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Fantasy Soulbound Mischief

Dovinique

Dovinique

a fishy little sushi
Roleplay Type(s)
#EDDEA4
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"This time... I'll show them, Cherine Mycahmia, the future greatest summoner!"​

  • Name Cherine Mycahmia

    Nickname Cherine

    Age 19

    Gender Female

    Race Human

    Height 5'5'' | 165cm

    Weight 114lbs | 52kg
 
EDIT: 0 matches on TinEye for images used. Source was Pinterest.

  • Name Vashre Einar

    Alias Vash

    Race Demon

    Age 2,500 (DY)

    Gender Male

    Affinity Darkness

    Occupation Researcher of Magical Research Department of the Fourth Circle of Hell
Vashre Einar
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' I will forge my own path, gain my own power. '

  • Name Vashre Einar
    Alias Vash
    Race Demon
    Age 2,500 (DY)
    Gender Male
    Affinity Darkness
    Occupation Researcher of Magical Research Department of the Fourth Circle of Hell
 
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Chapter 1: The Intertwined Fate
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credit JC Jongwon Park

​
It was blurry, yet the figures before her bore a haunting familiarity. The aroma of lilies, intertwined with the rich scent of aging wine, wrapped her like a comforting cocoon. A sense of safety, home, and love flowing through her, satisfying the yearning in her soul. A hushed whisper broke the silence, "Cherine..." followed by a tender promise, "...we'll see you soon." A soft kiss landed on her forehead, marking the end of the scene and gently pulling Cherine from her deep slumber.

"Same dream again…" Cherine mumbled in a half-asleep daze. This peculiar dream visited her almost every week, sometimes lingering for a single night, other times was three consecutive days. Despite its unexpectedly heartwarming nature, Cherine found herself yearning for a change, hoping for a different dream to come. The repetition had transformed the once-enchanting experience into a source of monotony and the thought of it always concluding in the same manner left her on the edge of unbearable annoyance. It was as if she was tracing the well-worn pages of her favorite book's last chapter, hoping for a different finale to weave through its hanging ending.

Cherine finally came out of the bed, she then massaged her stiff muscles to life before meandering towards the bathroom. The water cascaded over her like a gentle rain, a feeble attempt to wash away the lingering sleepiness. Once finished, she skipped her way to the kitchen, making a simple breakfast of baked bread paired with wildberries from her thoughtful neighbor. Her favorite herbal tea, swirling with aromatic wisps, served as a bittersweet accompaniment. While slowly savoring each bite, Cherine softly hummed, her head swaying in sync with the melody. The absence of her grandfather, gone for what felt like an eternity, was a consistent ache. Across from her, the vacant seat seemed forever occupied by the phantom silhouette of his presence. In these moments, she could almost feel the rhythmic tap of his fingers on the table and hear his contagious laughter. To keep her loneliness at bay, Cherine made a habit of humming softly whenever she felt alone. This simple tune, a constant practice for the past two years, was her only way of protecting herself from the overwhelming sense of emptiness.

After Cherine finished her meal, she swiftly made her way outdoors and headed towards the summoner guild. Today marked the crucial yet eagerly anticipated announcement of the final test for the year's last batch of apprentices. The stakes were high; another failure would mean a year's postponement of her aspirations and a prolonged delay in fulfilling her promise to her late grandfather. Typically, apprentices attained their summoner licenses after dedicating 2 to 3 years to their apprenticeship, with the rare exception of a fourth year. Contrarily, Cherine found herself navigating through her fifth year. Despite the extended timeline, her confidence remained unwavering. A tingling sensation coursed through her, a self-assured sign she clung to, fueling her belief that success was imminent. This year, she was determined to overcome the challenges and finally earned her summoner's license.

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Located quite a distance from Cherine's house, the summoner guild demanded a leisurely walk of around 20 minutes, a duration that could be halved to 10 minutes with a full-speed, non-stop sprint. Upon reaching the bustling guild, a sea of faces greeted her – a mix of apprentices and licensed summoners. In close proximity, Cherine's eyes fixated on Nenisha, her favorite person after her grandfather which also her fellow junior summoner. Nenisha's distinctive azure hair made her effortlessly identifiable. With high enthusiasm, Cherine unleashed a spirited shout, "NENE!!" A loud exclamation which promptly swiveled Nenisha's head, along with the attention of everyone else, towards the source of the boisterous greeting.

