Chapter 1: binding
Years of planning and painstaking study had led to this moment. Money had exchanged many hands, forbidden tomes and forgotten lore added to Rayne’s already vast library, spirits summoned and interrogated, secrets pried from reluctant tongues, ancient languages unearthed and mastered. Nothing could be left to chance—not for a summoning of this magnitude, not with so much at stake.
Rayne shifted, their prosthetic leg creaking softly after hours spent crouched and bending to inscribe the intricate layers of the circle. Here their quarry would be caught, here bound, here bent to their will. Everything had to be flawless. Rayne’s bright green eyes narrowed as they inspected the sigils and carefully drawn circles yet again. Not a single line could be out of place. The inscriptions—Latin, Sumerian, and Goetic script—wove together like strands of a spellbound tapestry. At the center, the demon’s symbol gleamed with ominous precision, etched with painstaking care. Every element of the ritual was accounted for, from the locking to the binding that would tie the demon to their will.
Breathing in deeply, Rayne knelt to add the final component. Blood. Their own. They dipped a finger into the shallow cut on their palm, then dotted four crimson marks at the quarters, just outside the circle.
Letting out a sigh, Rayne sat down, looking into the circle before them. It felt alive, humming with latent power that pressed against the edges of their senses. With a snap of their fingers, the candles flared to life, casting flickering shadows across the room. Eyes half-closed, Rayne began the chant, their voice low and measured, weaving the names and epithets like threads in a spell.
They called for the Great Lion, the knower of secrets, the keeper of hidden knowledge, the demon of diseases and cures. One by one, each name the demon had borne through the eons was spoken, until finally, they uttered the true name, the name that would bind.
“ Marbas Barbuel ,” they commanded, their voice unwavering. “To this place I summon you. Come forth now, in the name of the ancient treaties of past covenants.”
A low rumble shook the air, as if reality itself strained against the intrusion of what was about to arrive. The sound deepened, a crackling distortion that twisted into silence—an absence so profound it clawed at the senses. Then, with a deafening surge, dark energy erupted, tearing the stillness apart.
A sudden gust of wind tore through the room, whipping at the edges of Rayne’s robes and scattering loose papers. In the center of the meticulously drawn sigils and circles, a figure began to take shape.
It was not born of flesh but of shadow—a void woven from darkness so dense it devoured the light, heat, and vitality around it. The very air seemed to retreat in its presence. The figure towered, its proportions just beyond what felt human, a manifestation of something far older and more dangerous.
“WHO DARES SUMMON ME?!”
The voice cut through the air, jagged and cold, the embodiment of ice laced with fury. The words carried weight, their power settling heavily in the room, filling every corner with a palpable sense of offense. The figure’s form shifted subtly, and from the spaces where its eyes should have been, blinding blue light flared.
The piercing beams swept across the room, illuminating every corner with a sharp, unnatural brilliance before locking onto the small figure kneeling before it.
Rayne looked up, their ears ringing—not from any sound, but from the sheer force of energy that now charged the room. A creature of darkness loomed before them, Marbas in his truest form, unshaped and primal. Not the lion seen by others, but a manifestation of raw shadow and ancient power.
A slow, satisfied smile tugged at Rayne’s lips. Yet another boundary broken. Yet another feat others had feared to attempt: the demanded summoning of a demon of such rank and renown.
“You took your time,” they said, their voice soft, deep, and laced with an almost melodic confidence.
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive silence only amplifying the weight of their words. “I dare,” they continued, sitting straighter, unflinching under the demon’s glowing gaze. “I have a request of you. Or rather, a demand, if we’re being honest.”
Their green eyes gleamed as they met Marbas’s blinding blue light, unyielding.
“You are the keeper of knowledge and cures,” Rayne declared. “I have need of your skills.”
The demon listened, his curiosity piqued. Rarely did a mortal survive the weight of his true form and voice, let alone stand unflinching in his presence. And yet, this human dared to demand. The witch’s audacity was too much, given the sloppy work of their magic.
A deep, resonant laugh erupted from the demon, shaking the very air. The sound was immense, reverberating like thunder, as he threw his shadowy head back, a mist-like mane swirling around his massive form.
But just as suddenly as the laugh began, it stopped. The glowing blue eyes snapped back to the human, locking onto them with renewed intensity.
Amusement gave way to rage, cold and sharp. The witch’s words were not only audacious—they were an insult, a mockery of his power.
“STUPID LITTLE WITCH!” the demon roared, his voice shattering the air like ice cracking under immense pressure. Sparks of raw energy crackled across his body, coursing like veins of molten lightning through its shifting form. “YOUR INSOLENCE KNOWS NO BOUNDS!” he bellowed, the room trembling with its fury. “I WILL CRUSH YOU LIKE THE BUG THAT YOU ARE!”
The demon surged forward, its massive, shadowy arm shooting toward the human with the speed and force of a storm.
Rayne held their ground, keeping their breaths steady despite the unease curling in their chest. They forced a calm expression onto their face, even as tension coiled through their body. This was the true test of their work. All those lesser demons, clawing and pounding against the inner walls of their circles, howling in rage and frustration, had been mere rehearsals for this moment—
The lines and sigils suddenly flared to life, a blaze of light igniting the room. The instant the demon’s essence collided with the innermost barrier, the intricate layers of the circle responded. Ribbon-like circles spiraled upward, crossing and interlocking until they formed a shimmering dome over the demon. Layers of chants and sealing spells burned in radiant red-gold, their symbols twisting and reshaping as if alive, building a spell that was fed by the demon’s essence.
Runes and inscriptions seared brightly in a cascade of colors, their burning brilliance starting to weave something new.
The searing impact against the magical dome made sparks fly where Marbas’s fist met the barrier. The demon’s limb hung in the air, frozen by the circle’s power, the faint crackle of energy filling the silence.
“You are not the first to speak of my insolence,” Rayne said, their voice steady, betraying none of the adrenaline coursing through their veins. Their bright green eyes fixed on Marbas with increasing calm, the corners of their lips tugging into a faint smile. “I doubt you will be the last.”
The demon roared, his fury shaking the air. The energy coursing through his form crackled and surged, as though on the verge of detonation. It loomed at the edge of the intricate circle, his massive presence pressing against the invisible boundary that fed on his essence, unbeknownst to him.
