.

I could already smell the tantalising tang of fresh blood.

It was very distracting.

So much so, I raised the cup in my hands to my nose to distract my wolfy senses from the blood in the air. Aaaah Coffee!

‘Devils' perspiration.’ Said Fen.

‘Not how I would describe it.’ I replied.

It was very cold compared to the car, so I tucked my chin into the collar of my jacket to seal in the heat.

Once, I was happy to contend with the cool of the night. 

I wandered to the scene of the murder? 

Murder?

The... erm killing?

The whatever.

I sipped at the cup of caffeine as I walked. 

Flat white. 

Extra hot. 

The barista had smiled at me like the world wasn’t ending in slow motion, and I’d smiled back because manners cost nothing and blood costs more.

And she was very pretty.

Hmm! 

As I entered the alley, I could see that Belphastus lay on the ground in front of Nicha, cooling fast. 

Steam curled faintly from his abdomen where the liquid warmth was leaving him.

It was as if his soul had already packed and was going ahead.

Nicha knelt beside the body.

Not touching it. 

Not really looking at it either. 

He was hunched in on himself, rocking slightly, hands shaking, eyes wide and unfocused.

He noticed my approach.

‘I didn’t...’ he whispered. 

‘I didn’t mean... I didn’t.’

Fenrir watched through me, his presence a pressure behind my eyes.

‘He is breaking.’

‘Yes,’ I replied silently. ‘pathetic.’

Nicha dragged his hands through his hair and made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

It echoed badly off the rough concrete walls of the alley.

‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’

‘Not much to do with his God.’ Fen echoed in my skull.

I smirked and sipped my coffee.

And then I waited.

These kinds of moments either become interesting… or tedious.

Fenrir tilted his invisible head.

‘He feels… wrong,’ Fen said. ‘Why is he crying?’

‘That,’ I murmured, ‘is guilt.’

‘Disgusting,’ Fen replied.

Eventually, I got bored.

I stepped forward. 

My boots made a small sound on the wet tarmac and grit. 

Nicha flinched like he’d been shot.

‘Evening,’ I said.

He stared up at me, eyes red, wild, searching my face for… I don’t know. 

Condemnation. 

Forgiveness. 

A script.

‘I— I didn’t see you,’ he stammered.

‘I was there,’ I said, pointing at the opening at the end of the alley.

‘You were busy.’ I continued pointing at the body of Belphastus. 

Before taking another drink.

I looked down at Belphastus, admiring the work Nicha had done.

I took another sip of the bitter drink. 

Partly to hide the delightful, exciting stench of the blood.

Partly because it was... coffee.

‘Messy,’ I added.

Nicha followed my gaze and gagged.

‘Oh God,’ he said again. 

‘I killed him.’

‘I killed a man.’

I held up a finger to stop him from talking.

‘Not yet... wait... wait...’ I told him.

‘Right.’

I kicked the body; it was now cold and unmoving as its heart gave its last slow tick.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Now you did.’ And smiled.

The word ‘did’ seemed to hit Nicha harder than ‘killed.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ he said quickly. 

I sniggered at this.

‘Yes, you did.’ I laughed, pointing at the corpse.

He shook his head as though this action would mean that he had not meant the kill.

No... no... no......

Oh, pathetic, here comes the excuse.

‘I was... I was angry. I just... snapped.’

‘It was blind rage.’

‘I wasn’t thinking.’ He bleated.

‘Yep’

‘That’s usually when it works best.’

‘When it's the most fun and rewarding.’ I said.

He stared at me.

I crouched down so we were closer to eye level.

Fenrir prowled around him, unseen, sniffing the air like something interesting had finally wandered into his territory.

‘What did it feel like?’ I asked.

I was really interested. 

I really wanted to know how it felt for this... normal... man, to kill. 

‘It must have been so cathartic, right?’

Nicha blinked.

‘I— what?’

‘When you stabbed him,’ I said as I reenacted the stabbing motion to Belphastus’s belly with great enthusiasm. 

‘How did it feel?’ I looked for the man's expression in response.

It was twisted with horror at the realisation of what he had done.

‘Fucks sake.’ Said Fen. 

‘As I said, pathetic.’

My heart fell a little.

I was disappointed in Nicha’s response.

The taking and giving of lives was life's ultimate action

I thought I would try again.

‘What did it feel like?’

‘That’s...’ He swallowed. 

‘That’s a horrible question.’

I slapped him, and he fell to his butt as he held his cheek and stared at me in disbelief and shock.

‘I’m sorry.’ I lied trying to placate him.

‘But it’s not a horrible question in this case, it is a... a practical one.’

