In the spirit of Halloween, have some demons!
“Shit shit shit shit shit!” Riku didn’t have the breath to spare from running to vocalize his distress, but he sure as hell was thinking it. /Why the fuck does this always happen to me?/
It should have been a clear shot. Disconnect the house line, kill the generators, pick the locks on the doors, smash the case, grab the goods and run. Riku /knew/ all the electronics in the house were down. What he hadn’t realized is that evidently they had protections of an entirely different kind.
/Blaise never mentioned this kind of shit was possible!/ Riku screeched around a corner, jumped up from the hood of a car to the roof to grab on to a fire escape. He didn’t look back to see if what was following him could manage the ladders as well- given his luck so far, they /would/.
/Or else they’ll just jump up the damn building. What the FUCK are those?/
Tearing after him down the city streets, following him all the way from the swank townhouse Riku had just burglarized on the hill, were roughly a dozen, large, nasty, /fast/ things. If Riku had to make a guess, he’d say they looked like greyhounds on steroids- provided a greyhound had glowing red eyes, a forked tongue, with the occasional bristling scales and horns to augment its remarkably shaggy dark coat.
/This is why I stopped doing this shit with Blaise years ago. Last time, it was the fucking cops. This time it’s. . . what the fuck do you even call them, hell hounds?!/
For once, Riku was looking /forward/ to going back to work. Shitty schedules, shitty people, pointless physical labor, but fuck, it had to pay the bills better than /this/.
He hit the roof, looked at the gap between the two buildings, and swore under his breath. Give him minimum wage. ANYTHING had to be better. He sprinted, wished desperately he could close his eyes, and flung himself over the gap. When his shoulder hit the ground on the other side, the pain was almost a relief.
Riku rolled to his feet awkwardly; his left hand uncooperatively dropped his burden of its own volition. The shoulder felt strangely full of pins and needles. “Shit!”
He scrabbled for the tiny silver box with his right hand, then shoved it promptly into his jacket pocket like he should have in the first place. /Stairs stairs stairs- There!/
Riku promptly kicked in the locked door, then dove inside, shoving it closed behind him with an additional push of will. /SEAL, and stay closed, motherfucker!/
Through the crack in the door as it closed, he could see the large, black shadows of the hellhounds on the far roof, and the first one preparing to make the jump to cross over. Hopefully the door would hold them a few seconds longer.
He more jumped and fell down the stairs than ran, glad that most people in the apartment building weren’t in the stairwells to see a fugitive teenager at 12:49 in the morning.
/Did I mention this was a bad idea? No? Why the FUCK did it ever seem like a good one? “Hey, Riku, I just need you to get one thing for me, and I swear I’ll set this all right. . .” Fuck you, Blaise!/
He reached street level and shot out through the lobby, then across the street with barely a look for oncoming traffic. Someone honked; Riku gamely flipped them off with his good hand.
/About ten, fifteen seconds ahead of them, God I hope I got this right-/
He scrambled down the subway entrance and slowed to a jog, like your average person who didn’t want to miss their train. The stolen touch-and-go pass slid him through the turnstiles and he was free to jog down to the platform he wanted. The train was already waiting, doors open, and Riku sped up to a sprint to shoot through before they closed.
/Fuck yes. B train is always late down here, and it waits for no one. Not even fucking hellhounds./
He collapsed onto the ragged plush seat by the door then shot a “Fuck off” look at the rest of the car. The woman with her two children promptly looked back down; the older man with the business suit and the nervous manner shook his head, while somewhere in the back an old man coughed. Riku sprawled across the seat, ignoring the way jolts of fire spread up his left arm when he attempted to move it.
/Fuck. Either broken or dislocated- it’s going to be a bitch. I’m fucked for work./ He used his right hand to maneuver the left to hook into a pocket, judging that would attract less attention than an obviously limp arm. Speaking of pockets. . . He slid his right hand into the pocket with the box, checking that it was there. It fit comfortably into the palm of his hand; slightly rough with raised inscriptions he could feel when he rubbed his thumb over it. It looked old. Somehow, to Riku, it felt older.
