Nameless Ghoul

The Summoning

The ghoul ran, his bare feet carrying him swiftly and silently through the Fields of Scorn. He had always excelled in the hunt, his prey unaware of his presence until the very last moment. By that point, it was usually too late for them and he relished the momentary look of fear in their eyes as the realisation dawned.

This hunt involved him and his older brothers, practise to keep their skills sharp. He stalked his eldest brother Zagan, holding his breath so as not to alert him to just how close he was.

Just as he was closing in, the world tilted on its axis and the ghoul was suddenly falling. Blinding agony ripped through him as he was flung towards chaos. His physical body shattered apart, separated into its basic molecules and thrown haphazardly into a swirling vortex of blackness.

He spiralled and tumbled over and over and over again until his consciousness broke under the pressure. There was nothing left for him to do now but succumb to the frigid black light and he welcomed the peace that it brought him.

Sensitive eyes opened, and the ghoul came around, shivering from the cold, damp atmosphere. The chill permeated his bones, and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt cold like this before. His consciousness slowly returned, and he came to on a bare stone floor. Every part of his body ached and his skin felt as if it had been flayed. Even his shallow breaths were agonising, causing intense flashes of pain with each inhale and exhale. He shook with the effort of just being.

His stomach churned, threatening to spill its contents, and he rolled onto his belly and retched. Thick, black bile was all that came up. The pain of it became unbearable and the longer it went on, the more he wished for death to take him.

When the ordeal was finally over, he flopped onto his back. The cool stones of the floor gave him some temporary relief, and he took a minute to just breathe. His mind had not yet caught up with his body and all he could do at that moment was lay there sweating and groaning and gasping for air.

He blinked slowly to help his eyes regain their focus and his senses sluggishly came back online. This was not the balmy hell dimension that was his home. He sensed that this place was far, far from there.

He rubbed the centre of his chest, realising that the link that bound him to his family was painfully absent. A bleak chasm of emptiness had opened in his gut and he mourned the loss of them.

The ghoul knew in his heart that he was now utterly alone in this strangely cold place.

The chamber he found himself in was dimly lit by red candles and the tantalising scents of herbs and blood that did not belong to a ghoul lingered in the cold air. He noted the pentagram circle drawn with precision around him on the ground and he realised that was the source of the blood he could smell. He frowned, trying to process all of this new and unsettling information.

Something caught his attention, and his hands flew to the base of his throat. His fingers found the cold metal of a collar fixed firmly around his neck. He skimmed his fingertips over the band and felt symbols etched there. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he heard a chuckle.

He wasn't alone.

His gaze slid up towards the figure who stood just outside of the circle, regarding him with the interest of a predator. He wore heavy, red velvet robes that seemed to absorb what little light dared to shine on them.

As the ghoul met the cruel gaze of the being standing before him, his eyes widened with shock. The realisation of what was happening hit him with such force that it knocked the breath from his lungs.

He had been summoned.

The higher human members of the Clergy could summon ghouls to Earth and they could bond them. The Clergy were the Dark Lord’s chosen representatives in the human world and they sometimes summoned ghouls to aid them in spreading His message and assist in worshipping Him.

Most young ghouls dreamed of being summoned to Earth to serve as a Clergy ghoul. The chosen were the elite of their species and only the most dedicated and talented ghouls made it there. The Academies that ghouls attended prepared them for selection. Once ghouls reached maturity at twenty-five seasons old, they were eligible to be put forward for potential summoning. Only the best of the best ended up on Earth, though.

The ghoul’s mind raced as he thought about his training. He was only twenty seasons old, far too young for the Clergy to summon him. There were procedures and ceremonies, treaties and pacts that had to be undertaken and discussed before that could happen.

When a ghoul was bound to a member of the Clergy, it was a lifetime commitment and was taken seriously by all parties involved. The life force of the ghoul and the human summoner became intertwined. The human would benefit from the extra lifespan and good health that a ghoul possessed, but the bond was one of life and death. If one were to die after they had been bound, then the other would swiftly follow.

There was one dire reason the terms of a summoning were so painstakingly eked out and so many contracts and blood oaths needed to be signed and sworn. With the correct tools and knowledge, it was possible for a human witch or sorcerer to bind a ghoul and to take control of its will. This had been horrifically abused in the past, so the Ghoul Council and the Clergy had both agreed to rigorously vet candidates and to limit summoning to a select few higher members of the Clergy.

There were many rules, and the blood oath would prevent the summoner from abusing their position and stop them from being able to take full control of the ghoul against their will.

Something was very wrong here. Somehow, this human had bypassed all of that. It was clear now that he was not a member of the Clergy; he was something else entirely. There was no contract for this ghoul and he did not meet the minimum age required to be summoned. Nobody had approached his family about it; he hadn’t even come into his full powers yet.

He hadn’t consented to any of this.

He bared his fangs at the human as he clawed at the metal collar around his neck, desperately trying to remove it. Panic was welling up and he could feel his chest tightening, feel his heart beating frantically as the pieces of this all slotted together in his mind and the fear of what this all meant threatened to overcome him.

He tried to stay calm so that he could think what he should do, but it was no use. Terror, the likes of which he’d never known, was creeping up on him and he was powerless to stop it.

All ghouls had heard the stories of the slave ghouls of old; they were the horror stories that kits told in the dark to scare each other.

How could he be bound to this being? It went against every meticulous rule intended to protect ghoul kind from such a cruel and terrible fate.

The ghoul looked back into the soulless stare of the being, no, the man before him and his eyes widened with fear.

“Welcome to Earth, ghoul,” he said with a smirk.