The chamber had no windows.
1
Torchlight flickered along the walls.
Across the stone floor, deep grooves carved—large and small—formed a colossal magic circle.
Crimson blood filled every line and symbol, thick and glistening under the firelight. Sixty figures stood in perfect formation around the circle's edge, all clad in heavy black hooded vestments, goat-skull necklaces clutched in their gloved hands.
Their voices rose and fell in perfect unison, the chant low and relentless, vibrating through the stone itself.
At the head of the ritual, facing the intricate heart of the circle, stood a single figure set apart from the rest. His robe was deep ceremonial purple, the fabric marked with fresh crimson runes drawn in blood. The hood cast his face in shadow.
As the chant swelled, the High Priest raised his arms and continued the incantation in a voice like grinding stone:
"O wrath that devours the weak,
O fury unbound by mortal chains,
I call thee from the abyss of rage,
Rise and grant me power to break the world.
By blood and bone and unyielding hate,
Demon of Wrath, heed my command and come forth!"
The circle flared bright crimson. The level of blood within it began to drop visibly, sinking into the stone as though the ritual itself were drinking it.
One of the hooded figures stepped forward.
"High Priest, the sacrificial blood will not be enough at this rate. Our reserves of ogre tears and skeleton mage bone dust are almost exhausted."
Alistair von Vaneford turned his hooded head slightly.
"Bring forth the sacrifices."
Several cultists broke formation and left the chamber. Alistair glanced at the figure still standing beside him.
"Hmmm. Head to my lab and retrieve the troll sudor and dullahan bone. Use those as substitutes, and do not forget to crush the dullahan bones finely."
The subordinate bowed with visible reverence.
"As you say, High Priest. It will be done."
He turned and hurried out.
Alistair's gaze returned to the glowing center of the circle.
*Three decades of research… and this moment has finally come.
Once I succeed, I will lay waste to the entire Vaneford household. Those foolish blowhards who destroyed my research, calling it forbidden—what a convenient word to use to restrain my life's work and expel me from the family. I will return and pay them back tenfold. I swear it.
I have licked the boots of many, been used as a scapegoat, had my research stolen. Finally I crawled into this lawless city, founded my own organization, spent vast resources to make it functional, buried myself in tomes and experiments.
And in the end, I realized… The answer to my research was demons.
So I continued. Not because I could stop… but because there was nothing left to return to.
A low chuckle escaped him.
That is until this opportunity fell into my hands. Now, with this summoning circle…*
Alistair slowly raised his eyes as ten robed figures re-entered the chamber, each pulling a chain. Ten prisoners in rags, gagged and bound at wrist and ankle, were dragged into the center and arranged around the inner ring. The chanting intensified. Alistair resumed the incantation.
The robed figures drew knives in unison and slit the prisoners' throats. Blood gushed out, hot and dark, pouring across the floor and racing toward the center as if drawn by invisible force.
The ritual continued for nearly an hour with no visible change. Then the circle blazed brighter. Red vapor began to rise from the grooves.
A cultist rushed forward again.
"High Priest, the blood is depleting!"
Alistair did not turn his head. His eyes stayed locked on the circle.
*There is no time to bring more sacrifices. I am at the critical moment.*
He raised his voice, cold and commanding.
"We have succeeded. Offer up your lives for the cause."
Thirty cultists drew knives without hesitation and slit their own throats. Bodies collapsed. Blood poured out in a single rushing wave, feeding the circle. The ritual reached its peak.
The torches flared violently, their flames shifting from orange to a ghostly mix of white and black. The red vapor turned pitch black. The magic circle erupted with blinding white light.
Alistair trembled. Every hair on his body stood on end. An overwhelming presence pressed down on him, something vast and incomprehensible gazing over his shoulder.
Then everything went black.
When the torches reignited, they had returned to normal orange flames. Thick black fog filled the chamber. Alistair peered into it, unable to see anything.
"Clear the fog," he ordered.
Four cultists stepped forward at once.
"O wind, heed our command—disperse!"
A smaller magic circle appeared before their outstretched hands. A torrent of wind roared out, sweeping the fog away.
As the mist dissolved, Alistair stared into the clearing center.
It stood there.
Something hollow.
Incomplete.
Unmoving.
It watched him.
For a fleeting moment he felt that something far beyond him was looking back.
That… was not what he had summoned.