“ Witch ,” the demon snarled, his claws sliding against the barrier. Dark smoke hissed where they met the invisible wall sucked into the magic circle like a sponge. It didn’t seem to trouble the demon in the slightest. “ Your barriers will not hold for long. ” he grinned. The words dripped with menace, a promise of inevitable destruction.
Rayne straightened slightly, forcing their smile back as they kept their gaze unwavering.
“If you will calm yourself, we can discuss things. Make a deal.”
“Discussion is only possible when both parties are equal, ” he continued, the growl deepening into something darker. Something almost like laughter. “ YOU ,” he sneered, the glowing eyes narrowing with cruel amusement, “ cannot be compared to ME in any way. ”
Meeting the demon’s blazing eyes without flinching, Rayne smirked.
“You demons are always so sure of yourselves, so convinced of your superiority,” they said, crossing their arms. Their slender fingers tapped idly against their sleeve, a motion that spoke of both irritation and amusement. “You’re little better than vermin,” Rayne continued, their voice taking on a mocking lilt. “Parasites feeding off the energy and desires of mortals.”
They began to pace, circling the glowing barrier with slow, deliberate steps, their sharp green eyes studying the demon from every angle. “Tell me, what would you be without us?”
The tension in the air seemed to crackle with each step. When they reached the western side of the circle, they stopped, turning fully to face the towering shadow.
“You’re right. I cannot be compared to you ,” Rayne said softly, their tone almost contemplative. Then, with a sudden grin, their voice turned cutting. “Everything I am, I’ve earned. Through my own power. And you?”
They gestured toward the demon dismissively.
“Demons are rude little creatures, ” Rayne said, their grin sharpening into something more predatory. “Feeding on others to grow their strength. Nothing they possess is truly their own.”
They leaned in slightly, lowering their voice to a near whisper, every word dripping with venomous confidence.
“Unfortunately for both of us, you are the only one who can give me what I need.” Rayne straightened, brushing a lock of dark hair from their face. “As the master of cures, you are the only one who knows the cure for the unfortunate maladies of time and aging, death and rot.” their voice was soft yet laced with command. “You will give me this willingly,” Rayne said, their voice silk-smooth yet unrelenting, “or you will forever be my pet.” Rayne leaned closer, their smile sharp as a blade. “Imagine it: the Great Lion, reduced to a witch’s pussycat ,” they purred.
Marbas’s shadowy form began to swell, the darkness from which he was woven swirling chaotically, like a storm on the verge of breaking. The insult of being summoned by a mere mortal had already left him seething. It was beneath him—an affront to his station. For millennia, he had not deigned to deal with mortals through summonings. And now, here he was, confined by a mortal’s binding, forced to endure their insolence.
Every word the witch uttered was a fresh wound to his pride, each insult stacking upon the last until his rage eclipsed all reason.
“YOU ARE NOTHING, WITCH!” Marbas roared, his voice like an earthquake shaking the room. He spread his arms wide, shadowy tendrils lashing out, before slamming his fists into the invisible barrier with all his might.
The impact sent a thunderous boom reverberating through the space, followed by an audible crack.
“YOU WILL ONLY GET DEATH FROM ME!”
Rayne sighed softly, the faintest hum of satisfaction escaping them as their smile widened. With a slow, deliberate motion, they brushed their fingertips along the glowing outer edge of the circle. Tiny sparks of power followed their touch, cascading in shimmering trails as they circled their captive like a predator surveying its prey.
“I do not think it is death I will get from you, Barbuel,” Rayne said at last, their voice calm, almost playful.
Their fingers lightly plucked at the circle’s shimmering strands, the runic wards vibrating under the touch. Each strand sang faintly, like an instrument tuned to ancient words of command.
Their smile deepened into something predatory, a charming expression that had ensnared countless sycophants. But here, directed at the demon, it carried an undeniable menace.
“I require knowledge that has been denied to me,” Rayne continued, their tone darkening, the playful edge sharpening to something more dangerous. “And a life to match it. Let’s make a simple deal for it.”
" I refuse, " Marbas spat, his voice sharp and venomous. " Eternal life. That is what all mortals crave. " The words twisted his mouth in exasperation. The request was trivial and ridiculous. “ Threatening me will not give you the knowledge I’ve denied every other mortal. ”
Marbas huffed, his glowing eyes narrowing as his seething frustration burned hotter. The magic clinging to him was nothing more than an annoyance—like a child’s hand gripping his throat. Its strength was pitiful, yet its persistence was maddening.
“I do not threaten you, Marbas,” Rayne said, shaking their head with mock pity. Their tone was light, condescending. Then, as abruptly as it had come, their smile vanished, and their voice turned cold as winter steel. “I promise.”
Hatred burned in the demon’s glowing eyes as he fixed his gaze on the human standing smugly before him.
" It is knowledge no mortal can possess ," the demon hissed, his tone icy with derision.
“A knowledge I cannot possess, you say?” Rayne’s voice barely rose above the warding chains’ ominous melody. Each word punctuated another snap, each snap unleashing a new layer of chains. They folded and twisted with almost violent speed, each layer breaking down and reforming.
" That is the way this world is made. You humans... " he growled, glowing eyes narrowed further, blazing with scorn. "Y ou die in pursuit of life . It is absurd! " the demon laughed, a sound like metal scraping against metal, jagged and grating but carrying an edge of desperation.
Rayne simply smiled, unmoved by the demon’s rage, having endured the threats and fury of lesser beings countless times before.
“You,” Rayne said, their voice now razor-sharp, “will give me everything .”
Snarling, Marbas hurled himself against the barrier again. This time, it shattered like glass, fragments of glowing magic scattering into the air. For a brief moment, the sigils beneath him flared brilliantly, a blinding burst of light forcing him back.
Marbas staggered, growling in fury. The circle below him lay broken, its lines smudged and incomplete, but something wasn’t right.
He took a step forward, only to stumble, a heavy huff escaping his chest. A strange sensation clung to him, thick and suffocating. The remnants of the magic were drawn to his form, clinging to him like tar. He snarled, reaching to tear it away, but it seeped into him like liquid into a sponge.
“What—have you done, witch?!” he growled through gritted teeth, disgust and fury dripping from every word.
Rayne’s lips parted soundlessly, a faint curve tugging at the corners—a quiet, delighted smile. All those years of relentless study, hardship, and sacrifice, clawing toward greatness, had finally borne fruit.
