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Overheard in a tavern:

“And as the devil lay on the ground, fully at my mercy, I knew that death would never make it atone for its crimes- it knew no regret for the pain it had caused, but it did know the shame of being bested in battle. I could not simply kill it. It needed to suffer.”
“So what did you do?”
“I made sure it would never forget this defeat. I took my silver blade, put it to the Bearded Devil’s throat… and I shaved its beard off. Oh, how it screamed in rage, cursing my name!”
“It didn’t try to stop you?”
“It couldn’t. I had taken all but the last ounce of its life from it. It was helpless there, and when I finished, I looked it in the eyes and asked it a simple question: ‘If you no longer have that for which you are named, what even are you?’ I think it understood then that it could never return to the fiendish planes, for the shame would be worse than any punishment some other devil could conceive. I left it there, beardless and forever alone. I have no doubt that it searches for me even now, seeking its revenge.”
“What will you do if it finds you?”
“I bested it once, I will again. And should I be unable to, it won’t matter- it will not bring its beard back, it will not regain its pride, and devils do not die of old age.”