As he opened the lid he stared at the red liquid for a little while, letting his mind wander to how he procured it. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself but it did not really work. The putrid smell emanating from the now open container did not make things any better either. He pulled out a paint brush, dipped it into the red liquid and began painting a circle connecting each pole to each other. Next, he painted a hexagram in the middle of the circle with each edge touching the circle.
He finally finished his ‘art’ with a few signs and symbols some similar to the ones on the poles and a few others different from the other. Even he did not really understand even after the old lady explained it to him while they carved the symbols. He could not, for the life of him, remember if they were Arabic, Sanskrit, or both. It might be a whole other language, who knew?
Standing straight with his red dyed brush in his left and the now empty container in his right hand he inspected his work and my goodness, was it perfect. He had spent months non end practicing over and over till it was a bit more than reflex to him. He hated to admit it, but he was a little bit of a perfectionist. His practice had not been for the symbols, but for the perfect curvature of the circle, the straightness of the hexagram, or the spacing between the circles and the poles. Thankfully, the distance between each road was almost like her practiced it.
Nodding satisfyingly to himself he walked to the side and sat down at the side of his duffle bag and took out a bottled water finishing it in one large gulp. He sat there waiting for the drawings to dry up which by his estimate should not be too long considering the heat pouring down. “Anderson!” The sudden call of his name startled him. He jumped up in fright and looked all around him. The voice was right by the side of his ear. It was almost impossible to miss it. What more, it was her voice. He could never forget her voice. Her slightly deeper voice compared to others; how could he forget?
Unfortunately, no matter how many times he turned around he could not find the source. It was too distinct to have been the weed, and yet, him standing alone proved otherwise. ‘I must be going crazy’. He thought to himself. No, with what he was about to do, he was starting to believe it truly was her. He had to believe it. ‘I must be on the right path. She is definitely the one talking to me.’ He told himself, steeling his resolve once more on this crazy path he was taking. After a few minutes of waiting the writings were finally dried. Anderson stood up once more as he again pulled out small trinkets and black ring bags with straps. Each one had symbols drawn on each.
He was beginning to feel like a street performer with the way he kept pulling stuff out of his duffle bag. Maybe after here he might make a living from pulling stuff out of a magic bag. Well, with the stuff he pulled out so far, the bag might as well be magic. ‘Avada’. Chuckling again to himself at his even more terrible joke he proceeded to hang the different trinkets and ring bags on each of the wooded poles stabbed into the ground, carefully selecting which bag went where and what trinket went on what with what. He double and triple checked to make sure he had not swapped one for any other.
At last, he was done with the hard work. Taking out an old and fairly tattered leather-bound book from his leather jacket, he took a deep breath to calm himself while thinking back to all that he had done and gone through to get here. All the decisions he made were for this very moment and if it did not work? Well, at this point he could not afford to think like that at all. Anderson closed his eyes and prayed to her God to help it succeed. At the last moment, that was the least her God could do, considering he still let her suffer the way she did.
‘Anderson.’ This time he did not turn back. He held his book with closed eyes. Could he give up if it did not work? After everything? If, just if, it did not work, then he would just try another way. An even more sinister way, a method he would more than gladly take. After all, he was here to bargain with his soul. What more could he do?
Resolving himself he carefully opened up his tattered book to the bookmark and began to read out loud the incantations. Lifting his hands high up he spoke loudly “Ut dignum offeram! Sanguine mundum veni foras! (I offer to the one worthy to receive. By the blood of the pure, come forth!). Nothing happened. His heart shook in fear. “Ut dignum offeram! Sanguine mundum veni foras!” He screamed once more, and once more nothing happened.
Anderson begun to hyperventilate. Everything he had done. Everything he had been through. Was it all for naught? He was so sure it would happen. Did he make an error somewhere in the process? Anderson knelt on the ground, on the verge of tears. Was this some kind of sign to let things go? He could not. As he knelt on the ground, his mind drifted to her. His wife. He cute smile. Her soft red hair.
‘Anderson’ Suddenly his heart became calm. He picked himself up from the floor. If at first, he felt delusional, then this time he could feel her. “Ut dignum offeram! Sanguine mundum veni foras!” He raised his hands in the air and commanded. This time there was no doubt, no fear. Only conviction, only determination. Anderson frowned slightly because he could have sworn, he heard laughter.
