A calming still have fallen over the room, almost like a silencing spell. The entire atmosphere of it--the shelves and shelves of books, the bedroom, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and een the television set-- seemed to be plunged into a tranc-like state as he concentrated on the task at hand.

He kept his eyes closed, ignorant of the smell of incense, candlewax, and the static of the T.V. caused by the bad weather outside. He seemed unperterbed by the distant knocking and wailing f the screeching winds. Must be that damn goddess again. She must be upset.he thought. He was probably right.

Now it was time. he opened up his eyes, and stood, wincing as he did so. He had been sitting there for nearly an hour, and yet the candles didn't die out. It had to have been time. Now.

He moved gracefully to the middle of the room and drew out a large, white circle, all the while going over the various ingrdients for his summoning. He smiled simply as he drew the circle, and a fuzzy thought tickled his mind but he ignored it, seemingly intent on summonging him. Azrael.

Seth went back to the other side o the room, and removed a plastic bag that contained genuine sea salt. It had already been pre-crushed into a fine, smooth powder, so he didn't even bother double-checking it. He took out three handfuls of it, and began tracing it around the circle, just to enforce it. He couldn't have any unwanted 'accidents'.

Now it's time for the candles...

And how true this was, for he had gathered on his desk, seven black candles, each one seemingly evil, hateful. He relayed his instructions through hi spell book and followed it, taking the candles with him. He lay them down, each in exact order as he placed them around his circle. So far so good. He grabbed his chalk again and began making more circles, only smaller an they connceted the candles to the larger circle. He smiled fondly. Now it was beginning to look like a real pentacle.

Hours Pass
_________

The dark of the night had made the room much more eerie. There was no light, only the minute light of the seven candles which looked as if the flames were floating, seeing as the base of them were equally dark.

Come on...

A pale moonray hit the pentacle directly, much to Seth's approval. Now..I can finish

Seth fished through his large duffel bag, and pulled out a ceramic bowl, and then only to pull out several, smaller containers. He set the bowl on the floor, and took out the contents of the smaller contaniers. He rumaged threw them, dishing the following into the bowl: The ashes of Juniper Wood, Juice of Yew Berries, A small vial of Cypress Oil, and small amounts of Myrhh. He removed a wooden spoon from his pocket, and beated, blended and utterly mixted the contents in his bowl until it was a fin, smooth concoxtion. For the final part, he seat a single, white candle in the middle of it, doubled-check to see if it was secure, and then lighted it with a match.

By now, the candles had slputered out, but he quickly relighted them. He placd the bowl just next to the pentacle, and sat down, and began chanting these words:

"Maoth, Maveth, Nephesh te laman, Tsalmaveth, Maoth.."

He reached into his other ocket, and pulled out a long, jagged knife in which he raised towads his mouth. He opned it and outstretched his togue. This is it he mutmred to himself, just before pricking his tongue with the knife. He winced mommentarily as a droplet of his own blood fell from his tongue and into the bowl. Now, he he waited for Azrael to appear.

Pregnant silence. The air inside the room is still, like something killed te air currents. For a moment, nothing happens inside the circle.

Nothing happens inside the circle.

...nothing happens inside the circle.

And then, with a hiss that whispers along the edge of hearing like the voices of dead men, smoke begins to seep into the pentacle on the floor. It builds and builds, thick and white, like someone placed a fog machine into the spell-- but it never breaks the boundaries set by the spell. Within seconds, a columns of smoke has appeared.

And then, with a sound like a thunderclap, it condenses into solid form-- the god, Azrael. Death and dreaming, all rolled into one gaunt body.

He's tall, hovering somewhere just above six feet, and this height is only emphasized by his skeletal thinness. He's clad in a stark black business suit, like one finds on the well-dressed corpses on open display in pricy coffins. The tie that acompanied the black suit is white, and pinned with a small silver skull.

The god turns a solemn look down on the bleeding mortal, his eyes white and almost luminescent in the candlelight. When he speaks, it's with the kind of voice the Night would have, if it could voice its chill darkness.

"Yes?"

The color of him is almost drained, in a ghastly pale white, almost equivalent to that of the pale moon in the night. The haunting words of this diety had reached into his ears, pulled at his mind, scrambled his thoughts. Was this how death was? he pitied those who had died and didn't exactly go to a 'happy place'.

"I-I mean..me, I mean.." he stammered for a bit, just befor regaining posture. Why should he be afraid? He was safe, as long as he didn't place a finger in the circle. "This is what I mean."

"Azrael, I want you to grant magical powers. Preferbably immoratlity..and the ability to create illusions with a mere whim. I know you can do this, and I will not realease you until you do so!"

Oops. Godd job Seth, good job. Sure, just threatned Azrael, and then be smited after you release him. That was the way to go about it.

He messed around with one of his fingernails, finding it strangely more appealing than looking directly into the Deity's eyes. Or eyeballs, rather...

The god closes his eyes for a moment. Against all convention, he seems to b wearing dark eyeliner, a throwback to his somewhat gothic tastes in outfit. He's silent for a moment, before opening the dead-white eyes again and turning his numbing gaze on Seth.

