Several black-robed mystics chanted to one another, weaving the complex summoning spell together to the essential moment and required outcome. One of the ritualists gasped, reached for his chest, and collapsed upon the pure marble of the chamber floor.

Another ritualist stepped into the circle, next to the collapsed man, and took up the chant right away while too others in the back went to move the fallen.

"My apologies, M'lord," one of the men whispered to another. "We'll remove him to be dealt with-"

"Toss him in the pit."

The two tending to the fallen also looked up, frozen by uncertainty. "M'lord?"

"He failed to so much as warn us he was going to falter. If he can't serve to control the ritual, then he'll serve as raw material. The ritual is the only thing that matters. It is more important than any of our lives. The pit."

The ritualist attempted to struggle, but he was outnumbered and having a heart attack. He was shoved into the shallow pit in the center of the chamber. Long, slender tendrils of living darkness reached up from through the floor, embraced him, then began the slow process of peeling his flesh off one long, almost loving, stroke at a time.

For a brief moment, the chamber glowed as lightning danced across the gold and gemstones installed in the pure marble of the chamber. The excess energy was absorded, balanced, and evened out across the supernatural matrix. A spell of this magnitude taxed not just the ritualists, but the fabric of the Ether itself. One mistake, and the excess energy would rupture and spill uncontrolled into the physical world, killing all of them.

Meanwhile, the others continued their chanting while weaving the web of magic. The lord in question noted with some satisfaction as one of the other chanters stepped back, replaced by a fresh chanter. He had always believed the best way to get results was to remind people of the stakes.

Several agonizing minutes later, the upswell of controlled chaos reached its apex; the point where time and space could be folded in on themselves, torn assunder, and forced into new configurations.

The lord slipped a dagger out from the concealment of his robe and sliced his own palm. Holding a hand out over the pit, he allowed his blood to soak the stone, soon to be taken as nourishment by the black tendrils. Nasty creatures though they were, they were the most attainable of a short list of components that could achieve this final effect.

As they had consumed so much blood and tissue, the spell now consumed them. They screeched in protest as they were converted first to a toxic smoke, then converting that spoke to a carefully balanced mix of void and negation magic.

With the resonance established, the portal could be torn through reality- at the other end, a specific and unique magical signature that existed in one and only one spot. Energy was consumed, space was transposed, and without fanfare a hairless beast of dark purple and black standing half again as tall as a man found itself in the middle of the pit.

Twin talons on a digitigrade leg carved through the stone while wings unfurled and three-fingered claws opened wide, ready for the challenge. Its solid black eyes darted around like a caged animal's.

The demon tilted his head back and screamed, releasing reverberations of warped sonic magic meant to cause terror and madness. The shielding created by the ritual prevented any supernatural aspect of the scream from escaping the pit, but several of the ritualists faltered and stepped back. The lord made a mental note of which ones proved to be cowards. He wouldn't punish them; they did accomplish their mission. However, they would find themselves receiving less favor than the ones who stood their ground.

It then lunged forward, straight at the lord who had overseen this ritual. Its arms jerked back momentum yanked the body forward, wrists are tethered by invisible chains to the center of the pit.

"WHO DARES SUMMON ARAKASH, LORD OF BLIGHT!?!"

So it finally speaks. "That would be my doing." He remained calm, removed his hood to reveal his handsome, if somewhat older, features with blond hair long faded to grey. Unlike many, he was uninterested in using magic to emulate youth; he took pride in knowing he earned every wrinkle on his face. "I am King Sorda".

"Then I am in Tiras," Arakash responded. He stepped back, then stood to his full height.

Facing down the creature that was almost eye level to him in spite of standing in the pit, Sorda smirked. "So you're educated, then. That'll save us some time."

"The only time you should concern yourself with is when I break free from this prison. Then I shall see your civilization razed to the ground. You will live as my slave until I tire of your screams".

"I think you'll find that quite impossible."

Arakash lunged again, straining against the bindings holding him. His talons found purchase in the stone, allowing him to pull himself forward step by painful step. One arm got close enough that Sorda could have reached out and touched it, if he had any such desire.

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"Impressive, but you're at your limit, and the spell i-" A bone spear shot forward from Arakash' wrist, cutting off Sorda's speech and only instinct and reflexes kept his head from going with it. He caught his composure after a moment. "Hmm, I hadn't realized you were hosting a Vilos. But even if it had struck me, what would it have accomplished? Even if you somehow managed to land a killing blow despite my defenses and my healers' best efforts, I'd have been revived within the hour. A waste of effort."

"Don't care, it would have hurt." Arakash knew better than to reveal his actual plan was to bury the Vilos boneblade into the man's flesh in order to drag him into the pit.

"I should think that those of our stations would be above such petty displays. But if you insist." He nodded toward the sorcerer next to him.

The hooded summoner raised his hands up to his face and formed a triangle with his hands above his forehead.

Arakash screamed, dropping to his knees in agony. The parasite attached to his arm writhed, white bone flailing around it and leaving gashes in the demon's flesh. After what he considered enough time, Sorda held up his hand, and the summoner stopped.

