Hundreds of years ago, there was a great battle.

You might think this was the Starfallen Rebellion. It was not. This was a battle between the gods, the new and the old, the native and the trespassers. A battle so fierce that the gods themselves were slain.

And now only Sol and his family remain.

But the Old God was not lost. He lingers still, reduced to an impossible state, slowly gathering his strength until the day he can once again challenge Sol for dominion over what once was his.

He waits. He watches. He pushes. But he cannot speak…for now.

Magic isn’t for Everyone

Although the world of Ileron seems rife with magic, it’s more uncommon than one would expect.

Elves and seraphs are the most inclined to having natural, innate magic, although it isn’t impossible for other races to have this sort of ‘wild’ magic. This type of magic has no restraints, no specific set of rules by which it can be used, other than intuition of the user, and practice. Many scholars with magical abilities dedicate their lives to practicing and understanding their magic. Beyond this wild magic, there are some wielders who must meet specific requirements to harness their talents, like imbuing their magic into objects, channeling their magic through sigils or emblems, or using verbal spells to focus their power.

Other types of magic exist as well. Before the Conjunction, many humans were blessed with specific magical talents, often one-trick sorts of abilities. These could include reading the future, conjuring fire, levitation, minor healing, and seeing magic. This type of magic is not nearly as prolific as the wild magic of the elves, but can be just as powerful, if the user knows how to hone their abilities.

Elementals can use magic depending on their heritage. Fire elementals can create fire, or variations of it. This could mean lava, lightning, smoke, or steam. Water elementals might create tidal waves, conjure rain clouds, or harness the moisture in the air.

Even with the wide variety of magic present in the world, it is still a relatively rare talent, one that each bearer wields a little differently. The amount of power available to a magic user is consistent and steady throughout their lifetime; and means to increase one’s power have been researched, but nothing is conclusive.

The only exception is through demonic pacts. By summoning a demon, one can increase their innate well of power to vast depths. Of course, this is an uncouth way to gain power, and is strictly forbidden by world governments. Demons, as is well known, cannot be trusted. However, a pact will take more from the bearer than just a bit of blood.

Chapter 1 - Shadow

Unknown

The man pushed his long hair back from his eyes, focusing on the ritual chant on the paper before him. He’d practiced the words many times before, but he would be an idiot to do this without them before him.

They were simple, as far as summoning spells went, but the power required to harness them wasn’t. He sliced a thin line into his palm, letting the blood drip onto the floor inside the circle.

“Guene hosth maalp, guene hosth zaalp, guene hosth senjit.”

Of my blood, of my bones, of my truth.

The beginning of the chant was meant to open the pact on his end, to prove he was willing to risk life and limb for this accord.

“Mate hihyant meask, Alvemach, zuzagane gune ir oack guene zatoc gire mahoakk ec senjit.”
I summon thee, Alvemach, to this plane to become a partner in truth. To bind the chosen demon to him.

“Tunt tarth, hosth maalp, hosth zaalp, hosth senjit.”

Come and be my blood, my bones, my truth. To seal the pact if the named demon accepted.

Alvemach had been his choice—the demon prince of the second layer of Hell. Who else would serve in the role he needed as well as a prince? A lesser demon wouldn’t provide the powers he needed to carry out his plan. Yes, only a prince of Hell would do.

The enneagram before him glowed a pale gray, the bounding edges of the circle dull in comparison. Minutes passed in silence, but the man did not move. He knew this was a waiting game, a test to see who would break first.

He would not yield.

Finally, smoke rolled from the center of the nine-pointed star, billowing out as if a fire had begun. But it did not pass the boundary’s edge; it curled up against it as if contained in a glass jar.

From the center of the circle rose a seven-foot tall monster. Its skin was black, cracked with veins of fire that snaked over its entire body. It had no legs, rather, it was suspended upon a twisting tentacle of smoke that pulsated with lava. Its head was that of a tusked boar, its eyes filled with blackness and flames.

It turned to the man, its bulging arms crossed before its bare chest. It looked at him with contempt.

The devil named Alvemach did not speak.

The man smiled, if you could even call it that. The edges of his mouth curled dangerously upwards, revealing sharply pointed canines that were most definitely not natural. He stepped up to the bounding circle, but not beyond. Their pact must be sealed first.

“I’ve called you to form a pact.” He stared unblinkingly into the demon’s unnatural, fiery eyes.

The demon snorted. “Obviously. What are the terms?”

The man laughed, a harsh sound that would have grated on other ears. But the demon didn’t seem to notice. “This world is dirty—fire cleanses. I shall remake the world, with your help.”

The demon regarded him again with narrowed eyes. “What is your name, human?”

“You may call me The Shadow.”

The demon closed its eyes, obviously deep in thought. It didn't move, considering his offer in silence. The man knew not to press—even within the confines of the circle, a demon this powerful could easily find a way out if he so desired. So he waited.

Finally, the demon prince opened his eyes. He nodded once, then drove a long sharp tooth into the flesh of his hand, letting the blood well in his palm.

With that, the man entered the circle. This was the most dangerous part of the ritual, but he was not afraid. He clasped the demon’s hand with his own, their black and red blood mixing and dripping onto the floor.

The instant their wounds touched, a flash of power threatened to drive the man to his knees. But he would not yield—he would not bow to the power that should bow to him. He stood firm, his grasp upon the demon’s hand unforgiving and tight. He would make this power flowing into him his own.

Eventually it settled, coiling behind his navel like a snake waiting to strike. The feeling was incredible, indescribable. He quite liked it.

They released their hands, the enneagram below them returning to a dull chalk picture on the floor as the pact sealed itself once and for all. Alvemach was here to stay—tied to the man with a blood pact that would not break easily.

“Tell me more of this plan of yours.”

“All in due time, my friend. I first need you to do something about your appearance. It’s awful.”

Alvemach’s nostrils flared, but he obliged. The man had taken the first of the many steps in his plan. Uniting worlds was not a task to be done quickly. It was something that one had to work at for many years. He’d overcome the first and most difficult hurdle—acquiring power.

Now he must overcome the second.

The smile that was not a smile reappeared. It was time to begin.