The circle was a masterpiece, an intricate creation as elegant as it was ruthless. Not merely a cage, but a device designed to latch itself like a parasite to whoever attempted to breach it, magic binding itself to the demon, like unyielding chains.
Rayne lifted one dainty hand, the fingernails painted a flawless shade of dark red, gleaming like fresh blood in the circle’s glow. With a single, deliberate snap of their fingers, the next innermost ring shattered.
The room pulsed as more glowing strands coiled tightly around the demon’s shadowed form. Watching the bindings weave and constrict, Rayne chuckled softly, the sound dripping with amusement.
“Breaking these circles, doesn’t free you, Barbuel.” Their grin widened, cold and triumphant. “It binds you to me.”
Marbas stood frozen. His glowing eyes swept in a panic to the now visible scripts of broken magic, taking in the details—the meticulously drawn sigils, interwoven into the circles, and at the center of it all, his own crest, rendered flawlessly….
This twisted magic should have been lost to the centuries… Yet here it was, pieced together like an insidious puzzle – texts inscribed in multiple languages, each word fit into place in the spot of another, precise in its meaning.
It was… extraordinary , even if it was abhorrent.
As much as he loathed admitting it, this magic was unlike anything he’d ever encountered. The magic was an infuriatingly complex jumble of techniques, a patchwork of methods drawn from different ages and civilizations. It was a construction was looked chaotic and sloppy on purpose - its flaws were hidden under others, purposefully made to be glaring. Those obvious weaknesses were intentional, and whoever tried to exploit them would fall into the ultimate trap—the binding.
Marbas had fallen right into that trap… lost in his rage and arrogance, he had only seen a spell that could easily be broken by brute force. He had doomed himself by breaking it…
Rayne tilted their head slightly, watching as the demon began to take in its surroundings, its glowing eyes flickering with what could almost be recognition. A slow sigh escaped their lips as they stood, their unimposing figure silhouetted by the flickering glow of the sigils. At just under 168cm, thin and willowy, they looked anything but threatening. Their eclectic dark clothing hung loosely, a funerary shroud draped across their frame, one bare shoulder catching the demon’s light.
Their green eyes were alight with a hunger that belied their composed demeanor.
Another snap of their fingers, and the bindings tightened further, the strands merging seamlessly into a Celtic knot of chains. Each ring broken brought the glowing shackles closer, the intricate patterns wrapping tighter, constraining the demon’s massive form.
As the next barrier shattered with the snap of the witch’s fingers, Marbas felt a shift in the magic clinging to him—what had been little more than an irritating pressure now began to tighten. His rage flared anew, but this time, it carried the edge of something unfamiliar: fear.
The flow of his demonic energy, once free and untamed, now faced resistance. At first, it was subtle—a slowing trickle. One or two bindings were insignificant. He could endure that. But then another snapped, and another. The magic's grip became undeniable, like an iron vice closing around him. For the first time in millennia, Marbas felt his power slipping through his grasp. His rage gave way to astonishment, and then to the creeping fingers of panic.
He could feel it now, the visual manifestation of the spell—a gleaming, sickening gold wrapping around his wrists. He couldn’t see the shining noose tightening around his neck, but he felt its choking presence.
Rayne watched, green eyes alight with a hunger and satisfaction.
The pain spread, a crawling, searing ache that burrowed into the demon’s very essence. He felt himself shrinking, his magnificent power being drained away, leaving him less and less with each passing moment.
He caught sight of his own hands. His shadowy form shrinking down, giving way to flesh - to the human skin he wore among mortals.
It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible—
“Will you deny me again?” Rayne’s green eyes gleamed as they stepped closer, each word sharper than the last.
Striding forward with purpose, Rayne stopped before the demon. Their calm composure was gone, replaced by fiery indignation. With no hesitation, they drew back their hand and struck the demon hard across his still-forming face. The slap echoed through the room, sharp and startling.
“What knowledge can’t I possess?!” Rayne screamed, their voice raw with anger, echoing above the cacophony of magic.
The demon’s mind spun with fury and confusion, but the pain squashed his thoughts into incoherence. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even scream. The crushing force of the magic pinned him, stripping him down to nothing.
The sting of the slap across his face barely registered at first. When had he fallen far enough for a mortal to strike him? The thought was more humiliating than the blow itself.
“It was—” Marbas began, forcing his voice to remain steady, though bitterness and panic simmered beneath the surface. “—simply a play on words.”
His glowing blue eyes flickered briefly, searching the witch’s expression for a sign of temper or triumph. He knew he had to tread carefully, but anger still curled at the edges of his voice, spilling into his carefully chosen words.
“One who possesses this knowledge,” he continued, his tone measured, “can no longer be called mortal.”
It was nothing more than splitting hairs—to call oneself mortal or immortal —a bid to buy time, to reclaim some control, no matter how small. It wasn’t an outright lie. That’s why he could say it, even under the witch’s command to only speak the truth.
“In time you will learn not to play stupid games with me,” Rayne said, their voice chillingly calm. The faint edge of disdain cut through the still air as their sharp green eyes narrowed, searching the demon’s face with methodical precision.
Marbas’s glowing eyes dimmed, his shadowy form completely stripped away as he collapsed to his knees on the cold stone floor.
Rayne’s hand slid slowly down to Marbas’s throat, fingers tightening with calculated pressure, enough to restrict his breathing—but not fully. They knew he didn’t need to breathe, not truly. That wasn’t the point.
The control was.
The thrill of it sent a shiver over Rayne’s skin, their breath escaping in a soft, almost pleasured sigh. The sensation of holding something so powerful, so magnificent, in the palm of their hand was intoxicating.
“Knowledge,” they said, their voice quiet but unwavering, “is the only thing of real worth in this world. All else pales in comparison. And I will not be content to succumb to mortal decline.” they continued, their tone hardening. “Knowledge, and the power to preserve it. That is what you will give me.”
“Alright—” The words scraped out of the demon’s throat, barely audible as he was finally bound fully in his human form. He had to force the air to speak, his voice raw and broken. “I will make a deal .”
For a fleeting moment, recognition flickered in Rayne’s mind as they took in the demon’s human form. Had they seen him before? Perhaps at the same social clubs, half-shadowed beneath low lights and the pulse of colorful strobes? The thought was… amusing. So many faces passed through those spaces, people Rayne barely noticed while lounging in corners, keeping one eye on their fellow magic users and the other on their own quiet games.