And the thing is, he's used to such demands. History shows that this is what one traditionally uses a calling spell for. Possibly that's why calling spells have such a tradition of being horribly dangerous.

"Immortality. Illusions." He seems to be considering it-- as much as one can tell what a god is considering. His voice tickles around the room like th suggestion of frost in fall.

"I cannot give you these things without a price. There must be one thing that can kill you."

It's entirely possible that he can give them without a price, but doesn't want to. He's not particularly generous when faced with bald demands for power.

"Don't lie to me, Azrael! If you don't give me what I ask for, then you will not be released!"

He let his words linger into the cold, numbing air as the tension between him and this frightful-invoking god of death. His pale complexion revived itself, and it slowly went back to its tannish hue. But not for long.

Seth sighed for a momment, and raised up a left hand. "If I wanted to be able to die, then why would I ask for immoratality? I thought you were a god. Usually the hold all knowledge, but it's only common sense that I would know something like that. Hmm. I think I'm becoming far more smarter than you, or that you are beginning to lose whatever touch you claimed to have ever had..."

The god's expression is hard and cold, like a diamond, capable of cutting through anything.

"You are foolish, mortal. It is against my interests to create a human that would live until the end of time. Choose one thing that would be able to kill you, however obscure and unlikely, and keep it a secret well."

He folds his arms, glancing around the invisible walls of his prison as if they do not impress him.

"Then I will grant you what you demand."

Seth thought about it for a momment. it was a relatively easy request, just perfect for him to pry around to it.

"Fine. I will die only be my hand. I will have to commit suicide."

An expression of complete ignorance spread across his face as he said the words, and he awaited for his wish to be granted.

A smile flickers over the gods lips, then spreads, like a candle flickering into life then catching the drapes on fire.

"Done," he says, spreading a hand magnanimously.

"You will feel a slight discomfort as your body adjusts to its new physics." Searing pain, more like. "Release me, little mortal."

The smiling god pauses, then corrects himself "Little immortal."

Seth winced as his entire body suddenly began to reconfigure itself. Tendons strectched akwardly, his brain pulsating at inhuman rates. His eyes flickered dangerously as this all happened in one cataclysmic momment.

Then all was calm. All was quiet...so peaceful.

He felt out-of place, almost like he didn't belong here. Even in his now immortal-like state, he still felt uncomfortable. Why was that? Something was wrong, horribly wrong.

He turned around, and moved towards the bathroom, closing the door. After about, roughly a minute, an ear-splitting shreik filled the entire apartment, like a minute siren were wailing.

The door flung open with a deadly flourish as veins popped out of his forehead. Anger seeped into the air, and his steps seemed to get roughly more angry than the last, everytime he moved.

"What have you done?! Look at me!! I will never release you! Not now!"

This would be a good time to notice that all the candles bit one have been extinguised, and a cross-legged God of Death is sitting in front of the last candle, closing his fingers around the wick.

Smoke curls up as the flame dies.

Which shouldn't be possible.

"Done to you? Just what you asked for, little immortal."

"I'm old!" he screeched through an array of magled, and angry sobs. "Look at me!"

Then he noticed the candles, and his skin went completely pale. "Oh no. The candles. They're out. But, how can that be. You are still bound to my will, Deathe! You still are. I didn't want to be old!"

"Me? Bound?" Death rises, and steps out of the circle, then looks back.

"Guess not. Are you sure your spellbook is reliable?"

He grins, whitely, then relents.

"You're not old, little immortal. You need to feed. Only once you've taken of mortals will you return to your youthful state."

"Great. So now I'm a vampire? Ooh...your so evil. Cliched, yet supremely evil," Seth murmed to him, a then quickly raised an aged arm to feel upon his aged face. His entire face was stacked with numerous wrinkles, and his breathing came in short bursts.

"I suck blood?"

"Vampire?"

The god shakes his head, apparently amused.

"Vampires are hardly immortal. Stakes, sunlight, fire... their weaknesses are well-known. You can only be killed by your own hand, little immortal."

The cloth of his suit makes a soft noise in the air as he folds his arms behind his back.

"You have to drain life-force, soul-energy, from those around you. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find it instinctual when you come into contact with a mortal."

The grin re-appears, brilliantly white in the dark.

"Don't go too long without feeding, though. You won't die, but... I suspect you wouldn't like the..." even as he says this, he's fading away, his flashing teeth fading last in a cheshire smile, until those pearly whites are hanging alone in the aire, framing the word "result."

Seth could only stare off itno the dark room as this mockery of a god disappeared into thin thin air. An entire slew of questions raised up in his mind:

How did he escape his prison? How? Was it because I'm not truly a mage? Or was it because I am too frail? Weak...

What does he mean by..the result? What does he mean?

Even as he asked himself those questions, Azrael was vanishing before his very eyes, and he was beginning to grow hungry, though it wasn't for physical food. Maybe Az was right. He was an immortal, but something came to mind.

What if Az is only playing with me? Maybe he wants me to grow tired off feeding on souls, and he knows that regular food won't satisfy me. He wants me to be driven completely mad, insane, in in doing so, I would kill myself....