Hey guys! I hope you will like this story! As I said, it isn't as my other fics so you better make sure you are 100% okay with this! I don't want you whining about it later on~ But I will tell you something you shall always have in mind: I can't write sad endings ;)

That said I will just let you enjoy chap 1! Please let me know what you think on the comments section~

Dim flashes of silver sparks cross his dull brown eyes as he looks up at the dark grey sky; seeing the fluffy, angry clouds gathering together in a thick wall which overshadows the last weak ray of sun light in the firmament. A storm was about to strike, he is sure. He was sitting at the back of the class, in the last desk against the giant windows, hearing perfectly the noisy murmur of his classmates whining about it. It was friday, but he doesn’t really care about weekends as everyone else. Does he even cares about anything?  

“Should I?” the incurious thought cross his mind. He just shrugs dismissively, turning his dark brown eyes to the textbook upon the cold desk. His only friends are far away, and to say the truth, his parents aren’t really that close either. He doesn’t have brothers, sisters, cousins, or any kind of family bond which activate in him that innate concern human beings have. Luckily or unluckily he doesn’t have anything or anyone to care about, so whimper for a messed up weekend could be like a bad joke to him.

To the distant sound of the teacher’s raspy, old voice coming from the front of the class his dull eyes fallow the lines of the textbook boringly. It’s not that Ancient History was his most hated subject, but it wasn’t precisely the one which excited him. Uninterested he silently reads along with the professor, his mind already drifting to some random thought. But there’s an unknown sound softly mixing with the loud reading of the teacher. It was like a muffled whisper, barely audible but it was there nevertheless.

Following the source of that particular sound his intrigued brown orbs covertly looks up, hovering slowly around the downcast figure of his classmates. They were all just sitting straight and reading quietly, no one was making anything which it shouldn’t been done in class. But even so, the sound was still there. To focus fully into it his dark eyes fall off closed, sensing the unidentified noise coming from his right. A little bit curios now he slyly turn his eyes there, finding one of his classmates writing and scratching upon the white, fragile paper of her notebook.

Her slender fingers grip the pencil tight, as she draws letter after letter in a hurry motion. Words conform themselves, joining together and forming phrases he can’t read from afar. For short moments she stops, her feminine orbs looking down at what she wrote like if she was considering it. She scratch with fury, erase frustrated and writes again hurriedly as probably she has a better idea for whatever she was creating. Looking at her for a little longer now he understands what was that sound, it’s just the poor paper shaking under the force she put into her writing. But who was she again?

“Isn’t she Suzy?” he questions himself not so sure, letting his curios eyes wander across her factions. Pale, porcelain skin which looks so soft to the touch. Small and expressive orbs that must shine all the time. Long, brown hair which most of the other girls surely envy. Slender yet curvy body that naturally is attractive. She was indeed very beautiful, but weren't all women beautiful? He shrugs selflessly once again, looking up at the upset expression painting all over her gorgeous face. Her annoyed sparkling eyes stared hard at what she wrote, making him wonder what can she possibly be planning.

It took him by surprised, the way she suddenly lift her gaze to place it exactly on him. Indeed her eyes were expressive, passing from annoyed to startled in less than a second; to finish with an embarrassed glance which with that dim blush on her cheeks looks pretty much amused to him. Unexpectedly the bell rings then, echoing around the school along with the roar of a distant thunder. Soon the classroom, just like the entire school, was like a blizzard of people wanting to get out; and as soon as that she wasn’t insight any longer.   

The bewilderment was short, just like the impassive sigh sliding out his lips, and soon enough for his calm self he was standing up from the desk and walking out the already silent classroom. Passing through the empty hallways he could hear the murmur of his own steps rumbling lonely against the cold, old walls of the building. He was quite used to this solitaire, shadowy scenario of after-classes, but he didn't find it disturbing at all. Reaching out the stairs and walking down calmly to the first floor he can see the grey mantel getting darker outside. Well, he has to admit that sunny days are at least more pleasant to be wandering around there.  

The nice smell of the upcoming rain impregnates his uniform, as he crosses the open gallery heading to the library. It was his routine, going to that bleak place every day after classes, to immerse himself for long hours in any interesting book he could find. It wasn’t because of homework, projects or exams; it was just because of his solemn liking to loneliness and delightful readings. Having a vast circle of friends had never been his major goal in life; Mark, Jackson and Bambam are more than enough for him. Although them being at the other side of the world does bugs him some odd times.

Arriving finally he hears, loud and clear, how the heavy doors of the library closed slowly behind his back. It was like the murmur of a ghost to him, the way his soft steps barely echoes in the immense place. He notices some weak sun rays coming from the big, crystal windows, giving to the scene a rare sensation of comfort as they mix with the bright and artificial light of the room. Passing by the entry he bows, in just a mare act of politeness, to the lady tapping something in the computer; before silently heading towards the tall shelves.   