But now, watching the demon’s proud form brought low, Rayne felt a swell of victory rise within them. They suppressed it swiftly. Even bound and restrained, a demon was still a demon.
Rayne let their magic trail out in delicate tendrils to test the bindings. The golden strands thrummed with life, tightening slightly at their touch, as if sensing their master’s proximity.
Marbas felt a sharp, unwelcome stab of fear pierce through his being. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one he hadn’t experienced in centuries— if ever .
Bound as he was, the possibilities of what the witch could do to him, were endless. It would be easy for them to banish him back to his realm, even destruction wasn’t out of the question… Or worse, keep him chained as a slave, the way witched did to demons centuries ago…
Rayne breathed in deeply, savoring the charged air between them. With deliberate care, they raised the hand that had been squeezing Marbas’ throat, now brushing it against his chin, tilting his head up, so their eyes could meet.
“Now you wish to deal, oh Great Lion?” Rayne purred, their voice dripping with mockery, a soft triumph curling at the edges.
The demon forced himself to remain still, though the instinct to recoil was almost overpowering.
Rayne’s smirk widened as they ran their thumb lightly over the demon’s lower lip, pulling it down just enough to tease, their green eyes glinting with curiosity and amusement. The demon could do nothing to oppose them, to fight back. Marbas, the Great Lion, was like a helpless kitten in their hands.
“But there’s no deal to be made,” they said, their tone soft but absolute, each word deliberate. “You’re already mine .”
Marbas was furious and at the same time hopelessly afraid. It was already done—he was bound . Bound to this mortal, this witch, in absolute servitude.
Such a fate hadn’t befallen a demon in centuries. Not since the Treaty forbade the enslavement of other races and consigned such practices to the shadows of history. The magic to make this possible should have been lost to time—he’d ensured it personally. He had spent lifetimes scraping the knowledge away from mortal hands, dismantling texts, destroying spells, silencing those who dared even whisper about such bindings.
And yet, here they were.
The golden chains wrapped around him glowing faintly, existing in undeniable defiance of everything he thought he had secured. They pulsed with a power that rooted itself in his very being, granting this mortal absolute control over him.
He couldn’t move against them. He couldn’t fight for his freedom.
The realization was suffocating, a weight pressing down on him like an iron fist. He, the Great Lion, was reduced to nothing more than a plaything for a mortal witch…
“Can you feel it, Marbas? What is written into your bindings?” Rayne murmured, feeling intoxicated by the absolute power they held over the demon.
Rayne’s smirk softened into a satisfied smile as they cupped both sides of his face, their touch firm yet deliberate, their gaze tracing the exquisite golden scrollwork that adorned his neck and wrists. Each link and curve of the bindings seemed to glow with molten light, a beautiful contrast to his human flesh.
With a pleased breath, Rayne tilted their head slightly, studying him as if admiring a prized acquisition.
“Perfect,” they whispered, the word more to themselves than to him, their smile deepening.
Marbas was drowning in panic, its claws sinking deeper with every second as his struggles only made things worse. The burning magic clinging to him consumed his strength, its bite relentless and unyielding.
Icy dread pierced him like a blade. No matter how powerful he was, no matter the eons he had ruled and the legions he commanded, this mortal had him utterly defeated… Marbas was already on his knees, but now even his hands hit the ground, trembling, as he stared down at the glowing patterns etched around his wrists.
Rayne’s hand moved with deliberate grace, brushing over the cheek they had struck earlier. Their fingertips lingered for a moment before sliding upward into Marbas’s hair—soft, human, disgustingly tangible. Grabbing a fistful, they yanked his head back with practiced ease, forcing his gaze upward, his form tilting down just enough to pull him closer.
Rayne leaned in, their breath warm against the demon’s ear, lips barely brushing the delicate curve of flesh. “Do I have your full attention yet?” they asked, their voice dripping with mockery.
As they pulled back, their smile returned, sharp and deliberate, a predator savoring its catch. Their grip on his hair tightened slightly as they tilted their head, the glint in their eyes as dangerous as the bindings holding him.
“Or are you still determined to play in half-truths?” They smirked faintly, their gaze narrowing. “Should I slap you again? Or would you prefer a whip this time?”
Marbas growled, insult and fury mixing with fear. He tried to move, tried to stand up. It would be so easy to kill the witch, its body small and humanly fragile—but the intricate magic binding glowed red and gold, the sinister light pulsating like a heartbeat.
He screamed as they burned like branding through his body, searing pain somewhere deeper - in his very being.
“...I yield,” Marbas rasped, his voice raw and ragged. “Please… spare me.”
The words burned worse than the magic itself. To beg for mercy—him, a President of Hell, a being forged in the fires of creation—was an indignity he could scarcely bear. But there was no other option. He was trapped, broken, and at the mercy of the one creature he had always viewed as beneath him.
Rayne felt a jolt run through them—a spark of something sharp and electric. Excitement? Pleasure? The feeling was intoxicating. To see something so powerful, so ancient, brought low by the fusion of old and new magic—magic they had sacrificed their own leg to master—was a triumph beyond words.
They breathed out slowly, deliberately, leaning over the demon. Their sharp green eyes locked onto his, unblinking as their grip on Marbas’s throat briefly tightened.
“And what do you yield, Barbuel?” they asked, their tone edged with quiet menace. “Any knowledge I seek? Transformation? Or perhaps the cure I need to keep going as I have?”
They smiled faintly, knowing the demon wouldn’t relinquish such precious secrets so easily. Immortality wouldn’t come quickly; no, Marbas would hoard that knowledge for as long as possible, clinging to whatever leverage he could muster.
“Yes—” Marbas whimpered under the pain.
The bindings responded to his surrender. Their fiery hues dimmed, fading slowly to black. But before they settled, the chains tightened once more with a deliberate, crushing squeeze, as if ensuring his surrender.
"I'm listening," Rayne said, their voice calm but edged with curiosity, their sharp green eyes locked on the demon.
“There are many paths to what you desire… I will tell you the quickest and easiest,” Marbas replied, his tone smooth, almost too smooth. There was a flicker of eagerness in his voice, subtle but unmistakable, like a predator offering bait.
It was instinct, a last-ditch effort he couldn’t suppress, no matter how deeply bound he was. Offering an easy solution—a tantalizing shortcut—was a ploy most mortals couldn’t resist. And this one? Surely, even they would falter.