“I am not convinced that was necessary, Cherine,” Nenisha grumbled, yet still slid her hands onto Cherine's arms as they made their way inside.

"Well, if I just call you normally, you won't hear me or, at least, I suspect..." Cherine halted her steps, fixing a betrayed gaze on Nenisha, who responded with an eye roll. "...sometimes you pretend not to hear—" Before Cherine could finish, Nenisha quickly covered her mouth. "Fine, I'll listen next time you call me normally. Now, let's go." Cherine burst into laughter, followed by Nenisha.

In the main hall, the mentors had already gathered, their expressions predictably stern, devoid of any smiles on their weary faces. Among them stood Master Lahadh, known to many as the central figure. Despite his relatively youthful appearance, possibly in his early thirties, he exuded a formidable power. His mastery over summoning had earned him the prestigious title of Master of Summoner, ultimately leading him to become the Leader of the summoner guild. However, this remarkable achievement hadn't shielded him from the swirling rumors, particularly from those who questioned the origins of his extraordinary power. Cherine, on the other hand, held him in high regard and even considered him her idol.

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"Morning," Lahadh's short greeting echoed through the bustling hall, effortlessly hushing the ongoing chatter. "Today, I bring news of the final exam for the summoner test. This marks the concluding batch of the year, but with a special twist—only one summoner will graduate," he declared, pausing as whispers began to rise.

Lahadh retrieved a scroll from one of the mentors, tapping it against his hand before unfurling its contents. "A decree from the King himself. His Majesty seeks a new summoner to join his squadron in the castle," he announced, intensifying the whispers into a rising tide of chatter.

"If you pass this special test, you'll secure a direct path to become one of His Majesty’s elite summoners," Lahadh continued, attempting to regain control as cheers and questions erupted simultaneously. A stern glance from Lahadh cut through the chaos, restoring a semblance of order. "While the test isn't dangerous, failure means another year as an apprentice."

He traversed the hall, eyes scrutinizing each individual on the front line. "Additionally, the summoning is intricate and requires extraordinary power. Perhaps someone... with power like me," he hinted, leaving Cherine wide-eyed with anticipation, imagining that Lahadh's words were directed at her.

The summoner's final words reverberated through the air, making the crowd back into a chaos of hushed whispers and uneasy shuffles. Even the mentors, typically calm, exchanged discomfort-laden glances at the cryptic nature of his sentences. Lahadh turned his gaze back on the bewildered apprentices, once again quieting them with the icy intensity of his stare. His voice, as frigid as his gaze, sliced through the mounting clamor. "Your challenge is to summon one of the deities—an Angel, to be precise, and plead with them to be your companion for a week. Success in this test secures your ticket to the castle," he continued, a sly smile playing upon his lips. Leaving the hall, he added, "May the deities favor your odds."

As Lahadh withdrew, the chaos swelled. An apprentice, eyebrows furrowed and fist clenched, coming forward to convey his disagreement, "This is unbelievable! What kind of test is this? I know he is the Guild’s Leader, but aren’t you, our mentors, supposed to do something about it?" Another voice, dripping with the rage of shattered expectations, joined the dissent, “Are you saying that our 1 year of hard work is gonna be wasted because of an impossible task?!” More and more people came forward, all desperate and disappointed, prompting the guards to intervene and disband the crowd. The mentors, recognizing their powerlessness, maintained a silence during the incident.

“Cherine, we gotta go–,” Nenisha urgently whispered, attempting to seize Cherine's hand, only to discover it was an empty grasp. She looked around for Cherine, but the chaotic sea of people hindered Nenisha's attempt to locate her friend, who seemed to have been swallowed by the frenzied swarm. Cherine’s disappearance leaving Nenisha with nothing but a sigh and an exit from the bustling hall all by herself.

Meanwhile, Cherine had already bolted back to her house, racing at godspeed with a master plan unfolding in her thoughts. With a firm belief that this upcoming exam was her chance to shine, she hurriedly swung open her front door, breezing through the living room and kitchen, and finally reaching the concealed basement entrance beneath the flowery carpet. In a hurry, she unlocked the hidden door, descending into the basement—a trove of dusty books and ancient artifacts, her secret haven for summoning practice. Cherine's fingers glided over the aged books adorned in fading hues until she laid eyes on the dusty blue one, a book that had weathered the passage of a century, safeguarded by the careful hands of her grandfather. Her gaze honed in on a specific page, the archaic text sprawled across the yellowing paper, the word "ANGEL" taking form in oversized, fading letters.

