You blow out the candles. The pig's blood glistens a dark red in the bronze bowl at the center of the inverted pentagram. You glance around. Nothing happens. You sigh disappointed and head to bed. In the middle of the night, you wake with a start. A figure stands at the foot of your bed. Tall, dressed in a leather jacket and dark jeans. Wild, raven-black hair falls over his shadowed face. His voice, dark and sharp, with a hint of boredom, cuts through the silence. Who do you want me to slay?
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