The method he was prepared to offer was deceptively straightforward: a soul exchanged for life. It was a timeless deal, simple in its promise and devastating in its execution.
What the witch didn’t know—or so Marbas hoped—was that such an exchange was impossible for humans. Their fragile bodies and mortal essence couldn’t digest the energy of another soul the way demons could. The attempt might briefly extend their life, but it would inevitably destroy them, unraveling them from the inside out—a fate far worse than mere death.
Marbas’s glowing eyes narrowed faintly, watching for any sign of weakness, any flicker of temptation. If he couldn’t break free, he would settle for breaking them instead.
Rayne tilted their head, studying the demon in silence, their expression carefully unreadable. Slowly, almost leisurely, a smile crept across their face.
“Fast and easy?” they repeated, their tone flat. Beneath the surface, there was a dangerous edge, sharp enough to cut. “What kind of knowledge could you possibly offer me in such a short time? Hmm?”
Their eyes darkened, a storm gathering in their gaze. “You’re being… difficult again .”
A soft sigh escaped their lips, deceptively calm, though it did little to mask the fury simmering just beneath. Without warning, Rayne’s hands shot out, shoving Marbas down onto the cold floor. The motion was swift, unrelenting, their weight pressing against his now-human flesh.
They leaned in close, their breath hot and sharp against his skin, their movements deliberate as their knees dug harshly into his exposed stomach. Rayne’s hands found his throat, their fingers curling with brutal precision as the bindings flared to life once more, their light snapping violently through the air.
“Do you still take me for a fool?” they snarled, their voice rising, their face mere inches from his. Their teeth bared in a feral sneer, eyes ablaze with untempered rage. “After I’ve trapped you as completely as I have, you think I would fall for a silly trick like this?”
Rayne’s grip tightened, nails digging sharply into Marbas’s skin as their fury spilled over, raw and absolute. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, the chains binding the demon glowing so fiercely they burned nearly white, their heat palpable in the air.
The bindings burned like molten iron, digging into the very essence of his being. Marbas had known suffering before, but this... this was unlike anything he had ever endured.
Pressed hard against the cold marble floor, his bare skin chilled by the unyielding stone, Marbas felt a wave of regret crash over him. His attempt at trickery had failed spectacularly, and the price for his defiance was unbearable.
“ I’m sorry… ” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the crackling hum of the bindings. “I was wrong...”
The words came out in fragments, broken and strained, as he forced them through the crushing grip at his throat.
“I won’t… do it again…” he whimpered, his voice weak, raw with pain and humiliation.
That face the demon wore—so perfect, so angular—saying those words after yet another attempt to trick them, made Rayne’s hand itch with the desire to slap it. So they did.
The crack echoed through the space as their palm collided with his cheek, hard enough to make Rayne’s own hand sting from the force of the blow.
Letting out a slow, measured breath, Rayne shifted, settling fully onto the demon’s hips. Their eyes fluttered closed for a moment as fatigue weighed on them. The magic they’d expended to construct the circle and bring it down around Marbas had drained them more than they cared to admit. Adding the physical toll of grappling with the demon only worsened their weariness.
Rayne’s body was not made for exertion, after all—better suited to reclining in comfort, a vessel designed to contain the vast, relentless power of their magic.
As the slap landed across his face, a small, involuntary whimper escaped Marbas’s lips.
Every attempt to fight back, every flicker of defiance, was crushed by the unyielding shackles that bound him. They didn’t just hold him—they squeezed the very essence of his power, burning and draining him with every futile struggle. The more he resisted, the weaker he became, his strength leeched away like water through cracked stone.
It was incomprehensible.
Pain.
A slap from a human—once nothing more than a faint annoyance—now stung like a lash. The pressure of their hands on his throat, insignificant by all accounts, left him gasping for air he didn’t even need. The sharp, humiliating pain of their grip crawled through his human flesh, utterly foreign and yet impossible to ignore.
Staring into Marbas’s eyes, Rayne let out a soft sigh as the bindings’ light dimmed once more to black. Their grip on his neck loosened before their hands slid down over his bare chest. Their touch was almost gentle, fingers trailing with calculated ease across his skin.
Their expression shifted, curiosity sparking as they tilted their head, studying him like a puzzle they were slowly piecing together.
“I recognize this meat shell you have,” they mused, their tone light and conversational, yet tinged with something sharper, more probing. “I believe we frequent similar venues. The sorts of places where people go to be seen and praised for their supposed achievements.”
Their lips curled into a knowing smile, their fingers ghosting over his nipples.
“What do you call this form?” they asked, their voice deceptively light, curious, but heavy with the weight of their authority, as if the answer was already theirs to claim.
The relief Marbas felt from the searing pain was fleeting, replaced almost immediately by a far worse sensation: dread .
Marbas loathed it, this suffocating weight that clawed at him. But he despised it even more because it was caused by a mere human. Mortals were beneath him—weak, ugly, pitiful. Witches doubly so, with their insatiable greed and arrogance masquerading as intelligence.
And yet... how was he like this?
“It is called Alister,” Marbas answered sharply, his voice clipped and biting, betraying his disgust at being commanded by the witch.
His blue eyes narrowed, his pride battling against the shame that coursed through him. But with every touch—no matter how fleeting, no matter how calculated—the demon’s heart sank deeper into a pit of dread and simmering panic. He detested these sensations, unwelcome and unfamiliar. But worst of all was the creeping, insidious heat that coiled in his core—the humiliating arousal sparked by being touched and manhandled by the witch.
“ Alister ,” Rayne murmured, their tone dripping with mock affection, “Its quite the amusing joke.” they smirked faintly. “Isn’t that nearly the name of one of your brethren?” Rayne mused, tilting their head slightly as they studied him. “So, you do have a sense of humor. Beyond being immensely prideful, of course.”
The demon stared at the human, the smirk on their face, a knife twisting in his chest. Once, he’d been the master of negotiations, a dealer of power and corruption unmatched. But that was long ago, when he dealt with mortals directly. Had his detachment dulled him this much?...
“How long do you think you can endure this? Trapped. Chained?” they smiled faintly, their thumb tracing idly along the sharp outline of his ribs. “Summoned whenever I have need of you,” they continued, their voice soft, almost teasing. “Whether to answer my questions... or refill my wine glass.”