/And probably more valuable than anything else I’ve ever nabbed. What the hell did you get me into, Blaise?/
Even after making a clean getaway, Riku couldn’t relax. He had a nagging feeling that he really, really wanted to ignore. He’d done his little voodoo to shut down the electronics, got in and out clean, didn’t leave any prints, got the shit, and outran the cute little guard dogs. . . All that remained was to get back to his hole in the wall, get shitfaced, get someone to fix his arm- say he tripped down the stairs with a box, they’d buy that- and go to work tomorrow. He could slip Blaise his toy in a few days during their usual scheduled monthly meeting. The guards would know something was up if he tried to meet earlier. Riku grimaced inwardly. Blaise had told him which one to make the pass to, and had been damned certain that his little gift wouldn’t be intercepted.
/I don’t want to know what the fuck you did to guarantee you’d be able to pass shit through that one guard, bro, and I hope you never fucking tell me./
He made a few transitions, jumped lines a couple of times for the hell of it without any real pattern, like Blaise told him to do when he might have a tail. He left the station near his apartment at about two a.m., which he thought was pretty damned respectable for a night’s work.
Riku ambled along the street, looking more than a little desperately forward to the numbing properties of alcohol, until an unfortunately familiar sound stopped him cold.
/Howling. . .? No. Baying. Like when they first snapped at my ass. Fucking hellhounds caught a scent. Shiiiiiiiiiit./
They were at least a number of blocks away, but Riku already had a damned good idea of how fast those things could move. He goaded his tired legs into a sprint before he even consciously picked a direction. /Must have tracked the subway above ground. . . How the fuck did they even do that?!/
He knew better than to lead them right to his apartment, and what the fuck would he even have there to hold them off? Beer bottles? He drove instead towards the factories and shipping yards across the street, ducking through a familiar hole in the fence to bolt across a building under construction, dodging girders. He could swear he saw shadows out of the corners of his eyes, and he really, really didn’t want to know if they were real or his imagination.
/They tracked me- they’re hunting me- I can’t get rid of them- What the fuck am I supposed to /do?!//
Riku had always carried a blade, but he was starting to wish he was the sort to pack more serious heat. Like grenades. There wasn’t much good a butterfly knife could do against teeth longer than its blade. Riku’s inner cynic pointed out, /Nothing much except give myself a quick end- and with my fucking luck, blood would just make these things want me more. SHIT./
/Wait a sec. There was something Blaise told me . . . about blood, and. . . SHIT. This box was that amulet shit! The thing Blaise went for in the museum! The crazy ambitious little fucker- wanted me to get what /he/ got canned for going after?! I’m going to kill him!/
Riku found himself picking the lock to a factory backdoor with one clumsy hand, a vague idea of how to save his ass forming before he even realized it. He dropped the lock pick more than once, swearing with urgency, before he slid inside the door. This time he didn’t bother with trying to seal it- he slammed the lock shut with a well placed kick; he could hearing scratching at the door before he was even twenty feet away. The freight elevator looming invitingly before him made his choice for him. Riku automatically slapped the button for seven, the top floor, and hauled the grate door down behind him.
/All right, how the fuck did this go-/ He stared at the dusty floor in front of him, then shrugged. /Fuck it, I’ll skip a few steps. I don’t have time for the mumbojumbo shit. So long as /I/ summoned it, it’s in my circle, it’ll belong to me, right?/
A finger on his good hand trailed through the dust to leave a roughly arm’s length circle in the middle of the elevator as it shuddered upwards. He remembered enough to leave the line unconnected as he pulled the box out of his pocket, setting it roughly at the center of the circle, before smudging the line closed. /All right, it’s in-/
The third floor passed as Riku fumbled into boot for his blade, switched it open, and made a clumsy gash on his numb arm. Riku felt sick as the blood trickled down the blade; he’d never been much for self-mutilation. /A hell of a lot nicer than what the hellhounds are going to do to you if you don’t fucking HURRY UP-/
“Three drops. . . and the holder of the amulet will know the demon’s name. . . Fuck if I know- What the hell /is/ this thing?”
Riku swallowed hard and leaned forward from his kneeling position over the circle with the bloody blade. He tapped it with an unsteady hand so droplets fell off to hit the lid of the box.
One. Two. Three.
