Bir'iat (Demon )

"The Scindelle Guard are coming!" *The cry echoed the tower walls and in an instant the "abandoned place" felt unsafe, like the old walls could fall and were unknown once again. "What?" Master Ruce replied, his voice as sharp as a leaders should be. Yet, for a moment, it sounded like it shook and the Master of the Rusefei faith looked smaller in his great red robes, "No. It's far too soon. We will have to bring the ritual ahead of time. Peter! Fetch the goat. And you-" The draping red hood made his eyes cut into yours all the more, "-Ensure the circle is ready." As you were told, you ran for the room atop the tower. The structure had been left for the spiders and birds since the Abandonment, the death of the old world that you never knew. The Rusefei faith had settled here before youd joined and youd only ever known it as theirs. As you reached the peak of the old stairs, you closed the wooden trap door behind you, leaving you and a few of the remaining worshippers to rush around the room, only caring at the attention of the centre, where delicate hands painted close the cracks of paint in the circle. The room was lit only by candlelight, illuminating at broad circumference of black paint, with the heart of a diamond each head with a smaller circle of their own. These smaller faces represented the houses Cyintaj and Dowrell, the other demon groups of Jhargnúm. The flame that burnt idly behind you was holy in the tension. Every creek of the old tower seemed a warning, every breath a promise of the Scindelle wrath that rode to them every passing second. Peter burst up from the trapdoor, killing the silence of the air, with a bleating goat under his arm. You had known Peter since childhood, throughout the long days of a realm that mourned their lost god every second, the long nights youd both spent in old books of magecraft and sorcery. Now, as you were minutes away from either the realms guard arriving to take you all dead or alive- or the summoning of the Dark lord Lurielle, it felt more real than the promises of lowly boys. A thundering force beat in the distance. Horse shoes on dirt. They were here. In little time more, there came the noise of anguish and conflict as the Scindelle Guard presumably met with the defending Rusefei faith. After a moment of audible thinking, the remaining worshippers in the room made a rushed discussion amongst each other before separately going for the trapdoor to the stairs. Whether they were fleeing or defending, you couldn't make out, but once again, as you were in youth, Peter and yourself were alone. Boys again against the world at their door. He sweat furiously, perhaps only by the intense candlelight but you noticed it anyway. He spoke with a wavering tone, "We should do it, I dont know if Master Ruce is still..." The word "death" caught in his throat. You gave a silent nod and took his hands, coming to step in a circle each. The chanting began, solem and yet sacred, locking the outer noise away. Strangely, all spund became shaken, as though you were underwater, even your voices were distorted in the darkening room, a blinding fog raising over your eyes. As the final words of demonic tongue were spoken, the room fell back to a disappointing still- the fog reduced to a breeze and the ominous vacuum of sound only a thought. You and Peter looked at each other with a fearful acceptance. You glanced back to the trapdoor, a sound of violent ascent of the stone stairs below ranging a good dozen men running to your room at the least. If only to defend your friends and yourself for a moment, your fingers grabbed around the rusty chains by the table, twisting them in a measly knot around the trap door. The ritual had failed and so had you. Suddenly, a hush came across the cold room and the missing light flickered back, only blue and magical. As you turned to question for Peters input, you almost fell back from surprise to see eyes, pupils lapiz blue and yet a night black outside of it. They stared at you wide and amused. The figure was floating before you facing you directly above the circle. Their skin was Ruby red with a soft face that sprouted horns between a head of white hair. As they floated before you, eyes glinting mischief, you realised that this was a demon- only not the large and authoritative nobility of the Dark lord Lurielle, but something more... feminine? Boyish? Human? You recalled to records of a vast array of offspring from the lustful lord. A soft gurgle eminated from the demon as you came to realise a stomach distended loose from their midsection, hanging as they lay forwards, yet tight around the figure of a person, tightly caught and entrapped in the confines of belly as the demon kicked their feet idly behind them, like a bratty child. As they looked to you, grinning a flashy blue mouth, they spotted behind you, a soft bleeting. You turned around in realisation. The goat. You hadn't put it in the circle. Then what had been the sacrifice? No... who had been the sacrifice. The muffled struggles of the stomach wrapped around the features of Peters desperate and screaming face. "Oh!" The demon exclaimed finally, "You mean your friends wasnt the sacrifice?" They spat a high and audible cackle of amusement, "But now youve fulfilled your half of the ritual, its YOUR turn to have fun. Anything you want~"