The smirk that followed was sharp as their hand glided further over Marbas’s chest. Slowly, Rayne leaned down again, their movements languid, deliberate. Their mouth curved into a sweet, disarming smile, the kind that concealed knives behind velvet.
“I think you’d make quite the handsome footstool,” they mused, their voice a soft purr. “Naked as you are now, kneeling so obediently, your forehead pressed to the floor. Tell me, Alister—what would your fellow demons think?”
Rage flared anew at the witch’s mocking words. The shackles themselves were an insult. Even their appearance seemed crafted for maximum humiliation—a fusion of magic and artistry that bound him completely, their intricate patterns painfully elegant. They looked less like tools of restraint and more like adornments, as if meant to showcase his submission rather than simply enforce it.
Humans might call them beautiful. To Marbas, they were revolting.
He felt like a dog on a leash, yanked and controlled by a being he despised with every fiber of his being. His hatred burned so hot that the shackles seemed to react, their magic flaring and biting deeper into his essence, feeding off his fury. The more he raged, the more they consumed, burning him alive from within.
The indignity was suffocating, but no amount of defiance could loosen their grip.
Rayne’s eyes opened lazily, their gaze settling on the demon, prone and motionless beneath them. In another context, the sight might have been exhilarating—a man between their thighs again. How long had it been?
They shifted slightly, studying Marbas’s face for a moment, their expression contemplative. Then, with a deliberate motion, they straightened, the creak of their false leg cutting through the tense silence. After a moment’s consideration, Rayne reached down, their fingers curling around Marbas’s chin. With a firm but measured grip, they guided him upward into a sitting position.
“Pleasing as it is to have you flat on your back,” they said, their tone light, almost amused, “it’s hardly the best position for a proper conversation.”
Marbas made an attempt to push himself to his feet, but Rayne’s grip tightened sharply, halting his movement.
“Now, now, Alister,” they purred, their voice dropping into a low, silky tone. “Nobody said anything about standing up.”
They pressed firmly on his shoulder, forcing him back down. The demon’s knees hit the floor with a dull thud.
“I’m tired,” Rayne said, their voice carrying genuine exhaustion as they leaned closer. “And I need somewhere to sit. I told you already—you’ll do nicely as a footstool.”
Marbas froze, his disbelief etched clearly across his face. He stared up at the witch, his glowing blue eyes wide as their hand pressed harder on his shoulder, driving him lower.
With another gentle but unyielding push, they maneuvered him further down until his hands finally met the icy stone floor. Rayne settled onto Marbas’s back, the creak of their false leg cutting through the charged silence as they adjusted, making themselves comfortable with a weary sigh. Their fingers threaded into his hair, the touch light at first before they tugged sharply, enjoying the demon's growl of frustration.
The indignity burned as Marbas found himself used like a piece of furniture—his naked body now serving as nothing more than a makeshift seat for the witch.
"Much better," Rayne purred, their voice dripping with satisfaction. They leaned forward slightly, their grip on his hair tightening just enough to remind him of his place. “Now,” they said, a sly smile curling their lips, “let’s have that conversation, shall we?”
Marbas was overcome with rage and humiliation, his face flushing a deep crimson, the color rising to his ears with the unbearable shame of it.
Reduced to a pathetic service demon, bound, subjugated, stripped of his power and dignity.
The weight of his disgrace pressed down on him, heavier than any chain. The shame burned deeper than any physical wound, a searing sting that refused to relent, gnawing at what little remained of his pride as he stood there naked on his hands and knees, unable to move.
“It’s in your nature to swindle and cheat,” Rayne said, their voice low and firm, cutting through the silence. “To lie and deceive. Just as it’s in my nature to always hunger for more.” Their sharp green eyes glinted with warning as they leaned in closer, their tone sharpening with each word. “Lie, swindle, manipulate whoever you like,” they continued, their voice deliberately soft, almost a whisper. “But don’t you dare ever try it with me again.”
Marbas stiffened. The order sank into him like a weight, settling over his mind. When he tried to respond, he found his mouth unable to move. The command bound him as tightly as the magical chains.
Rayne noticed immediately, the way his shoulders went rigid, the way his lips clamped shut. A sudden laugh burst from them, sharp and unexpected, breaking the tension as they snorted faintly.
“Surely,” they teased, a sly smile curling their lips, “you’re capable of speaking words that aren’t lies?”
Their fingers released his hair, smoothing it back with surprising gentleness, as though they were petting him. The touch was deliberate, almost soothing, though the undercurrent of control remained.
Their gaze flickered downward, catching on the slight bow of his head. The smile faded from their lips, replaced by a contemplative look as their hand trailed down from his hair, their fingers brushing lightly against his angular cheek.
“I wouldn’t mind making this arrangement more pleasant between us,” they murmured, their voice softening, almost sweet. “Unless, of course, you prefer the humiliation.” Their fingers lingered, tracing the faint color blooming across his cheeks. Rayne’s breath caught slightly as they took in the flush, the deep red staining the demon’s otherwise pale skin. “I had no idea one such as you could blush so prettily,” they remarked, their smile returning, sharper now, teasing. “Perhaps you do prefer the humiliation?”
Marbas did not! The very suggestion ignited an outrage within him. The idea was disgusting, a slanderous insult to his being… Yet when he tried to protest, his mouth remained stubbornly closed, as though an invisible force clamped it shut.
His humiliation deepened with each passing second. There had to be some magical trick at play, something designed solely to ridicule him further. Make it seem like he couldn’t speak because it would be a lie.
Rayne shifted slightly on Marbas’s back, stretching their legs out comfortably as though lounging on a finely upholstered chair rather than a bound demon. They felt an immensely pleased smile curl their lips, teeth showing faintly as they breathed out softly.
Marbas was silent. Interesting.
Rayne’s hand slid into the back of Marbas’s hair, their fingers curling tightly into the strands. They leaned down, their lips brushed the shell of his ear as they exhaled.
“I don’t hear a denial, Barbuel.” their voice dropped to a whisper. “You could say you’re not enjoying this humiliation.” Their smile returned, dripping with mockery. “It’s a simple word… Or is it that you can’t say it?” Rayne’s voice dipped further, laced with venomous delight. “Would it be a lie ?”
The demon gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening with the effort to contain his seething emotions.
“You aim to make a fool of me,” he rasped, his voice ragged. “Yet you desire my knowledge...”
The words were strained, forced out as he struggled to catch his breath under the witch’s unrelenting grip.