Fifth floor.
/God I hope I know what I’m doing. . . But I risked my ass for it- this thing is MINE./
Riku lurched back from the circle and to his feet, squeezing his eyes shut against the feeling of nausea and disorientation. /Fucking old service elevator!/
Sixth floor. The elevator rattling to a stop. Doors opening. Claws clicking on a floor.
/FUCKING WORK ALREADY! I NEED YOU!/
Red light lit up the inside of his eyelids like a supernova.
It wasn’t the best timed summon the demon had ever experienced, but it was hardly the worst, either. It was weak, at first, like a hand tugging on his shoulder. He ignored it in favor of avoiding being decapitated; he ducked low and rose with claws extended to rip through the guts of the ogre in front of him. This round was almost done. He continued the movement into a whirl, kicking out with back claws to knock away the blade coming at him from behind. He rolled forward, reclaiming his own sword from the ground, and came up with a sharp slash that parted the other monster’s head from its neck.
/Seventh bout down. Three to go./
He’d just sheathed the blade when the summoning took real hold, seizing his heart in an unbreakable grip. /A mortal summoning-/
He took great pleasure in being able to turn to the demon lord seated at the end of the hall. “This contract is over.”
He let the summoning take him.
When he could see again, all he could make out was a tall, shadowy form in the center of the circle.
/Demon!/
Riku squinted, then gaped openly. /Holy fucking shit./
His demon was tall, easily a hand over six feet, wearing some intimidating combination of what looked like black leather and eerily gothic silver and matte black armor. Riku couldn’t even determine what the hell it was besides the impression that it was human /shaped/, but the clawed hands and feet put a stop to any comparisons right there. What the fuck it was, it was imposing as all hell. It was also liberally spattered in what Riku took a minute to recognize as inhuman blood.
/Oh. . . God. . . What the hell have I DONE?/
The demon inclined its head, a long braid of dark hair sliding over one shoulder. Riku could swear he saw sharp teeth worse than a movie vampire’s when it spoke. The voice was a solid, smooth baritone: a man, then.
“What are your terms?”
He’d been summoned by a child. A slip of a boy who had done nothing but huddle against the wall before him since he’d appeared. He was tempted to question if it was really this child who’d brought him here, but there were hardly any other options. He kept his tone as impassive as possible as he asked the ritual question.
“What are your terms?”
As he waited for a response, he studied his surroundings carefully. It was the least impressive summoning set up he’d ever seen. A rickety, featureless small room, a circle of dust, a small folding knife -and as best he could tell, no glyphs, no wards, and no incantations of power. So what /had/ brought him here? Sabre frowned to himself. The boy stank of fear -but it was a prolonged, exhausted fear, of quarry run to the ground. The boy had been backed into the corner, and decided he had fangs after all.
If there hadn’t been anything to augment the spell. . .
Sabre tentatively shifted one foot towards the edge of the circle as the boy was distracted by one side of the room rattling open with doors. The circle held with a sharp snap of power that rebounded hard enough to make him clench his teeth.
That was it. No frills, no finesse, just power. The boy had called him out of sheer will alone. That, Sabre had to admit, was fairly impressive.
And whatever else he had done, the boy had brought him here and shorted out the demon lord’s contract. It was unlikely the boy would even know it was possible to sell on his contract, much less how to do it to whom, like his last summoner had.
A low growling brought his attention to what held his summoner’s attention. The boy had turned towards the door, and stepped shakily backwards, mindless of the circle just behind him.
/Ah. Hellhounds./ Sabre blinked. /So that is why he feels like prey. . . he IS./
The answer to his question was shaky, and said so quietly Sabre almost doubted his hearing for a moment.
“Save me.”
/Survival instinct and an iron will to live. That explains it./ “For how long?”
Another shaky step back and the boy snapped over his shoulder, tense and terse with fear. “For how the fuck long do you think?! My LIFE.”
Sabre blinked in amusement, but this spark of life was more in keeping with the will and power bound into the circle. “Sloppy terms, but we are agreed.” The boy was in reach. Without warning, Sabre snapped his arm forward, burying extended claws into the boy’s lower back. “The contract is joined.”
