The ruined chapel hunched against the night like an old drunk looking for a fight.
Perfect place for calling something unspeakable into the world.
Malric Vane kicked the rotted door open, letting the storm howl inside.
(This guy was the first customer for future reference)
Behind him, a dozen cloaked figures shuffled nervously.
Cultists, technically.
Idiots, mostly.
He barely glanced at them.
In one hand, he held the black beads, pulsing with something very eager to kill him.
In the other. a battered, splintering wooden ring.
Binding Circle, the shopkeeper had called it.
Malric turned it over in his fingers, unimpressed.
It looked like a kid's failed arts and crafts project.
It probably was.
But Still.
When he slipped the ring on, the gnawing presence inside the beads shrank back.
The cold at the edges of his mind dulled.
Maybe that greasy little man had known something after all.
Or maybe. and this seemed more likely. the universe just respected a man with enough sheer audacity to believe his own lies.
Fine.
Malric could work with that.
He slipped the ring onto his hand and turned to his followers.
"Circle up. Blood and ash. Same as we practiced," he barked, voice like a whip.
They scurried, scribbling sigils, pouring ash, fumbling torches.
Half of them looked like they might bolt.
Good.
Fear kept people fast.
Unfortunately, tonight, fear would also get them murdered.
The Summoning,
Malric knelt by the beads.
Low chanting rose around him, filling the chapel with oily, writhing sound.
He whispered the invocation, steady and cold.
The beads burst, vomiting a black cloud that coiled upward into something... wrong.
The spirit snapped into existence with a shriek that rattled stones from the crumbling ceiling.
It was all teeth, claws, and hatred.
The ghost's eyes locked onto the cultists. and it moved.
Fast.
A blur of nightmare.
Tavin, one of the newer recruits, cracked immediately.
"Nope. Nope, nope-"
He bolted.
Which was, frankly, fair.
The spirit pounced, and Tavin was reduced to artistic red mist in two seconds flat.
Malric didn't flinch.
Internally, he was screaming *"godDAMMIT, Tavin."*
Externally, he stayed calm.
He turned to the others, sharp and low.
"Stay close to me. No fear."
He lifted the ring.
"This binds us," Malric growled. "It protects us. So Believe it."
The cultists stared at him, wide-eyed.
One of them Rhea squeaked, "Is it... actually working?"
Malric smiled thinly.
"It works if you believe. Now MOVE."
(Was it working? Absolutely not.
It was bullshit, carefully aged like fine wine.)
But the cultists clutched each other tighter, steeling their faces.
The ghost lunged at them. and stopped.
Confused.
Sniffing.
It could smell fear.
And right now?
Nothing.
"It's working. The Binding Circle... it's working." Rhea exclaimed.
Malric smiled grimly, projecting the perfect image of a man entirely in control of the situation.
Malric nodded once, sharply.
"Chains. NOW."
They threw the enchanted chains wide, chanting.
The ghost thrashed, howling, claws raking the air. but the chains tightened, cutting deep into whatever counted as its flesh.
Sigils on the ground flared up like miniature suns.
The spirit was dragged down screaming, swallowed into the trap.
Silence crashed down on the ruined chapel like a dropped hammer.
They had done it.
Malric exhaled, slow and victorious.
The ring warmed faintly on his hand.
He looked down just in time to see it crack.
nnnooooo-
With a delicate, almost apologetic little crunch, it fell apart into tiny crumbs.
Malric stared at his empty hand.
"...Of course."
Behind him, Rhea whispered, breathless.
"Was that supposed to happen?"
Malric brushed the trash off his hand.
"It fulfilled its purpose," he said, voice steady.
The cultists nodded, faces shining with awe.
Behind them, the ghost rattled its chains, snarling.
Malric smiled, sharp and dangerous.
"Prepare the carriage. The Fold awaits."
Rhea scurried off to rally the others.
One of the older cultists. Hob. leaned in, whispering.
"Master Vane... that ring... where did you find it?"
Malric paused.
He thought about the crooked little shop.
The cracked monocle spinning idly on a bored shopkeeper's finger.
The smell of mildew and eldritch horror.
He smiled.
"Antiquities," he said smoothly. "Rare and Priceless."
Hob nodded solemnly, thoroughly impressed.
Malric turned toward the storm, cape snapping behind him.
He had a ghost now.
And in the end?
Belief had been the most dangerous magic of all.
And somewhere. somewhere out there. the shopkeeper waited.
A being ancient beyond reckoning, selling shards of godhood... for silver coins.
Malric swore then, quietly.
"We must return. When we are worthy."
Meanwhile at Dorian's Shop,
Rain pounded the cracked windows.
The leak in the roof had somehow found a new route directly into Dorian's tea mug.
He didn't notice.
He was busy.
At the counter, Dorian was hunched over a messy pile of twigs, scraps, and broken buttons.
He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, admiring his work.
A dozen rings sat before him.
Each worse than the last.
Some were more binding paperclips than Binding Circles.
One of them still had a price tag from a toy store attached.
Did he care?
Absolutely not.
Dorian grinned, spinning another ring through his fingers before tossing it onto the pile.
"People love relics," he muttered happily. "Why limit myself to one Binding Circle when I could have an army?"
He grabbed a bent twig and wrapped it in a sad loop of string.
There.
Instant mystic artifact.
Maybe he'd call this one The Shackling Loop.
Or The Eternity Hoop.
Or just 'Cursed?' with a question mark.
Perfect...
Or maybe not. He wondered "Nah... Let's just throw this junk away." Dorian said with a sigh.
Outside, thunder rolled over the city like a tired god.
Inside, Dorian poured more terrible tea, humming off-key.
He had no idea that elsewhere in the city, a cult was reverently whispering his name.
That a ghost had been chained by the sheer weight of his improvised firewood.
That somewhere, Malric Vane was preparing to return. this time with treasures to trade. to bargain once again with the eldritch architect of fate and doom.
As Dorian thought.
"Man. I should really make a flyer or something."
Maybe offer discounts.
Maybe throw in a free cursed artifact with every purchase.
Who could say no to that?
He sipped his awful tea, smiling wide.
Business was booming.
And he had absolutely no idea why.