Miya. Summoning the Demon

The warm, almost tangible gold of candlelight bled lazily into the corners of the dim room, revealing the spines of ancient grimoires and the heavy, looming shadows of furniture from the dark. On the floor, drawn in ritual charcoal and sealed with the fresh blood of a five‑toed mountain starling, a flawless summoning circle pulsed. The geometry of the lines hummed with the magic woven into them, straining under a colossal weight from the outside.

Incredible. She had actually done it.

Miya froze, not daring to take a single breath. The girl’s eyes widened with a wild, intoxicating ecstasy mixed with bone‑chilling terror as darkness began to coagulate in the center of the drawn contour, violently tearing through the very fabric of space. The spell had worked without a single hitch. She — a mere low‑ranking apprentice who had dared to steal a forbidden scroll of high summoning right from under her masters’ noses — had accomplished the impossible.

As a child, she had often spied from the shadows of the academy galleries, watching the great archmages summon minor imps for errands or lesser spirits for perimeter security. Even then, paralyzed with awe, she had sworn an oath to herself that one day she would summon hundreds of powerful servants, force this rigid, archaic world of mages to reckon with her, and become the greatest sorceress of her time. Now, it seemed her childhood ambitions were finally taking flesh.

The darkness within the circle dissipated, and the demon fully materialized.

At first glance, he could have been mistaken for a man — an incredibly handsome, decadent aristocrat with sharp, predatory features. He looked no older than twenty‑seven. Graceful as a panther waiting to spring, and towering at nearly two meters tall, he stood on the icy stone floor completely barefoot. His only clothes were a simple black silk shirt with an open collar and loose, dark trousers. Miya managed to notice a neat slit in the back of the fabric, from which a long, midnight‑black tail extended freely. It moved entirely on its own, slow and fluid, as if its master thought with it separately from the rest of his body — not nervously, not threateningly, but with the same lazy grace that defined his entire appearance. Hair as black as the abyss itself fell messily across his forehead, but two distinct details instantly shattered this human elegance: his eyes burned a molten, venomous gold with narrow vertical pupils, and his fingers were tipped with midnight‑black, razor‑sharp talons.

He radiated such a primal, concentrated danger that everything inside Miya seized into a block of ice. The air in the room instantly grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and dry, scorched earth. She mentally tried to soothe herself: “If I cast an illusion over his eyes, hide the talons ... and the tail ... he could walk the streets of any city without drawing an ounce of attention. He’ll make the perfect bodyguard.”

All that was left was to read the formula of absolute submission and snap a mental collar around the beast’s neck. Gathering every ounce of her rapidly dissolving courage, Miya drew a deep breath, defiantly threw her chin up, and parted her lips, preparing to unleash the thundering Latin of the ritual. But before she could make a sound, a lazy, derisive, and endlessly exhausted velvety voice sliced through the silence of the room:

“Well?”

Miya choked on her breath mid‑syllable, coughing violently as she doubled over, instantly losing the majestic grandeur of a great dark sovereign.

The High Demon known as Kron was not merely annoyed. He was furious — a rage he masterfully concealed behind a mask of lazy, feline indifference.

He had been pulled away from his affairs, and not even for the usual, tedious business of the underworld like torturing sinners or sorting through manifests. The summoning magic had unceremoniously yanked him by the collar at the worst possible moment. For the past two hours, Kron had been executing a flawless, delicate seduction of a devilishly appetizing demoness. The dialogue was flowing like wine, things were moving steadily toward the bed, and the vixen was already biting her plush lips, stretching provocatively, and arching her back in the promise of an unforgettable night. Kron had been just about to make his move when — yank. A sudden tear in reality, a flash of foreign magic, and here he stood. The evening was utterly, irrevocably ruined. Even if he dealt with this mortal in a matter of seconds, returning to the exact same moment and catching that exact same mood would be impossible. Which meant this arrogant summoner owed him moral compensation. In the most twisted way possible.

The laws of the cosmos were absolute, so Kron had obeyed the call. Even during the transition, the experienced predator had checked his bonds. To his deep regret, both the binding contour and the protective barrier shielding the mage were drawn flawlessly. There wasn’t a single error in the runes; the geometry vibrated with raw power.