Immediately the hexagram painted on the floor began to heat up and burn increasing the already high temperatures in the area. Suddenly, black smoke emerged from the burnt hexagram converging in the middle of the circle as different faces and hands kept trying to force their way out of the smoke. Seeing the terrifying phenomenon happening right before his eyes, he surprisingly did not feel any fear. Only elation. The faces and hands in the smoke looked like they were trying to race out with each dragging the other behind.In the ‘back’ of the smoke, if that even made any sense, there was a peculiar face. Anderson would have missed it, if he hadn’t felt a chilling stare. When Anderson made eye contact, he saw the face smile. It begun to draw closer and closer until finally a humanoid figure walked slowly out of the smoke. The moment it did the inscriptions on the poles lit up slightly before dimming once more. The face of the figure was somewhat blurry and it
It was at this time the golden eyed demon blew out red smoke out from his mouth. The smoke traveled towards the edge of the still lit hexagram but was obstructed, as though there was an unseen veil preventing it from moving out. This however seemed to agitate the red smoke even more. The eyes of the golden eyed man began to glow as the red smoke began to pound hard against the ‘veil’ more furiously, over and over. The flames in turn flared up even more fighting back hard to prevent the red smoke from moving out.After a few tries, the smoke just stilled and moved back to the golden eyed demon as it just merged back into him. If you looked closer you would see his eyes no longer glowed and just the same way. The flames, after the smoke returned immediately died down as the hexagram returned to the burnt dull state.Now properly looking around starting from the hexagram and its symbols to the blood circle connecting the wooden poles to the trinkets and ring b
Anderson reached into his duffle bag once more and pulled out an old rolled up tattered scroll. He smiled wryly to himself as he looked at the scroll in his hands. Thinking to himself what a terrible idea it was, he tossed it to the trapped Suit and watched as it floated a few inches from him. With a snap from Suit, the scroll burst into bluish black flames and was reduced to nothing. Not even ashes.The scroll was a contract scroll and a high quality one at that. If the poles had done its work and held down whatever demon that showed up, Anderson had intended to use that scroll to forcibly enter a master-slave contract, with said demon, him being the master of course. The contract would have been a battle with his soul as his wager and the demon’s freedom and his/hers. When he won, the demon would forcibly have to reveal his true name in order to sign the contract. That was how the demon would be bound for all eternity to the holder of the contract. But now…
Anderson reached into his duffle bag once more and pulled out an old rolled up tattered scroll. He smiled wryly to himself as he looked at the scroll in his hands. Thinking to himself what a terrible idea it was, he tossed it to the trapped Suit and watched as it floated a few inches from him. With a snap from Suit, the scroll burst into bluish black flames and was reduced to nothing. Not even ashes.The scroll was a contract scroll and a high quality one at that. If the poles had done its work and held down whatever demon that showed up, Anderson had intended to use that scroll to forcibly enter a master-slave contract, with said demon, him being the master of course. The contract would have been a battle with his soul as his wager and the demon’s freedom and his/hers. When he won, the demon would forcibly have to reveal his true name in order to sign the contract. That was how the demon would be bound for all eternity to the holder of the contract. But now…
The conditions of the contract were simple enough. As long as he had the strength, the stories would continue until either one could no longer continue. Considering Suit was a supernatural being, he would obviously never get tired. That left him. It had suddenly turned into a game of attrition. For him, at least. ‘That means as long as I don’t break down from tiredness, I should be okay. Thankfully I brought enough supplies, rations and a tent to last me a while.’ Anderson thought and unconsciously patted his bag.Next, after the setting was provided, he would tell his stories, but he needed to survive. That part was difficult to understand. Did it mean he would be stopped from telling the story? Would he be hunted down? He tried hard to not think about the guns in his duffle bag so as to not give them away. He had to be ready for anything. The story was considered to be over when closure and or justice had been met by all involving chara
After who knew how long, Anderson finally woke up. He was face down in his vomit on the floor. Standing with some difficulty, he felt the same uncomfortable feeling of restriction. He looked around only to be greeted by the same white walls and white straight jacket. He blinked his eyes numerous times as if trying to get out of the illusion he was under, but he knew this was no illusion.Anderson gradually stood up from the floor, using the help of the bed and his chin. “Calm down Anderson. Calm down.” He comforted himself with deep breaths. No matter what, panicking would not help him now. Although he tried to reassure himself that, he could still feel his body trembling. There was no helping it. After all, one minute he was standing at a hot dirty crossroad, facing the demon with the gold eyes, the next minute he was here.Had everything been a dream? He had questions, but him being in his current situation would not provide him with any answers. He began
Anderson felt he sat in the same position for hours at most. He knew it couldn’t have reached a day, considering no one had walked in to bring him any food or water. Well, either that or they deliberately refused to feed him.“Have you finally calmed down, Mr. Anderson?” The woman spoke to Anderson with her British accent. The superiority in her tone was as evident as the frown on her face as she looked down at Anderson on the bed. Anderson slowly who looked up at her before slowly nodding at her. The frown disappeared from her face, replaced with a pleased smile. “Good. And can I trust you to not make any more trouble, Mr. Anderson?” She asked once more, waiting for her answer.‘What trouble?’ Anderson questioned in his head. He was feeling aggrieved, but did not dare show it, let alone speak it. He nodded once more at the woman, who nodded to herself, pleased. She looked behind her and signaled. Right then, one of the men tha
‘Soft hands’ Anderson looked down at the hand that had grabbed his wrist. Even he did not know why he felt that. He traced the hand along to the person it was connected to. Anderson was finally calm enough to have a proper look at the person that was dragging him. The dark head was a petite looking young woman who he believed might not have passed the thirty-age mark. She had a round and pretty face with slight bags under her eyes. The only way he found that out despite her dragging him, was because she occasionally glanced back in worry at him.After who knew how long, they arrived at what looked like a laundry. It was a room filled with about seven machines on each side of the room with four tables in the middle. There was a bald man folding a few sheets at one of the tables. The moment Anderson was dragged into the room, he saw the young lady with the dark hair nod to the bald man. Anderson saw him nod back before walking to the door. The bald man looked out di