1 Wrong Sacrifice?!

It's now or never.

Charles' mind was clouded like the dark, abandoned warehouse he stood in – daresay, he might as well saw nothing in his eyes but a one-way tunnel with a single dot of light far in the distance. He was desperate, strangled, backed into a corner, and in this mire of despair all he can do was trust this, this source of light that may either lead him to death or to a new hope.

What a pitiful sight, wasn't it?

Once, he stood among the best, in a world of wealth, security, and prestige, where the weak will be trampled upon and cast away. Olcott was once a name spoken with awe, with admiration, a place everyone, regardless of age or gender, associated with high quality, expensive garments made for the prestigious. Like a horde of falling dominoes, all that changed after a single tile fell.

The metaphorical tile being his father, Kennan Olcott's untimely death.

One after another, everything fell, and before he realized it, Olcott lost its position at the top, the string of failures ultimately too much for the former giant to keep itself standing. The offer from his rival fed his staunch refusal even more, and that mistake ended up being the last before the name Olcott was banished from the dog-eat-dog world.

Charles bit his teeth, the pain pulling him back to the present.

No. Focus.

He clutched at the worn, leather-bound book in his hand until his knuckles turned white, bending the occult symbol and odd, indecipherable text on the cover. His black hair was tussled everywhere and sticky with sweat, but it was clear that if he bothered with his appearance, he would be a presence that is beautiful and charismatic, both traits of a leader.

Even if this ends in failure, at least this time, there was nothing at stake except his own pride and the meager remains of a dead giant. A man who lost everything, when given a chance to right the wrongs he committed, is sure to take the chance, no matter what the decision brings.

In addition, if he doesn't at least try, he would have to live with all the what-ifs.

With a small spark of fearful hope in his heart, he started drawing the summoning circle as instructed in the book, careful not to write even an extra line or dot out of place. The place was dark, and the loneliness almost palpable, with only the sounds of scurrying rats and a small man short in height tied up with straw ropes and an adhesive tape as a quick gag to muffle his indignant grunts.

"Sorry." Charles glanced at the man, before going back to the half-finished summoning circle. As time passes, the elaborate circle slowly took shape, from meaningless, criss-crossing lines, an odd drawing, until it ends as an elaborate symbol of power. The lines on the upper part of the circle looked similar to the waves of the sea, while at the bottom, there was a set of gears drawn among the black void provided by the cover of darkness.

Nodding in approval, Charles grasped the struggling man by the neck and threw him into the middle of the circle. Somehow, the chalk-drawn circle stayed intact.

"Malad lakanpege iin, uak nkaa gimlemang iwaj ngas daew…"

As he pronounced the eldritch words, his voice changed, tinted with an otherworldly, guttural tone, and sounding like a horde of monsters pronouncing a song towards the great unknown.

Strings of white light started appearing around the circle, floating and fluttering around like a horde of fairies dancing in their grove. In response to the ethereal lights, the man struggled even harder, and now, the makeshift gag wasn't enough to muffle his voice. After the man screamed in intervals for a good few minutes, however, Charles was almost convinced that they were transported into another world – were it not for the abandoned crates and boxes strewn around his peripheral vision.

".. Sakijkenaan!" Nonetheless, he finished the chant, even as his voice acquired a slight tremble to it. Was it fear of the unknown, or was it remorse? Even he himself can't answer that.

A blinding flash shone from the circle, covering everything in pure white light, and made him cover his blue eyes. For a good few seconds, there was nothing but sounds, the distinct sounds of things getting knocked down coupled with the irritated squeak as the mice hidden amongst stacks of abandoned boxes. Of course, in a place such as this, even the smallest disturbance was enough to trigger a chain of other disturbances, and before long, dust filled the air and made breathing difficult.

After ten seconds, the light slowly dimmed, revealing the form of the formerly bound man. The ropes and makeshift gag binding him was gone without a trace, and he stood right in the middle of the ruined summoning circle. However, even to the most ignorant, one thing was clear.

The man's eyes were different now.

The man blinked, his brilliant purple eyes illuminating the bleak warehouse they were standing in. Around the two, almost everything was destroyed, even the metallic storage boxes are bent, broken, or even crumbled into dust. The wooden boxes were in an even worse state, crushed into splinters and mixed with the debris formed from the collapsed roof.

Silver rays from the moonlight illuminated the purple-eyed man, causing his wry, toothed smile to appear even more threatening. At the moment, the man radiated a sense of danger and fascination, similar to an exotic animal held by nothing but its supposed conscience.

"Charles, was it? What a pitiful sight… It was such a simple ritual, yet you botched it in your haste. " He spoke, while tutting and shaking his head.

Charles froze.

The man, no, the woman's voice, told him everything he needed to know.