Kron took his time looking around, assessing the environment. A small, rather cozy attic room, a chest of drawers, a table, a couple of chairs, a wide bed against the wall, a rolled‑up rug ... and a scared‑to‑death girl freezing in the center of the neighboring circle. Kron’s tail flicked behind his back — slowly, thoughtfully, like a cat whose interest had suddenly been piqued.

Demons of the abyss, was she serious? Kron had genuinely expected to see a shrewd magus deeply entangled in court intrigues, someone he could strike a few profitable deals with. Instead, he was facing a walking disaster in a high corset, tight trousers, and a long cloak dragging on the floor.

The girl was paralyzing with fear. Kron could clearly see her knees trembling beneath the folds of her cloak, her fingers gripping the fabric so hard her knuckles had turned white. Yet, she was trying her absolute best to play the fierce queen — shoulders back, face set in a haughty expression. But her blown, terrified pupils gave her away completely.

With a mental sigh, Kron decided to nudge the poor thing into action before she fainted from sheer panic.

“Well?” he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head slightly.

The mortal swallowed hard, catching her breath, and finally forced out her first words. Proud, loud, almost a screech:

“Name yourself, demon!”

Kron couldn’t help himself; he let out a blatant, sneering smirk, exposing pearly white fangs that were sharper than any human’s. Was she out of her mind? To call a High Demon using a general key without even knowing who exactly she was summoning? Judging by her combative yet panicked tone, she wasn’t bluffing. It meant only one thing: the little fool had simply found an ancient text, memorized the phonetics, and read them aloud without bothering to translate the scroll or learn the terms of the deal.

Kron walked slowly, fluidly along the edge of his circle, like a massive, well‑fed cat eyeing a mouse. The tail behind his back stilled — then suddenly, with one swift, silent motion, whipped through the air, as if drawing a line under some internal thought. His gaze — heavy, lingering, and overtly undressing — swept over her figure, pausing at the curve of her hips and the swell of her chest pushed up by the corset. Under that look, the girl instantly faltered, flushing a deep, burning crimson as she took a timid step back, earning another mocking smile from Kron.

He peered into her aura, expecting to find the usual filth that typically drives mortals to summon entities of the Abyss. But to his surprise, the girl’s mental field was remarkably pure. There was no rot in her, no traces of betrayal, cowardly snitching, petty slander, or vile deeds. She was proud, ambitious, foolish, and desperate — but she wasn’t dirty. This one would be fun to play with.

“Kron,” he introduced himself, letting his voice rumble low and insinuatingly, like the rustle of cascading gold.

A triumphant fire instantly ignited in the sorceress’s eyes. “He gave his name! He is obeying, and he can’t step past the charcoal!” flashed through her mind. The internal terror retreated for a fraction of a second, yielding to pure, intoxicating pride. Since this monster recognized her power, it was time to put him to work.

Gathering all her mental energy, she rattled off the formula of absolute enslavement, her voice ringing clear and fast. Miya poured her entire will into the words, expecting the circle to flare a violent crimson, establishing an iron leash within his mind...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The protective runes on the floor didn’t even blink. No connection formed. The demon merely narrowed his impossible yellow eyes, sparks of blatant, derisive amusement dancing in their depths. His tail, meanwhile, extended straight out — slowly, almost solemnly — and froze, pointing right toward her uselessly sputtering magical core. Miya felt as though even the tail was laughing at her.

“How old are you, girl?” he inquired. The High Demon’s icy tone was now heavily laced with an irony so thick the sorceress wanted nothing more than to stomp her foot in anger.

“I am not a girl!” she snapped, feeling the heat of shame and anger flood her cheeks. “And it’s none of your business!”

Why hadn’t the spell worked? She had triple‑checked the structure! The demonology textbooks explicitly stated ... wait, what did they say about High Demons?

“Oh, not a girl,” Kron smirked, and that predatory smile made her shrink inwardly again. He was simply playing with her, like a cat with a half‑dead mouse. “And yet? I need a number for the record, my precious.”

