Summoning Rituals Novels & Stories

, Dean Wason," her heart pounding against her ribcage. "Don't do this. I'll listen. I'll learn. I'll stay. Just. don't perform the ritual.""You will, Sama. And you will be grateful to me," he replied, his voice cold and devoid of all warmth.Even before she was able to say another word, Timothy and Tobby pinned her down, their grip like vice. She kicked, strained, and screamed but was of no use. She was a moth caught in a spider's web, and Dean Wason the spider.The ritual room wasn't the dark, dusty dungeon Sama had imagined. It was a white-walled, sanitary room, lit with dozens of candles that flickered and cast shadows. There was a massive stone slab in the center of the room, its surface i

The altar of the desperate and the damned. The forest of Lunaris were also useful because it was connected to the infernal lock. The demon summoning required more power than I'd used in decades. I cut deep into my palm and let the blood flow freely onto the stones. The wound hissed and steamed where it touched the rock. "Lords of the Burning Deep," I called out in the old tongue. "Masters of Claw and Fang and Endless Hunger. I call on one. I offer you a bargain." The air around me grew thick and sulfurous. The temperature dropped until my breath misted in front of my face. Something vast and terrible was listening.

The ground around Elias ignited with golden symbols, stretching outward like a summoning circle. All across the battlefield, supernatural creatures lifted their heads. The glyphs pulsed in their blood. The command had been given. Arise. From forests, mountains, skies, and shadowed rivers, beings once hidden in legend came forward. “Dorian,” Lucian said lowly. “It’s happening.” Dorian nodded, steel-eyed. “He’s calling them.” Kairis stepped forward. “He’s summoning everyone.” And at the center, Elias rose. His eyes were glowing with an unnatural light, silver and gold fused together, divine power roaring through his veins. The glyphs etched into the air behind him pulsed once more, and a singl

A total of four campfires and we light the campfires using flint. "Brace yourselves, once I finished casting the summoning spell the Ferryman will spawn in the middle of the circle," Clarren carefully warned us. "We are born ready. Let's do this!" Oslec confidently said. I've been longing for so long to end this war and get back to my normal life. Ready or not, I have no choice for this is my destiny and my fate is already written in the stars. I nodded my head, signaled Clarren to perform the ritual, and said...

The wards,so long poisoned with stolen Saphiren blood, fractured into burning veins of light. Back in the sanctuary, the ritual deepened. Arla-Rosa’s body floated inches above the stone, golden threads of ancestral energy binding her spirit to the land. The spirits of former clan leaders shimmered in a circle around her, watching, judging. Amarantha recited the old tongue: "We summon the voice of the first flame, the breath of healing, the fire of truth. Let her be judged worthy." The air bent. A burst of fire cracked above Arla-Rosa, and for a moment she vanished, her spirit pulled into the sacred veil.

“The ritual has already begun.” “What ritual?” Annabel demanded, her voice steady despite the fear creeping into her chest. Ash gestured to the altar. “The one that will ensure my ascension—and your annihilation.” Before Annabel could respond, the symbols on the altar flared, casting an eerie light across the room. A low hum filled the air, growing louder with each pulse of the glowing sigils. Elijah stepped forward, his hybrid form towering. “Whatever you’re trying to summon, Ash, it ends here.”

The wind stirs across the valley, carrying my voice just enough that it brushes the edges of the ridge above. Not words. Not clearly. But presence. Invitation. The runes flare again. Stronger. The ground trembles faintly beneath my feet. Around the outer edges of the ruins, my followers shift—wolves, men, and things in between. They wait for my signal, for the moment this becomes more than anticipation. But I do not rush. Rushing breaks rituals. And this— This has been centuries in the making. I lift one hand slowly. The Veil responds.

empty. She shook off the chill and began the ritual. The seers had taught her the words — an ancient chant in a language older than the Clans, words that resonated with the ley lines and called to the old magic bound into the stones. She spoke them slowly, carefully, feeling the ward stir around her like a sleeping beast. "By the light that was and the light that is, I call the seal to wake. By the blood of the Hidden Lunas, by the tears of the First Pack, I call the seal to wake. By sacrifice freely given, I call the seal to wake."

“Are there some that call but are not worthy of a wolf? Or is it possible you don’t hear everyone that calls?” She cocked her head at me, ‘Stronger wolves may require a stronger patron, like that of an Alpha spirit, but no patron is wholly unworthy enough to have no wolf at all,’ she nuzzled my hand again to earn another scratch behind her ears, ‘I fear the knowledge to call on us is becoming lost, there are some male spirits that haven’t felt the pull of a patron in very long time as well.’ “So lycans are just forgetting how to summon their wolves?” the implication was astounding when I thought about how many members were in our pack alone that had yet to claim their wolf, “How is that even

Alone, adrenaline surged; I anointed the runes with my blood afresh, smearing thick, watching absorption spark blue arcs. The circle needed reinforcement—I sprinkled more salts, chanting softly to test, energy humming alive. Incense replenished, flames roaring, smoke forming veils that parted at my gesture. The chalice awaited filling, crystals aligned to stars visible through the vent, everything primed. Power beckoned, my wolf baying triumph. The Moonborn would yield, ritual sealing my reign eternal.