Djinn
02-28-14, 03:16 AM
Closed to The Master. This is the story of how Djinn Kaine and his Master, Abel Wilder, met, hence why Djinn has his full form just now. It will reveal how Kaine came to be Abel's slave and what they might do in the future ("now", three years later)
I stood in the archway of the entrance to the Court of Ifrits, in H’Ades, Hell, leaning against the side of the pillar, my bony shoulder resting on brimstone. As I breathed the four feathered wings exploding from my back rose and fell in time, and the cloven hooves that were my feet owned the ground they stood upon. The proud and glorious antlers that grew from my brow that changed and grew and fell off almost every other day were decorated with tinsel that some random fool had placed there and was currently obscuring my view of the Court, but I could not be bothered to remove it. Secretly I liked the sparkle in my peripheral vision.
In that place, in that time, I did not, in any way, expect what was to happen next. One moment I was there, most deliciously and beautifully in H’Ades, waiting to be sent on some errand once more, and the next my body was ripped from me.
Being summoned is never anything pleasant. Whichever bastard magician first discovered the ability to do so will forever be hated by all demons alike. The pain begins in your heels, pricking them like needles, then jaggedly it jumps to your spine, and lances its way up there. From that place it shudders into your solar plexus, causes your heart to have a minor attack, then fills the head with a sensation that feels like it is being stabbed repeatedly with blunt butter knives and bashed with mithril ladles. My brain, if it can be called a brain, sang in agony as my entire being was suddenly dragged from the pleasant realm of fire and the Underworld, and shoved into the humanoid realm above. My sense of free-will was shattered, my life sundered and own wants and desires cast aside to the level of negligible. Forcibly I was removed from my home and taken to a place I did not want to be, but a place that ended up being the blessing in disguise I had been waiting for, for years.
A room. High-ceiling but dark. Windowless, similar to a cellar or a basement it was lit by various candlestands that followed the lines of the walls. There was a group of presences - human, as far as my senses could tell me - that were similar in age and height, all clothed the same. The summoning circle I stood in seemed to be drawn in something close to blood, perhaps it was blood itself, but I did not have the time to bend down and taste. There were still words being spoken.
“Deos quoque sanguinem et Inferno, et creans tenebras, hic nostram causam Althanas…”
Something about hell. Darkness. The usual mumblings of amateur summoners; words that were highly repetitive and so disasterously cliche, but powerful. The words caught my attention, and I looked over to where they came from.
The centre of the room, from a man who stood over a stone altar like from emotionless meglomaniac. In his hand he held a knife, and the point of this knife pierced the flesh of a chest, a chest belonging to a young boy held by chains to the altar itself, whose screams were muffled by a hand held over his mouth.
“Deos ignis! Audi nos! Infinita potentia ad nos sanguinem daemonium puer copulare!”
Something, something, blah, eternity… I looked at the boy, and he stared back, large grey eyes gazing out in a plea. I raised an eyebrow, then stared at his features. His unmistakable features. Because I knew him well, I knew the whole family well.
The features of the Wilders, that disgusting human family, scourge of the earth. Those features that I had been searching for, for two decades. Those features that burned my dreams, turned them into nightmares.
Those features of that family who had murdered my sister.
I stood in the archway of the entrance to the Court of Ifrits, in H’Ades, Hell, leaning against the side of the pillar, my bony shoulder resting on brimstone. As I breathed the four feathered wings exploding from my back rose and fell in time, and the cloven hooves that were my feet owned the ground they stood upon. The proud and glorious antlers that grew from my brow that changed and grew and fell off almost every other day were decorated with tinsel that some random fool had placed there and was currently obscuring my view of the Court, but I could not be bothered to remove it. Secretly I liked the sparkle in my peripheral vision.
In that place, in that time, I did not, in any way, expect what was to happen next. One moment I was there, most deliciously and beautifully in H’Ades, waiting to be sent on some errand once more, and the next my body was ripped from me.
Being summoned is never anything pleasant. Whichever bastard magician first discovered the ability to do so will forever be hated by all demons alike. The pain begins in your heels, pricking them like needles, then jaggedly it jumps to your spine, and lances its way up there. From that place it shudders into your solar plexus, causes your heart to have a minor attack, then fills the head with a sensation that feels like it is being stabbed repeatedly with blunt butter knives and bashed with mithril ladles. My brain, if it can be called a brain, sang in agony as my entire being was suddenly dragged from the pleasant realm of fire and the Underworld, and shoved into the humanoid realm above. My sense of free-will was shattered, my life sundered and own wants and desires cast aside to the level of negligible. Forcibly I was removed from my home and taken to a place I did not want to be, but a place that ended up being the blessing in disguise I had been waiting for, for years.
A room. High-ceiling but dark. Windowless, similar to a cellar or a basement it was lit by various candlestands that followed the lines of the walls. There was a group of presences - human, as far as my senses could tell me - that were similar in age and height, all clothed the same. The summoning circle I stood in seemed to be drawn in something close to blood, perhaps it was blood itself, but I did not have the time to bend down and taste. There were still words being spoken.
“Deos quoque sanguinem et Inferno, et creans tenebras, hic nostram causam Althanas…”
Something about hell. Darkness. The usual mumblings of amateur summoners; words that were highly repetitive and so disasterously cliche, but powerful. The words caught my attention, and I looked over to where they came from.
The centre of the room, from a man who stood over a stone altar like from emotionless meglomaniac. In his hand he held a knife, and the point of this knife pierced the flesh of a chest, a chest belonging to a young boy held by chains to the altar itself, whose screams were muffled by a hand held over his mouth.
“Deos ignis! Audi nos! Infinita potentia ad nos sanguinem daemonium puer copulare!”
Something, something, blah, eternity… I looked at the boy, and he stared back, large grey eyes gazing out in a plea. I raised an eyebrow, then stared at his features. His unmistakable features. Because I knew him well, I knew the whole family well.
The features of the Wilders, that disgusting human family, scourge of the earth. Those features that I had been searching for, for two decades. Those features that burned my dreams, turned them into nightmares.
Those features of that family who had murdered my sister.