Yomi combed through the great library in Nyarlothep, adding any books she could find on [Dark Priest] to her growing pile on a nearby table. Cailu had taken a blessed afternoon off, surely sleeping with whoever showered him with the most attention. Naeemah constantly served as his active, unnecessary bodyguard, giving Yomi a rare chance at some much-needed alone time.

Beyond his saccharine-sweet façade and the infuriating level of vanity, the main problem with Cailu was his outlandish expectations of Yomi and Naeemah. They had to be the best in their classes at all times. She’d seen enough fourth party members abandoned, ignored, and killed off with Cailu to know what happened if they weren’t. Needless to say, recruitment was closed.

But there weren’t many [Dark Priest]s in Nyarlea to learn from. In fact, Yomi hadn’t met a single one. Every catgirl with an affinity for healing wanted to be a shining example of Saoirse—a pure, glimmering light of heaven in the dark. Yomi had never felt that do-gooder draw. She’d dabbled in [Mage] before she met Ravyn and liked it well enough. But two [Mage]s in the same party were redundant, and the thought of Ravyn healing was laughable. So, she’d turned to [Acolyte], half-listening to the Saoirse-worshipers in Shulan until she could escape to Nyarlothep and turn to the darker arts.

Carting the remainder of her book haul to the table, Yomi began thumbing through them in search of anything that would help her understand her Class better. There were a fair amount of books on the history of Nyarlea and the Classes themselves. The requirements to reach them. And one book dedicated to the study of [Dark Priest] skills.

“This is helpful.” Yomi set the skill book aside for closer inspection when another book caught her eye.

Demonology was the simple title engraved into the leather cover with blood-red ink. It seemed more like a [Necromancer]’s guide, but she’d found it with the rest of the [Acolyte]-themed books.

“Hmm.” She flipped it open and found the short introduction.

[Demonologist] is not a Class for the faint of heart. [Acolyte]s who seek the pure path will not find solace here.

“Well, this is interesting.” Yomi knew she still had some time before Level 30, but no reason not to look into her future options. Not when she’d worked so damn hard to get there.

The pages were filled with complex diagrams and intricate magic circles. Spells, Enchantments, even potion recipes to assist a budding [Demonologist]. One Spell, in particular, stood out from the rest. [Summon Demon]. As far as she knew, that wasn’t available to [Dark Priest]. But, according to Demonology, the initial summoning seemed to involve a long and grueling ritual, along with forging a successful pact with the summoned demon.

What if I could do it? Yomi mused. Who needs Cailu’s protection if I have a demon at my call?

The ingredients would be expensive and take time to collect, not to mention the overwhelming possibility that it wouldn’t respond to a simple [Dark Priest]. I’ll brew a potion to increase my [Magic]. Her [Alchemy] was nearly mastered, after all. She supplied Cailu and Naeemah with endless concoctions to boost their Stats; she could make one of her own. What’s the harm in trying?

Yomi brought Demonology and the [Dark Priest] Skill books to the receptionist. “I’d like to borrow these for thirty days, please. You can put them under Cailu’s name.”

It took two full weeks and a lot of persuasive suggestions of roaches to kill to collect all of the ingredients. Yomi had encountered Ravyn just a few days before on the steps of the Guild Hall, and the knowledge that her former best friend had leveled nearly as quickly as Yomi had beneath Cailu’s prison egged her on. Were there any catgirls that had transcended their Class abilities? She prayed she was the first.

After restless days and nights Leveling, item collecting, and Alchemy with Cailu and Naeemah, Cailu had offered them both a few days to themselves. Yomi jumped at the chance, returning to her modest home in Shulan and locking herself away from curious eyes. She’d cleared out the meager furniture in her common room, leaving only the wooden floorboards visible to the naked eye. Upon them, she painstakingly painted a magic circle with the sanguine essence of hundreds of Encroachers, mirroring the design in Demonology.

Five candles perched at the pointed ends of the inner pentagram, infused with her hair, fingernails, and blood. It wasn’t the first time she’d considered just how much of her blood this Class would consume, but what did it matter? If her body could be of any use at all beyond Cailu’s puppet, any cost was worth it.