Riku was caught completely by surprise when the claws hit him, five points of fire burning into his back. “Fuck!”
He was more surprised to hear the demon’s sympathetic hiss of pain behind him. Whatever the hell that was, it didn’t just affect him. The burning pain on his back drowned out the complaints of his shoulder, his arm and every scrape and bruise he’d acquired in the past three hours. /I fucking /hurt/. . ./
A low growl drew his attention to the pack of hellhounds. The doors had been waiting open for nearly five seconds, but the pack didn’t move, merely gathering shadowy members in front of them.
“What the hell are they waiting for?”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until the demon answered him, his voice low and close by Riku’s shoulder.
“Release me.”
“Wha?!” Riku glanced back in alarm, meeting a pair of level purple eyes.
“We are bound now. The circle isn’t needed. Release me and I’ll settle this.”
A rather interested scuffle of claws settled the matter, and Riku was crouching to scuff out the line before he knew it. /Fuck, I hope I know what I’m doing. . ./
There was a little crackle of power snuffed out as the line was broken. Riku stared at it a little in alarm. He’d never done anything like this, no visible displays, nothing flashy. Only damned thing he thought was good for was the little magical EMP bolts. . .
Apparently that wasn’t true.
Dark armored boots brushed neatly past Riku as the demon stepped out of the circle. Riku stood uneasily behind him, watching as it advanced casually towards the milling pack of hellhounds.
“Are you- do you know what you’re doing?!”
“They’re not hunting me. They were after you, tracking your magical signature.” The demon crouched before the largest hellhound, and Riku gaped as he held open a flat hand for the hellhound to sniff. Admittedly, the hellhound’s jaws might have been less imposing to the demon, considering he had a mouthful of his own natural weaponry, but Riku was beginning to wonder if his demon was a little nuts.
/Leave it to me to get the crazy demon./
After a good, thorough inspection, the hellhound made a low growling noise, then leaned forward into the demon’s shoulder. Riku just stared as the demon casually scratched into its thick ruff of fur on the neck. He settled for using his good hand to rub his forehead.
“I- you. . . God, I need a drink.”
The demon glanced back up at him, and his tone actually sounded somewhat amused at his expense.
“It would have killed you if you hadn’t summoned me. Accepting the contract changed your signature.”
“My what?” Riku grumbled. He’d never wanted to learn this mumbojumbo shit- leave it to Blaise to dance with the chickens, or whatever. Figured it was coming to bite him in the ass now.
“Your aura.” The demon stood, frowning at him. “You really don’t know.”
“It hasn’t exactly fucking come /up/ before now.” Riku scowled at the know it all demon.
Sabre frowned uneasily at his new summoner, thinking to himself. The boy was still young, but old to be completely untrained with his level of power. It wasn’t right. Things had changed in the world since he’d last been summoned. The binding gave him immediate, unconscious access to the boy’s knowledge of the world. /It’s been. . . nearly three hundred years. Enough time for quite a bit of change./
Putting the matter aside for now, he turned his attention to the hellhound in front of him. The leader of the pack, it had a heavy collar hidden in the ruff of fur around its neck. He twisted it free enough to read the markings on it, then scratched a sigil of his own on the back before releasing it. The hellhound whuffed at his hand once more before looking up for further instructions. He murmured low to it, “Go home. Seek no more prey here.”
The pack milled together until it formed a cohesive unit, then streamed away like shadows before light. Sabre stood watching it go, then looked back at his summoner.
The boy was pale, leaning wearily against the wall and clutching at his opposite arm with his right hand. Sabre noted multiple scrapes and tears in the boy’s clothes as he approached. /He’s wounded. More than just from the binding. . . ./
Sabre sighed. “What may I call you?”
“Huh?” The boy jolted out of his inattentiveness, blinking up at Sabre as if he hadn’t seen him there.
Sabre calmly repeated the question. /I don’t believe he’s slow. He’s merely tired beyond measure. . . and given his position, I doubt many others would fare as well after being chased by hellhounds and summoning me./
The boy blinked again before shrugging, letting out a hiss as he attempted to move muscles that no longer answered. “Fuck- I’m Riku. You’re. . .” He stared up at the demon. “You’re Sabre.”
