The bindings were coming undone.
Rummel Abellion could feel them unraveling, thread by thread, the ancient seals that had held it prisoner for millennia finally beginning to break. The ritual had worked perfectly. The human boy had played his part beautifully, speaking the words, drawing the runes, mixing the blood and fungi and water just as instructed.
And now the power was returning.
The blue flames from the fungus-covered floor began to rise, not as heat but as pure essence, streams of luminescent fire that flowed across the chamber toward Rummel Abellion's four-armed form. The flames swirled around its body, drawn inexorably toward the white wooden mask, toward those empty sockets where eyes should have been.
The flames poured in.
Rummel Abellion's soul fire ignited.