She’d mixed the Magic potion with a fair bit of alcohol in a tankard. Whatever happened, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt. When the preparations were complete, and she’d checked the locks on the doors for the fourth time, Yomi chugged the potion to the last drop. No turning back now. Magic pulsed through her veins and set every nerve on her skin on edge while the alcohol burned in her stomach. She snatched the silver blade she’d had specially forged for this very moment and drew a scarlet line from her inner elbow to her wrist.

“With my voice, I call you. With my life, I beseech you. I am Yomi of Nyarlea. [Dark Priest] and servant to your will.” The circle began to emit an eerie glow, shining in Yomi’s heterochromatic gaze. She held her arm forward, tilting her wrist to allow the crimson droplets to trickle downward and splash against the floorboards. “I summon you, demon!”

Her blood sizzled in the circle, and the flames of the candles flickered in a non-existent wind. Yomi felt the pull on her Magic as if a hand had reached inside of her chest and gripped her heart. Her shallow breathing clenched in her throat as more blood flowed and seeped into the floor. A shimmering void the size of the circle replaced her floorboards, and a dark form ascended to the surface.

Yomi’s eyes widened, and her fingers trembled. I did it. I really did it.

The ebony creature standing before her was three heads taller, with an elongated head like a ram’s and horns that curled behind animalistic ears. It had the chiseled torso and arms of a man, but the legs were hooved and covered with thick tendrils of black hair. A leather loincloth dangled between its legs, resting loosely on its defined hips, but it was otherwise nude.

“Yomi,” the creature growled her name in a deep baritone, flexing its long fingers into tight fists. It blinked, glowing golden eyes picking her out in the dim candlelight. “You call me under false pretenses.” It took a step forward, ensnaring one hand in Yomi’s hair and lifting her to her feet. “I have killed mortals for less.”

Yomi laughed. The grip against her scalp hurt, and the cut on her arm throbbed. But what did it matter? Let them find her as nothing but a smear against the wall in the morning. Let it be known that she successfully performed a Skill beyond her class. Let Cailu find another damned healer.

It paused, the audible grind of its teeth sounding before a question, “Why do you laugh?”

“These aren’t ‘false pretenses.’”

“You do not have the power to control me,” it rumbled.

“Then say I don’t want to control you. Say I only wish to call on you in times of extreme need.” Yomi challenged, staring straight into the yellow gaze.

“How does that differ?” The grip tightened.

Yomi fought back her flinch. “You can choose when to assist me.”

There was a silent pause. At last, he released Yomi’s hair. “Interesting.”

“Do you have a name?” Yomi asked.

“Belial.” He fingered Yomi’s ears and hummed. “You also have an animal aspect?”

“Yes.” Yomi hadn’t realized she was different until she’d seen Cailu’s pointed ears situated on the side of his head. She wrapped her tail to the front and let it rest in his palm. “It seems we have that in common.”

“I have had many masters. But none that share this quality.” Belial wrapped his own slender tail around his side, offering it for Yomi to examine. It had a tuft on the very end, like a lion’s.

“I am not your master. You said so.” Yomi traced its length in her hands, playing at the fuzzy ends with curiosity. It seemed… cute, for a demon.

“Yomi, if you truly wish to forge a pact, it will require an additional show of desire.” He gently stroked her tail.

Yomi shivered. “What do you mean?”

“You must fornicate with me.”

Yomi’s veins turned to ice. Surely, he didn’t just say that. That was the booze talking. “W-why?”

Belial smiled, as much as a ram’s head would allow you to smile. Like a furious curling of lips with a glimmer of white teeth. “So we may carry one another’s base essence. It will allow me to hear and feel you calling me.”

He was serious. Why would a creature that could have rendered her an unrecognizable pile of gore lie? “Alright.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

[Memory stored and saved for Catgirls. . .]

The pulsing between Yomi’s legs refused to cease, but Belial lifted her free all the same, laying her gently on the ground. His eyes shining with satisfaction, he licked his lips as he traced a pattern around her navel with his index finger.

“The pact is sealed, Yomi of Nyarlea,” he murmured, a mild stinging sensation framing Yomi’s belly button. “Call my name, and I will aid you where I am able.”

Yomi glanced down as she caught her breath. Belial had carved a runic symbol on her stomach. “Thank you, Belial.”

Belial hummed his response and vanished.

Yomi rolled to her side, quivering with thirst, and stared at the circle.

If I call him, would he do that to me again?