So that was why he’d been using that name since he’d arrived.
Yes. For now, he was Sabre.
Happy Halloween!
It should have been a clear shot. Disconnect the house line, kill the generators, pick the locks on the doors, smash the case, grab the goods and run. Riku /knew/ all the electronics in the house were down. What he hadn’t realized is that evidently they had protections of an entirely different kind.
/Blaise never mentioned this kind of shit was possible!/ Riku screeched around a corner, jumped up from the hood of a car to the roof to grab on to a fire escape. He didn’t look back to see if what was following him could manage the ladders as well- given his luck so far, they /would/.
/Or else they’ll just jump up the damn building. What the FUCK are those?/
Tearing after him down the city streets, following him all the way from the swank townhouse Riku had just burglarized on the hill, were roughly a dozen, large, nasty, /fast/ things. If Riku had to make a guess, he’d say they looked like greyhounds on steroids- provided a greyhound had glowing red eyes, a forked tongue, with the occasional bristling scales and horns to augment its remarkably shaggy dark coat.
/This is why I stopped doing this shit with Blaise years ago. Last time, it was the fucking cops. This time it’s. . . what the fuck do you even call them, hell hounds?!/
For once, Riku was looking /forward/ to going back to work. Shitty schedules, shitty people, pointless physical labor, but fuck, it had to pay the bills better than /this/.
He hit the roof, looked at the gap between the two buildings, and swore under his breath. Give him minimum wage. ANYTHING had to be better. He sprinted, wished desperately he could close his eyes, and flung himself over the gap. When his shoulder hit the ground on the other side, the pain was almost a relief.
Riku rolled to his feet awkwardly; his left hand uncooperatively dropped his burden of its own volition. The shoulder felt strangely full of pins and needles. “Shit!”
He scrabbled for the tiny silver box with his right hand, then shoved it promptly into his jacket pocket like he should have in the first place. /Stairs stairs stairs- There!/
Riku promptly kicked in the locked door, then dove inside, shoving it closed behind him with an additional push of will. /SEAL, and stay closed, motherfucker!/
Through the crack in the door as it closed, he could see the large, black shadows of the hellhounds on the far roof, and the first one preparing to make the jump to cross over. Hopefully the door would hold them a few seconds longer.
He more jumped and fell down the stairs than ran, glad that most people in the apartment building weren’t in the stairwells to see a fugitive teenager at 12:49 in the morning.
/Did I mention this was a bad idea? No? Why the FUCK did it ever seem like a good one? “Hey, Riku, I just need you to get one thing for me, and I swear I’ll set this all right. . .” Fuck you, Blaise!/
He reached street level and shot out through the lobby, then across the street with barely a look for oncoming traffic. Someone honked; Riku gamely flipped them off with his good hand.
/About ten, fifteen seconds ahead of them, God I hope I got this right-/
He scrambled down the subway entrance and slowed to a jog, like your average person who didn’t want to miss their train. The stolen touch-and-go pass slid him through the turnstiles and he was free to jog down to the platform he wanted. The train was already waiting, doors open, and Riku sped up to a sprint to shoot through before they closed.
/Fuck yes. B train is always late down here, and it waits for no one. Not even fucking hellhounds./
He collapsed onto the ragged plush seat by the door then shot a “Fuck off” look at the rest of the car. The woman with her two children promptly looked back down; the older man with the business suit and the nervous manner shook his head, while somewhere in the back an old man coughed. Riku sprawled across the seat, ignoring the way jolts of fire spread up his left arm when he attempted to move it.
/Fuck. Either broken or dislocated- it’s going to be a bitch. I’m fucked for work./ He used his right hand to maneuver the left to hook into a pocket, judging that would attract less attention than an obviously limp arm. Speaking of pockets. . . He slid his right hand into the pocket with the box, checking that it was there. It fit comfortably into the palm of his hand; slightly rough with raised inscriptions he could feel when he rubbed his thumb over it. It looked old. Somehow, to Riku, it felt older.
