Cairan dragged his body out of bed and crawled toward the work table. His maid had left the candlelight on as usual, and he felt nothing short of gratefulness now. Unbearable pain had seared into his bones, perspiration on his forehead indicating nothing short of his body’s demise. He held his breath and wiped the tears that almost dripped onto his royal garb. Nightmares appeared too surreal for him just to dismiss them.


    He watched the fluttering silhouettes as he gulped down the last sip of wine. The hazy shadows appeared distinct as the darkness crept, indicating his time was running out. Perhaps, he never had much time since the day his family died.


    Cairan clutched the arm of the chair and stood straight before collapsing back to the ground as the chair whirled. Locking the chair in its place with his shivering hand, he tried again, using the oak table as his prime support. Blood trickled down his forehead onto the table after dyeing his white hair, but he was determined to escape death today. Moonlight dawdled on the world beyond the curtains that hadn’t been touched for years.


    One more time, he thought and licked his blood. He dug his nail deeper into his forehead, and suppressed a gasp as more blood poured on the stained floor before him. He used the blood to draw a circle, a triangle within, and incantations at the center. He had always thought family heirlooms were abhorrent; demons were unholy creatures. Today, he was grateful his predecessors had drilled the summoning incantations deep in his memories. He had forgotten the face of his parents in his past eighty years, but never the incantations.


    The shadows inched closer to him, but he continued his incoherent mutter as he placed his arm over the magic circle. He was scared. Terrified. However, the greed to live was stronger. If he could offer himself to a demon, he could have a life beyond death. He could avenge the murder of his daughter, wife, and himself. Waiting to die on the bed didn’t seem enticing anymore, particularly now that shadows of death loomed over him. Grim Reapers, the folklore called them.


    “Lebravonich, in thee I find peace. In thee, I find solace. Break the chains that bind you, for today is the day you shall cross the gates of hell. In the name of Cairan, thy mage and thy servant for eternity, I summon thee. For I crave the destruction of the world.”


    Cairan coughed hoarsely as the bright red flare encased the room, and the gleam of silver scythes reflected the glare. They were here and close. Cairan leaned against the table in fright. The scythes approached him, one at a time, until there was a line of shadows before him. Death was scary, but death before vengeance was petrifying.


    He heard uncanny laughter in the distance, resounding closer with each passing second until the red flare died out, and a man stood before him. The shadows disappeared instantly after flailing for a while, the silver scythes nowhere in sight. Cairan heaved a sigh of relief, but not for long. One of the greatest demons was standing before him, and he had summoned him using his familial name. To his surprise, the demon''s features appeared much younger than he had envisaged but more chilling.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    “That was one hell of a sleep,” the man cracked his neck and licked his lips before glancing at Cairan. There was a smirk on his lips, the most dangerous kind. “You summoned me, old man? What year is it? How long have I been sleeping?”


    “My Daem,” Cairan genuflected, despite his arching forehead and weak knees. The man before him deserved supreme respect, and Cairan’s family had served the Lebravonichs for generations. “This humble servant greets the supreme one.”


    When the man didn’t answer, Cairan said uneasily, “It’s the epoch of Grace, year 134, rule of supreme sovereign Geraldalshin III.”


    “Human king?” The man snickered. There was deep-seated hatred in his voice, and Cairan flinched.


    “Yes, Daem. I was in line for the throne, but the supreme sovereign–”


    “Stop calling him a supreme sovereign! It irks me,” the man said, already half a step closer to chopping Cairan’s head. “I don’t need your history either. What do you want?”


    “Revenge, my Daem. Revenge against the sovereign, who didn’t let my kids live even after exiling my family.”


    “And you don’t care if I destroy the world?”


    Darkness had shrouded the man’s features, but Cairan didn’t miss the horn poking out of the left side of the demon’s head. Single horn was the distinctive mark of the strongest demons in history. The lesser the number of horns, the stronger the demon. Nonetheless, summoning high-ranked demons was excruciating, even among the nobles. The sovereign hadn’t been able to summon any demon with less than three horns, let alone the Lebravonich family. Cairan had met the two conditions for summoning the high-ranked demon. The proper incantation and the abundance of shadows of death.


    “I don’t, my Daem. This life, I have already sacrificed it for you. Use it as you please, for vengeance is my only goal.”


    “Very well, my servant. I bestow upon you, Valturath Lebranovich, the name you shall never utter in front of others. Now, I order you to release me from your binding, for I am stronger and free, and strength is something you need for vengeance.”


    Cairan didn’t hesitate to draw a new magic circle on the floor. He saw a flicker of surprise on the demon’s face, but Cairan was too occupied with getting the dimensions of the shapes right. He saw the demon draping the sheets over his naked body from the corner of his eyes before starting his incoherent mutter.


    Within seconds, he saw the demon light up in flickering red light, which condensed over his body and seeped inside. Blood trickled down Cairan’s forehead, and he felt his death drawing near.


    “Your memories, Valturath,” the man crossed his legs as he sat on the dingy bed. “You will not live past this hour, so I need your memories.”


    “Daem, can I see the day you avenge my family?” Cairan asked, prostrating before the man as he touched the man’s toe with his bloody fingers.


    “Cairan,” the man’s voice changed, and his accent had a touch of modernity to it. “You have done a great favor to Lebravonichs, and we never forget our debts. On the day we claim what is rightfully ours, you shall be greeted with respect. Rest, my friend, for only a few have the privilege to become our friends.”


    “This humble servant is eternally grateful to you.”


    “Repose and become powerful before I summon you. The Lebrovonichs will welcome you with great joy,” the man said and flicked his fingers. Blue flames surrounded Cairan, but he felt invigorated as he burned. His joints healed, and his hair became dark, but he started disappearing.


    “I will wait for your summons, my Daem.”