"Silence, Demon. I'm the one in control."

"Oh yeah. It sure looks like it." They stand up to stretch their giant frog legs and sit back down. "Please tell me you just showered and that what I'm seeing on your forehead isn't sweat."

She mumbles a few syllables and throws her palm towards them. A flash of yellow light strikes them across the abdomen and they let out a guttural scream, clenching the singed skin where the spell hit.

"OW!! That really hurts you know! Was that really worth a Light Blast?"

"You're lucky I didn't channel my Light Bow. I had read of your impertinence, but I still expected at least some level of …"

"How old are you? You talk like that old geezer, he was a servant, in Russia… or was he a noble? What's his name again…"

"My age is none of your business, Demon. Now, listen carefully as I am about to dictate my will onto you."

The demon's form twists, almost melting, and fades in the air like a dust cloud. Like before, wisps of smoke extend like tentacles to lick the edges of the pentagram in which they're currently trapped. That won't help them. She has checked and rechecked every line, every arc, every square inch of the circle a dozen times before starting the incantation.

"My age is none of your business, Demon." Her condescending voice focuses on a single point in front of her invocator. Before her, the smoke solidifies again to take the same appearance as her. Arms crossed, genie bangles at her wrists, her hair tied tightly on top of her head, she stares back at the invocator. "You wizards are always the same. Balgomen do this, Balgomen steal that. Never Balgomen how are you? You're all so selfish."

Having bloated and risen towards the ceiling, she floats back down. Instead of a pair of legs, her hips dissolve into thick purple smoke that billows out of her like steam from a boiling pot, before condensing together and spiraling on the ground like an ephemeral fishtail.

"Silence!" She thunders, tracing in the air the first three runes needed to summon a Light Bow.

"Okay, okay, I shut it!" She gestures as if to zip her mouth shut and effectively erases her lips from her face.

She sighs. "I demand that you…"

"MMMMH!!" Sound grumbles in her throat, incapable of being freed.

"WHAT?!?"

"MMMH MMM MMHHHH!" She groans and clenches her fists, running her fingers backwards on the patch of skin where her mouth used to be. "RASPUTIN! You talk like Rasputin!" She laughs goodheartedly, bending over to grab a chunk of her smokey lower-half and solidifies it into an apple.

The other traces two more runes, anchoring her feet on the floor for added stability. "I'll teach you respect, Demon."

"You know my name, you literally need it to summon me. It's Bal-go-men."

"Would you just SHUT UP ALREADY?!?"

Her finger flicks half a second too late and, in the process, messes up the entire spell. She tries to contain the floating runes but they explode one at a time, pushing back against her when they disassemble.

The genie frowns and hides her head halfway inside her torso like a turtle, tossing the apple back towards her immaterial half. "Need help with that?" She points nonchalantly towards me.

"I told you to shut up!"

The last burst of energy takes her by surprise. Her right foot slips backwards, running on top of a chalk line. The blood freezes in her veins. She lifts it up slowly to confirm exactly what she had feared.

"Heyyy, Balgomen. I think you and I got off on the wrong…"

"MY TURN NOW!"

Between blinks, the demon’s eyes turn red. Her smile widens, her mouth now filled with a thousand pointed teeth, as thin and deadly as a handful of needles. With the protective seal broken, it casts a bolt of darkened flames and its invoker tumbles to the right. The left side of her body flares in pain.

Standing up again, she prepares the dismissal spell but something at her feet catches her attention. Her hand jumps to her left arm.

"Rule #1 of demonic summoning : NEVER jump out of your pentagram." Its voice is unrecognizable. It has nothing to do with the girl's anymore, but more like gears grinding against each other in the wrong direction. "Let's see how you fare in hell."

Another pentagram materializes under her. Bigger, redder. It starts rotating, dragging her down, tugging her legs into another dimension. Red fiery tentacles pulse through the opened portal to thrash the basement, knocking jars, shelves, and everything that isn't bolted down flying around the enclosed space. She tries to conjure the spell once again, the remnants of her left arm unable to properly complete the gestures of the right. Sunken halfway through her knees, she gives up and yells at the top of her lungs.

"RULE #2!!"

She grabs the vial hanging around her neck and rips the chain in pieces, arching her body to throw it on the floor between them. Almost instantly, a thick white mist fills the room. By the time the demon's roar reaches her ears, it vanishes along with the Hellish portal beneath her. Now out of balance, she falls back on her rump.

"Always have a Plan B."

She lets out a long sigh leaning back, trying to pull her legs under her to stand back up without success. They must still be dizzy from their little trip to hell. What about her arm? She whips her head across the room looking for her disarticulated limb but finds none. It must've been sucked into the portal along with half of the equipment inside the room. She pushes on the floor with her remaining arm and finally manages to stand on her legs, although…

"I can't feel my knees…" She looks underneath herself and finally understands. The rest of her legs stayed in hell. "No no no no no…"

She reaches for her legs using her left arm, which now ends slightly below her elbow. While none of her limbs are bleeding, it's as if they never existed.