“This should be it,” Cherine muttered under her breath. She quickly read the contents of the entire page. Her eyes danced across the text as if possessed, absorbing every word as though the letters were leaping off the page and diving into her mind. With the final word absorbed, Cherine gently placed the ancient book on the floor, ready to prepare the complicated summon.

Cherine carefully gathered the necessary components. A petite silver candelabrum, etched with intricate designs, took center stage atop an ancient sigil etched into the floor—a guiding beacon for celestial energies. In measured motions, Cherine arranged crystals of varying hues around the summoning circle, each one symbolizing a unique facet of the ethereal connection she aimed to establish. The soft glow of candles flickered, casting dancing shadows on the timeworn walls, as Cherine continued the ritual. She took a vial containing a blend of rare herbs and oils, a familial concoction passed down through generations, and anointed her fingertips. Then she traced intricate symbols in the air, a symbolic language understood only by celestial beings. Finally, she reached for the ancient blue book, its pages bearing the wear of time yet pulsating with arcane energy. As she recited the incantation, Cherine's words echoed through the quiet basement, harmonizing with the whispered tales of her familial heritage. Cherine’s eyes glowed with anticipation, waiting for the bridge to be made between the earthly realm and the celestial plane.
 
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Tendrils of angry red and blinding yellow pulsed overhead with a resounding crack. It reverberated against the stone spires blacked by fire and the skeletal trees with their scorched bark. Perpetual ash covered the dried ground below, thick and heavy with a deceptive softness. Amidst the fluttering of ash and color, Vashre caught wind of the cloying smell of wood smoke accompanied by the pungent stench of brimstone. The odor was commonplace, much like that of blood, in the Fifth Circle of Hell. A stench that denoted both sin and filth no matter how clear the skies of hell were. To man, he supposed the smell was foul, but he found he quite liked to imagine that such a fragrance was similar to the earthly realm's flowers. Based upon the mortals that befell the Fifth Circle, he had an inkling that such a thing was not possible. And yet, the aroma of sinners would be ever so sweet to any demon, no matter their station.

Oh, but imagine... If he could just see and study such delicate specimens--flowers--up close. See, touch, and smell the beauty of something so simple and yet so impossibly fragile. A chuckle bubbled up, unbidden. He'd likely crush it by accident if the stories were true. Such dainty fauna was foreign in hell. The realm of devils was much too harsh, much too hot, and much too unforgiving for anything that required both life and time. Of course, the idea of seeing a rose for himself was not what drove him to carve canyons along the wooden floors, and it certainly was not what had both of his hands stained with the white of the Second Circle's chalk. No, it was the mere idea of being the first.

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Art by NNao​
His eyes were drawn back from the opened window, from the eternal stretch of hellscape, to the circle that encompassed the entirety of his bed chambers. There he looked upon the etchings that yawned across his floors once more and studied them, turning himself in circles, until both the grooves and the lines alike blurred. He'd studied this massive rune many times to the point where he could practically draw it in his sleep, and yet here he sat ensuring his rune's perfection for the twenty-fourth time. Every demonic character was measured in distance and thickness as it formed the outermost circle that just barely formed across the baseboards. The subsequent inner circles were just as precise as they spread out in the shape of a spider web, each bearing smaller runes that designating a virtue, limitation, or law of the two planes. At the center where he crouched was the final circle. There he'd drawn out an intricate flower that held four bolder petals, signifying the shared directions of each plane. From his assessment, his scrawling was concise, correct, and yet he looked again. Second, third, and a fourth time.

The obsessive insurance was more from the experience of failure rather than the insecurity that his mess of runes was not entirely correct. This his assumptions were not clouded by some type of ego or bias. After all, this would be his third attempt. The third try at being the first in the history of hell to reach out to the earthly realm. A task that was seemingly as impossible as growing a plant in hell. And yet this time, this time, he was sure that he'd gotten the rune translated from page to floor, was certain that his mana was balanced and solid for the two hour incantation, and was confident that his physical state was strong enough to handle the fatigue that would surely follow. Of course, he'd assured himself that much during the first and second try.

What was the mortal saying?

Third time's a charm.

