The goat's blood sigil was slightly sticky but not fully dry; the perfect consistency for summoning Yh'ghar'len, Plague of the Seventh Circle.

I positioned myself in the center of the symbol, and extended my right arm to the sky and placed my left hand on the vessel. He was a beggar I had snatched from the street. Nobody would miss him. He stirred under my touch, but the sleeping draught held. Possession was a tricky art. If there is one thing that I've learned through my centuries of life, it's that unconscious vessels produce the best results.

I began the incantation, and syllables once thought unutterable streamed from my mouth. The small room began to shake, and I heard the vessel groan. His eyes snapped open and rolled up into his head. His nose, mouth, and ears began to pour blood. A storm wracked his body, shaking him violently as a scream left his mouth.

The possession was going better than expected - the previous vessel turned out to be a poor match and had simply liquefied on the cellar floor. That had been an annoying inconvenience.

I chanted the final words of the possession ritual and took my hand off of the vessel. His eyes snapped open, leaking the last residual blood. He blinked rapidly, and looked around in confusion.

"Where am I? Where are my siblings," he asked in a panic. His eyes flashed wildly before finally settling on me. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Vetrian! The most black-hearted warlock to still walk the surface world! To what do I owe the pleasure?" The demon's voice shifted as it spoke, alternating between the distinguished, sultry tones of a lover I once had and a buzzing, guttural drone that would drive a lesser man mad.

"Old friend. I have need of your services once again."

The demon cackled, but I heard something else in its voice. Was it relief? Fear? "By the Circles, a vacation! It's been aeons since I toppled an empire with you, Vetrian."

Aeons? I could remember the last time I had summoned Yh'ghar'len. Two hundred years ago, I had used its immense power to usher in the Blood Moon, and harvested the souls of all the dead in the kingdoms of men. Not exactly aeons.

A deep, wracking sob brought me back to reality. Tears poured from the vessel's eyes.

By the Circles, the vessel's rejecting it! I reached for a jar of goat blood and prepared to draw additional spells of binding before I heard the demon speak again.

"I've missed you old friend," the demon gasped between wretched cries. "I've lost so much. We've lost so much."

What?

"That twice-cursed bitch. That damned Warrior of Light. She's taken everything from us!" the demon screamed. I was speechless. This was one of the Plagues of the Circles, the most feared and terrible among demon kind, and it was bawling.

"Um." I stammered. My mouth opened, and snapped shut again. I was Vetrian the Dread, the most feared sorcerer in the world. I had never been one for words of comfort, and I had never listened to a demon vent before.

"Are you - are you okay?" I thought about putting a comforting hand on its shoulder before deciding against it. Demons of The Pit do not tend to perceive human gestures with the same intent, and this demon did not seem particularly stable.

"NO!" The demon's shout pierced both my mind and my eardrums, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt something burst inside my head and hoped it was just my eardrums. Magically healing your own brain aneurysm is a recipe for disaster. I lay stunned on the ground for a few minutes. After I had thoroughly appreciated the subtle melodies in my own tinnitus, I checked my body. As suspected, my eardrums had burst, but other than that I appeared to be unhurt. I muttered a small spell to drain the vitality of the nearby cockroaches infesting the building. I felt a peculiar popping sensation as my eardrums rebuilt themselves, and my hearing mostly came back. I realized Yh'ghar'len was still speaking.

"... and then the Blessed claimed the Third Circle! Vyth'dyn is sanctified! The only being I have ever loved was burned away by holy fire! The Fourth Circle is holding for now, but how much longer? Will the Pit be destroyed?" It snapped its head towards me. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Um." It was all I could manage. It was not enough for Yh'ghar'len. The vessel's face erupted in a cruel sneer.

"I would think that you could at least pretend to care about this, considering all of the fun we've had. I was there for the Blood Moon! I thought we were friends," it shrieked, its voice taking the tone of my long-undead father. I shivered.

The demon shook its head disdainfully. "Fine," it spat. "Point me at a peasant to disembowel. I need to relieve some stress." The chains binding the vessel snapped, and the demon stood. "Well, come on then," it sighed as it wiped a tear from its eyes.

Truthfully, I had forgotten why I had summoned Yh'ghar'len. A somber iron bell in the street brought the memory back. The Inquisition was here for me. While the Blood Moon incident had made me the world's most powerful sorcerer, it had also made me the world's most hated. The Inquisition of the Church of Light had been looking for me since, and they had developed highly effective tools for neutralizing sorcerers. Iron chains and cages to neutralize our power. However, no cage could hold a skilled sorcerer forever, and through pacts with the Pit the majority of us were functionally immortal. The Church's answer to this was throwing a sorcerer into a hole and filling it with molten iron. An eternal prison.

While I could undoubtedly handle them, I thought an overwhelming display of power and terror would be a more effective deterrent. The exact display a demon is typically well versed in.

I smiled, and glanced over at Yh'ghar'len. My smile dropped. The vessel had gone pale, and it was trembling.

"The Church of Light? You brought them here? " It punctuated its rage with a roar that knocked me over. I hit my head on the ground. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was the vessel groaning. Yh'ghar'len had abandoned me.

When I awoke, I was completely immobilized. I was in a Church dungeon, awaiting entombment. Iron manacles bound me. As a test, I tried casting a simple scanning spell, and received nothing. I slumped down. I was over. The only exit was a grate in the ceiling that I had no hope of reaching.

​

Vetrian. A voice inside my own head was calling my name. I assumed that I was simply having an adverse reaction to the stress of being captured, so I closed my eyes and tried a few breathing exercises. I would not spend eternity with a broken mind.

​

Don't ignore me, old friend.

My eyes snapped open. I recognized the voice.

"Yh'ghar'len?" I asked, my voice cracking in a way most unbecoming of the world's most feared sorcerer.

A chuckle echoed in my mind. It must have possessed my body when I passed out.

"Why are you here? I am no doubt set to be entombed at the first opportunity. I am finished. Forever." The weight of the words finally hit me, and I let out a shuddering gasp. I received no reply from the demon.

A shadow appeared above the grate. The shadow began to pray as it set up spout above the grate. I groaned as I heard a mechanism unlock and a slow bubbling creep closer to the grate.

The first gob of molten iron landed on my forehead. The pain was immense, maddening. I screamed. A second gob landed in my mouth, causing me to choke. More drops landed on me, encrusting me. Finally, it turned into a steady stream.

Hours went by before all the iron had cooled. My nerves had burned off fairly quickly, but the mounting pressure and weight was still too unpleasant to bear.

I tried to weep, but I could not. I had forgotten about the demon lurking in my subconscious.

Ah, a permanent vacation home safe from the Warrior of Light. This is what I truly need Vetrian, thank you my friend! To us, for eternity!