Hour 4: Ruined Ritual

Something went wrong.
Okay, everything went wrong.
The wrong candles, the wrong incantation, the wrong symbols.
Hell, a white sheep instead of a black goat.

It was doomed to fail from the beginning.
And that’s why Mark is in the position he is.

And when I say position…I should shape.
A pretzel shape.

A crying, begging, pretzel shape.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? Please…please…”

The demon turns and lets hellfire glow from his eyes.

Mark pisses himself again, but due to his…unfortunate posture, the piss runs down his face, stinging his eyes.

The demon is enjoying itself.
Looking around at Marks dead friends.

“What’s that smell?”

“I-i-it’s cardamom.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a spice…I think.”

“You summoned me here with a spice-you-think that smells like a hydra’s asshole? Cinnamon, you idiot. It’s cinnamon! Stupid fucking mortals…can’t even get their scents right.”

Mark starts crying again.

The demon throws the leg of one of his friends at him.

“Shut up. You’re inept conjuring has caused a tremendous problem.”

The demon is walking around the room, scouring the floor.
How did they even get it here, the symbols are all wrong…they didn’t even draw the pentagram correctly.
Shit, hopefully no one down below finds out about this mess.

“well, Mark…until this gets fixed, looks like we’re stuck together. That means…you’re stuck all twisted up like that. The only thing I can do is try and make it hurt more.”

The doorbell rings, interrupting the demon.

“Expecting someone?”

“Mark, baby, it’s me…I think we got the wrong page from the book!”

Mark starts to wail, screaming for her to run away, but she opens the door.

“You ordered dinner. How kind of you, Mark.”

“What’s that smell?” Was the last thought of the poor girl before she was eaten and her bones were picked clean and thrown at Mark’s head as he cried and cried and cried like a little mortal baby.

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