"Balgomen!! BALGOMEN!!!!" Her breathing quickens, her heart races. She stares at the tumbled candles with a shaking hand, her shortened legs giving way from under her, slipping on the soot covered floor. "Give me back my limbs, spawn of Satan!!"

She loses control of her arm and crumbles to the floor, face first on a chalk line. She raises her hands to clean her face, again realizing one of them is missing. She waves the stump of her forearm in the air, like trying to shake off a bug, then grasps it with her remaining hand. Is this really happening? Or did the demon trap her inside a dreamscape?

As she begins questioning her own reality, the trapdoor of the cellar crashes open, sunlight beaming through and illuminating the candles, the incense, the inscriptions on the floor.

"What's the meaning of all this noise… YOUUU!!!"

Father Gascoigne hurries down the wooden steps, ready to stamp his golden ring across her cheek, when he realizes what surrounds him. He turns to his left and gasps, reaching for the scorch mark the demon's attack left on the stone walls. He licks his fingers, spitting on the ground before her.

"Sulfur…” He murmurs. “Do you have any idea what you could have done? Unleash a Demon upon our world… Is that what you were attempting?"

"Father Gascoigne, you don't understand…"

"Ohhh but it's all too clear to me. You've been nothing but obsessed with dark magic and incantations since your youth but, but… this?! Summoning a…" He grabs the cross hanging around his neck and presses his lips to it, looking up at the ceiling. "Lord give me strength.."

"Father, all I wanted was to…"

"Enough!! To think I accepted you between our walls, ignored the others warnings, how have I prayed for the Lord to cure your pitiful self… This is how you repay me after all these years. With forbidden magic!"

"Curiosity isn't a sin, Father."

"This isn't curiosity, it's madness. The Lord made us in His holy image, my dear Constance. The mark you bear on your body is but an indication of your link to the Devil below." He points down, kneels. He grabs the stump of her left arm and sighs, throws it aside. "Beware of the one born marked by Devilish atrocities."

She brings her hand to it and notices the absence of blood and scar on it. "Born? Father, the Demon is what did this to me!"

"For that you are correct. I should've sensed evil in your mother's womb way before the day you were born. The Devil places its curse on those who he deems worthy of his services. Those accursed limbs of yours bring pride to his realm but/and nothing but shame to our community. Alas, I cannot purge you myself for the Lord punishes me for all Eternity.”

“Father, this just happened a minute ago! I wasn’t born this way!" Grabbing a flap of his robes, she pulls herself up on the stump of her right leg, the longest of the two. "I’ve had legs my whole life, surely you remember!”

“Don’t lie to me in the cellar of my own church, young lady." He yanks his clothes out of her hand and she falls back hard on her stomach. "I’ve done my best to protect you from the others for all these years but today marks the end of my benevolence.” He stands back up, looking down at her like an insect, and points at the trapdoor. “Get out.”

She looks down at her stumps, then at the summoning equipment behind her. She has to find a solution. She can't possibly leave this behind, or else she'll never be able to attempt another summoning ever again.

"I'll prove it to you! I'll summon Balgomen again…"

"You dare speak of it in my presence using its name?" He spits on the floor again. "Enough is enough."

He grabs her hand to lift her at arm's length, as far from himself as he physically can then unceremoniously carries her up the stairs to the courtyard and throws her on the muddy grass where she tumbles like a bundle of cloth.

"Father, please listen to me!" Clearing the hair off her face, she looks up at him, pressing her arm stump against the ground.

"You are no longer welcome in this church, Witch. Begone! Go back to the hut you dare call a home."

She takes a minute to collect herself and fix her clothes, now covered in dirt, before slowly making her way towards the street. Her wrist is tender from Father Gascoigne's grip. Having nothing else to do, she leans forward to set her hand in the dust, then pushes down to drag herself forwards. The pebbled path hurts her legs. She tries to command her feet, but the order vanishes down into her stumps. They really are gone…

—--

Judging by the course of the sun of the sky, Constance must've been at it for hours. She was out of town now, but still ways away from the cabin she called her home. Now reaching the edge of the forest, she hustled herself under a tree, leaned against it. She brought her sole hand to her chest as she tried to control her breathing, arching her back to try and relieve the pain she felt all over her body.

Her legs were bloodied, covered in scratches, bruises, and cuts left behind by ragged rocks on the village path. She felt for them and gasped, the open wounds painful under her fingers

On a patch of clear dirt beside her, she traced a perfect circle in which she etched a series of intricate symbols and shapes. Satisfied with her work, she backed away from the tree and turned to the side, angling her legs so as she could lift them above the pentagram without messing up her work.

After a short incantation, red light filled the circle and Constance felt a rush of sweet warmth enveloping her stumps. Under her eyes, she once again witnessed the demonic energy, this time tending to her wounds. No longer than 10 seconds later, they had healed completely.

"That feels better. Although that doesn't bring you back does it.."