Saying I didn't know what I was doing would be a lie. Of course I knew. I knew it when I entered the forbidden section of the family library without permission, I knew it when I drew the summoning circle on the floor of my room, and I knew it in that moment with the knife pressed against the palm of my hand.
I tried to recall the series of events that had led me there, in a useless attempt to distract my mind. I wasn't going to summon just any spirit—I was going to summon a demon. "A fucking demon," I reminded myself. Only one thing had to go wrong: a seal that didn't work, a miswritten pattern, my willpower not being enough, or the universe simply deciding to screw me over... and then I would die.
A bitter smile crossed my face. No, it wouldn't just be me who died. A high-class demon on the loose was basically a living catastrophe. But hey, so what? I laughed at my own thoughts. Why should I care what happens after it kills me? Better yet, why should I even care if it does? My life was already shit.
My brothers, the geniuses praised by everyone. The most prodigious magical talents in the kingdom. It was "natural" that, coming from a family of mages who had served the crown for generations, they were born with that kind of talent. I was supposed to be like them—it was the least that was expected of me. But I was nothing more than a stupid summoner who couldn't even make a pact with a third-rate spirit. A useless failure in a family of geniuses. The family's disgrace. The black sheep.
A laugh escaped me at the irony. My parents acted as if I didn't exist, and my brothers treated me like a parasite that should never have been born.
That's why I needed power.
I closed my eyes and drove the knife's edge into the palm of my hand. A sharp burn shot up my arm, making me clench my jaw. Warm liquid slid down my hand, and crimson drops fell heavily onto the summoning circle. I tightened my fist, ignoring the pain so more blood would fall.
"More..."
A voice from nowhere made me shiver, and I instinctively pulled my hand back. I had rehearsed that moment in my head thousands of times, but nothing prepared me for it. The voice struck me with reality. I thought I had steeled myself for that instant, that I understood the consequences, but it was only in that moment that I truly felt the weight of what I was about to do.
And it was already too late to regret it.
I tried to step back, but an invisible force kept me from moving. The candle flames flickered violently, and more blood began to pour from the wound.
"Wait!" I shouted, not even sure who I was talking to.
But the voice didn't answer, and my blood, now flowing faster, was being drawn into the circle. I struggled with all my strength to move away, but I was pinned in place.
The candles flickered, and the world trembled around me. The air crushed my chest, and the blood kept pouring from my hand. Bitter acid rose in my throat, and my vision began to blur.
And then—silence.
The candle flames calmed, and the pressure on my lungs faded. The cut on my hand barely bled now, just a thin line of blood trailing down my forearm. I could move again, and I immediately stumbled back from the circle. Breathing heavily, I scanned the room—dimly lit by the faint candle flames—for any sign. A growing unease gnawed at my chest. "Had it worked?" I wondered. And then, a shiver ran down my spine, making the hair on my neck stand on end.
It was the breath behind me that answered.
"Looks like it did."
I had summoned a demon.