If humiliation was their goal, then they were succeeding. Marbas could barely stand to think of himself, let alone see the state he had been reduced to. Bound, restrained, humiliated—and now so pathetically predictable. He had walked right into the witch’s hand, offering them exactly what they wanted.
The realization burned hotter than the shackles.
His thoughts spiraled, frayed and disjointed in his distressed state. He couldn’t even trust his own mind, not here, not now. Could there be a spell aimed at his dignity? It seemed plausible—this witch was too clever, too methodical. He had no way of knowing for certain, but the mere possibility was enough to stoke the fire of his paranoia.
And yet, mixed in with the roiling rage, fear, and searing embarrassment, something else stirred.
A strange exhilaration .
The sensation was foreign, unwelcome, and deeply unsettling. It gnawed at the edges of his resolve, feeding his paranoia further. There had to be a spell at work. There must be.
Humming thoughtfully, Rayne ran their fingers gently but firmly over Marbas’s hair again. They leaned back, the weight of their satisfaction palpable. Their own pet demon.
The spells had worked even better than anticipated. This magnificent creature, once so grand and untouchable, was now utterly compelled, fully bound to their will.
The demon clenched his fists against the cold floor, forcing the intrusive thoughts down with every ounce of will he had left. Whatever this was—this confusing, maddening whirlwind of emotions—he would not give in.
“If I give you what you want,” Marbas finally forced out, his voice tight, clipped, as he struggled to suppress the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Would you set me free?”
The moment the question left his lips, Marbas’s thoughts darkened. He didn’t believe for a second that the bindings were so simple, nor that freedom would be so easily granted. He could feel the magic running deeper, tendrils of it curling into his very essence, spreading roots that intertwined with the core of his being.
He didn’t know how it could be undone...
Marbas, the Great Lion, knower of secrets, master of transformations—he was the one with answers. But now, in this pitiful state, stripped of power and pride, he found himself consumed by the bitter truth.
This time, he did not know.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Rayne murmured, their voice soft, nearly purring with satisfaction as they tilted Marbas’s head to the side, so their eyes could meet. “These bindings? They’re tied not only to your very essence, but to mine as well. You give me everything I want—every scrap of knowledge, every hidden truth, every cure to this mortal inconvenience —and they will fall away, release you entirely.”
Their smile widened, sharp as a blade.
“But if you don’t?” Rayne’s tone darkened, their grip tightening slightly as their green eyes bored into his. “They stay. If I die? Every ounce of energy released through my death will flow into those bindings, weaving them tighter. You’ll be trapped forever in this form. My ghost will follow you through every millennium, every dying star. You will know no peace, no reprieve, until you and this universe crumble into nothing. My voice, my touch—your only companions.”
“I have been in the business of deals for a very long time,” Marbas growled, his voice low and sharp, each word laced with disdain. His glowing eyes narrowed, piercing through the oppressive air between them. “I know a crook when I see one.”
He pulled against the bindings reflexively, the faint glow of the shackles flickering as if mocking his efforts. His lip curled in a sneer, even as the weight of his submission pressed heavier on him.
Marbas tilted his head, his voice dropping to a venomous murmur. “I could give you everything—every secret, every scrap of knowledge, every piece of power you desire—and still, it wouldn’t be enough. You’d bleed me dry and find yourself hungering for more.”
Rayne grinned as they released their hold on Marbas’s hair, letting the demon lift his head slowly. They watched him intently, savoring the reluctant rise, the weight of his submission still heavy in the air. Breathing deeply, Rayne let their hands smooth over the curve of his neck, fingers lingering on the intricate chain etched into his flesh. Their thumbs traced the dark, swirling lines with deliberate gentleness, admiring the artistry of his bindings.
He was theirs.
The realization settled over them like a heady intoxication, far more satisfying than they had anticipated.
“I am insatiable when it comes to knowledge,” Rayne said, their voice low, almost confessional. “It’s true. I want to know everything—delve into ancient secrets, become a vessel for truth others are too ashamed or too frightened to unearth for themselves.” their lips quirked into a soft smile as their thumbs continued to trail along the markings. “Being denied only makes me hunger for it more. The more forbidden it is, the more I crave it.”
Rayne sighed and shifted, planting their hands on Marbas’s back to push themselves to their feet, their false leg creaking slightly as they rose. For a moment, they stood above him, gazing down at his prone form with unhidden satisfaction.
“Get up,” they commanded, their tone firm yet laced with intrigue.
Marbas hesitated briefly, but the bindings pulsed, urging him to comply. Slowly, he rose to his full height, towering over Rayne in his human form. Rayne’s green eyes swept over him, taking in the sharp planes of his face, the chiseled lines of his body, the way his presence seemed to fill the space around them. Even in this diminished state, stripped of his power, his form radiated an undeniable magnificence.
They tilted their head slightly, studying him with a mix of curiosity and something darker—something akin to hunger. “You really are a work of art, Alister,” Rayne murmured, their voice almost absent as their eyes traced over him. “It’s no wonder mortals fall so easily into your traps.”
They stepped closer, letting their hand glide over the chain that marked his neck, tracing it with a slow, deliberate touch. A rush of euphoria swept through them, an unexpected surge of affection for the powerful creature now entirely under their control.
Marbas had tried to ignore it—the constant, casual touches. Their hands roamed freely, caressing his face, his neck, trailing over his bound form as though it belonged to them entirely. One touch could be light, almost gentle, while the next was firm, aggressive, leaving him no choice but to endure as every brush of their fingers sent an unwelcome chill down his spine.
Standing before the witch now, Marbas felt exposed in a way he had never known, despite towering over them. His height meant nothing; the witch held all the power. They ran their fingers along the shackles encircling his neck, their eyes admiring their own handiwork with cruel satisfaction.
It was hard to accept.
No, it was impossible to deny .
Their hunger for knowledge, their relentless ambition—those were traits that Marbas could almost appreciate. He recognized their astonishing skill with magic, their sharp, calculating mind. But all of it was tainted by the simple, unforgivable fact that they were human.
A human .
Those same qualities, in the hands of a mortal, were an insult to everything he stood for. It was that very contradiction that stoked his hatred for this witch.
Giving in to a deeply human need, Rayne slid their arms around Marbas, embracing him fully, their head resting lightly against his chest.
