Staphanopodese could hear the incantation penetrating his cell, dragging him from his relaxing game of spider-solitaire. Well, maybe “hear” is not the proper word to use. “Feel” is more of an accurate description.
“What stupidity is this, why does this summoning feel so… Wrong?!”
Finding himself in a dimly lit room with what he assumed were willing acolytes, he grinned for a moment. It had been decades since he was last summoned, and how he had missed the carnage that always came with it. The smell of the sacrifices to entice him to do whatever grisly, dark thing that the summoners wanted. The blood, oh, the beauty of the blood on his claws and the fire…
Wait a moment, something was wrong. Slowly, he took stock of the room.
The candles, the lovely flickering of the candles, with the ever-fascinating smoke…. Were not giving off any heat? The delicious smell of the rendered fat that is inherent in candles… also was not there. Had humanity somehow managed to perfect magic candles during the ninety or so years that he had been locked away? What a strange thing?!
His sacrifice, the blood-for-blood trade that would be the exchange for his infernal service was also wrong. Baby goat, pig, dog, human, he was not too fussy (although he preferred his human “long-pig” and had introduced it as a food to many groups of acolytes in the past) but what was this weird crap that was on the alter? No blood, no real color, and smelled faintly of… beans?
The typical decorations were also all wrong. No gloriously gruesome depictions of disemboweled humans. Gone were the tapestries showing blood rituals and the hierarchy of demons. Instead, the walls were covered with shiny images of groups of young men in ridiculous poses. No. Something evil was afoot, and not in the fun way.
Rage, that old familiar friend, boiled through him him like a flood of lava meeting a door made of ice, channeling the collective voices of the recently damned.
“Puny humans, who disturbs my time? What is this foul offensive ritual?”
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The acolytes, who had been staring at him, shuddered in fear. Or maybe it was not fear because everything else about the whole situation was wrong.
“Hey, so…” stammered a crumpled ball of robes with two eyes peering out from the depths of a hood, “we, uh, summoned you and stuff. We…we want to talk to you.”
“What is all of this shit? Where are the candles, my sigil, and what the hell kind of sacrifice is this? Severely insulting to tradition, and how were you able to break into the demonic plane with this Mickey-mouse level of crap? Do you know who I am?! I am Staphanopodese, the destroyer, bringer of blood and calamity!”
“Yeah, Steph, we uh, we know who you are. You are all delulu with the skibidy behavior. Un-aliving so many people; I almost had a Menty-b when I saw the TikTok about you. So sketch, so cringe.”
Was the pissant trying to communicate in some form of devolved English?
“English. You speak it? Explain. And its Staphanopodese, respect is paramount”
“Ok, Boomer. Well, candles burn, and burning things is bad for the environment #myplanettoo, so instead, we have nice solar powered LED imitation candles. The sacrifice is organic soy imitation long-pig, because “Meat is Murder” and murder is bad. Finally, your sigil is here,” it held up a glowing plastic rectangle, “it was converted to a QR code so that we can do the summoning anywhere and cancel your ass!”
Staphanopodese let out an exasperated sigh.
“Cancel? And what, do tell, does that mean? That you’re going to risk offending a powerful demon? The demon who started the Black Plague? Who put into motion the 100 days of terror during the French Revolution? The hand that guided Whitechapel Jack’s blade? Who was the inspiration for the folklore surrounding the Bogeyman? Who has directly and indirectly led to the deaths of millions of your fellow humans? Well? Speak, insect!”
He edged his way slowly towards the edge of the summoning circle. There was something that the summoners had neglected.
“Yeah, uh. See, that’s why we summoned you. You need to be held accountable for that.” The clothing ball grew bolder and straightened itself out. “It’s not cool what you did, and we’re going to punish you for being a bully.”
“Do you know, human,” he spat the words, “what enables a human to trap and compel a greater entity, like me? R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Respect. Here is what it means to me. Proper summoning circle. Real candles, real salt for the circle, a real blood sacrifice, and a written sigil. What is here? What YOU did? Is this supposed to “compel” me to be punished?”
He stepped out of the circle, over the salt-substitute, and grinned maliciously at the terrified group of teens.
“Sorry-not-sorry, but that wouldn’t compel a cat, but I am happy to teach you about proper respect.”