/And probably more valuable than anything else I’ve ever nabbed. What the hell did you get me into, Blaise?/
Even after making a clean getaway, Riku couldn’t relax. He had a nagging feeling that he really, really wanted to ignore. He’d done his little voodoo to shut down the electronics, got in and out clean, didn’t leave any prints, got the shit, and outran the cute little guard dogs. . . All that remained was to get back to his hole in the wall, get shitfaced, get someone to fix his arm- say he tripped down the stairs with a box, they’d buy that- and go to work tomorrow. He could slip Blaise his toy in a few days during their usual scheduled monthly meeting. The guards would know something was up if he tried to meet earlier. Riku grimaced inwardly. Blaise had told him which one to make the pass to, and had been damned certain that his little gift wouldn’t be intercepted.
/I don’t want to know what the fuck you did to guarantee you’d be able to pass shit through that one guard, bro, and I hope you never fucking tell me./
He made a few transitions, jumped lines a couple of times for the hell of it without any real pattern, like Blaise told him to do when he might have a tail. He left the station near his apartment at about two a.m., which he thought was pretty damned respectable for a night’s work.
Riku ambled along the street, looking more than a little desperately forward to the numbing properties of alcohol, until an unfortunately familiar sound stopped him cold.
/Howling. . .? No. Baying. Like when they first snapped at my ass. Fucking hellhounds caught a scent. Shiiiiiiiiiit./
They were at least a number of blocks away, but Riku already had a damned good idea of how fast those things could move. He goaded his tired legs into a sprint before he even consciously picked a direction. /Must have tracked the subway above ground. . . How the fuck did they even do that?!/
He knew better than to lead them right to his apartment, and what the fuck would he even have there to hold them off? Beer bottles? He drove instead towards the factories and shipping yards across the street, ducking through a familiar hole in the fence to bolt across a building under construction, dodging girders. He could swear he saw shadows out of the corners of his eyes, and he really, really didn’t want to know if they were real or his imagination.
/They tracked me- they’re hunting me- I can’t get rid of them- What the fuck am I supposed to /do?!//
Riku had always carried a blade, but he was starting to wish he was the sort to pack more serious heat. Like grenades. There wasn’t much good a butterfly knife could do against teeth longer than its blade. Riku’s inner cynic pointed out, /Nothing much except give myself a quick end- and with my fucking luck, blood would just make these things want me more. SHIT./
/Wait a sec. There was something Blaise told me . . . about blood, and. . . SHIT. This box was that amulet shit! The thing Blaise went for in the museum! The crazy ambitious little fucker- wanted me to get what /he/ got canned for going after?! I’m going to kill him!/
Riku found himself picking the lock to a factory backdoor with one clumsy hand, a vague idea of how to save his ass forming before he even realized it. He dropped the lock pick more than once, swearing with urgency, before he slid inside the door. This time he didn’t bother with trying to seal it- he slammed the lock shut with a well placed kick; he could hearing scratching at the door before he was even twenty feet away. The freight elevator looming invitingly before him made his choice for him. Riku automatically slapped the button for seven, the top floor, and hauled the grate door down behind him.
/All right, how the fuck did this go-/ He stared at the dusty floor in front of him, then shrugged. /Fuck it, I’ll skip a few steps. I don’t have time for the mumbojumbo shit. So long as /I/ summoned it, it’s in my circle, it’ll belong to me, right?/
A finger on his good hand trailed through the dust to leave a roughly arm’s length circle in the middle of the elevator as it shuddered upwards. He remembered enough to leave the line unconnected as he pulled the box out of his pocket, setting it roughly at the center of the circle, before smudging the line closed. /All right, it’s in-/
The third floor passed as Riku fumbled into boot for his blade, switched it open, and made a clumsy gash on his numb arm. Riku felt sick as the blood trickled down the blade; he’d never been much for self-mutilation. /A hell of a lot nicer than what the hellhounds are going to do to you if you don’t fucking HURRY UP-/
“Three drops. . . and the holder of the amulet will know the demon’s name. . . Fuck if I know- What the hell /is/ this thing?”
Riku swallowed hard and leaned forward from his kneeling position over the circle with the bloody blade. He tapped it with an unsteady hand so droplets fell off to hit the lid of the box.
One. Two. Three.
Fifth floor.
