A Pact with Darkness

By Lucius Qayin

Desperate to find a cure for his dying wife, Ashley, David becomes obsessed with the legendary Grand Grimoire - an ancient text rumored to contain forbidden rituals for summoning demonic entities to do one's bidding.

Against Ashley and son Henry's protests, David performs the ritual to conjure Lucifuge Rofocale, a powerful infernal spirit, and the Prime Minister of Hell, who is said to preside over all the world's treasures.
Though initially appearing in David's hour of need to promise renewed life in exchange for loyalty, Lucifuge's offer comes at a costly price no family should pay.

It soon becomes clear that the pact has allowed the cunning Lucifuge entrance into their world through David, where the demon can begin exerting an insidious influence on all of them. As Lucifuge's possession of David grows stronger, his personality radically changes, forcing Ashley and Henry into increasingly desperate measures to counter the demon's sadistic whims before he destroys everything they hold dear.
Will Ashley manage to solve the house's mysterious connection to accursed supernatural forces in time to spare her loved ones? Or will her amateur rituals provoke Lucifuge to full chaotic manifestation on an unsuspecting mortal plane far beyond her control?

Only through great sacrifice and sheer force of will, can Ashley and Henry hope to regain their beloved David and head-off this powerful demon in a risky winner-takes-all battle royale. Failure to outmaneuver Lucifuge means their family and souls will be utterly consumed by an active living Evil that will stop at nothing to cross over forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lux Occulta Books
• Release date: Dec 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222487700

Book preview

A Pact with Darkness

Lucius Qayin

Copyright © 2023 by Lucius Qayin

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the care of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

All interior pages artwork : Rasa

All Artwork © 2023 by Rasa. Used with permission.

First edition 2023.

Published by:

Lux Occulta Press (an imprint of Bune Holdings)

Contents

1.An Ominous Dawn

2.Seeking Forbidden Truths

3.New Nightmares

4.Reckoning Approaches

5.Impending Doom

6.Desperate Measures

7.The Point of No Return

8.The Hour Arrives

9.Beyond the Threshold

10.The Last Sacrifice

11.Guardian at the Crossroads

12.Between Worlds

13.Legacy of Darkness

Chapter 1

An Ominous Dawn

David's fingers brushed the spine of an ancient leather-bound tome as he gazed across the dimly lit basement, his study now a shrine to forbidden knowledge. His eyes, ringed with the dark circles of sleepless nights, flicked towards the stairs that led back to the world he once knew—a world where his biggest worry had been missing a mortgage payment, not losing Ashley to the grip of an unseen specter.

Above, in the heart of their London home, Ashley reclined on the living room couch, her frail body wrapped in a knitted afghan that contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. Sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over her long dark hair. It couldn't mask the ravages of her illness; even the rays seemed to falter before her ethereal fragility.

Honey, you should eat something, David called from the kitchen, his voice betraying a concern that had deepened into obsession.

She offered a weak smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. I'm not hungry, love. Maybe later.

David watched her chest rise and fall with shallow breaths, each one a quiet battle. The sounds of their quaint neighborhood—children's laughter and the occasional bark of a dog—seemed distant now, as if they were already living in another world.

From upstairs came the sound of footsteps—Henry's deliberate tread. He descended with a sullen grace that belied his youth, dressed in black that seemed to swallow what little light there was.

Mom, Henry said softly, pausing by the couch. His voice held an edge of old anger mingled with fresh concern.

Ashley's hand reached out to touch his. I'm alright, she whispered, though they all knew it was a lie woven from love and desperation.

Henry's stormy eyes met David's for a fleeting moment—a silent exchange heavy with unspoken words. David turned away, his mind teeming with incantations and sigils that promised salvation at an unfathomable cost.

In the kitchen, he prepared a simple meal none of them would eat, setting plates on the table out of habit more than hope. The mundane act felt like an affront to the chaos lurking at the edges of their reality.

As evening crept in and shadows stretched across their home, David couldn't shake the feeling that time was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He found himself standing at the threshold of Henry's room.

Henry sat on his bed surrounded by old grimoires and scattered notes—his own search for answers etched into every line on his youthful face.

We need to talk about...the ritual, David said, each word heavy with dread and determination.

Henry looked up from his books, his blue eyes reflecting a fire born from years spent in darkness. I've been ready, he replied with a resolve that belied his age.

The house settled around them—their cozy sanctuary now felt like a prison cell closing in. They stood at a precipice overlooking an abyss from which there might be no return.

David's hand trembled as he clutched a small obsidian amulet—the final piece needed for their harrowing endeavor. They were ordinary people about to step into a realm where nothing was certain except for their unyielding will to save Ashley or be consumed by their own folly.

David shuffled through the musty pages of his ancient tome, each whisper of parchment a siren's call to the unseen. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, thickening as daylight waned. A chill snaked its way up his spine, unbidden and cold as the grave. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of some lurking specter. Nothing but the silence of the house greeted him—a silence that seemed to press against his eardrums with the weight of an omen.

Night descended upon their London home, cloaking it in an oppressive blanket of darkness. David's dreams, once a respite from his waking nightmare, had become twisted labyrinths of terror. He saw Ashley fading into shadow, her voice a distant echo calling for salvation. Each night, he awoke with a start, his breaths coming in short gasps as if he'd been running from some relentless predator.

He knew these were not mere dreams; they were harbingers sent by forces beyond his comprehension—forces he was now convinced he had unwittingly beckoned with his meddling in the arcane.

One evening, as he emerged from another nightmarish vision, he found himself alone in the living room, save for the flickering light of the television casting spectral images on the walls. Ashley's blanket lay crumpled on the couch, abandoned. Panic surged through him until he heard her weak cough from upstairs—a small comfort amidst the burgeoning chaos.

