Fang Talks

There's a little bit of hipster in all of us.

With the planets in the right alignment, tonight was the night. Months of studying, pouring over poorly translated versions of even more poorly preserved documents. The seal you carved into your floor, the blood of a sacrifice, the weeks of masturbating over the demon’s sigil to ingrain it into your mind. The clock struck midnight. This was it.

You carefully pour the blood into the seal, then light the candles surrounding it. The floor starts to vibrate, subtly, as you chant the spell you memorized. You blink, and suddenly it’s there, hovering ever so slightly off the ground.
‘Teln–’ you try to speak its name, to command it, but it interrupts you.
It’s voice echoes through the room, and yet doesn’t make a sound at all. ‘W h a t i s i t y o u s e e k f r o m m e ?’

‘This, right here.’ you whisper, pointing intently at the screen, beaming blueish light into the candle-lit room.
The demon squints, recognizes a login screen. A username is filled in which, it recognizes, does not belong to its summoner. ‘N o .’ it booms. ‘I a m n O T G U C I F E R !’

“arcane login process”
#invisiblenetworks

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