‘I feel sick,’ he said. 

‘Pathetic!’ Fen shoots into my mind. 

I turned to look at the wolf soul. 

The wolf soul that poor Nicha could not see.

‘Can you stop with the pathetic. I get it, you think this man.’ I pointed at Nicha as Nicha tried desperately to find what I was talking too.

‘Is pathetic’

Nicha tensed and re-gripped the knife in his hand.

He must have thought that I was a madman talking to nothing. 

He was thinking about using the knife again for a second...

Ooooh, I felt a little thrill.

Then he crumbled and collapsed to the floor.

‘Pathetic,’ said the wolf.

I gave Fen a quick grimace before returning to the sobbing pathetic... dam... man.

‘I feel like I’m going to throw up forever,’ the prone figure mumbled.

‘No, no, you don’t understand. Not how you feel now, you path... you... you. Shit!’ I had to calm down, otherwise the loser would just fail and fall into silence.

‘Not now,’ I said. 

‘I mean then... mate’

‘Mate?’ flashed in my head from Fen with a tone of mirth.

I shook my head as though that would clear it of the wolf’s words.

‘You know, during the stabby, stabby.’ Again, I did the action of doing the stabby stabby.

Silence.

Silence.

A bit more silence with a little sobbing.

Fenrir’s presence sharpened.

‘Ask again,’ he urged.

I waved him down and nodded to him.

‘I am, I am...’

So I did ask again.

Nicha’s breathing went shallow. 

His hands curled into fists. 

His jaw tightened like he was biting down on something inside himself.

‘It...’ he said, then stopped.

‘I won’t judge,’ I told him. 

I would, but he did not need to know that. 

He shook his head violently. ‘No. No, it was a mistake. I regret it. I hate myself.’

‘I hate him too. How dull. Kill him?’ Fenrir muttered.

I frowned.

‘Was there... There had to be a moment,’  I pressed, ‘I mean even a tiny one...’

I emphasised the smallness of what I was asking by doing the thing where you show how small you mean by making a tiny gap between your thumb and finger.

‘No,’ he sort of exporated

I waited.

His shoulders sagged.

His body was wracked with sobs suddenly as he did that emoting thing humans do. 

‘What time is it?’ Fenrir asked sarcastically as we waited.

‘I left the oven on.’

‘Fuck off’, I told him.

He laughed in my head.

And then it came.

‘…Yes,’ he whispered.

There it was.

‘When the knife went in,’ he said, voice cracking, ‘when he stopped laughing… it was like... like something snapped back into place. Like the world made sense for a second.’

‘Aah shit, said Fen. ‘I owe you five pence then on the bet. Who knew he had balls?’

Nicha’s eyes filled again.

‘I felt powerful,’ he said. 

‘I felt right. And then... then it went away.’

Fenrir smiled inside me.

‘Good’, he said. ‘He understands the truth.’

I felt it too. 

A flicker of pride for Nicha. 

Not fatherly. 

Not kind.

Recognition that hate has power, and a reward when acted on. 

Satisfying.

And then Nicha folded.

He collapsed forward, curling into himself, arms wrapped tight around his knees, sobbing—loud, ugly, wet sobs. 

I reached out to pat him before I realised what I was doing. 

What the fuck.

‘What the fuck!’ Laughed Fen.

‘You want to make him feel better? Aaaw’

‘Fuck.’

‘Off.’

‘Fen.’

Nicha continued breaking on the floor.

The kind of breakdown that children have when they don’t understand why the pain hasn’t stopped yet.

I stood.

I watched him for a long moment.

I considered killing him.

It would be easy. 

Mercy, even.

But there was nothing in it.

He was already ruined.

‘Pathetic,’ I said softly.

Fenrir laughed.

‘Now you get it.’ He replied. 

We turned away together.

I walked out of the alley, coffee finished, warmth fading into the cold night. 

I pulled out my phone as I went.

Simon answered on the second ring.

‘It’s done,’ I said.

A pause.

‘Is he dead?’ The Professor asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And the other one?’

I glanced back once. 

Nicha was still curled on the ground, crying beside the body, shaking like the world had finally noticed him.

Which was what he had wanted.

‘Sadly, not dead.’ I meant it.

I ended the call.

I walked out of the alley and tossed the empty cup on the ground. 

Littering before the police, who were sitting in the black BMW stupid series that Ben and Sula sat in. 

‘You rebel.’ Laughed Fen.

I nodded at the beamer.

As I got to whoever's Audi this had previously been, I stopped and watched them decamp from their vehicle and walk towards the Alley. 

Nicha’s night was only going to get worse. 

‘Pathetic bastard.’