Sign Here, Please

“A simple signature, and the world is yours.” The contract slid across the fine oak desk. Two long fingers held the corner, careful not to smudge the writing, which glimmered red on the parchment. Nikola stared. His hand throbbed, even after wrapping the cut in his moth eaten robe. A wave of nausea came over him, a side effect of the ritual. It had worked. Nine years Nikola had studied at the Ethereal Academy, and he had never earned a braid. Rumours followed him from failed class to failed class. They said he had no aptitude for magic, that his connection to the Stream was a lie. Faked his way in, they said, with trickery, bribes and seduction. The seduction rumour in particular aggravated Nikola. He could barely seduce his own hand. Still he had decided to show them. A ritual worthy of four braids! Nikola was ecstatic, bursting with pride and giddy with glee.

He was violently ill in his lap.

Right. The nausea. Apologies cascaded out of his mouth as he tried to clean up his breakfast without breaking the circle. By the Pages, if he broke the circle he’d be in real trouble. The demon was unimpressed. It continued to sit, lightly tapping the contract. Smoke swirled around it, carrying a hint of brimstone. Nikola eyed the thing again, still impressed by the way in which the infernal being traveled.

It wore a suit. A nice one. Black, naturally, but fitted to the form. Muscles could clearly be seen under the finely woven wool which trailed down to fine leather cuffs. The lapels and collar were also trimmed with black leather and his shirt was satin. Nikola suspected there was even a well tailored hole in the trousers for their tail, which was curled casually around the fine mahogany leg of its chair.

And the desk! The craftsmanship was, ironically, divine. Elegant figures were carved into the legs, reaching up for the rounded table top, which contained whirling streaks of colour from a dozen different trees. Even the headmistress did not have such a fine piece of furniture, and it was most certainly grander than anything Nikola’s family had ever even dreamed of owning.

Nikola felt a faint resentment towards that desk. It was huge and must have been terribly heavy. The fact that it was here at all meant either the demon brought it along off its own power or, far more likely, Nikola had been made to transport the damn desk as part of the ritual. No wonder the ritual was so hard, the desk had to easily weigh twice the demon and chair put together.

Hand still throbbing, lap wet and resentment towards furniture firmly lodged in his heart, Nikola finally leaned over the desk and looked at the contract, gleaming in the candle light. The demon continued to tap.

“That’s very fine ink.”

“That is your blood, provided by the ritual. It is how we bind the contract. Sign it.” Nikola felt queasy again. His blood? He had just assumed the blood was some sort of conduit or used to make the corporeal body for the demon. Or the Pages-cursed desk. “Well, the penmanship is lovely.” The demon stared. It tapped the contract again. Nikola had to admit, he was losing his bottle slightly. It was one thing to think about having demonic powers and burning the world that had so slighted him, quite another to do it. Could he really do it? Sell his soul for endless power?

He tentatively reached for the contract, and the demon gave a hefty sigh of relief. As it muttered in some strange language that gave Nikola a headache, the amateur magus read what the demon offered. There were a lot of big words in here, but he could see the important ones. Power. Soul. Fire. Classic demon words really. There was some vague mention of servitude and freedom, was the demon really that desperate? To give himself fully to Nikola?

“These are very generous conditions.” Nikola put the contract back on the table and slid it toward the demon, unsigned. It narrowed its pitch black eyes, and bared sharpened teeth toward Nikola. It spoke, calmer than before, voice hollow like a bottomless pit, “Yes. We thought so. We believe you mortals call it a poor man’s choice. Take what is offered, not what is asked.”

“Well, it's a shame about the circumstances, I hope it was nothing to do with my summoning.” Nikola almost felt bad, if he signed, the thing would be bound to him as long as he lived. And wizards can live a long time.

The demon, Nikola supposed he should learn its name at some point, raised an eyebrow, “Trust me, your ritual is the exact reason we are so interested and offered such a…professional appearance. First impressions are important.” As it gestured across its desk, a seam of its suit tore, red flesh glinting from the gap. Fire flared in the eyes of the creature, and a black, oily, whip-like tongue shot out of the mouth, wrapped around its arm and tore the entire sleeve off. Fire turned the offending sleeve to ash, as it was tossed in the air, and the demon roared in victory, banging the desk and causing cracks to appear in the multi-grained wood.

