The moment the viravijn tore Midhail apart at the seams, time seemingly froze entirely, fixed on the frame of a splatter of blood spreading through the air, and Andris knew something had gone terribly wrong.
She couldn’t bring herself to move, stuck in place, straight as a spear, as utter chaos unfolded before her eyes; some wise soul tried to conjure up a fireball to fling at the monster, but the creature simply swerved to the side menacingly easily, and the flaming sphere flew right past, sparks catching onto the branches and leaves of the trees of the grove until it exploded against a hazel bush further off in the distance, setting the forest violently alight. The brightness of the blaze clashed obscenely with the ambience of the night, with the sombre, pale light of the moon that flooded the clearing.
She did not move even as her own fair hair and white cloak were splattered with the blood of another of the viravijn’s victims; only her jaw hung agape, as the abomination turned to face her.
Andris stared into what looked like empty, pitch-black holes in the bark of an ancient, overgrown tree; or least that’s what you could have called it, were that tree not moving on six long, spider-like legs, and had that tree not possessed two lean arms, thin as sticks but hard as granite, each with dagger-like, narrowing fingers. But this was no tree, and those were no holes; those were eyes, and from within them grinned – grinned, though it had no mouth to speak of, and no other features that would give that away – a spirit, a spirit that radiated an intense aggression and hatred the likes of which she had never seen.
She could not say why it seemed as though time had slowed so much, that though it took her only a second, it felt like she spent ages on a single turn of her head to the side, where a dozen lifeless bodies, or broken pieces thereof were strewn about the clearing. Another second, long as a century, and her hand reached for her sword as her eyes turned back to stare into the darkness in the eyeholes of the viravijn. The darkness stared back.
This was meant to be a normal summoning, same as many others. This was not the first time their coven had bound a demon; it had no reason to go wrong. They weren’t new to this. The pentagram was drawn by people who had done it a hundred times before, and they had checked a dozen times, before proceeding, whether everything was as it was meant to. This was their first, and last, mistake.
The monster screeched – a violent sound of violent intent that reverberated through her ears like the sound of a hundred pots falling to the ground. Andris closed her eyes, and gripped her sword. As tightly as she could. The viravijn charged.
And then, what seemed like an eternity later, it screeched again.
by Dovydas Kuliešas
(prompt: 12.2.16: havoc, moonlight, summon)