A wrap of talons at his chamber door encouraged him to stand. The creak in his knees and the crack of his spine gave truth to his devotion in the rune translation. He'd likely already been at this for six hours, maybe seven.

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"Ser Vashre." The voice was painfully familiar. No other devil held such a brash tone despite their attempts in formality. It was undoubtedly Yuri, a being that held a healthy control over his mana pool and yet could not speak even the simplest of incantations without twisting his tongue. "Are you in there?" Talons wrapped again, and with it came the turn of the doorknob. Vashre moved across the floor with a deft quickness and struck the door as it began to open outward. It slammed shut and he heard tale of his unwelcomed guest falling backward. "Angels above, you fu-"

"What in Fifth do you want, Yuri?" Vashre demanded quickly. He spoke low, gutturally, and his voice gave remnants of a rusted sword being sheathed in a worn scabbard. All the while he kept his hand against the door as hard as he kept his wings tight against his back.

Yuri was by no means dumb. Though he could not speak in the tongue of their dark magic, he could easily recognize a rune just as he could recognized the demonic word for "sin." The rune that he had dedicated so much precious time to studying and translating would be no different. Especially if Yuri happened to see their language's characters that made the outer circle. He'd know instantly that Vashre was going against the department. Worse yet, he'd know that this rune was forbidden.

"Halavett," Yuri grumbled from the other side of the door, "she's summoned you."

The name of that wretched succubus had Vashre bearing his fangs. She likely wanted to use his knowledge as her own again. Perhaps resolve yet another incantation or imbue yet another artifact, claiming the credit for herself, for a request by the higher demons or even the angels themselves. Either way, it would waste more of his time and, more importantly, it would waste his mana pool. A fact that would set his third attempt back by days. Weeks. Which gave him all the more reason to bite the bullet.

Still keeping a restraint upon the door, Vashre turned so that his back rested against it, and he looked upon his circles once more. This time he did not look with attentive eyes. Instead he focused on the drawings as a whole. All it needed was a bit of life from blood and breath. With the final requirements in mind, he brought a thumb to a canine and bit. The blood was acrid to the taste and when he withdrew, he smeared the drop of blood across the pads of his finger tips. Keeping his hand extended and elevated before him, he drew symbols in the air. Each flourish of his wrist ignited a shimmering black character to materialize and evaporate before him, and with each flourish, he relented a bit of mana little by little.

"You-you did hear me, aye? Halavett-" Yuri's voice rose from behind him, but he ignored it as his characters became more crude, more mortal. He scrawled the symbols in the air hurriedly as he began to feel the wane in his mana. With the last of the symbols written, he intoned the phrase in his kind's language, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. It wasn't a necessity as the spell itself was one of concentration rather than spoken word, but the phrase helped his body and mind concentrate on divvying out mana. Helped it focus and maintain a tether of intent. Though simply put, he supposed it was like a prayer though one that would always go unheard.

Typically, Vashre would only ever get this far in the spell. The last two times had failed from his lack of mana control. But now, on his third attempt, the circles responded. At first he checked it off as being a trick of the light, and when the pulse of white didn't appear again, he'd even made to concede and answer Halavett's call. But then the etchings and the lines and the characters with its symbols and shapes began to glow. The glow erupted much like holy flames born from the presence of angels in hell, and it moved outward like a mass of slithering tendrils. At the center of the circle the flower petals vanished one by one, each ticking audibly before disappearing into an inky blackness. Then the light flashed. So bright, so hot, hotter than hellfire, and his wings unflared to curl around him.

Later, he would recall how it had all happened in a second. Though in the moment, it had felt much longer. But the introduction of cold was instantaneous. A type of cold that he numbly registered as a mortal winter, a season that many a sinner cried for while wading in the fires of hell. One that lingered and burrowed, found refuge underneath the pit of his absent soul. Perhaps he'd failed and had somehow summoned a blizzard from the earthly realm? Feathers shuddered against the lack of warmth, and he pulled his wings back slightly to assess the damage his third failure had done.

Red eyes blinked. No, surely not. His wings widened, and he moved to rub an eye.

Yes, surely so.

He recognized the petite creature, something that was likely as delicate and dainty as a flower, that appeared before him to be a mortal woman. It was the shortness in height and the roundness of the ears that gave her away to be that of the humans. Then there was her scent, it was unlike the smell of hell. Not to menti--Vashre sniffed the air. It did not smell of wood smoke or brimstone.

