Chapter Text
The summoning circle was drawn in his own blood, the dark candles around the edges flickering as he spoke. The book burned his soul, but Scarab knew he needed to do it anyway. He cared for his sheep and he would allow no wolf to walk among them, and if it meant he had to summon the demon himself and submit to possible damnation, he would. It was his responsibility and he would bear the flames of Hell itself before he allowed a soul to slip through his fingers and fall into the devil’s grasp.
His throat closed up around the words and he tasted brimstone on his tongue. His very breath ached down to his lungs, but he did not falter. He had practiced the words mentally dozens of times and failure was not an option. The demon would not be allowed to nip at the heels of his congregation. Scarab would summon him and banish him back where he belonged.
He knew someone had called for this devil, but as long as he sent it away as a man of God, it should not be able to return for some time. At least, he hoped so. It was difficult at best to find credible information about such things and he had precious little access to such dark materials. The traveling merchant he had spoken to was more than happy to share his wares, but Scarab worried that he was also happy to share gossip, and he could not possibly be found out to have done such an abhorrent thing. No. He had to have trust in the wanderer and at worst, simply refuse him entry next time he came to the small village. Nobody would believe him over Scarab.
Scarab raised his hand along with his voice, making the motions to finish the summoning. His hand felt like it was made of lead, like the Lord himself was trying to stop Scarab, but he would not. He would not allow others to come to harm when he was there and trusted to keep them safe.
The final syllable echoed in the church basement, and the moment he closed his lips, the candles went out in a quick fwoosh. The storage space was too dark to see in, the lack of windows never feeling so oppressive, and the door at the top of the cellar stairs locked with an audible click. Scarab swallowed.
“Oh, a godly boy this time!” The demon’s voice was cheery and rather casual, no gravel to the tone. If Scarab weren’t aware of what he was, then he wouldn’t have imagined him to be a demon. “It’s pretty dark here, hang on—” The demon’s fingers snapped and the lantern on the nearby table lit once more, beating back the shadows to reveal his form.
He was pink, nearly red but not quite, and tall with horns towering over a curly mass of hair in a lighter pink. His ears were pierced with small golden disks, the tips faintly pointed, and his digitigrade legs ended with feet with heavy claws. Scarab’s eyes caught on something glittering and realized that the demon’s nipples were pierced with golden rings. His gaze flicked down for the barest second to see that the demon was wearing no clothing (of course not, why would he?) and had the shine of another piercing somewhere on his cock, though Scarab didn’t look long enough to find the details.
The demon smiled, his teeth remarkably human and not pointed in the least like Scarab had expected, but the eyes, oh, that gaze captured Scarab’s own like a fish on a hook. The sclera were black but the irises blue, the gorgeous, breathtaking color of a sapphire made from the sky itself. “Wow, Father, am I that captivating?”
Scarab recoiled, a hand going to his crucifix as though it would save him from thinking that the demon’s eyes were far, far more beautiful than they had any right to be. “Back, demon! You have no hold over a man of God.”
The demon tilted his head. “I mean, I guess not, but then again, you’re the guy that called for me. Specifically me, no less, used my name and everything. I’m Prismo, the wishmaster.” He gave a flourish of a bow, a tail flicking around. The tip was a star in the same pink that matched Prismo’s hair and the appendage swung back and forth like a cat’s. “You called for me, so let me grant you a wish. It’s my entire thing.”
Scarab took a step back, his hips striking a box behind him and grimacing at the ache. “I will ask nothing of you. It has come to my attention that a demon was loose in my village. I did nothing more than summon you specifically so I could banish you.” He released the cross around his neck to flick to another page in the tome.
“Father,” Prismo said, that smug smile still on his face. “I don’t think that’s going to work as well as you want it to.” Scarab ignored him. “You summoned me naked and everything, are you sure you want to send me back so quickly?”
Scarab’s voice cracked and he couldn’t stop himself from asking “what do you mean? The summoning would pull you as you are—”
“Nah, it summons me exactly how the person wants me to be. I bet you’re into some freaky stuff, and I’m basically honorary nasty. I don’t kiss and tell either, so you don’t need to worry about your congregation finding anything out.” Prismo stepped forward to the very edge of the circle. “I can do anything you want, Father. You just need to ask.”
Scarab’s mouth was dry. The cellar was cold and the air was wet, yet he felt so hot. “I don’t want anything.”
“Really? Money? Power? Fame? This is a pretty small village. Wouldn’t it be better if everyone knew how good of a man you were?” Prismo’s hand rose to touch the invisible barrier of the circle as though it were a window, blue hued gaze piercing into Scarab and worming its way into the depths of his mind. Scarab was suddenly concerned that the circle was not enough to prevent Prismo from escaping.
Prismo lowered his hands to hold them behind his back and swayed side to side like some mockery of an excited child hoping for a treat. “Nothing to say?”
Scarab shook his head. “I want nothing from you.” He pulled the book from his chest down, moving his focus to the neat calligraphy and carefully drawn images.
“You know, lying is a sin,” Prismo sang, finger following the note like a conductor.
“I— I will take nothing from you.” Scarab flipped the page and stepped forward to bolster himself. He would not back away from a demon. The Lord had his back and he was protected by his faith. The demon could give nothing and could take nothing as long as his belief was true.
“It wasn’t me.” Scarab ignored him, beginning the dismissal once more. Prismo didn’t seem to care, scratching at the stubble on his cheek with a pout. “Really though. It wasn’t me. It was a different demon.”
The lies of the damned were nothing and Scarab forced himself to continue. Why wasn’t Prismo scared? Or at least nervous? Should he not be concerned about Scarab’s words or the ritual? Scarab kept Prismo in his peripheral vision, watching him peer at the edges of the circle thoughtfully. Prismo pushed a claw forward at the barrier, poking and tapping along it. Scarab heard nothing but clearly Prismo felt something, shuddering with each touch. Scarab lowered his attention to the tome. The circle was strong.