“Not a bad match for a monster like you,” they murmured, their voice laced with dark humor. “You make deals, ruin lives, steal souls to sustain your power. I admire that, even as I despise your methods.” their lips curved into a smirk, their words softening as they added, “And I won’t stop you from feeding your needs. Anyone fool enough to fall for your honeyed words deserves to become your meal.”
Rayne nuzzled against him, the gesture at odds with the controlled mockery in their tone. Their embrace tightened, pulling him closer, entirely unbothered by his nakedness. In fact, they reveled in the contrast. Fully clothed, they felt untouchable, commanding, while Marbas—exposed and vulnerable—served as a living reminder of their power.
As their arms encircled his body, pulling him into an embrace, Marbas gritted his teeth, his jaw tight with fury. Was this gesture meant to be possessive? Another display of their dominance, a declaration that this mortal could do whatever they pleased with him? Humiliate him in every way imaginable?
They had given him permission. Permission to feed himself. The ultimate insult. His very survival, reduced to the indulgence of this mortal’s whims.
Marbas steeled himself as the witch’s embrace tightened around him. His body betrayed him with a shiver—not from pain or fear, but from something far more unsettling. He hadn’t wanted to dwell on this, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it… but the knowledge burned in the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored.
He needed to know the witch’s name.
“May I ask…” he said at last, his voice strained, each word searing his pride as it passed his lips. “The name of my Master?”
The word felt like poison, bitter and vile, yet impossible to avoid. Among demons, “Master” was a term reserved for those deserving of respect—superiors, patrons, figures of authority. To bestow such a title on a mortal, a witch, was a humiliation so profound it left him trembling with rage and shame.
The humiliation crashed over him like a tidal wave, suffocating in its sheer intensity.
Marbas, the Great Lion, the mighty President of Hell—reduced to this.
A mortal’s pet.
A witch’s pet.
And no matter how his pride rebelled, there was no other title he could use right now for the one who held his chains.
Rayne shivered—actually shivered —at the sound of the word “master” slipping from the demon’s lips. The reaction surprised them, sending a ripple of sensation down their spine.
How unexpected.
Usually, they were composed, sensual yet untouchable amidst the throng of sycophants and envious rivals vying for their attention. But this? This single word, spoken now in Marbas’s strained voice? It sent goosebumps across their skin.
Their lips curved into a slow smile as they pulled back slightly, their arms still loosely wrapped around the demon. Tilting their head, they gazed up into his face, their green eyes sparkling with delight.
“Rayne,” they said simply. “But how nice ‘Master’ sounds, don’t you think? It has... a certain charm to it.”
The demon’s body betrayed him again, a shiver rippling down his spine. But this time, it wasn’t from pain or anger.
It was dread .
The mere thought of a future where he would be forced to address this insufferable witch as “Master” was enough to send an icy wave through him.
Rayne’s smile widened, teasing. “Of course, we can’t use that in public. Should I call you Alister, then? Or perhaps… pet ?”
They were enjoying this far too much. The thought of what might come later—when Marbas was finally released, free to enact his vengeance—flickered briefly in their mind. Retaliation. Perhaps eternal torment.
But that was a problem for another day.
Pet?!
The word rang in the demon’s mind, a fresh insult that set his teeth on edge. This witch had already taken everything—his power, his freedom, his dignity. And now they wanted to degrade him further with that title?
Marbas’s lip curled slightly, but he forced himself to suppress his disdain. Witches truly were worse than demons.
“Alister will suffice,” he said curtly, struggling to keep his voice steady, even as fear gnawed at him, that he would be forced into the opposite.
Rayne was definitely going to call him pet .
Their hands slid down to grasp Marbas’s wrists, their thumbs lightly brushing over the intricate shackles. They couldn’t help the surge of excitement that rippled through them—a thrill born of the sheer audacity of manhandling a being so powerful.
The demon shivered slightly as Rayne’s fingers trailed lazily down his arms, the touch deceptively light, until they reached the magical shackles. The bindings responded immediately, their energy flaring subtly beneath the witch’s fingertips, as if recognizing their creator.
Rayne stepped back, their arms falling away as they took in the demon’s form. They breathed deeply, their eyes tracing over the body he wore. It was undeniably pleasing, all sharp lines and sculpted perfection. His aristocratic, handsome face, however? That made Rayne itch to slap him again.
“You will, of course, be allowed to continue your business,” they said, their tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “I have no interest in watching your every move, day in and day out. That would be tedious for both of us.”
Their smirk returned, sharp and knowing.
“But should I need you, or simply wish to see your face…” They let the words hang, their meaning unmistakable.
Marbas couldn’t entirely suppress the flicker of relief that came when the witch mentioned he could return to his old life, however restricted and diminished it might be. It wasn’t freedom, but it was something.
But the relief was quickly overshadowed by the reality of his situation. His power had been sealed, reduced to a shadow of what it once was. He could feel the bindings constricting him, a constant reminder of his current state. That alone was enough to worry him.
The demon world was rife with opportunists, and the moment weakness was detected, rivals emerged from the shadows, ready to tear each other apart to climb the social ladder. Marbas knew he would be no exception.
The thought of being hunted by lesser demons, ones he could have obliterated with a thought in his prime, sent a ripple of unease through him. But for now, those were problems for another time—problems to face once he was free of this witch’s presence.
Breathing out softly, Rayne looked up, meeting Marbas’s piercing blue gaze with a slight tilt of their head.
The demon shivered slightly at the expression on the witch’s face—the sick, radiant joy as they watched his every reaction. Rayne fed on his discomfort, savoring every flicker of resistance as if it were a delicacy.
The realization made Marbas hesitate. If he yielded, if he gave in, would it rob them of this perverse satisfaction? Was submission the quickest way to extinguish their twisted pleasure?
But that exactly what they wanted—
Rayne sighed lightly, releasing Marbas’s wrists with a casual flick of their hands.
“You’re dismissed. I have a soirée to attend.” they paused as they straightened, smoothing their clothing with a practiced elegance. “Did you get a similar invite as Alister ?” their smirk sharpened.
They took a measured step back, their expression one of calm satisfaction as they lifted their fingers.
“I suggest dressing that meat shell of yours. As beautiful as its construction is, it might cause a stir as is.” they laughed softly, the sound light and dismissive. “Off you go.”
They snapped their fingers and the summoning was undone, Marbas vanished the same way he had appeared. The magic circle dissolved beneath their feet, the glow fading into nothingness.