The pop and crackle of a lone fire split the silence of a cold autumn night. Bare branches clawed at a midnight sky, a clouded sky spanning the deep woods that brooded in ominous darkness as abyssal as the black seas. Cold winds rattled and waved boughs in eerie silence and tugged at the layers of cloak and cape of the hooded figure.
She sat over a circle drawn into the dirt. A book with its pages held by small stones bore the blasphemous visage of one cast from the heavens, of a demon whose name cast a black ice through the veins of those who spoke it. Hood down, ember-red hair was tied back with keen green eyes surveying her work, a nick of a scar at her chin with thick robes warming her leaner frame. Murmuring an incantation, a palm filled with salt poured it along the etchings in the dirt, the fire cracking with a golden pop and plume of smoke.
Then came the objects of her demon's request. She could feel his whisper against her neck like a lover's caress as she cracked a raven's foot over a sigil of blood. Wind tousled loose dirt with harsher gusts that flickered the flames, casting contrasting lights over her hands as they poured sap from a hangman's tree into the sigil of defilement. The ground chilled, leaves tossed, her heart pounded hard as the last piece of the ritual would be in its place: the blood of want. A knife slit her own palm, letting it drip unholy treasure onto the sigil of lust.
The fire exploded in a red fury. It cast a wrathful heat into the clearing and a great plume of smoke into the sky, one that choked the light from the stars until only the full moon remained. She shuddered at the new warmth, goosebumps on her skin as she subtly bit her lower lip in anticipation, wrapping her wounded hand tight. Then the ground shook.
From the pillar of fire stepped an immense form. Heavy cloven hooves seared dead leaves and blackened dry earth. The sooty black fur gave way to skin that gleamed like black iron, hot from the forge with the detail and chiseled features rivaling great works of cathedrals. Ring pierced nipples were lined in that red heat, broad pectorals thick and defined, a forceful impression of abs leading downwards, and the being's arms. The arms were dense, toned, corded muscle shown, each thicker than the woman's torso. His face seemed mostly human, with imposing features and sharpened fangs. He was clean shaven, and his head was adorned with two massive horns bearing a flame between them. Those eyes bore into her, hotter than any flame yet did so with a deep chill, fully black save for a brilliant red-hot iris. Wings behind him opened, great and terrifying with a deep blackness that threatened to engulf her.
As he stepped forward, very nearly twice the woman's height, it was clear he was not alone. From the fire stepped other beings. Beings with those same hooves, sooty fur, those defined muscles and broad set shoulders, then a distinct bullish head with blunt snouts and horns bearing their own fire, the devil's sigil etched into each of their foreheads. As they stepped out they moved to encircle her, rougher bovine snorts breaking the silence as they all eyed her.
"What purpose have you called upon my name. Speak." The devil commanded, his voice carrying darkly handsome tones enhanced by the depth of it, the force of it. The woman did her best to hide her smirk as the others towered over her, standing tall before him.
"I, Evelyn Barlowe, call upon the name of Beshalar the Iron-Brand, and make a plea for power. I ask that you give me the profane, give me skill and knowledge, and potency in the black arts and what is unholy. In return, I offer a gift of the flesh."
Beshalar scratched his chin in thought with black-iron claws, raising his brow to the human who stood before him. Impatient horned demons tossed their heads with snorts and his hand lifted to silence them. The authority he imposed cast a dry heat over the clearing, details of his body giving a subtle flare as he spoke. "The contract is accepted, and drafted. Now, you sign."
With a snap of his fingers golden parchment unfurled before her. Evelyn's eyes gleamed as she read over the boons of their deal, her black arts to learn for a gift of flesh. Taking a shimmering quill she hastily signed her own name, and with another snap of his fingers the scroll rolled up and disappeared.
"It is done."
A deep breath caused Evelyn's shoulders to rise and fall, then she held the knife to her uncut hand, held up for the devil to see in the pillar of red firelight that made the trees dance.
"A gift of flesh-"
Deep, throaty laughter of the demons sounded in the forest. They began to step closer, each one's body heat piercing the layers of her cloak. Beshalar himself crossed his arms with an amused chuckle of his own, leering down at her. "Human, that is not the gift of flesh you have signed for."