So then he had succeeded. And yet his gaze lingered on the mortal before him and then the area that surrounded them. Then his gaze fell to the floor. Within the beat of his wings he recognized the circle at his feet. It was much like his own but the virtues, the limitations, and law were all different. Perhaps even contrasting to his own. Although the striking difference was not in their opposing facets but in the use of crystals and the language that made a legitimate summoning a circle. And a good one at that.

"What in the Fifth?"
 
Cherine stood, her gaze fixed on the summoning circle, waiting for a response. Time trickled by slowly… 1 minute… 2 minutes… 5 minutes… 10 minutes… and still, the circle remained dormant, silent to her call. A long sigh escaped Cherine's lips, her patience waning like a candle flickering in a drafty chamber. "Perhaps it's not wo–" Her words were a mere prelude, abruptly cut short by a sudden burst of brilliance that pierced the room's somber veil. The circle, once shrouded in darkness, now glowed with a brilliant white light, casting intricate shadows across the room's dim expanse. As the light intensified, it transformed, shifting into a deep, ominous red. Cherine was captivated by its beauty, yet a sense of foreboding crept over her. The symbols within the circle began to glow, each one pulsing with raw energy before rising from the ground, linking together in a mesmerizing chain. The room trembled, books cascading from shelves as the symbols danced in the air.

The violent shaking sent Cherine stumbling, crashing into the wall before seeking refuge under a sturdy table. The chaos reached its peak as the room was engulfed in blinding light, forcing Cherine to shield her eyes. When the light faded, silence descended, broken only by the faint sound of settling dust. The summoning circle lay dormant once more, its light extinguished. But in its center stood a figure, shrouded in mystery, a silent sentinel amidst the aftermath of the arcane ritual.

With cautious steps, Cherine came out from her hiding place, her eyes sweeping over the disarrayed room until they settled on the enigmatic figure. She approached slowly, her gaze fixed on his unusual appearance. His body was wrapped in pitch-black feathers that resembled wings, adding to his mystique. Mesmerized, Cherine stood before him, trying to make sense of the surreal events unfolding before her. As the wings unfurled, revealing a man of unearthly beauty, Cherine was spellbound. His elongated ears hinted at an elven heritage, yet his talon-tipped hands and feet spoke of something more sinister. Towering over her, his wingspan seemed to stretch infinitely, casting a shadow over the room and amplifying his intimidating presence.

Cherine's thoughts raced, struggling to comprehend the being before her. Angels with black wings were unheard of in her knowledge. Before she could process further, a voice shattered the silence, drawing her attention. "What in the Fifth?" The man's deep voice resonated through the room, his piercing red eyes fixed on her, assessing her with a gaze that sent a shiver down her spine.

In a moment of panic, Cherine seized a nearby candle, hurling it towards him in a misguided attempt to confirm his reality. The candle missed its mark, flying harmlessly over his head. Flustered, Cherine stammered, attempting to explain herself. "Umm... I was just... trying to make sure you were real..." Her voice trailed off, the weight of the situation settling in. He was no angel, but what was he? Despite her unease, Cherine couldn't help but blurt out a question, her attempt at humor falling flat. "Is it a trend in heaven to paint wings black? Angel... man?" She offered a sheepish smile, fully aware of the absurdity of her words.
 
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Vashre was enraptured. The circle was perfect, more so than any summoning circle he'd happened across during his research, but the incantation and the facets... it shouldn't have worked by summoning alone. Not entirely. It had the necessary summoning properties, but from what he could tell, a few of the words crossed over into a dimensional teleportation spell. One that required a substitute if his memory served. Had it been used at the same time that he'd activated his own spell? That could have cancelled the spell's transaction requirement, but--

Thud

His wings unfurled at the sound that registered somewhere behind him, and they stretched across the room in an instinctual need to intimidate as well as prepare to seek flight. Eyes pulled away from the spell at his feet to focus on a pair of cerulean eyes framed by a curtain of long black hair. He flashed his fangs, hands lifting to the air between them in preparation for a spell. Then she spoke.

"Umm... I was just... trying to make sure you were real..."