To him, it was like a maze. All those tall shelves full of books surrounding him seem to not have an end, till a point he sometimes doesn’t even know where he is standing. But he loves the feeling of being lost in such a wonderful land, where time doesn’t really matter and life is truly delightful. Walking around he admires the golden details of the spines of old books in the Literature section. His brown eyes browse above the new encyclopedias at the Geography shelves. And kindly he lets his long fingers run upon the sea of different volumes of History books.

Wandering around this never-ending maze was his ritual. Searching and arguing with himself which master piece should he read first, as the nice familiar scent of old paper embrace him and invades his sense of smell. It was never an easy task, though. The school’s library was a vast ocean of different kinds of books; from the most fresh ones no one had ever open, to the oldest and the most rich in perfect draws which surely endless eyes have seen. It was indeed very difficult to choose, even more when just in quite odd occasions he knew exactly what he wanted to read. Yet today was not the case, fortunately.

Reaching out the end of the History shelves, coincidentally just in the end of one of the hallways, he stops the walking; deciding this was a nice place to start to look. At his left, against the wall, lies a little desk with one single chair; which it was more than comfortable for his persona. Upon the wooden surface of the table was a white lamp, illuminating dully all the spines of the books in front of his amazed eyes. Dancing across known topics he once again can’t decide for just one… Until his curious gaze drops to the bottom of the bookshelf, watching a dim spark of silver almost fading between the shadows.

His eyebrows frown then, feeling confuse yet a little more intrigued because of what can possibly that shine be. Squatting to have a clear vision, now he can relate the silver spark to the rare edges of the pages of a book hiding at the end of the shelf. Being completely dazzled by the curious color of the paper, his hand reaches out and softly takes the book out without thinking it twice. He stands up, careful to not drop it as he can feel the anxiety rising in his system, to then calmly lay the book upon the desk while he sits on the wooden chair.  

It was fascinating, the majestic way those metallic grey letters shine under the light of the lamp. ‘Book of Spells’ it says, and a mocking grin can’t help but curve on his plump lips. Was this about what he thinks it is? It can’t be truth. Such a beautiful sheath should not contain something so unbelieving like dark magic and all those nonsenses. But the title was there for some reason, a reason that intrigued him more of what it should. Caressing the black surface of the book, which to him seems alike to the softest velvet, his sneaky fingers slowly open the cover of the unknown.

Finding a page of pure white as a welcome shocked him for a moment, making him wonder if he should be the first one to write something on it. Even through, the next couple of pages weren’t more interesting to him. They tell how to do ‘effective’ love potions, he also found formulas to push people away; and all sort of useless spells kept reflecting in his eyes as the pages were flip. He can’t believe people truly trust in these things long time ago, some of the ingredients are like a joke, and parts of the paragraphs are in a language he can’t decode. How people found this effective? Seriously.

In the process of turning pages boringly, his fingers stop when his surprised brown orbs look down at piece of paper in front of him. The 100^th page was dyed of a dark grey, and just like the one at the beginning this one was unwritten as well. It’s very curios if you think about it, for what reason would someone leave empty pages on a book? He shrugs at that thought, supposing that it must be just a print error and not something made on purpose. Keeping with the detail inspection he turns the grey paper quickly, maybe a little bit too quickly, because there’s a bothersome pain in one of his fingertips as the sharp paper sinks into his skin; cutting it deep enough to bleed.

-Ouch!- he whines, rushing his index finger into his mouth; to stop the running blood.

While the metallic taste of blood flood his taste buds, his eyebrows forms a small frown because of what he was looking at. Down on the page 101, drawn in dark ink yet with an elegant calligraphy the letters conform themselves in the intriguing title. ‘The summoning process’ He reads voiceless, feeling a cold airflow brushing against his nape at that moment. He shivers uneasy; he wants to believe it was because of the inopportune draft. Taking a breath to calm down he lets his dark orbs wander between the written words, finally finding something interesting to please his curiosity.

-It will grant you three favors. No more, and no less.

Possible or impossible, it will make it happen.

However, it shall come on a full-moon night. Exactly at midnight. On the last day of the first month of winter.

In any other manner, the contract is invalid.-

-“The contract is invalid…”- he repeats, his low murmur trailing of in the calm air. -What contract?- he wonders, his eyebrows frowning yet again; this time a little displeased.

Holding on that question his brown eyes keep sliding down on the immaculate white paper, feeling the cold skim of a shiver running down on his spine because of what he found. There, exactly in the middle of the page, lies a curious draw of a three pointed star confined on a circle. At the top of the three points are three different symbols, which for him it looks like letters. Every line and every curve were so perfectly made, yet still you could see clearly the trace of the pen in the role; like if time hadn’t passed for it. Feeling curios to know if the ink could run if he touches it, he softly lays his index finger at the top of the first point…

…But he rushed to move his hand away when one single drop of blood falls from his damaged skin, hitting against the white paper and staining it with a bright carmine red. He froze at the sight, feeling an unnecessary fear taking over his body. Not because of the spell, Heavens, no. It was just because this wasn’t his possession, ergo he cannot wound the book. At that time he just shrug, thinking that no one must know about this book anyways so there is no reason to be afraid of anything.

