Circles and Demons

The fog was gathering.

What once was a featureless wisp of herb scented air now writhed and formed shadowy limbs. An almighty earthen rumble sounded and the floor began to shake, pulling the mounted candles down to share its plight. A final flash of searing white light and then it contracted sharply into two large, hungry yellow eyes. A split second later an enormous grey wolf took shape, growling and snapping its jagged maw from within the summoning circle.

Of course this was but one of many guises I could’ve taken in my grand re-entrance upon the Earth but it always amused me to terrify the wizard in question. After all, around 3,000 years of servitude to them will make any demon want to show he is still a formidable foe and not a snivelling slave. I had once heard of a demon appearing as a flower pot though exactly why he thought this was frightening I shall never know.

I caught sight of my new Master and instantly two emotions began twittering away in my essence. He was a weedy creature with not even a shadow of growth on his chin and wearing preposterously poncy clothes that looked better suited to a bird of paradise. But ah yes, the emotions I hear you cry, what were they? Well, the first was sheer outrage that a whelp should as he should have the ability to summon I, the great Suleimus, scourge of Catharge, destroyer of Gaul and defender of Rome (not to brag or anything). The second was a sort of wicked glee that this little wizardling would be easy to rattle.

“Who dares to summon me?” I boomed, throwing in an echo for great effect.

The boy gave a great squeak and jumped backwards, clasping his mouth shut with his flamboyantly large cuffs in case he should cry out again. I rolled my eyes and began picking at my teeth with a yellowed claw waiting for him to respond. He seemed to go through the same process of flashing emotions that I did, his face contorting into fear, then embarrassment and finally anger at being humiliated.

“Be quiet, demon!” he screeched, stamping a boot petulantly on the floor. “I am your Master and you shall not defy me!”

I snorted indignantly and scratched lazy with my hind leg behind my ear paying him no attention. He seemed to turn an ugly shade of puce. Incidentally I thought of blackberry crumble, I’m not sure why.

“What dreary and dreadfully trivial task have you summoned me for then o’ Master? Warming your milk, perhaps? Honestly, it’s a waste of my talents doing such menial tasks as this. I am Suleimus, scourge of Carth-”

My essence was suddenly compressed violently and wrenched as if drawn to the four corners of the earth. The pain was indescribable to mortals such as yourselves but let’s just say it left a lovely sting afterwards. Obviously I had underestimated the youth before me. He had enough power to use a Rack punishment. I glowered at him and changed into a small pudgy child with crossed arms and a sulky attitude.

“Maybe I can be allowed to continue now?” the boy said.

I said nothing but was content in boring a hole through his head, and how I wished to do that for real. He took it as acquiescence.

“I am your new Master, Evander, and I’ll have no more lip from you, understand? I summoned you for a purpose, demon and it’s highly dangerous. Ah yes, I see I have your attention. Well Suleimus, I need your help in breaking into Buckingham Palace.”