Summoned

         Hooded figures marched down concrete stairs into a damp cellar that had been illuminated by a flickering blaze of what must've been one thousand candles. Their sandals clapped on each step as they synchronously made it into the room, single file. The hooded figure in the front of the line carried with him an impossibly black tome. As they entered, the line broke in two and they formed a circle.
         "Brother Sean, the circle." The man with the tome said and Brother Sean revealed a small piece of chalk and began running it across the floor. "A circle is a symbol. This symbol represents our earth. Our plane of existence." He flicked open the tome to a predestined page covered in jagged runes written in a dark brown ink.
         Brother Sean completed his voyage around the room and formed a perfect circle on the floor with chalk.
         "The second symbol. The star," the man with the tome said. Sean began a path straight across the circle creating the first arm of a star within the circle. The chalk screeched and yelled as it was dragged across the cold concrete. "This star is oriented upside down. If there are stars above than let this one represent what is below."
         Sean finished his jagged path forming a perfect white star whose arms reached the outer circle perfectly.
         "The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth and the seventh," the man continued, "the five seals that bind below to our reality." The words dripped from his mouth echoing off the flat blank cellar walls.
         Sean made his way around and etched jagged incomprehensible symbols into the cement at each arm of the massive, inverted star. The other members of the congregation remained silent and watched with hidden eyes that reflected the flicker of surrounding candles.
         Each stroke of chalk came down like a hammer. Each symbol was crafted with a delicious fervor. Brother Sean muttered under his breath as he slashed and pulled.
         "The eighth is to be a circle within," the man said without looking up from his tome.
          Sean stood in the center of the massive, inverted pentagram. He kneeled and drew a perfect circle around himself.
          "This circle represents the portal. A gate between worlds," his voice rose in great crescendo, "We stand before you oh great beasts. We do not stand asking for judgement, but mercy. Take us from this world. Take what you wish from us oh great one. We welcome you with our ninth and final symbol." He slapped close the tome in his hand and placed it at his feet. He nodded to Brother Sean who in turn nodded back.
          Brother Sean pulled a shabby knife from his rope belt that held close his brown robes. He held it in front of him for a moment before swiftly running it across his own throat. Blood cascaded down his chest as it bubbled and guggled from the wound. He stood in place in the center of his chalk grave while the blood made its way down to his feet. A clicking sound could be heard as he desperately spasmed attempting to gasp for breath. Eventually he crumpled to the cold hard ground.
          The congregation watched with emotionless faces. No one moved. Everyone remained still except for Brother Sean's body that still spasmed as the pool of blood grew outwards carrying with it the dust of the chalk lines it crossed over.
          Minutes had gone by with no change. Brother Sean had started to change color and twitched no more. The congregation began looking at each other in confusion.
          One of the hooded men spoke, "Brother Thaddeus, is this-"
          "Silence." Thaddeus said, tome still at his feet. "We provided the binding seals, we gave him a door, and we gave the life to unlock it. All that remains, is he must walk through it. Patience." He stood confident holding his hands in front of him, arms slack. His eyes never left Brother Sean.
          "But-" Just as the congregation began to murmur, Sean's blood rippled. As if being hit by invisible drops, ripples drifted in rhythm across the pool of blood. The ripples sped up eventually caused coagulation to break and liquid to flow again. The pool began to close-in back to the center. Back to Sean's blue corpse.
          The congregation took a step back. The air was heavy with palpable shock. All of them awestruck except for Thaddeus who stood unmoved. His mouth slid into a grin, and he continued to watch the transition.
          "Witness, brothers," Thaddeus said as he raised his arms high. "Witness the coming of one of Hell's own. We've traded a life for one below. Come dearest dark one, come." His laughter exploded off each wall in the cellar. "Welcome! Welcome!"
          Sean's corpse took in all the remaining blood. Only small droplets left on the floor. The white lines of chalk however remained stained and tainted from where the blood had sat.
          Just as the last droplets slithered back home, Sean's body spasmed once again. He rolled flat on his back and arched up, nothing supported him except his head and his heels. He convulsed and thrashed until eventually he sat up in one complete motion. He looked around the room. Most of the congregation watched with mouth agape.
          Sean stood. His face bone white and his robe blood stained and spackled with dust from the concrete floor. He locked eyes with Thaddeus who approached.
          "Demon. Great one," he said as he took a kneeled position with his head down looking at the floor.
          "Rise," The demon said from Sean's mouth. The word rasped as part of it escaped through the wound in his throat.
          Thaddeus obliged and stood with a smile. Face to face with Hell itself. Hell did not smile back. "Who is it I speak with on this day of glory?" He asked.
          "I am Ithazel, second lieutenant to Azazel and overseer of the Marshes."
          Thaddeus nodded to acknowledge the rank.
          Ithazel looked around the room, "weak, all of you. I see it in your eyes. I can see it in your pathetic parchment souls. Brother Thaddeus, you are all I need to start our work. The rest can end themselves. We will make use of them below," his words slithered from his mouth with an incorporeal tone.
          Thaddeus looked around the room at each brother. He nodded once.
          Each remaining robed man took out a shabby blade with shaking hands. All at once they drug the blades across their own throats and fell to the floor. Ithazel closed his eyes and seemed to revel in sweet comfort of the sound of the rain of murderous bodies slapping the unforgiving concrete.
          "Come Thaddeus. Let's get to work," Ithazel said.
          Ithazel and Thaddeus stepped over the heaps of bodies laying in perfect circle around the room and walked up the steps out of the cellar leaving the musk of death and copper behind them. The Devil's work can now begin.