Henry's voice broke through David's reverie one afternoon. Dad, have you noticed... things? Things moving on their own? His question hung between them like a shroud.

David met his son's gaze, finding an echo of his own fears mirrored there. Yes, he admitted with a grim nod. The admission felt like defeat and surrender rolled into one.

They began to notice more—doors creaking open without touch, lights flickering erratically when discussions of the ritual arose. The house itself seemed to recoil at their plans, groaning and whispering through its aging timbers and pipes.

One evening as David prepared tea in an attempt to impose normalcy on their lives, he watched in silent horror as steam curled from the kettle in unnatural patterns—shapes that looked suspiciously like the symbols from his texts. His hands shook as he poured the water, spilling some onto the counter. It sizzled and evaporated before it could spread—a small but definitive defiance against natural law.

He turned to find Ashley standing at the kitchen entrance, her eyes wide with something akin to recognition—or was it fear? It knows we're close, she murmured before retreating back into her illness-shrouded world.

In those moments of quiet dread, David could feel something shifting beneath them all—an ancient and inexorable tide turning against them. Yet this only served to harden his resolve; if these were signs of occult forces at work, then perhaps their desperate gambit held some shred of hope after all.

With each unexplained occurrence, each whisper in an empty room or cold draft in a sealed house, David's conviction grew stronger: They were not alone in their fight against death's relentless march. And whether it was ally or adversary that now made its presence known within their walls remained to be seen.

* * *

In the dim glow of a single desk lamp, David's fingers traced the lines of an ancient folk remedy scroll, the ink faded and the edges frayed. His eyes, red-rimmed from countless sleepless nights, searched for hope between the lines of esoteric symbols and archaic prose. Each word, a potential lifeline; each sentence, a whispered promise of salvation for Ashley.

A heavy tome landed on his desk with a thud that sent a shiver through the room. He'd borrowed it from an obscure section of the library, where dust and shadows cloaked forgotten knowledge. The book's spine cracked as he opened it to a chapter on legendary texts. There, nestled among tales of alchemists and soothsayers, was a section on the Grand Grimoire.

The name itself seemed to pulse with an otherworldly resonance. He leaned closer, his breath fogging the yellowed pages as he read of its dark origins and malevolent reputation. It was said to hold knowledge that stretched back to ancient Babylon, secrets that could bend the will of 72 demons compelled by King Solomon himself.

A chill crept up David's spine as he devoured accounts of those who had dared to wield its sinister power. Each story ended in ruin: lives consumed by madness, souls forfeit to eternal torment. Yet, amidst the warnings, he discerned a pattern—each practitioner had approached the rituals with arrogance or greed.

David's heart pounded with a mixture of dread and excitement. I am not like them, he murmured into the silence. His intent was pure: to save Ashley, not to seek power or wealth. The Grimoire promised communion with entities that could grant unimaginable favors—could he not ask for healing?

The more he read, the more his skepticism eroded like sandstone against relentless tides. His once rational mind twisted around the idea that perhaps there was truth in these arcane writings. If such forces existed beyond the veil of reality, surely they could be reasoned with; surely they could understand his plight.

He pictured Ashley's pale face, her once-vibrant eyes now dull with suffering. David clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He wouldn't let her slip away into darkness—not when there might be a way to pull her back into the light.

In his fervor, David hardly noticed night turning into day. The first rays of dawn cast long shadows across his study as he leaned back in his chair, resolve hardening within him like cooling lava forming new land.

He would find this Grand Grimoire; he would decipher its forbidden incantations with meticulous care. And if fate were kind, if his intentions proved pure enough to sway infernal beings from their malevolent paths...he would save Ashley.

He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in haste. There was no time to lose; every moment wasted was a moment closer to losing her forever. With grim determination etched into every line of his gaunt face, David set out to uncover a text that many believed better left lost to history—and those who sought it better left forgotten in unmarked graves.

But David wouldn't be deterred; he couldn't afford such luxury as fear or cautionary tales. For love and desperation make strange bedfellows—and in their union lay the strength to walk through hellfire unscathed...or so he convinced himself as he stepped into the cold morning light, a man on a mission against time and death itself.

Months melted into a blur of desperation and dead ends for David. His search for the Grand Grimoire had become an odyssey through a labyrinth of musty libraries and secretive collectors. Whispers of the book's existence led him down cobwebbed alleys of information, each promising but yielding nothing concrete.

It was during a particularly disheartening conversation with a university colleague that a sliver of hope presented itself. The colleague mentioned a graduate researcher with a penchant for the esoteric who might possess what David sought.

Intrigued, David arranged to meet this enigmatic figure at an occult bookstore nestled in an alley that even the city seemed to have forgotten. The sign above the door creaked as he entered, announcing his arrival to the den of knowledge within.

The shop was a forest of towering bookshelves, casting long shadows in the dim light. The air was thick with incense, wrapping around him like spectral fingers. Egyptian relics loomed from niches, their ancient gaze following his every step.

Marcel emerged from the labyrinthine aisles, his presence as pronounced as the heavy silver jewelry adorning his fingers. He eyed David with a mixture of curiosity and caution before leading him to the back of the store where a locked display case sat like an altar to forgotten gods.

With ceremonial reverence, Marcel withdrew a key from around his neck and opened the case. There, resting on velvet as though it were itself sentient, lay the Grand Grimoire. Its leather was cracked with age, etched with hieroglyphs that danced before David's eyes as if alive.

David reached out tentatively, half expecting the book to recoil from his touch. Instead, it sent a jolt through his fingers, an electric whisper that spoke of secrets and power long dormant.

You feel it, don't you? Marcel's voice cut through the haze of David's thoughts. The energy—or perhaps the danger.

David nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from the book. How much?

Marcel quoted a price that would make lesser men balk, but