It was three in the morning as Daryl chanted the last words of the incantation, sure that this time he would summon a mighty agent to avenge the loss of his job.
Fire him from work, would they?!
The visitor stepped through the lattice of swirling green vortices into this world. It then
reached behind itself, toward the opening, and closed the portal behind it.
Swirling green vortices spun, faded, and blinked out as the figure approached, claws glistening with slime and feathery moth-antennae flailing, its insect-like eyes adjusting to the light, as if the illumination was painful, causing it to wince at first upon entering the room.
Daryl got a good, long look at it, as it shambled toward him.
Grabbing him, it gestured again, this time opening another gate, and, dragging him along screaming, strode toward it, anticipating.
The visitor was hungry, and this would be its most recent meal in a long, long time.
As it walked through its gate the visitor thought to itself. Why is it always morons who summon me? Once, I was called forth by some idiot in the 1920s who wanted to become a millionaire. Another, by this imbecile in the 1970s who wanted immortality!
Sigh . . .
An ultra-terrestrial’s work is never done. But on the other hand, slow-witted summoners are quite tasty when braised in a little blue wine sauce!