The Seven Demon's Tamer

Normally, when a human receives a mark of invitation to the Astral Shadow plain, the mark is shapeless, resembling a scar.

It is an ugly-looking, twisted thing that appears somewhere on their body all of a sudden—simply there one morning when the newly marked person wakes. It mostly appears on the shoulder alone, for single familiar bearers, that is.

New bearers of the mark might mistake it for perhaps a strange bruise from sleeping awkwardly.

But, due to how widespread the summoning mark is and how summoners populate the entirety of planet Terra, it does not appear as foreign as it would have.

Everyone, including those familiar with the ways of summoners and those who have partaken in any practical aspect of summoning, recognizes it for what it truly is: an invitation to power beyond human comprehension.

The marks vary in color—some blood red, others brown, a few with an orange marking. Tang Fan's had been a deep red, so dark it seemed to absorb the light from everywhere, located on his left arm.

He'd spent years proudly displaying it at every chance he found, watching others' eyes widen with recognition or narrow with jealousy.

Furthermore, when the marked individual visits the Astral Shadow plain to make a contract with his familiar and succeeds, the previously shapeless mark mostly ends up as a more distinctive pattern.

It's a moment of transformation that some summoners describe as extremely painful, while others describe it as peaceful and calm—it is a feeling that leaves many addicted to the memory.

The mark may burn, shift, or remold itself while the summoner makes his contract with his familiar in the Astral Shadow plain, forming the unbreakable bond between the human and the beast.

But surely, the mark will not remain a mere scar. This transformation is one of the most common ways to detect a summoner, even before they summon their familiar.

Even those with no knowledge of the Astral Shadow plain instinctively sense something different about a marked individual—a subtle shifting of energy around them when they enter a room.

The mark pattern may be like a runic symbol, a picture that resembles the body part of their familiar, or something more abstract—a collection of lines and curves that somehow capture and relate to the beast they bind with. This is one of the most common ways to detect a summoner, even before he summons his familiar.

The symbol that the mark transforms into doesn't lose or change the color of the mark. Just as well, the symbol is permanent except for some rare cases—cases that no summoner wishes to experience in their life.

The permanence of the marks is something that can be bragged about among guild members, who often compare marks during celebration feasts, boasting of their familiars' strength while displaying their marking patterns etched into their skin.

"The mark is the symbol made on the flesh," Master Dwang Sung had explained during Tang Fan's initiation ceremony, while he was entering the Red-Eastern guild, along with many others, his voice echoing through the Red-Eastern guild's grand hall.

"It binds you to your familiar, and your familiar to you, and gives you a sense of purpose; that is exactly what you will fulfill in this guild. Had it not been, you'd have never gotten a mark of this caliber; you wouldn't have been chosen to be a member of this guild."

The symbol is lost if one's familiar dies. This simple fact, taught to novices at various summoning institutions and guilds, carries with it caution.

The loss isn't just of the mark itself but everything it represents—power, status, and so much more.

"It's like losing a limb," a summoner named Cho Lee had once explained to him during his early age of being chosen into the Red-Eastern guild, his eyes showing no emotion despite the fact that he forced a smile onto his face. "Except the torment never stops. You'll reach for power that's no longer there until the day you die, except that you are one among the one in a million lucky ones who receive a second invitation."

For some reason, all these memories were flooding into Tang Fan's head.

When a familiar dies, there is a good chance that there will not be a second chance to contract another familiar. The Astral Shadow plain is not known for forgiveness, and human souls have their limit, that's for sure.

Second chances are as rare as seeing a dolphin playing peekaboo at midnight. Impossible right... Maybe.

The mark itself is a result of invitation. When a beast from the Astral Shadow plain invites a human, the marks form. It is not a matter of choice; the beasts choose their summoners based on reasons no human has ever fully understood.

Some believe it's a matter of compatibility, others believe that the beasts can somehow peer into a human's soul and judge if they are worthy enough.

When a beast from the Astral Shadow plain invites a human, the marks form. When a human is not invited by any beast, there won't be a mark to begin with in the human body.

In Tang Fan's case, whose familiar is dead, it is just a matter of time before he loses his mark's shape.

With no mark, he has no use for the Red-Eastern guild.

—Calm down

—It's all right

The members of the FSG medical team tried to console him to calm down, their words carrying zero weight.

