Demonbound

7

Lumi dusted the shelves in silence, exactly as he’d been ordered after they returned to the mansion.

The cloth moved in slow, circular motions, careful not to disturb the fragile spines stacked tightly together. Some of the books looked older than the mansion itself. Their leather covers were cracked, titles faded, sigils pressed into the bindings like scars that never healed.

The Blackwell library stretched endlessly.

Rows upon rows of shelves rose toward a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Narrow windows let in thin shafts of grey light, illuminating motes of dust that drifted lazily in the air. Sigils carved into the stone walls pulsed faintly, warding, preserving, watching.

This was not a place meant for comfort.

It was a place meant for memory.

Lumi sighed under his breath and wiped another shelf.

“So I’m the one punished,” he muttered quietly. “Figures.”

He adjusted the ladder and climbed one rung higher.

He hadn’t been the one who ignored protocol.

He hadn’t been the one who charged a demon alone.

And yet here he was—assigned extra duties, isolated work, long hours alone.

While Corvin was—

“Let off,” Lumi said bitterly.

Lumi shook his head and kept cleaning.

The cloth brushed against a thick tome near the back of the shelf. He pushed it aside without thinking.

The shelf shifted.

Just slightly.

Lumi froze.

He frowned and pressed against it again.

The sound was wrong.

Stone didn’t usually move.

The shelf slid back a fraction, revealing darkness behind it. A narrow gap widened, stone grinding softly as a hidden mechanism yielded.

A staircase appeared.

Lumi stared.

His heartbeat quickened.

He glanced over his shoulder.

The library was empty.

“Hello?” he called softly.

His voice echoed, swallowed by the vastness of the room.

No reply.

He leaned closer, peering into the opening. The stairs descended steeply, vanishing into shadow.

“Hello?” he tried again.

Nothing.

He swallowed.

This was probably off limits.

Almost certainly off limits.

That thought alone should have been enough to stop him.

Instead, curiosity stirred.

He fetched a small torch from the cleaning cart, flicked it on, and aimed the beam downward.

The light revealed stone steps worn smooth with age.

He hesitated.

Then stepped inside.

The air grew colder as he descended. The walls were closer here, etched with unfamiliar symbols. The deeper he went, the quieter it became, until even the distant sounds of the mansion vanished.

At the bottom, the passage opened into another chamber.

Another library.

Smaller. Lower. Wrong.

The shelves here were mismatched, uneven, some made of dark wood, others of stone. Books lay stacked haphazardly, not catalogued, not ordered.

Unconventional.

Lumi’s breath caught.

Titles leapt out at him.

“On the Binding of Restless Souls.”

“Necromantic Theory and Practice.“

“Communion Beyond Death.“

Diagrams littered the pages—circles, symbols, sigils unlike any he had seen. Instructions written in tight, precise script. Rules. Warnings.

This wasn’t knowledge meant to be taught.

It was knowledge meant to be hidden.

Lumi moved slowly, reverently, fingers brushing spines as he read.

Then he saw it.

“On the Theft of Infernal Power.“

He stopped.

His heart thudded.

Carefully, he pulled the book free and opened it.

The pages were thin, the ink dark and deliberate.

It spoke of summoning.

Of containment.

Of rituals designed not to serve demons—but to rob them.

To strip their power.

To take what they wielded and make it human.

Lumi’s mouth went dry.

It’s not possible, he thought.

But the book insisted otherwise.

It detailed failures. Deaths. Corrupted bodies.

But also successes.

Rare.

Dangerous.

Real.

Lumi sat down slowly.

All his life, he had watched from the edges.

Training halls closed to him.

Lessons whispered behind doors he could never enter.

He had no sigil.

No power.

Nothing.

What if…?

The thought crept in quietly.

What if this worked?

His pulse raced.

Nothing would happen, he told himself. Not really. He wasn’t special. He wouldn’t be able to make a spell work.

Still—

He stood.

Found chalk.

Drew the runes carefully, copying the diagrams exactly. Each line precise. Each curve deliberate. He placed the candle at the centre, hands trembling only slightly.

This is stupid, he thought.

He lit the wick.

Took a deep breath.

And began to chant.

The words tasted strange on his tongue. Old. Heavy.

Minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

The candle burned steadily.

Lumi exhaled.

Of course, he thought. Of course it didn’t work.

He stood and turned toward the stairs.

I’ll come back later to read more books, he told himself. Finish cleaning first.

That was when he saw the light.

A reflection, faint but growing.

He turned.

The rune glowed.

Light spilled from its centre, bright and pulsing.

Lumi stepped back.

The air shifted.

Something pushed through.

Horns emerged first.

Large.

Curved.

Fear flooded him. He recognized it to be a demon instantly. It was coming into their world through what he drew. If he set a demon loose in the mansion, the Blackwells would never forgive him.

He rushed forward, hands scrambling to smear the chalk, to break the circle.

The runes flared violently.

The air screamed.

Wind tore through the chamber, ripping books from shelves, lifting Lumi off his feet. He spun helplessly, the force dragging him toward the circle.

“Stop—!” he cried.

The pull intensified.

He tried to stay out of the circle but the pull was too strong.

The moment he crossed the boundary, the circle closed behind him.

And the world went dark.