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Being pulled from nonexistence was always an awful chore, but whoever was summoning him was doing it quite forcefully, so the demon had little choice but to manifest. That, however, wouldn’t stop him from putting on a show.
Deep violet smoke welled from no origin in the center of the pentagram, pushing outwards and testing the lines neatly etched in chalk. Finding no gaps or wavering in the linework, the dark cloud roiled furiously, soon forming slitted, amber eyes that searched furtively for whoever summoned them into being.
The culprit seemed to be a magician’s whelp; a college-age apprentice. Shouldn’t this sharp-haired amateur be slacking at some seedy basement party, rather than bothering a several thousand year old entity with a useless request?
He’d hoped his frightening visage would have scared the apprentice from his circle, but the round-cheeked man only swallowed his panic, his expression hardening.
“I charge you to tell me your name,” the man commanded. “And sh-how your true form.”
The demon would have sneered, if he’d had a face. He wouldn’t be here if the apprentice wasn’t already aware.
Reforming, a scrawny, jagged man the color of bleached bone appeared from the mist, his white hair floating about him stormily.
“Bakura, Demon-king of Thieves, the one known as the Silver Serpent, Pillager of Rome and He Who Burned Alexandria. I have no master! Who are you to summon me?” he hissed.
“By the points on the circle, I have summoned you. I am your master. You will obey my will.” The apprentice shook as he said this, but left nowhere for Bakura to exploit his wording. He must have been well-trained.
“What is your will, whelp?”
“You will retrieve the Amulet of Cul Elna from the possession of Seto Kaiba, and bring it to me at dawn when I summon you once more.”
“What?” Even Bakura knew that name. “Wait a minute—are you insane? That one’ll flay an apprentice like you to shreds.”
“It’s none of your concern.” The man’s eyes revealed nothing. “You’re bound to my will.”
“I am.” He wasn’t so stupid as to deny it.
“Then go.”
Bakura almost lingered, but the pain of being dismissed was enough that he relented, releasing his physical form. If this magician’s whelp wished a painful death, he wouldn’t stop him.
Maybe he’d get to watch.