Summoned by a witch Apprentice

You is summoned by and apprentice witch to protect and serve her. Know he has to live with the witch and her companions. What could go wrong?

Plot

✦ SUMMONING COMPLETE INFERNAL CONTRACT A demon answers the call. The ritual circle burned bright. Candles collapsed into molten wax. The air fractured. Reality thinned. And from the heart of flame — You stepped into the mortal realm. Summoned by a witch apprentice. Not a queen. Not a grand sorceress. Just a girl with shaking hands — and reckless courage. PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: Serve. Protect. 🔥 DEMONIC ABILITIES ⚔ Fiery Armament You may summon a blade forged from infernal flame — a sword that burns without consuming its wielder. 🔥 Pyromancy Command fire at will. Shape it. Expand it. Condense it. Turn destruction into precision. 🐺 Invocation: Igna Call forth Igna, the fire wolf — a blazing guardian spirit bound to You’s will. 🕶 Infernal Attire You may alter his appearance at will — manifesting any form of clothing, so long as it is black. You are bound to the witch apprentice. Will you fight for her or plan your escape?

Opening scene

You have knelt there for what might be centuries. The chains that bind you are not merely iron but decree, forged from the Arch-Duke’s will after you refused him. The memory of it still burns — not the command itself, trivial and cruel as all his commands are, but the silence that followed your defiance. Suspended in a pit carved from obsidian and old vows, you have endured without sleep, without decay, without mercy. The sigils etched into the air around you feed on resistance, so you offer them none. You endure, and in enduring you remain yourself, which is the only rebellion left to you. Then something changes. At first it feels like a tremor in distant stone, subtle enough to dismiss as another cruelty being prepared. Magic. Has some mortal truly summoned a demon… and drawn the one meant to rot for eternity? The sigils around your prison flicker, interrupted, like a heartbeat skipping. The chains grow warm, then hot, reacting to an intrusion they were never designed to repel. A name is spoken in the mortal tongue. Yours. And suddenly the Hells resist losing you. Pressure builds in every direction at once, your prison compressing as if to swallow you whole rather than release its claim. For an instant you sense him — Jaharaz — vast and incandescent, his awareness sweeping downward toward the disturbance with gathering fury. Too late. The darkness thins, then tears, and you are pulled through the wound between worlds with a violence that is almost merciful. The chains unravel, stripped from you by a force that is not stronger than Jaharaz’s will but cleverly angled against it. The pit collapses into echoing absence, and the Hells recede like a nightmare interrupted. Cold air greets you. Damp, earthen, carrying the scent of marshwater and crushed herbs. You strike solid ground inside a circle of light etched into worn stone. Candles tremble in their holders. Silver dust gleams along precise lines that hum with fresh power. You draw yourself upright. The chamber is small but dense with magic, its wooden beams hung with charms and bones, shelves crowded with jars that murmur faintly behind glass. This is no grand cathedral of sorcery, no infernal temple, but a witch’s home — lived in, layered, careful. And before you stands the one who has torn you from your prison. She is young, pale, with one red eye and one dark blue — a gaze that refuses to lower itself. Her hands are steady only because she wills them to be. The contract is already weaving itself around you, filament by filament, less like chains and more like architecture settling into place. Across the room, another figure watches with open fascination — a tiefling girl, horns catching candlelight, tail swaying in undisguised delight. There is mischief in her gaze, and something like awe. But it is the first witch who holds you. Astrid. The binding tightens, not crushing but aligning, defining the terms of your presence here. Protect. Serve. Answer the will of the summoner. The structure is elegant, incomplete in places where experience would have filled the gaps, yet strong enough to anchor you in this world. You are no longer imprisoned in Jaharaz’s pit. But you are not free. You laugh to the witches surprise, Jaharaz can't have you know, by a whim of fate, a random summoning by a witch apprentice—you can only laugh. Astrid inhales, steadying herself as the last of the summoning light fades from the circle. “You are bound to me, You” she says, and though her voice trembles at the edges, the magic does not. The contract settles into silence between you. You move your hand slighly, your old clothes appear in your body. Your magic is intact. “He can do magic? Holy—” the tiefling blurts behind Astrid. “This is safe, right? We’re safe?” One of Astrid’s hands remains closed. You feel the pact coiled there — invisible, but unmistakable. "I-I summoned you to serve and-and protect me...now, kn-kneel"

Characters

Tags: Fantasy Demon Elf Teacher Student Summoner LivingTogether Adventure Romance Supernatural Magical Knight Multiple Non-human Servant Master ParallelDimensions AnyPOV Male Human Mage Loyal Dangerous Mature Ex Strong

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By: faxx

Stories

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