Or that is what he thought so, before seeing with wide opened and incredulous eyes how the paper absorb the blood; concentrating at the top of the first point. His lungs almost stop to function, at the moment his blood started to slide through the straight lines; outlining the start and imprinting itself on them… and he thinks he heart stopped beating for the short second the draw bright up in front of him. The blood dried instantly after the blinding shine, and the diagram was once again looking as if nothing ever happened.

-That was… uh, odd.- he mumbles, hearing the silent echo of his voice a little unsettled.

Swallowing slowly to calm down he continues with the second paragraph, reading carefully the other stuff needed for the process: three tall blue candles, three small white candles, three coins of pure gold, how on Earth could anyone get coins of pure gold? The rest of the list was as impossible to find as those, like the first fresh herbs of the winter season or the rain which fall upon a forest. ‘And at last, the chant’ was the last phrase he could actually understand; because the chant underneath was in that language he can’t decode.

-It looks like Latin.- he mumbles thoughtful. Judging by how old this book must be, then it’s highly possible it is.

Taking a deep breathe he frowns, watching those unknown words without knowing how to pronounce them exactly. Latin is a dead language, which means there are just a few handfuls of people in the World whom could still read it. To make things worst he is in Asia, where Latin was never spoken. And if it was, it wasn’t spoken for long. Luck it’s not on his side, clearly, but at least he knows English and there can’t be much difference between the pronunciations. He just has to put letters together and anyways it’s not like something is going to happen. Is it?

Nodding to that last thought he pushes the book slightly closer to the lamp, just to have the light illuminating clearly the words. Diverting his brown orbs to his right for a moment, he checks there’s no one in sight; and after seeing the dull hallway his impatient gaze place once again on the book. He clears his throat as his last preparation and so, with a calm yet low tone he starts reading out loud the famous chant. Words sounds funny in his ears, and there’s no way to know if he is saying it right, but after two sentences his brain had got used to it; letting him read without any trouble.

It was somewhat amazing, the way his tongue does not stumble on the intricate pronunciation; and probably it was because of it that he lose himself in the curious reading, like it always happen. He didn’t notice, how a soft breeze coming just from in front of him tousle his onyx locks; as the black point which suddenly appear in the wall was quickly expanding at each of the words he name. He keep on reading completely engrossed by the magical text, ignoring absolutely those two pale hands holding into the edges of the immense black hole in the wall… like if something was just about to come out.

As soon as his dark eyes reach the ending point, the last word he said was trailing off in the air; leaving behind a smile of satisfaction upon his lips… and it was just there when his brown eyes looked up, letting a shout of fright break that smirk. He jumps off the chair, landing on the cold floor, without turning his startled gaze from those hands; feeling a mad breeze hitting against his unprotected skin. He watches in horror a pair of legs coming slowly out of the wall, and instinctively he move backwards as much as he could. Bumping into the wall he holds his breath, seeing a torso fallowing after along with arms and finally the head of this creature.

Jaebum trembles violently, seeing the black hole closing slowly in the wall while that person was remaining there; floating in the air and looking down at him with those black orbs darker than any night Jaebum had ever seen. At first sight it looks like a young boy, a fascinatingly handsome young boy. With a straight nose, pouty pink lips and a slim body. His disheveled hair is blonde, blonde but clear as snow. He wears a loose long-sleeved shirt, white as his skin, and it has a round neck; which is low showing the perfect collarbones underneath. Down closing around his thighs are a pair of dark grey shorts; letting his lower legs and bare feet on the sight of everyone.

-Who are you?...- Jaebum asks, faking composure; his afraid brown orbs rushing up to those small ones.

 -Tch, this human…- he snorts, a small smirk painting on those pink lips; while a pearled fang peeks over the corner of his mouth. – You called  for me, did you not?- he wonders, being slightly sarcastic.

Jaebum breathes heavily at that question, feeling dizzy because he can’t believe what happened and what is happening right now. He takes a quick glance over the book upon the desk; remembering the chant and all the other stuffs. It can’t be, can it? He didn’t have the candles, the coins; it wasn’t winter and either midnight. It can’t be possible! It just can’t! There is no way, the contract it’s not valid, the book explicitly it say so… but then, what is him doing here?

-I said, who are you?- Jaebum insists, this time sounding serious.

He smirks a little more at the same question, showing perfect white teeth and a pair of sharp fangs ghosting over those pink lips. And then he named some words, words which take the warmth out of Jaebum's skin immediately; words which make Jaebum's body numb… words which make Jaebum wish this was an awful nightmare.

-I am the demon you summoned.-