/God I hope I know what I’m doing. . . But I risked my ass for it- this thing is MINE./
Riku lurched back from the circle and to his feet, squeezing his eyes shut against the feeling of nausea and disorientation. /Fucking old service elevator!/
Sixth floor. The elevator rattling to a stop. Doors opening. Claws clicking on a floor.
/FUCKING WORK ALREADY! I NEED YOU!/
Red light lit up the inside of his eyelids like a supernova.
It wasn’t the best timed summon the demon had ever experienced, but it was hardly the worst, either. It was weak, at first, like a hand tugging on his shoulder. He ignored it in favor of avoiding being decapitated; he ducked low and rose with claws extended to rip through the guts of the ogre in front of him. This round was almost done. He continued the movement into a whirl, kicking out with back claws to knock away the blade coming at him from behind. He rolled forward, reclaiming his own sword from the ground, and came up with a sharp slash that parted the other monster’s head from its neck.
/Seventh bout down. Three to go./
He’d just sheathed the blade when the summoning took real hold, seizing his heart in an unbreakable grip. /A mortal summoning-/
He took great pleasure in being able to turn to the demon lord seated at the end of the hall. “This contract is over.”
He let the summoning take him.
When he could see again, all he could make out was a tall, shadowy form in the center of the circle.
/Demon!/
Riku squinted, then gaped openly. /Holy fucking shit./
His demon was tall, easily a hand over six feet, wearing some intimidating combination of what looked like black leather and eerily gothic silver and matte black armor. Riku couldn’t even determine what the hell it was besides the impression that it was human /shaped/, but the clawed hands and feet put a stop to any comparisons right there. What the fuck it was, it was imposing as all hell. It was also liberally spattered in what Riku took a minute to recognize as inhuman blood.
/Oh. . . God. . . What the hell have I DONE?/
The demon inclined its head, a long braid of dark hair sliding over one shoulder. Riku could swear he saw sharp teeth worse than a movie vampire’s when it spoke. The voice was a solid, smooth baritone: a man, then.
“What are your terms?”
He’d been summoned by a child. A slip of a boy who had done nothing but huddle against the wall before him since he’d appeared. He was tempted to question if it was really this child who’d brought him here, but there were hardly any other options. He kept his tone as impassive as possible as he asked the ritual question.
“What are your terms?”
As he waited for a response, he studied his surroundings carefully. It was the least impressive summoning set up he’d ever seen. A rickety, featureless small room, a circle of dust, a small folding knife -and as best he could tell, no glyphs, no wards, and no incantations of power. So what /had/ brought him here? Sabre frowned to himself. The boy stank of fear -but it was a prolonged, exhausted fear, of quarry run to the ground. The boy had been backed into the corner, and decided he had fangs after all.
If there hadn’t been anything to augment the spell. . .
Sabre tentatively shifted one foot towards the edge of the circle as the boy was distracted by one side of the room rattling open with doors. The circle held with a sharp snap of power that rebounded hard enough to make him clench his teeth.
That was it. No frills, no finesse, just power. The boy had called him out of sheer will alone. That, Sabre had to admit, was fairly impressive.
And whatever else he had done, the boy had brought him here and shorted out the demon lord’s contract. It was unlikely the boy would even know it was possible to sell on his contract, much less how to do it to whom, like his last summoner had.
A low growling brought his attention to what held his summoner’s attention. The boy had turned towards the door, and stepped shakily backwards, mindless of the circle just behind him.
/Ah. Hellhounds./ Sabre blinked. /So that is why he feels like prey. . . he IS./
The answer to his question was shaky, and said so quietly Sabre almost doubted his hearing for a moment.
“Save me.”
/Survival instinct and an iron will to live. That explains it./ “For how long?”
Another shaky step back and the boy snapped over his shoulder, tense and terse with fear. “For how the fuck long do you think?! My LIFE.”
Sabre blinked in amusement, but this spark of life was more in keeping with the will and power bound into the circle. “Sloppy terms, but we are agreed.” The boy was in reach. Without warning, Sabre snapped his arm forward, burying extended claws into the boy’s lower back. “The contract is joined.”
Riku was caught completely by surprise when the claws hit him, five points of fire burning into his back. “Fuck!”