It was only when Nikola squeaked that the demon seemed to remember itself. Splinters were wiped away, the tie was readjusted, and it ripped the other sleeve off for some sense of symmetry. “I apologise for my lack of decorum, I assure you, I am a professional.” To help prove its point, glasses appeared on its face, neat black frames and smokey lenses. Nikola walked out from behind his chair, eyes still on the large crack in the desk. He could make out the grooves of the demon’s palm. As the wizard settled back into the chair, the demon recommenced its incessant tapping.

Well, it was now or never. He refused to be Nikola Braidless anymore, he would be better than all of them! Nikola Hellwielder! Nikola Demonsoul! Nikola the Handsome Devil! How did nicknames even start? Is it considered bad form to force your new mind slaves to call you by one? Well, he would have plenty of time to figure out these important mysteries. Images of fame, fortune and power blazed across his mind as Nikola reached for the contract. The demon winced as Nikola’s tattered sleeve smudged part of the still wet contract, but Nikola was too eager to sign to notice. A quick poke with the obsidian knife reopened his palm, and Nikola signed in blood. Casually, the demon put the quill and inkpot back into its desk, and avoided rolling its eyes.

Flames burst from the circle of runes on the floor. They went from crimson, to a deep purple, to pitchest black. The demon now wore a genuine smile, not the strained, professional one that it had sported since appearing. Laughter, cruel and cold, filled the room. It was as if the flames themselves joined in, and Nikola thought he could see faces within. The demon seemed rather happy about all of this, and Nikola wished to share in the good humour. He began to laugh as well.

Well, he tried. He could not move. His hand was still pressed to the parchment, words now blazing with arcane power. Nikola’s mind screamed. What was going on? The demon had torn its fine suit off, and now stood in the fullness of its power. Koridium, that was its name. The knowledge had burst into Nikola’s skull. It had put it there, Koridium was putting things in Nikola’s brain. As the hellspawn strolled around its desk, which was now rotting away, it read Nikola like a book. Or a contract, it suggested in Nikola’s thoughts.

Oh shit, thought Nikola.

Oh shit indeed, Koridium supplied.

He had gotten it wrong. It wasn’t the demon that would be enslaved. He had just signed his own life away. That bloody book had lied to him! Ultimate power it had claimed! A ritual so easy a trained monkey could do it. Koridium stood in front of him now, a body of shining red rippling muscle. A meaty clawed hand gripped Nikola’s face, and it spoke in a hushed tone. “You are the magical equivalent of a cart with square wells. Good only for breaking down and restructuring into something useful. Do you think you really completed this ritual? Hmm?” It squeezed, and Nikola felt the claws pierce his skin. They burned. Of course they did. With a body that refused to listen to him, Nikola could not even scream. The pain seared through him. Koridium continued, practically salivating, “We watch for these things you know. For the mistakes, for the fools. It is not the wizard that decides what comes through these portals. It is us.” So the damn demon did make the desk come through. Nikola could tell now that it had taken great glee in forcing him to transport that as well as the creature. Nikola found himself more resentful of that, and the fact the desk was now rotting mush, than he was of what happened next.

Fire consumed the world. Everything burned in those black, endless, infernos. Nikola saw glimpses of a vast wasteland, a million souls chained to each other, toiling under the terrible yolk of impossible creatures. These creatures, in turn, were punished by even great monsters. Up and up it went, until at the top of the pyramid of suffering sat a king. A king in a fine business suit, with an incredibly fancy desk. Koridum was not just a demon.

It was the demon. The first sin. Crowned in tears and broken prayers.

And now it had mortal form. Nikola’s body stood up, and the wizard watched. A passenger in his own life. Koridium cackled, and made to leave the circle so that it could bring its terrible plans to fruition. Hell would soon come to the mortal world, and leave nothing but ashes.

The first sin, Koridium, emperor of cruelty, draped in the blood of the suffering then slipped on the vomit puddle, and cracked its head on the finely made desk.

Typical, thought Nikola.

Shut up, thought Koridium.