Calling on Gods

Candlelight flickered in the alleyway, the only source of light except for the shrouded moon. The candles were arranged in a circle, within which stood a naked man holding an ornate dagger.

“Grelthor! The Devourer! Lord of the Consuming Flame! By three names I call thee forth! Heed my summons! By blood and sacrifice I follow the sacred accord, and so are you bound.”

The candles flared into roaring pillars of flame twelve feet tall, and an angry rumble made the alleyway shutter. The man ignored these distractions, drawing the ceremonial dagger down his forearm.

He dropped the dagger and flung his wounded arm wide, slinging thick droplets of blood into the surrounding flames. His blood hissed and steamed, congealing into a gruesome face. It spoke.

“You would have my power, mortal?”

“I would.”

The malevolent face grinned. “So be it.”

A stream of blood burst from the man’s lacerated arm, forming ropy tendrils that disappeared into the flames. The man screamed, and the face laughed. Until the two became one.

Grelthor walked out of the alley, his gait awkward like that of an inexperienced drunk. His vast essence was unused to the constraints of this form. Behind him, the flames quickly spread from the alley to the surrounding buildings. Because they were his flames, he knew that they would continue until the city was devoured.

The Lord of Consuming Flame grinned as he walked into the night.


(Photo by Jordon Conner on Unsplash)