The Mistakes in Desperation

Anger was all he knew. It was pumping through his veins, and was almost tangible on his tongue. He was also happy with the anger. Happy for the anger.

In a ritual from centuries before his time, he frantically painted blood in an ornate pattern on the stone protruding from the dirt. The gloom paint seem to glow in the moon, what made it through the canopy of leaves overhead.

His hands moved with the precision of an expert, not a drop went where he did not intend it. It would be a waste, after all.

Upon completing the pattern not drawn in six-hundred years, he paused, only a second, before beginning to chant. A low, dark hum went through him. The blood glowed.

Then, the stone exploded into pebbles. In it’s place, an armor-clad demon.

“Demon!” the would-be wizard cried, “I command thee!”

With a snicker, the demon appeared at the man’s side, “I am at the command of no being.”

The demon grabbed the man by the neck, and gave it a hard twist, breaking it. He tossed the body aside, and vanished.

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