Skulking back into the shadows of his abode. The jealously guarded dominion of his own house lay before him as he left it, with a protesting cat as its hostage.

Darwin acknowledged the cat as he passed, trying to not step on it after putting it back together last night. His old master would have called his use of power a waste, but he needed a healthy vessel for what he planned tonight. He opened his small desk and laid down his materials.

The Tonic is a foul-smelling liquid of a dark almost black coloration. Beside it was the wooden carving, a weird idol from ancient times rendered anew, a twisted form of bird and beast pretending to take the shape of man, with a bull's head and eagles wings, a pair of serpents entwined in its middle. He set this aside for later, it was to be the cornerstone of his machinations.

And finally, in the fireplace of his own home, stirring the cold dead ashes, he produced a small bag of totems, similar to the disfigured idol on the table. Cast in bronze and small enough to be held in the palm of one's hand, there were four in total. With a cursory resemblance to a Frog, A Goat with a Fishes tail, A Panther or Lion with great wings, and an Eagle with a Great Serpent held clutched in its claws.

He placed them back in the small pouch and to the side while he cleared the floor.

It would have been now, that a stranger would have noticed the warped floorboards and the scarred wood that lay there. A black line, etched with fire, reassembling a lightning bolt, meandering and jagged edges could be seen as he cleared the floor of debris.

It was now clear, this man called Darwin, was a Warlock. A detested breed of the magical arts that relied not on his own Pneuma and Spirit to achieve change, but as a servant of the unworldly powers of devils and monsters. Crafting the visions of smoke and madness into true evils by giving themselves over to that hideous strength of the abyss.

He finished clearing the floor and returned to the fireplace and took a handful of ashes from the hearth. Walking slowly, he loosed his hand and poured out the gray powder onto the floor, turning to form a circle of scattered ashes around himself, coating the floor in shades of black and gray.

Next, he stepped across this boundary, taking care not to scuff the circle as he did so. He seized up the small satchel and emptied its disturbing figures into his palm. Placed them an equal distance away from each other along the circumference of the newly traced orb on his floor. Next, he took the foul idol itself, The Cat saw him turn, carrying the odious thing, and hissed at it.

The Warlock scoffed at him and set it in the center of the circle. The scene was an ominous one, but more was yet to come. He then took the tonic in one hand and then seized the cat with the other one.

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The Animal fought as was its nature, but the Warlock exuded the same foul influence as he did before, a paralyzing sensation of evil intention entered, no, burst from the cat's body. As its wounds became undone. The Warlock magic had only held the shattered pieces in their place, he'd never actually healed the creature.

The beast was helpless as he forced the foul potion down its throat. It struggled against the sensation of drowning as it choked it down. The Warlock then pulled the bottle away, leaving the cat to hack and wheeze as it cleared the foul mix from its lungs.

The Cat then felt a different but equally foreign sensation ripple through its body, it was cold and sharp. Then warm and expansive, as millions of active parts suddenly spun out of control and were just as easily silenced, as a new paradigm unfolded like a rose petal flower.

The Last thing the cat could reliably perceive was the Warlock Downing the rest of the bottle himself before everything turned to a blur of unforeseen colors.

Darwin shuddered as he drank the foul potion himself, but he and the vessel had to be in a similar state for this to work. With his vision blurring at the edges, he rushed to complete the ceremony.

Taking the now semi-paralyzed cat, he placed it within the confines of the circle at the foot of the central bizarre totem. Figures danced at the edges of his vision, strange unformed bodies that passed with the flickering lights of the lamps and candles.

Darwin rubbed his eyes, as he touched his face he found that he was sweating. He threw such cares aside and proceeded in his work. The ritual was nearly complete. The Vessel Prepared and the Circle drawn, all that was left was to say the words.

He began chanting in a tongue that none had heard before, saying phrases and words that plucked the air with an evil accord, like moldy dead fingers on a bards lyre.

At first, nothing seemed to happen, then, the room buckled and shook. the boards rose and fell like the waves on the sea. A Wind howled from nowhere and a thunderclap echoed throughout the house. The shadows lengthened and contorted into a sea of inky black. The small-signal fires of lamps and candles were each snuffed out by a cold and cruel hand. Then he heard it, moving behind him.

The shadows peeled away at the sound of laughter which ran in the little man's ears like raining daggers. It played wild music, the kind only Devils can play, fast and shrieking in their haunting melodies, struggling to break free from the players' grasp. It rose and fell, the walls, floor, and ceiling keeping impossible time with the evil music as they danced, casting the twisted shadows into greater disarray, a perfect storm of confusion and darkness.

The Devil rose amidst the kingdom he'd created of sound and shadow, braying and moaning with the great accord. Stretching his vast body, rippling with wrought iron power, a monolith of beaconing intent and vile envious desires. The beast opened its eyes, letting fire pour out of them.

The Warlock steeled himself and steadied his hand. For he had sworn to fight this beast, To tame this monster and make its power his own. And he would be damned if he wasn't going to win.

He raised his hand, licks of fire sprang from his fingertips. The Devil saw him and Laughed in the same manner as before, now all the more hideous from his tones of amusement, and then drew his sword. A thing of terrible beauty, the length of a full man's height and as wide as his arms stretched out to the fullest. The Devil beckoned to the foolish Warlock to let the duel begin.