Metro City, United States, 1932

Magnus Krohler inscribed the last curve of the lines of power. Carefully he placed the red-stained brush in the glass jar containing the last of the bull’s blood. “A creature of power,” he thought, “to summon a being of power.”

He took a deep breath. He was ready. Every line, every sigil was perfect; he had studied years to make them so. Slowly he began the summoning, speaking each arcane word of the ancient language with absolute care.

It was a language that was long dead, known only to the practitioners of the darkest magic and it was critical that he make not the slightest error. Even the smallest incorrect inflection would render the spell useless or even worse allowed the being of power to escape the bonds of the spell. Krohler suppressed a shudder at that thought. No, there would be no mistakes. He had studied for years. His pronunciation was perfect.

He gained confidence as he proceeded, enunciating words, phrases, and sentences he had practiced for years. Gradually his voice rose, gaining strength and power. In the centre of the pentagram a light began to glow and the temperature of the already cool basement room began to drop.

In spite of the cool air sweat beaded Krohler’s brow. He continued the spell, his words rising and falling in a sonorous chant. The glow was now a sphere of light the size of a football, and so bright that he could barely stand to look at it. A sulphurous smell filled the air; the sphere grew expanding until it was over a yard across. A strange hissing sound filled the air.

Krohler concentrated his mind. It was imperative that nothing distract him form his purpose. If the chant faltered or he made the slightest error the spell would collapse with drastic consequences.

The hiss was now a roar, the stench of brimstone so strong that he could barely breathe, and the sphere had expanded to the edge of the pentagram. There it stopped and began to elongate, stretching until it was over eight feet tall. Krohler continued the chant, his voice increasing in strength. The glowing object changed becoming vague humanoid, and then suddenly blazed with a light so intense that Krohler had to close his eyes. However, he was prepared for the event, his voice did not falter as he reached the culmination of the spell.

“Beast of darkness,” he concluded, “I summon you.”

The light shimmered, coalesced, and condensed into a monstrous form. It was manlike, stood about seven feet tall and was the perfect incarnation of a demon, from the six-inch horns that crowned its head, to its cloven hoofs, deep red skin, and clawed hands. It was completely nude and so massively male that Krohler felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“Who dares calls me?” the demon demanded, its voice filling the basement with sound.

“It is I,” Magnus Krohler, “and you will do my bidding.”

The demon made as if to move toward him, but halted as if it had struck a wall.

“The spell binds you to me,” Krohler said. “You must do what I ask.”

The demon roared, its clawed hands striking at the invisible barrier. “You cannot hold me!”

“I can,” Krohler said calmly, trying to ignore that rabbit beating of his heart. “My spell binds you to me. I can hold you here for all time unless you do my bidding.”

Once again the demon made as if to escape, but the invisible bonds held him. Krohler smiled. He was beginning to feel more confident. The demon screamed in anger and then subsided into absolute calm. “What would you have me do?” it asked.

Krohler breathed a sigh of relief. He had him; he had the demon. Soon he would be powerful beyond imagination. He opened his mouth to make his first demand.

He didn’t see the rat that scuttled from one side of the basement to the other. But the demon did. It was an especially bold and well-fed rat; one that would have given any ordinary cat a real battle. It ran across the bloody inscriptions Krohler had painted on the floor and began to lap at the blood.

The demon laughed even as Krohler formulated his first demand. The sound was more horrifying than the creature’s shouts of rage.

“Why do you laugh?” Krohler asked. “You are mine. You have to do my bidding.”

The demon laughed again. The rat continued to feed. Krohler suddenly felt the spell weaken. He glanced at the pentagram and his eyes went wide with horror. “No!” he screamed. He lunged for the rat. He was too late. The demon’s laugh became triumphant. Krohler had time for just one last shriek of terror before the demon tore him apart.

The demon, Azz Garul, licked the last of Krohler’s blood from its lips. It had been a long time since it had savoured human flesh, but now it was free, summoned from its nether world into the world of life. There were thousands to feed upon, and more important thousands to enjoy. He had not experienced the pleasures of the flesh for millennia. He would make up for that now.

A sound behind him caused him to turn. His golden eyes widened slightly in surprise. “So you made it through as well,” he said. “Very well. I will allow you to accompany me. Go about your business. I expect you will find this world most enjoyable.”

With a hiss the creature scuttled away. The demon smiled. He could sense the presence around him of thousands of souls. There were more than enough to satisfy him and his sexually charged companion.

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