Her voice pulled on the slither of silence between them by the seams. The sound of it, her voice, was strange. Every other mortal voice he'd ever heard had been saturated with a degree of hollowness, of desperation and sorrow. Yet hers was, dare he say, symphonious. Caution riddled her words, but he still registered the noise itself. For whatever reason, the acknowledgement settled his wings to fold and tuck against his back. In response, Vashre's hands eased to his sides. The unfamiliar tones aside, her words held a certain gravity to their situation. Although he was not well-versed in reading humans, she made it seem as if this had not been what she'd expected?

"Is it a trend in heaven to paint wings black? Angel... man?"

Her next words solidified the possibility. Thinking him to be an angel honestly wasn't uncommon. Most of the mortals in hell would at first suspect any winged being as such, and with each suspicion came swift punishment. For a demon to be compared to an angel... it was sickening. The very thought of it had him curling the side of his lip in disgust. "Do I look any bit of 'angelic' to you, mortal?" Vashre scowled. His wings shifted in reply. His gaze wandered back down to the circle again, and as he fumed at the mere thought of being an angel, he realized her circle's true intent.

"You...." he paused, and when he looked back at her, he felt a fit of laughter take over his appalled expression. "You meant to summon an angel?" It felt marginally better to know that though his own spell had not been perfect, and may not have even worked, that he hadn't quite fucked up as she had just done. "Impudent mortal, I'm a demon." He tapped a finger to his chest and laughed aloud. It was then that he took in the state of the room. A myriad of books were scattered along the sides of the room, each shelf unsettled with leaning shelves. Alongside the scattered books were various artifacts, and a mist of aged dust that still lingered freely in the room. The artifacts themselves were a mixture of items that held and were devoid of magical affinity, none of which he recognized. The same could be said for the books that now made up the floor, though many of them had fallen open to reveal pages abounded with the mortal tongue. Aftereffects of a summoning aside, he saw the signs of the mess for what they were as both his lab and bedchamber had shared many moments of disorderliness. This mortal either held a similar talent or a career to his own.

Such a realization stifled his laughter. Vashre looked down at her and acknowledged her fully. Like with demons, there were no obvious signs if she was some sort of alchemist, sorcerer, or just a curious scholar with a case of misfortune. Unless mortals in such fields were all as short as her. Other than her vertically challenge, he again registered her blue eyes and black hair. Took note to the way she stood, confident despite the way she spoke earlier, and observed the sharpness of her chin and lips that promised to become stuck in a constant fit of smiles. She looked the same as any sinner he'd laid eyes on, and yet... there was something slightly different. Almost as if--

Ah. There it was. Vashre blinked twice just to be sure, but once he'd seen it, the sight of it persisted. He'd gotten himself trapped in her eyes for a second longer, and within them he had seen an iridescent aura of magic. It did not cement her profession, but it did solidify that this circle had been done and powered by her.

"Enlighten me, mortal, what was your intention with," he cast a vague gesture around the room with a hand, "all of this? And how do you expect to fix this mistake of yours?" Honestly, he didn't want a remedy to the situation, but a summoning--no matter the properties--had happened. And with it came specific requirements. Strangely, he realized, he hadn't felt the rumored compulsion to entertain some type of contract yet. Yet he was certain that going back on his own, when he felt the need to, would be hindered by her spell in one way or another.
 
Demon...

The word echoed through Cherine's mind like a death knell, shattering the fragile reality she clung to. It was a word steeped in darkness, conjuring images of malevolence, of a force so vile it defied comprehension. Yet here, in the dimly lit chamber, facing the enigmatic figure before her, Cherine could no longer deny the truth it held.

As the man spoke, his voice laced with an otherworldly timbre, Cherine's confidence faltered, her words catching in her throat like shards of glass. She watched, transfixed, as his raven-like wings stretched proudly behind him, a stark contrast to any angelic visage she had ever hoped to see. In that moment, hope became a fleeting dream, replaced by a bone-deep dread that coiled around her like a serpent. Cherine desperately clung to the notion that this was all an illusion, a trick of the light, or perhaps a clever disguise forged in shadow. But deep down, she knew the truth... he was no mere trick of the eye, but a demon incarnate.

"I..." Her voice wavered, the weight of her realization bearing down upon her like a crushing weight. She recoiled slightly, instinctively stepping back from the being before her, her mind racing with visions of damnation and despair. In the recesses of her thoughts, she feared he could snatch her soul with but a word, consigning her to an eternity of torment without mercy.

