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Nothing remained in the chamber, not even the circle; it passed into the other dimension along with the demon and the unfortunate summoner. Redbeard dusted the chalk off his hands, shaking his head contemptuously at the arrogant fool who did not think to check the summoning circle before performing the ritual. Of course, he counted on it; but he still felt it was deserving of scorn.
He shifted into a hawk and flew away.
There was no need to report; his client would find find out by himself. His reputation was sufficient now that none would dare claim the hit for themselves - or deny that he did it.
He took a break on the rooftop of warehouse, shifting back into anthropoid form. He patted the pockets of his duster for cigarettes and lighter.
He amused himself with shaping smoke for a moment or two. Then, he let it drift in the wind as he gazed down at the swarm of automatons marching back to their headquarters from whoever rented them for today. The long train of sentient metal resembled a serpent from above. The image triggered a memory Redbeard thought successfully suppressed.
He couldn’t see or hear the stranger, but he knew he was there the moment he stepped into the cave.
Nothing happened for a few breaths; then, drops of venom dripping from the serpent’s mouth and spilling from her bowl to the ground halted mid-air.
The stranger spoke as he walked slowly towards the rock he was bound to. “I have a job for you”.
He grinned.
“Well, then, let’s get you settled, Redbeard,” said the spindly woman to whose care the stranger left him until he adapted to this new world.
He began to open his mouth and then halted.
He had many names. No, the person tied to the stone had many names. He was Redbeard, a newcomer to this world, with nothing but some magic to his name.
He gave the old woman one of his more pleasant smiles and listened attentively to her talk.
A monk he met once told him that to give importance to thing was to be bound to it. Once he, like everyone else, took the prophecy of Ragnarok for granted. But now, it mattered no more. Here, there were other powers; but no World Tree, no Norns, no Odin. He shunned his doom and shunned his old name. He cared not if it would break the cycle or if his simulacrum would be the one to play the part. It had nothing to do with him. He didn’t wonder if she even noticed that it’s a magical construct supplemented with three drops of his blood that she’s tending to; if she kept silent or alerted them and they were looking for him right now. It was not easy but he learned to think of it less and less.Only snakes could make him slip now, a shameful habit that he really needed to dispose of soon.
He tossed down the stub and shifted once again, flying between gas lamps and magical fires back to Old Maggie’s place.