He was more surprised to hear the demon’s sympathetic hiss of pain behind him. Whatever the hell that was, it didn’t just affect him. The burning pain on his back drowned out the complaints of his shoulder, his arm and every scrape and bruise he’d acquired in the past three hours. /I fucking /hurt/. . ./
A low growl drew his attention to the pack of hellhounds. The doors had been waiting open for nearly five seconds, but the pack didn’t move, merely gathering shadowy members in front of them.
“What the hell are they waiting for?”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until the demon answered him, his voice low and close by Riku’s shoulder.
“Release me.”
“Wha?!” Riku glanced back in alarm, meeting a pair of level purple eyes.
“We are bound now. The circle isn’t needed. Release me and I’ll settle this.”
A rather interested scuffle of claws settled the matter, and Riku was crouching to scuff out the line before he knew it. /Fuck, I hope I know what I’m doing. . ./
There was a little crackle of power snuffed out as the line was broken. Riku stared at it a little in alarm. He’d never done anything like this, no visible displays, nothing flashy. Only damned thing he thought was good for was the little magical EMP bolts. . .
Apparently that wasn’t true.
Dark armored boots brushed neatly past Riku as the demon stepped out of the circle. Riku stood uneasily behind him, watching as it advanced casually towards the milling pack of hellhounds.
“Are you- do you know what you’re doing?!”
“They’re not hunting me. They were after you, tracking your magical signature.” The demon crouched before the largest hellhound, and Riku gaped as he held open a flat hand for the hellhound to sniff. Admittedly, the hellhound’s jaws might have been less imposing to the demon, considering he had a mouthful of his own natural weaponry, but Riku was beginning to wonder if his demon was a little nuts.
/Leave it to me to get the crazy demon./
After a good, thorough inspection, the hellhound made a low growling noise, then leaned forward into the demon’s shoulder. Riku just stared as the demon casually scratched into its thick ruff of fur on the neck. He settled for using his good hand to rub his forehead.
“I- you. . . God, I need a drink.”
The demon glanced back up at him, and his tone actually sounded somewhat amused at his expense.
“It would have killed you if you hadn’t summoned me. Accepting the contract changed your signature.”
“My what?” Riku grumbled. He’d never wanted to learn this mumbojumbo shit- leave it to Blaise to dance with the chickens, or whatever. Figured it was coming to bite him in the ass now.
“Your aura.” The demon stood, frowning at him. “You really don’t know.”
“It hasn’t exactly fucking come /up/ before now.” Riku scowled at the know it all demon.
Sabre frowned uneasily at his new summoner, thinking to himself. The boy was still young, but old to be completely untrained with his level of power. It wasn’t right. Things had changed in the world since he’d last been summoned. The binding gave him immediate, unconscious access to the boy’s knowledge of the world. /It’s been. . . nearly three hundred years. Enough time for quite a bit of change./
Putting the matter aside for now, he turned his attention to the hellhound in front of him. The leader of the pack, it had a heavy collar hidden in the ruff of fur around its neck. He twisted it free enough to read the markings on it, then scratched a sigil of his own on the back before releasing it. The hellhound whuffed at his hand once more before looking up for further instructions. He murmured low to it, “Go home. Seek no more prey here.”
The pack milled together until it formed a cohesive unit, then streamed away like shadows before light. Sabre stood watching it go, then looked back at his summoner.
The boy was pale, leaning wearily against the wall and clutching at his opposite arm with his right hand. Sabre noted multiple scrapes and tears in the boy’s clothes as he approached. /He’s wounded. More than just from the binding. . . ./
Sabre sighed. “What may I call you?”
“Huh?” The boy jolted out of his inattentiveness, blinking up at Sabre as if he hadn’t seen him there.
Sabre calmly repeated the question. /I don’t believe he’s slow. He’s merely tired beyond measure. . . and given his position, I doubt many others would fare as well after being chased by hellhounds and summoning me./
The boy blinked again before shrugging, letting out a hiss as he attempted to move muscles that no longer answered. “Fuck- I’m Riku. You’re. . .” He stared up at the demon. “You’re Sabre.”
So that was why he’d been using that name since he’d arrived.
Yes. For now, he was Sabre.
Happy Halloween!