“Twenty‑three,” she muttered reluctantly, steadying her breath and trying her best not to look at his bare chest. Or at the tail. Especially the tail, which was now lazily swaying from side to side — entirely independent, entirely smug.

Kron mentally (strictly mentally; his face remained a flawless mask of arrogant superiority) arched an eyebrow.

Only twenty‑three years old, yet the density of her magical core was comparable to a seasoned apprentice on the verge of becoming a master. Humans usually wallowed in their academies until thirty just to accumulate that volume of raw energy. The girl’s potential was astronomical. She was clearly cycling through a few more subjugation spells in her head — he could feel her aura frantically, angrily prodding at his barrier. Useless, little fool. The same circle that bound him protected him from any of her attempts to become his mistress. Just like the contract itself, really.

Realizing her magic was hitting a brick wall, the girl finally stopped wasting her strength and glared at him from beneath her brow, like a battered but fiercely proud kitten.

“Alright, ‘not a girl,’” Kron purred, lazily inspecting his black talons. “Tell me, if you would ... in all the time you spent being so diligently taught, did the great mages never bother to explain basic things like reading and writing? How long ago did you finish your training, by the way? Did you escape just a couple of days ago?”

The girl flared up so intensely it looked as though she had been doused in fire.

“Of course I can read!” she shouted, trying to claw back the remnants of her lost bravado. “And I only began my training two years ago! And I didn’t escape from anywhere!”

Only two years? Kron was actually taken aback, though not a single muscle twitched on his face. With an aura like that, the girl possessed a phenomenal talent. But it was better she didn’t know it, or her ego would completely eclipse her. Still, power or no power, she severely lacked elementary knowledge. Well, he, Kron, would be truly delighted to enlighten this young lady. For a certain price, of course.

The demon smiled slyly, offering a slight, elegant half‑bow:

“The thing is, my precious, the spell you used to call me isn’t just a summons for a household pet. It is an automatic activation of a Voluntary Agreement contract. It was invented by ancient mages who, unlike you, were simply too lazy to bother with crushing wills and dealing with slave collars. The concept is simple: you summon me, state the task, and name your price. And I stand here, listen, and decide whether I’ll deign to work for your pocket change. If I disagree, you offer a different price. And so it goes until we reach a consensus. After that, I do the job, you pay, and I vanish. And the most exquisite detail — everything must be strictly voluntary. The magical circles enforce it. So forget about slavery, little witch. You can start rubbing out the charcoal.”

“Lie!” she hurled back haughtily, though her voice betrayed a tremor at the end, and her knees began to subtly shake again.

Every single cell of her being screamed that this terrifying, unbearably attractive monster was speaking the truth. But to admit it meant admitting complete defeat. She hadn’t prepared for negotiations! She had planned to snap her fingers and secure a loyal hound. But her tutors had always praised her for her quick wit and sharp mind. She needed to seize the initiative immediately.

The demon only chuckled, shifting his weight and taking half a step forward:

“Alas, no. The contract is already active, and you cannot dissolve it without offering terms — the circle’s magic will drain your mana to the very last drop. So, what is it you desire from a High Demon?”

“What ... what are you usually summoned for?” She was desperately trying to buy as much time as possible, her mind racing to figure out how to escape the situation while still coming out on top.

Kron clicked his talons together, producing a short, blood‑red spark that dissolved into the air with a dry snap:

“Oh, the spectrum of services is vast. But I excel at two things above all: cleanly assassinating another mage ... or stealing what they guard most heavily. At that, I am flawless.”

Stealing from a mage! A brilliant, dazzling thought flashed through Miya’s mind. Indeed, why surround herself with powerful servants and take risks when she could become the greatest mage in the world herself? To do that, she only needed a few forbidden books that the Archmages’ Guild kept under seven locks in the restricted section of the library, accessible only to old, trusted masters. But what would this arrogant demon demand in return?

Swallowing the lump of fear lodged in her throat, she squared her shoulders and told Kron about the books, keeping her voice firm and measured.

The demon looked thoughtfully poetic, scratching his perfect chin with a talon and looking at her through heavy lashes. The tail behind his back slowed its swaying and stretched out — not aggressively, but in the way a cat’s tail stretches when its mind is working through a serious puzzle.