Jina came to her senses, feeling as though she had a severe hangover. Not that she hadn’t woken up like that before, and not that she hadn’t woken up naked and feeling used and aching, but the feeling of cold polished stone below her back was unusual. She frowned, still not opening her eyes, trying to remember. She had been drinking and picking up customers, as usual ... Yes, she had had a couple of nice fucks that night ... Then ... That creepy hooded figure. He had bought her a cheap ale, but she must have blacked out. That dickhead had drugged her, for sure.

Jina’s green eyes fluttered open and widened with shock at what she saw. The room was a spacious, circular chamber made of black stone, illuminated by the eerie green glow of crystals set into the walls. The only furniture was the massive, rune-etched altar she was lying on, a workbench cluttered with weird ingredients, and shelves lined with old, thick tomes. Standing beside the workbench was an old, gaunt man in dirty robes, his face a map of wrinkles and his yellow eyes gleaming with malevolent glee.

“So, the little sacrifice awakens,” the old man cackled, sounding like a raven with its throat cut.

Jina noticed the thick, rough rope binding her wrists and ankles to the altar. She struggled, but the knots were expertly tied, the rope abrading her skin.

“What the fuck is this?” she snarled. “If this is your idea of a good time, old man, you have the weirdest kinks I’ve ever seen.” Then it occurred to her that she was probably not in a position to annoy him. “But well,” she tried to smile and spread her knees seductively. “If you like me so, why not? I’m curious for new tricks!”

The wizard chuckled, rubbing his gnarled hands. “You are perfect at it! Exactly what I need! And you’ll learn a new trick today, hehe, you will!” He picked up a worn tome and flipped the pages. Then he nodded to himself, took a handful of thin black candles, and approached. He slowly paced around the altar, sticking the candles into the holes around Jina’s body. Numerous spills of candle wax around the holes hinted that he was doing that quite a few times before. And after he was done with that, he took a small bowl with some dark liquid in it, and using a small brush, he began to paint strange symbols on Jina’s skin with the sticky stuff.

Jina shuddered, goosebumps rising on her skin where the cold liquid touched it. “What the fuck are you painting on me?” she asked, her bravado starting to crumble.

“A message,” Edroldor said, tracing a particularly elaborate symbol on her stomach, right above her pubic mound. “A message for a very special someone.”

“Who?” she demanded, her heart starting to beat a little faster.

“Ah, just for my fellow demon, Gurgrizal is his name,” the wizard said with reverence, a worshipful light in his sickly yellow eyes. “He likes women, you know, but I should prepare the dish for him first.”

Jina had heard gossip and rumors about the demons before, whispered in the darkest taverns and the filthiest brothels by those who sought power at any cost. She suddenly understood and could not help but shake. This wasn’t about some perverted fucking play. She heard about young women going missing from the streets, to be found later, dead, cold, with their stomachs mercilessly torn apart from their crotch to ribs. Shit, she saw one of them herself! Mina, her distant acquaintance, a whore like her ... She was lying on cobblestones at the end of a cul-de-sac, staring up with unseeing eyes, with the frozen expression of pain and horror on her face, naked, gutted, and almost ripped in half like a chicken roasted for dinner.

And now she was the main course for a demonic summoning, and the meal that was being offered was her flesh and her life. Panic began to crawl up her spine, icy and sharp. She yanked at her restraints, her breath catching in her throat. “No,” she squealed. “Please ... Don’t ... Do anything to me ... Fuck me, torture me ... Anything you want ... But not that!” She tried to beg, to offer him her body, her skills, everything she had to give a man pleasure. Anything to avoid the agonizing death she now faced. The wizard just smirked, his yellow eyes hungry, and took a position at the head of the altar, behind her head.

“Who needs a cheap street whore when the most noble and exquisite women are about to lay down at his feet?” he cackled, then looked at her with a sick, condescending smile, “Oh, but you can be proud of herself, you will be the last key for my rise in power!”

He walked around the altar, further, placing big and thick black candles on what must be the summoning circle. No matter how much Jina squirmed in her ties, she could not see the floor. Then he lit all the candles, one by one, and they flared with green flames.

Then he left the circle, opened a heavy, leather-bound book, and began to read in a harsh, guttural language that hurt the ears.

The room grew cold, the green light from the crystals dimmed, and the black candles’ flame flickered and turned blood-red, then rose toward the ceiling, joining into a single swirling column. The air grew thick with the stench of brimstone and something sickeningly sweet, like rotten meat marinated in cheap perfume. A low, guttural growl echoed from the center of the room, accompanied by the scrabbling of claws against stone.

Jina was screaming. She struggled and pulled on the restraints until the skin around her wrists and ankles was raw and bleeding, but it was no use. She was trapped, a sacrifice to something old and hungry and far more terrifying than she could ever imagine.

The column of fire in the center of the circle began to coalesce, taking on a vaguely humanoid shape. A figure of living shadow emerged, towering and monstrous. Its skin was the color of scorched obsidian, cracked with the glowing lines, like a thin crust on top of the molten lava flow. The altar with Jina stood between him and the wizard.

She shut her eyes tight and screamed again, then coughed. She felt nauseous from horror, cold inside, and powerless. She has seen some ugly men before, even a few quite disgusting ones. But what she saw in the center was beyond that. Beyond ugly, beyond revolting. It was wrong. A living nightmare, given form. And it turned out that this nightmare had a very specific, very nasty kind of hunger, judging by the thick, ridged dick that dangled between its legs, its tip already glistening.

“Gurgrizal!” The wizard cackled with glee, a look of pure worship on his wrinkled face. “My magnificent associate! My power source! Do you see the offering I’ve prepared for you?”

The demon’s yellow, burning eyes turned from Jina and locked onto the wizard, and a deep, rumbling growl escaped its massive chest. “Edroldor. You again. Always calling,” it said, its voice like grinding stones. “Always demanding. Your pathetic offerings. Your endless hunger for power.” He bared his fangs. “One day, you will make a mistake in your spell. One day, you will leave a crack in your wards.”

Edroldor giggled, rubbing his hands together. “But not today, Gurgrizal, not today! Come closer,” he said, gesturing towards the altar, where Jina trembled. “Here’s your fun. And my reward.” He patted his own chest. “Her life is my last payment. Take her, and give me my Staff of Ultimate Mastery!”

Gurgrizal grunted something in a low, irritated grumble.

Jina’s mind raced, a frantic storm of fear and calculation. She had lived her whole life on the streets, using her body as a weapon and a shield, manipulating men with whispered promises and expert touches. Even the dangerous men who could easily kill her. It was a game she knew well, a game of survival. And even now, facing certain death, the old instincts kicked in. She looked at the demon, at the raw hatred in its fiery eyes as it glared at the wizard. A desperate, insane idea began to form in her terrified mind.