“Oooh~” Prismo purred. “Found it.”
Scarab was pinned against a wall in the next heartbeat, the book thudding against the floor until it ended up face down, a flurry of notes escaping like birds from a cage. Prismo’s hands covered Scarab’s and he mockingly intertwined their fingers, though his grip was firm and Scarab felt the stone wall digging into the thin skin on the back of his palm. Prismo followed the motion with his body, a thigh sliding between Scarab’s but stopping before he touched Scarab’s groin as if to promise that more was to come. “You did pretty well, Father! Your first summoning went great. You should be proud.”
Scarab’s chest swelled with unwanted pleasure at the praise. It was a demon, they were made to appeal to pride, and Scarab knew it was his weak point. He was captured by Prismo’s eyes, the blue boring into his brown, the color so light as to be red. “Such a pretty man,” Prismo said. “You have so much under these robes. Do you think the cloth hides your sin from God?”
“How did you escape the circle?” Scarab turned his head away as Prismo leaned closer, the demon breathing into his ear gently.
“The blood was weak. Your blood was weak, Father.” Prismo’s lips pressed against his jaw, barely above his clerical collar. “You were too proud. You could do it all on your own because your belief was so strong, right? It called for the blood of the innocent, but you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t let the child’s blood and collect it, didn’t want to allow the poor thing to come to harm, no matter how little. You, though, you were innocent. You’re untouched. A virgin. Your hand has never once slid over your body. You kept all of that inside and avoided thinking about it. Surely that counted as innocent.”
Scarab’s pulse thrummed in his body, trembling in fear as the demon recited his thoughts back to him. He had not been innocent. He knew it damn well the entire time, hoping that the lack of consummated desire would count, but the sting of pride deep in his heart was enough to ruin it. The demon had been free to begin with, and technically, Scarab hadn’t known if he’d been under a contract. If Scarab had summoned him now and hadn’t made a deal, then that meant Prismo was truly free. He had no oath to hold him back or limit him. He could do as he liked.
“What are you going to do?” His voice shook but he put in a good effort to seem strong. He had a feeling it meant nothing to the demon.
Prismo nipped at Scarab’s earlobe, holding the man down easily when he tried to lurch away. “Make a wish, Father.”
“I won’t damn myself.”
“Not even for the children?” Prismo crooned mockingly, then raised Scarab’s hands until he could grasp his wrists with only one. “What a selfish pastor you are. As soon as Hell answers your call, you suddenly lose your courage and moral high ground, huh?”
“No! I can still—” Scarab barked, trying to kick the demon away, but with their positions as they were, it did nothing. Prismo’s now free hand slid to hold Scarab’s face gently. Prismo’s grip might as well have been iron, changing from a sweet caress into a firm grasp of his jaw and turning him to face Prismo. He could smell the demon, the faint scent of burning wood mixed with an uncomfortably pleasant earthy undertone, coming closer and closer until the only air between them was shared breaths. They weren’t touching, not quite yet, but Scarab knew if he so much as twitched that their lips would connect. Prismo somehow felt so soft.
“Make a wish.”
“No,” Scarab begged, closing his eyes. He couldn’t keep meeting Prismo’s, knowing that the strength and control the demon had over him was bringing his shame to the surface. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes. He had failed everyone, everything, all because he was a little too arrogant for his own good.
“Then I’ll stay,” Prismo said, the movements of his mouth a gentle ghosting over Scarab’s lips. “But I don’t think that’s a problem for you, is it?”
Scarab’s back arched when Prismo’s thigh slid higher and onto his raging erection, his breath frozen in his lungs at the realization. “Filthy,” Prismo said as though comforting him. “Don’t worry, Father. I won’t tell anyone.”
Prismo finally pressed their lips together, the sin burning all the more when Prismo’s hand released his face and Scarab didn’t turn away. It was kept chaste as Prismo separated a moment later. “I’ll be around, Father.”
“My— my name is Scarab.”
Prismo paused, blinking a few times, then smiled. “I’ll see you around then, Scrabby.”
“That isn’t—” The weight on Scarab was suddenly gone along with the demon. Scarab pushed himself off from the wall, his entire body shivering as though he was freezing. It was chilly in the cellar but it was not nearly that cold. The loss of the demon’s heat was simply that great.
Scarab cleaned up his foolishness, the rags washing away the blood and chalk easily. Rather than even attempting to clean them, however, he rinsed them a few times in a small tub and threw them into the fire one at a time until they burned away. The starlight above felt deep and dangerous when he carried the dirty water to the edge of the church grounds, dumping it into the earth and watching it sink into the dirt and carry away his shame.
A branch cracked in the forest and his head snapped up. He didn’t hear anything else, even when he was still for a solid minute afterwards. He thought he might have seen a pair of eyes, but the glimmer vanished as quickly as it came. He turned away, picking the now empty container up, and made his way back through the iron gate, locking it behind himself. The moment he stepped onto the hallowed earth, the relief was palpable. He wouldn’t have said he was afraid, but when he lived in a small village far from any others and surrounded by woods, the land was wild and the forests’ depths unknown.
The demon he had summoned, if Scarab believed him, was not the same one that had begun to pluck at Scarab’s congregation, and with his mistake earlier, there were now two demons ready to feast on souls.
Scarab’s hand went to the cross on his necklace, breathing deeply and murmuring a soft prayer before ducking his head and entering the church. He needed to pray for absolution before he went to bed, lest the thoughts the demon tempted into him remain. He could not allow for anything to taint him; he was meant to be the closest thing to God that the village could get, and he would not shame himself by being anything less than the mortal equivalent of perfection.