Summoning what little courage remained within her, Cherine straightened her spine, her gaze meeting the demon's with a mix of trepidation and resolve. "I am a summoner's apprentice," she declared, her lips lifting in a forced smile, her cheek pushed up in a gesture of false confidence. "This..." she gestured to the broken summoning circle then to the room around them, "...is my summoning chamber. I was trying to summon an angel, but it looks like I accidentally summoned the angel's worst enemy instead."

She then moved aside a little bit, crouching to retrieve a blue book that lay nearby. Flipping through its pages, she found the section she had studied before and turned it toward the demon, tapping on the word "ANGEL" before closing the book and holding it close to her chest. "I have followed the instructions carefully, so the mistake must lie elsewhere..." she continued, her voice trailing off slightly. Cherine was careful not to directly accuse the demon, though she was certain he had interfered with the summoning process, causing him to be ensnared in her circle.
 
It was almost mesmeric how many untold thoughts surfaced and submerged across her face within the single beat of wings. The expressions cast a downpour of hesitance against her voice. As if she were climbing a precarious slope in search of her next string of words. Yet the moment she gave an identity to her self in the guise of a profession, he saw her confidence and pride.

A summoner... it was clear as sin, and yet the assurance eased Vashre. Apprentice or not, such a profession multiplied by the flickering aura that she presented and added to his own magical abilities, conjured up a swathe of probabilities. None of which she seemed to realize as she tapped a finger against a sea of words alongside the pages of her book. He'd only been allowed a moment to anchor onto the word "Angel" before she promptly closed the book.

Her final statement had both his wings nearly bristling and his brows furrowing. Without a doubt, she was pointing fingers at him, and who could blame her? Granted, the blame was most certainly not his. At least, not in its entirety. So then was she oblivious to her own talents, or was she not as well-learned as he would have originally expected for a self-proclaimed summoner? Considering the station of an apprentice, he supposed not.

"I would rather deem this an impossible success." Vashre offered. "Our spells perfectly aligned, and though the foundations may have differed, we made up for each of our spell's metaphorical holes." He clasped his hands together demonstratively. "Therefore, the blame is as much as mine as it is yours."

Moving to the circle's edge, Vashre nudged a foot at one of the crystals. The object still held a fragment of its original power; a tell that was evident in the way it still held onto its peculiar color and glow. "However..." he paused as he crouched down to observe the crystalline object further. "Your crystals still hold much more ethereal power than they should which means that our circles clashed in such a way where this summoning could also be described as displacement, or teleportation." He gradually stood and turned to face her. With the faintest shift of his wings, he promptly took one step outside of the circle. The gesture was a test, and he half expected it to backfire in the most devastating way. And yet his foot safely crossed the threshold with so much as a flicker in response from the circle beneath him. A clear sign as any that the majority of the law that made up summoning was now beyond them.

Another impossible feat, and yet he felt himself compelled to remain inside the circle's confines.

"I can only assume you meant for a proper summoning with an angel, which would involve a contract." As he spoke, Vashre withdrew his other foot from the circle. The compulsion thickened. And when he stood barely a few inches away from the mortal sorcerer, outside of the circle's touch, he felt the compulsion like a pair of wintry hands pushing against his shoulders. "So enlighten me, what kind of contract did you intend? Or were you merely doing a shot in the dark?"

The compulsion grew heavier the longer he remained, and then it started to burn. It was a subtle sensation, but the longer he let it simmer did it grow. He supposed that was yet another impossible success for the woman. The spell came out unexpected, but at least the summoner's protections were somewhat in place.

"Not that it matters as it sounds like you cannot undo this. Regrettably, I myself cannot undo it either. Whatever agreement you intended for an angel should be offered to me." The burn felt akin to ice that was far beyond hell's reach. "As a fulfilled contract between summoner and demon may likely be the only way out of this." It was with much regret that he proffered a clawed hand out toward her, palm facing skyward. "I am uncertain how those revolting creatures establish such agreements, but with my kin, place your hand on top of mine. Recite my name, Vashre Einar, your name, and your intentions within both the mind and the voice. Think of it as an attainable wish, but keep in mind that you must offer me something in return. Such is the way of an agreement backed by hell." Vashre fell into a wisp of silence before adding, "And before you dare ask, no you do not have to offer up your soul. Though... I wouldn't be against it." Each word was fuel to the burning commotion of the spell's obligation, and it had him shifting to his right and left foot. The thought on if she did everything and anything but a contract only seemed to allow the burn to evolve.
 
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