"Now, a lesser man would resort to threats after a display like that one, such as ripping that disgusting worm out of your arm." He took a step forward, then jumped down into the pit. Magically enhanced muscle made the drop harmless. He walked toward the demon. "But I like keeping my tools as useful as possible, and it is easier to demonstrate that you've already lost."

Arakash rose again, reaching out to grip the vulnerable throat of his captor, only to stop at the last moment. "W-why? How." He drew back, looking at his hand as if it had personally betrayed him.

"Part of the summoning process. You were bound into my service before you even knew the spell was being cast. Did you truly believe I would come this far and leave such a glaring oversight as allowing you the ability to do me harm in any way?"

"You did WHAT!?!" Arakash's eyes widened in what might have been horror. "Command magic requires consent, there's no sacrifice in the world high enough to over come that law."

"And that is where you're wrong." Sorda smirked at the creature. "There is at least one method, and while there is a sacrifice required, it is one I would not hesitate to pay a thousand times over to claim a tool like you."

"I... see." Arakash grit his teeth, running through every scenario in his head where he might kill the man before him via indirect methods that could circumvent the binding spell. He found none.

"Now, shall we get to business?" Sorda asked, as if it were a pleasant dinner meeting. "Preferably in a human form."

"Very well," Arakash snarled, With a moment of concentration, his flesh twisted in on itself. His two pairs of wings folded inward and rolled into his back, his skin changed from dark purple to a medium brown. Hair sprouted from his scalp, clothing manifested over his body, somehow. In seconds, a handsome and muscular man had replaced the demonic beast. "What service could you possibly consider worth the price paid this night?"

"One which is simple, and anything but straightforward," Sorda said. "You are to protect my daughter".

Arakash let out a bitter and cruel laugh. "I must admit, I never would have anticipated such a demand. Surely such a great lord as yourself would have better servants than a Noctrel to be around what would surely be a beautiful and," he took the time to smile and lick his lips. "Extremely tasty young maiden."

"There's no risk to her." If he felt any concern over the obvious threat and innuendo, he showed no sign of it. "When I claimed you were bound to me, that was not entirely true. It is in fact her that you are specifically chained to, while I'm using my status as her father and my talent as a Blood Mage to exert some limited version of that control over you. Your powers are useless on her. More than that, her life force was chained to yours. Your body will take on any injury meant for her. So long as you live, she cannot die."

Arakash bit his tongue; proclaiming something impossible while witnessing it with his own eyes would make him look both weak and foolish. It was better to spend his efforts seeking a way to break the spell, instead. "Is there anything else I should know about this binding magic?"

"Just the mundane ones," Sorda answered calmly. "On the off chance you aren't familiar. You can't lie to or betray her, must obey her commands, and cannot knowingly bring her to danger or harm. All standard for any sort of bound servant. Certainly I needn't go over the tedium. One such as you should already know the details of such magic."

"I... understand." All but the most important detail, which was the question of how this sort of comprehensive binding magic could be applied without the consent of all parties. "Your daughter is about to be exposed to specific dangers, which is why you need me." It was the only reason he could think of that Sorda wouldn't have bound him to himself over any other.

"I suppose it was an obvious conclusion." Sorda kept his tone neutral. "Yes. If you're aware enough to identify my nation by my name, then you're aware of recent political history. Princess Adageyudi is being sent on a diplomatic mission to Karana. You are to use your extensive natural talents in manipulation and deception to assist in every way possible."

"I'm sure the fact that Karana is matriarchal played a role in this decision, but how do you expect me to avoid all the security magic?"

"The binding magic will hide you from any passive detection or shielding. So long as you don't attempt to actively cast spells on someone, you'll be fine. Even if you do attempt spellcasting, I doubt they'll realize you're Noctrel. They'll simply think you're a particularly stupid mage, which will endanger my daughter's mission."

"Which means I'm unable to attempt it in the first place." The idea that the binding could hide his presense suggested it was, in fact, a double-structured binding, where she was bound to him as well as him being bound to her. Which he knew had been tried before by Noctrel and allied human mages, but if this Sorda's claim proved true, it was far more advanced than any technique he had ever heard of before.

Once again, he was struck by how impossible the conditions of this magic seemed. Not for the first time, he regretted that his talents were of a more physical nature, rather than the magical genius that his sister and their mother shared.

"I'm relieved to see you've finally managed to grasp the situation." Sorda stepped around the demon, making toward the stairs leading out of the pit. "Now, I am a busy man, so my servants will see to you. They will provide you to some guest quarters and what information my informants have on Karana's social and political situation, to aid your mission. Remember, as my daughter benefits from my property and agents, harming them is the same as harming her."

Arakash growled under his breath as Sorda left the room, swearing upon demons far more horrifying than himself that one day he would torture this man to death twice for every day he had to suffer the humiliation of servitude.

And oh, the unspeakable fate which awaited his daughter.