Summoner: The Demon

Chapter 21

On the walk back to the summoning room, Ignatius writhed internally. The tension between the cadets stopped any futile attempts at conversation to pass the time. Despite the charged atmosphere, Ignatius was getting bored. However, he noticed that the others were rather the opposite. Rory's face was a mask of despair and misery, lamenting at his inability to control more than another two mites, and Genevieve was desperately comforting him. Othello simply looked as if he were pondering something important, like dinner.

Finally, the group reached the great doors of the summoning room. Rook pushed the thick door, then walked inside. He held the door open as the nobles pass, but let the door slam into Fletcher's face, who was leading the commoners. Ignatius sensed his master's murderous intent, which eventually faded into nothingness against the powers of reason. Rook shot a quick glare at Fletcher, then told the students to sit down.

After a few minutes, there was a feeble knock at the door, which gradually increased in frequency as the person grew more desperate. Rook deliberately waited a few moments, then paced slowly to the door. He pulled it open slowly, revealing a pair of servants toting a stone pillar. Rook motioned towards the center of the room, beside the large pentacle and Oculus. There were several large gems in the stone monolith, emitting auras of demonic mana.

"Your previous instructor preferred to do things the old way, despite its instability," the tall inquisitor said, breaking the silence. "but I, on the other hand, will be using a more... modern procedure. This artifact is similar to those on the front lines used to fuel the shield domes that repel the orcish fireball barrages. This one will be used to fuel a portal to the ether, just in case one's concentration slips. We can't afford to lose a hydra, can we?"

Tarquin shot Fletcher a sneer, but he ignored it. On the other hand, Ignatius was getting tired of his master receiving dirty looks from those mongrels. Ignatius' intentions slipped into Fletcher's mind, causing him to clench his fists and glare back. However, Rook cleared his throat, drawing the two boys' attention back to him.

"Unfortunately, this mana storage can only fuel a certain number of portals. Therefore, only the nobles will be able to send their demons into the ether." Their instructor said, causing Rory to cry out in despair.

"How will I ever become stronger?!" He sobbed to Genvieve. Rook ignored his emotional outburst, opting to simply remain silent.

"You, boy. Pull down the curtain." He said, pointing at the servant which Ignatius recognized as Jeffery. The servant scrambled over to the rope on the side of the room and started pulling it, and the curtain began to slowly descend. "Commoners, on that side and practice your control. Nobles, come here." The cadets complied, marching to their respective sides. Ignatius took a last glimpse at those disgusting nobles before the curtain fell, then was summoned by Fletcher through a leather mat. The red imp danced around, glad to be back in physical form.

"Demonic control it is," Fletcher muttered, getting ready for the grueling mental exercises.

Fletcher cursed under his breath for the fourth time. He lost control of his demon as the imp was scampering along the floor. They'd been at it for almost an hour, listening to the nobles excited cries from the other side of the curtain. Despite their training, Ignatius could barely manage to stay synchronized with Fletcher for more than a few minutes of rapid crawling. However, the other cadets weren't any better. Rory and Genvieve's mites were zipping around unchecked as their masters did their best to reassert dominance, while Othello struggled with Solomon's turns. Seraph's barkling was rather lethargic, due to the fact that it hadn't had breakfast - a servant accidentally threw out his leaves. Sylva seemed mostly in control, but the golden Canid didn't have much room to maneuver in the confines of their side of the partition. As he attempted to reconnect with Ignatius, the salamander simply continued his frisky run, breaking his concentration.