“From beyond the reach of mortal plains, I summon you, Varak, ancient demon of darkness! Speak!”
The demon sighed, no more than a shadowy outline in the red smoke in the summoning circle. “Really, Lamaar, less drama, please. You know you cannot summon me unless I wanted to come. You think yourself powerful, but you are but a tiny bug in my world, hardly worth the effort of using.”
“Yet still you always come at my beck and call. And why? Do you know why, Varak?”
The demon yawned. “Because I’m cramped and bored in my prison and you are my jester.”
“Because you need me.” The summoner shook out his silk cuffs, checking to ensure he was still safely inside his protective circle. “You want to rule my world, and so do I. Neither of us can do it without the other. But together, working as one, we can both get what we want. No one will look down on humans again!”
The demon regarded him smokily, his voice disinterest itself. “You will not be able to pay my price. I am Varak! I am fear! I share my seat with no one, not with petty human kings like you... unless...” The smoke darkened to the color of blood, reflecting his mood. “Oh, Lamaar, what have you gotten yourself into? Very well, I have a deal to offer you....”
The demon made his offer. The king accepted.
“I will need an army,” Varak said. “That is, you will need an army of unbeatable soldiers, for whom death holds no fear or power. You know the words to say, Lamaar, you have found the Charge Word, which is a good thing since even if I knew it I couldn’t say it. Gah, creating! I hate it. It’s like those really bad rashes that itch and when you scratch them they ooze sticky juice on you. The Word is against my very nature. Shame you have to use it really.”
“Yes, Varak, I understand,” the king snapped. “But how? I have not been able to make the spell work.”
“Hmm... yes... a token. You need a token of power, obviously. To think you even tried without one. Here, take this Dark Sigil. Don’t break it; it’s my favorite. I use it to scratch my warts.”
The king watched as a stone the color of blood, glinting as though freshly spilled, dropped to the floor in Varak’s summoning circle, but he didn’t dare leave his, not yet. Just in case. He still didn’t trust Varak, not even after all this time. Which was probably the only smart thing about the affair.
“Creating is a disease,” Varak mused. “But corrupting and destroying? Now that is what I call a good time. You free Friday night? I have some mountains I’d like to smash up.”
