With a shaky hand, Ransford takes a sip from his flask. Leaning against a wall in a secluded alley, he looks to the sky. He smiles, self mockingly, and says,

"Even if there were a way you'd be willing to help me, I guess I've just burned that bridge." He sighs and says,

"I've been wanting to avoid this, but..." He pauses and pulls out a small book from his pocket. Its cover, composed of human flesh, its spine bound with bone, and its words written in blood. 

"Gods are not the only ones that may be able to help me." Suddenly, a stack of boxes crash down just around the corner. Fruits roll around across the dirt and a kid maybe twelve years old crashes onto the ground. He is skinny and wearing patchwork clothes. Ransford, puts the book away and walks towards the child, who in turn desperately crawls backward. The kid's back hits a stone wall and his eyes start to shake with fear. Ransford crouches in front of the boy with great effort and pokes him in the forehead.

"Child, I need a cane to walk, if you had just gotten up and ran away, I would never have been able to catch you." 

With a mixture of shock and confusion on his face, the child looks up at Ransford and asks, 

"Aren't you a cultist?" Ransford shakes his head and asks with some humor is his voice,

"Would you like me to be?" The child simply blinks his eyes. Ransford chuckles and says,

"I suppose you saw my book? " Ransford places a finger in front of his lips and says, "I'll give you some Darias if you promise to keep this our little secret." He pulls a handful of coins out of his pants pocket. The coins are etched with black roses on one side and the face of a young woman wearing an opulent tiara on the other. Seeing the kid stay still, Ransford sighs,

"Well... put your hand out." As if pulled out of their thoughts, the child responds, 

"Ah...Ah!" and quickly thrusts his hand out, Ransford drops the coins in the kid's hand and pushes himself up." Dusting himself off, he turns around and starts walking away. As he gets close to the main road, the kid calls out, 

"Why didn't you kill me? Aren't you afraid I'll report you to the inquisitors?" Ransford rolls his eyes, not that the kid could see,

"Child, didn't you just escape with your life from a scary cultist, Why temp fate?" There is a short pause and then the child says with confidence, 

"You need a cane to walk, I could just run away." Hearing this, Ransford's mouth starts to twitch. His mood in ruins, Ransford looks up to the sky and simply states,

"I didn't kill you... as an apology and as a goodbye." After a moment of silence, the kid asks,

"Do you know me?" Ransford shakes his head,

"No." After a moment of silence, Ransford hears the desperate sound of flapping wings. He turns around, only to see that the child is no longer there. He takes a breath and whispers, "I hope you live well."

***

A room, black as night, unlit candles are placed in a circle surrounding a dense mass of arcane symbols written in blood. In the center of it all, panting heavily, Ransford barely stands. He closes his eyes and, pulls a knife out of his pocket. With one last glance at the book, he cuts his palm and watches the blood drip down to the ground.

"Thueban, Serpent of Secrets and Dreams, I call upon you to make a pact!" Then, nothing. Minutes seem to stretch for hours, Ransford's hand starts to shake. Its getting colder. From the candles enormous pillars of purple fire burst forth, reaching the ceiling, but burning nothing. Black smoke rushes from the flames, engulfing the room. He heard a symphony of voices, sounding as if they were echoing in his head, bouncing off the inside of his skull. 

"What do you offer? What do you trade?" Shaken, Ransford grips his cane more tightly, 

"I offer my soul" The smoke swirls and pulsates. It molds itself, shifting into thousands of faces. Each contorted with pain and regret. They all repeat themselves over and over again in unison, 

"One more soul for master, one more soul for master." Ransford's ears start to ring, and his chest is beating out of his chest. The voice in his head echoes again,

"What do you desire?" Every single face stops moving, no longer speaking. They all stare at Ransford, as if hanging on his every word.

"I want power and knowledge. I want to know how I can live forever." All of the faces start cackling madly. Distorting and stretching in the process.

The voice rings in his head again, but he can hear it clearly despite the cacophony of noise. 

"Trying to trick a devil is not so easy. You want to offer something I cannot take until you die for immortality?" An enormous pressure weighs on Ransford, dragging him down, slamming him to his knees. The brutal cold emanating from the purple flames make even his bones feel cold. 

Gasping for breath, Ransford pushes out every word, "You only have to tell me how. Whether or not I can accomplish it is my matter alone. If I fail, you get my soul for nearly nothing!" All of the faces open their mouths. From each, a snake made of smoke slithers out. They all move towards him until he can barely feel their tongues flicking him as they hang from the face's open mouths.

The voices ring in his head, "And if you succeed?" 

"Then everyone knows you can make a fair deal with a devil." The silence, the lack of response, make Ransford feel as if his organs are twisting. It lasts for minutes on end. A response, any response would do, as long as he could be done with this whole thing. All the snakes hiss at the same time bearing their fangs, they strike. Some force themselves into his body through his nose and mouth. Others wrap around and seem to crawl into his skin. 

Ransford hacks and coughs up purple smoke. Reaching for his throat. Tears are forced from his eyes as he cannot even scream. Then, nothing but black.