Chapter Three: Blood Bought

Armand stood by his master, quaking slightly as the bodies were fused with dark magic and began to rise.

The Master waited patiently, almost absent mindedly, still looking intently at the half drawn circle.

"Master?" Armand's voice gave his fears awat freely. A simple sword would do little to skeletons and rags.

As if lost in a dream, the robed man stuck a hand out. The sigil etched into his head began to glow, seemingly absorbing the magic from the corpses. One by one,, they exhaled a 'breath'of dark power and collapsed.

The Master grabed his hand by the wrist and tugged it down, panting.

He shot Armand a disapproving look.

He calmed himself and spoke.

"Thank you Armand for the warning. Forgive my reverie."

Armand was quick to appease the man.

"No, forgive me for not being strong enough to handle them."

THe man smiled and looked back to the circle.

"You did just fine." He smiled. Armand backed away from him.

"I require some blood. Not all of it, of course."

Armand looked ot the altar and back to his Master.

"Am I to fetch a girl?"

His Master walked to him, unsheathing a dagger from his belt.

Armand back up into the altar.

The Master slit his shoulder and squeezed.

A single drop fell to the altar.

"Thank you." But his words were covered by a shriek, as wind filled the room.

And there before them, a stairway of smoke lead to the ceiling.

"We have beaten its guardians, though it drained me, and now we have offered it blood. Now we must simple finish the circle.Hand me the Relic."

Armand, tendering his shoulder, did so.

The Master walked up the stairs with ease, as if it were a past of normal life. He began to inscribe the remaining runes.

As he did the light outside dimmed, and a red light now shone at the center of the room.

Armand drew his sword to the ready again.

Descending his Msater waved him off.

"I, Grishom, call to you. My servant has paid the blood bond. Rise from your home and come to my summons."

The floor splintered, and fire spat forth.

Armand could not help but to draw back in fear.

A single hand sprang from the hole, and began to pull itself out.

Drenched in black ichor, a fairly human shaped form rose from the depths.

His voice sounded as if it were a small raspy whisper just behind them.

"You, Grishom, have summoned me, Torngrath the Defiler, from my place of banishment. Who are you to claim such power?"

Grishom strode forward, swallowing any fears down.

"I am a master mage and have come to set you free."

The demonic being knew the wiles of man, and knew that another fool had come to bargain.

"Name your price, human."

Grishom beaconed Armand forward.

"I give you his servitude." Armand looked to Grishom, his master, confused and distraught.

"He is mine then."

"I am not finished demon. His servitude, so long he is a man."Armand looked warily at both of them. He was just a pawn.

He finally broke out of his trance.

"Curses to both of you. I shall not, Master."

Grishom did not reply. He turned and ran his dagger into the abdomen of his servant.

What Armand and the demon had not seen was the salve he had placed upon the dagger as he was speaking.

"What good is a dead human to me?"

Grishom smiled.

"He will not die from the wound. It is to ensure he does not leave you. See? He is bound."

Magic bonds shot out of his hands and onto Armand.

"What would you have?"

"Your freedom, and the Final Arcanix."

"You seek the darkest of magics."

"I no longer seek. I have found it. By the bond of blood I have summoned you here. Armand. Tell him to give me the final Arcanix."

It was this reaction that Grishom had not expected.

Armand leapt at him, tackling him into the demon. Armand fell to the floor, but the demon and his Master toppled together into the burning pit.

Armand fell the bonds break as His master screamed at him. The hole began to close. The demon uttered one final curse, and Armand ran faster than any creature has every ran before, for he had just escaped the clutches of an unnatural damnation.

As he fled, he felt fatigue take hold, and he sat down only when he was far enough away. The moon was beginning to show.

Armand then felt something terrible inside him.

That final curse....

"Cursed are you, to run like a wolf. Flee before me Armand, for i shall find you and claim your soul."