A shiver passed through the hells. Once. Twice.
Razmith looked up as another shiver rumbled through the hells. Three shivers, three drops of blood. For the first time in a very long time a smile broke out on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Likely it never would again. So many years had passed, he’d counted all 300 of them, since his bid to slice out a chunk of the hells for himself was destroyed after his sister betrayed him to his enemy and Razmith was cast down. Afterwards he fled to this… pit… he called it though that was being generous, quietly collecting stray souls. But it was barely enough to sustain his strength in this realm of torment.
And now, a way out was forming, fueled by three drops of purest blood, it was large enough. A chance to escape, he could finally get out. Perhaps, even, a way to gain more strength, more power. Razmith was a demon of hunger, and he could almost taste it… he was brought out of his revelry by another shudder. Four drops of blood. Whoever was performing this summoning was either very serious or had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Either way this could be his only chance. His wings unfurled and he launched himself in the direction of the shivers, towards the forming gate.
A crowd of lesser demons had already converged beneath the gate, fighting to claim it. Severed and half-devoured limbs littered the ground in a wide circle. This close Razmith could feel the intent behind the gate, torment. There was no name to call a specific demon through the gate, but the intent was enough. Indeed, most of the swarm and limbs belonged to tormentor demons. Someone up above wanted someone else to suffer badly. But he was more powerful than those demons ahead. A fifth shiver shot out from the gate. Five drops… The gate would be wide enough to let a greater demon, even a minor devil, through, and after the fifth shiver the more powerful demons WOULD be taking notice. A swift dive took him into the heart of the swarm as a shimmering blade formed in his hand. He cut his way beneath the gate where a large tormentor was about cross.
“Desperate times,” he muttered to himself, latching onto the other demon’s back. The tormentor gave a howl of rage and confusion trying to throw the hunger demon off. With a growl, Razmith formed a claw of flame in his palm and plunged it deep into the tormentor’s neck. This was risky, absorbing another demon’s power was strictly forbidden by the laws of the hells, but he had no choice, he had to get out. With a last scream the tormentor’s essence flowed through the claw of flame, into Ramith. He let out a shout of triumph as he latched to the power of the gate and a flash of light spread over the area.
Razmith opened his eyes, eyes that were pure black, save for the slit pupils that flickered, yellow, orange, red. His pale skin shone in the moonlight, flames playing beneath his skin. Before him stood the summoner. He nearly laughed, she was just a slip of a girl, barely to adulthood. Still, she’d be pretty with proper care and a few good meals. He felt the leash she had created, it was meant for a much lesser demon than he, and he could snap it easily. But he was curious, and he sent a tendril of power back through it, feeling for why she would summon a hell-creature. It didn’t take long to find. Revenge. Delicious.
Razmith turned his attention to the circle he stood in. It was very well made, too well made for how weak the leash was. Not a strong witch, then, but competent. He could break his leash, but she would likely leave him there if he did. Instead he indulged in a bit of theatrics, he snapped open his wings behind him, the black membrane a sharp contrast to his pale skin. Again he smiled a slow smile that didn’t –couldn’t- reach his eyes. His voice became a soft purr, “Mistress, I have answered your call. Why have you summoned me?”