Now all is ready for the summoning ritual. Soon, I shall be the only power on this planet, and people will be forced to bow down to me. I will be a king!
He couldn’t help but to laugh just a little at the thought. He took his place near the edge of the pentagram and turned his gaze to the skies, searching for the stars of the skull constellation. He would need the might of the heavens and the earth for this summoning attempt.
The skull constellation was hidden from view by a rogue cloud in the otherwise picturesque night sky. Edgar scowled and flung a weather-changing spell at the lone cloud. He would not be denied his victory so easily. The cloud vanished from sight, and Edgar smiled once more. Inwardly, he thanked his dark teachers for being so thorough.
It was finally time. He uttered a few long-forgotten words and pointed at the skull constellation, using a spell called farshot. Seconds later, the stars got visibly brighter as the heavens unwillingly bent to grant Edgar their power.
Edgar stretched out his arms to complete a complex series of hand signals, absorbing the power from the stars. “Sonti corpus minta!” he shouted. “Death, I call upon thee. Come!” The final part of the summoning ritual was under way.
At first, it seemed like he had failed, for nothing happened. Then, the ground beneath him began to shake with the force of a quake.
Hurriedly, he chanted several other words of the old tongue, and the shakes became more violent. He looked down into the pentagram and saw that an eerie black smoke was emanating from it. A wry grin passed Edgar’s lips, and he could hardly contain his excitement when the ground in front of him broke into small pieces and a deep chasm filled the void.
Just then, a loud crash erupted from the ground and a shadowy form shot up out of the newly-formed chasm. The force threw Edgar to the ground, several feet from the protection of his pentagram. He scrambled to his feet as best as he could and tried to get back to safety, but the path was now blocked entirely by a strange, hooded figure.
He took in the grisly sight before him. The wraith was draped in an old, tattered, crimson cloak that waved back and forth slightly, even though there was no wind. Two giant, bony hands extended from folds in the fabric, one of which clutched an ominous scythe that shined in the darkness. Buried deep within the hood, two dark, sinister eyes stared at him, as if boring through his very soul.
Edgar gathered his courage and stared back at the demon, hands balled into tight fists. “At last, you have come! I have summoned you for a most diabolical purpose. I want you to go and kill a man for me, for he stands in the way of my ascension. I want you to seek out and kill–”
He never got a chance to finish the command. The wraith reached out with one of its hands and grabbed Edgar by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Edgar wondered how it was possible for the fiend to move against him. His protective pentagram should have bound this creature to his will. Then he remembered that he was no longer inside it. Suddenly, he feared for his life as he looked at the wraith’s giant skull.
“I am Lange Du Mort, the Angel of Death.” The creature’s voice seemed to emanate from outside of it somehow. “You, foolish mortal, shall be the first of many to witness my great power. You should be grateful. You always wanted to serve the Dark One, and now your soul shall do just that.”
The demon squeezed its bony fingers that were wrapped around his neck, and Edgar felt his vision fade as his breath failed him.
“Your pathetic life is forfeit and your soul is mine!”
With a strained effort, Edgar let out a blood-curdling scream that shattered the calm of the night. But no one could hear it. It would be hours before the screams stopped.
* * * * * * * * * *
Almost a week later, someone finally stumbled across the remains of Edgar Candia. The discoverers had decided to take an unusual route home and happened to find the secluded field where the dark wizard had worked his evil spells. Parts of Edgar’s body were found scattered throughout the field, and the altar was smashed beyond recognition. The remains of the pentagram had been desecrated, then sealed over with Edgar’s entrails. George Washerbanker’s body was never found.
The unfortunate couple that came across the scene notified the authorities immediately. Upon hearing of the atrocity, the country’s rulers sent over their two top occult investigators. The detectives arrived to find the couple off in a corner, sobbing and looking ill. After collecting statements, they went over to the field proper and started searching for evidence of any sort.
“My Gods!” The junior detective exclaimed as he took in the depraved scene. “What in dimgate happened here?”
“I don’t know, Hugh, but this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this happen. Ran across a similar murder not two days ago a few miles away,” the sergeant replied. “Let’s see if we can get a positive identification from some part of his body. Maybe then we’ll have some clue as to how this monster operates.”
Just then the sergeant caught a whiff of decaying flesh and coughed. “Man, does it reek!” he added, covering his nose and mouth with part of his shirt.
Hugh started taking samples from parts of the body, waving them in front of a magical device to try and determine the body’s identity while the sergeant sat back, scratching his chin and trying to think of what kind of creature might be capable of creating this level of carnage in such a normally peaceful