He was throwing a tantrum, hitting everybody and wailing, so they had to restrain him by force. Six guild members pinned his thrashing limbs while a seventh injected a sedative into him, to calm him down.

Even in his current state, Tang Fan's strength was incredible—evidence of how much power he'd once channeled through his familiar's shared physical abilities. His familiar's strength hadn't completely diminished from his body, so he still had some strength, but not for long.

As the drug began to take effect, Tang Fan's struggles weakened, and his screams lowered drastically into mumbles. "Bring my lava mantis back," he mumbled, tears streaming down his face, knowing his wish was impossible to be fulfilled. "Please, bring it back."

Not far from this scene, Hwang Fan was conducting a headcount of the fellow victims of the incident, including himself in the count.

"One, two, three..." Hwang Fan counted aloud, pointing at each survivor with a finger that refused to stay completely steady, reflecting his worries.

With how roughed-up he looked, one wouldn't have been able to guess how strong he actually was—his ceremonial robe torn at the arms and tattered, dried blood crusting his hairline, and a wild look in his eyes that confirmed he was only just managing to maintain his composure.

That's not supposed to be all. He realized with mounting horror. All I could count was 16, when we are 15 men and two ladies.

The math refused to add up properly, and he had to start over twice before he was certain he wasn't miscalculating.

Back then, in the room, he could recall that there were 16 people: 15 men and one lady. The other lady, Xao Fan, had gone out to attend to a customer—a stroke of luck that might have saved her life, though her absence now added to the fear of a worse-case scenario.

Had she been in the area at that time to be caught in the catastrophe? Or had she somehow noticed the fight and run away?

"I'm sorry, but this is all we could find," one of the FSG rescue team members spoke in a carefully professional tone despite the rubble of the disaster surrounding them.

He was a tall, lanky man with short blonde hair and a belt around his head that marked him as a member of the Familiar Search Guild—specialists in tracking and recovery operations. "And these are all the bodies our search team familiars could detect; there couldn't be anything else."

The FSG member gestured to his companion, a chubby woman whose familiar—a translucent, jellyfish-like creature—hovered above her right shoulder, its tentacles constantly brushing against her cheek as if giving a comforting gesture.

"We have faith in our familiars," she added with firm resolve.

Hwang Fan was quite worried, but not overly so about Xao Fan; after all, she wasn't in the room when the battle began, so there is a good chance she's fine.

And also, the fight was a wide-scale battle in the busy town. Entire buildings had been reduced to rubble, streets torn up as if a meteor had descended upon them, and scorching charcoal marks were everywhere.

Surprisingly, no random individual was caught up in the disaster from what they had observed.

This was perhaps the most shocking aspect of the entire catastrophic incident—how could such destruction occur without a single civilian being caught up in it as a victim?

Everyone suddenly relocated so fast that no one could understand. One moment, the street had been bustling with merchants, customers, and afternoon strollers enjoying their activities, and then, the next, it was strangely deserted, as if the people had received some silent evacuation order that never reached the guild members.

The people will surely be questioned afterward, Hwang Fan knew this fact for sure. The guild had procedures for such situations, but when the leader figured it out, the priority was taking care of their own members caught up in it.

Ding Ding

The cheerful notification sound seemed out of place in the disaster zone as it rang like a bell, echoing through the destroyed vicinity. Lucian's communication device rang with an incoming message, the screen lighting up with a notification from an unregistered, unknown contact.

Lucian frowned—their communications were supposed to be on a closed network, accessible only to authorized and important people. An unknown contact breaching those protocols was either a serious security failure or...

"It's me, Xao Fan. I am with Master Sung, and he wishes to hear from you about the whereabouts of his guild members at Ludlow."

Huh? Xao Fan? Lucian was puzzled by the name, scanning his mental roster of people he might have known bearing that name. It is clearly an Easterner name.

The name didn't sound familiar, and that's for sure. This person clearly isn't a powerful or popular summoner.

Seeing Lucian's expression, Hwang Fan poked his head into the device screen and read the message. His eyes widened, and for the first time since he woke up, a genuine smile broke through his poker face.

"I guess she truly is safe," Hwang Fan spoke, with slight relief in his tone. "That's her, the remaining Red-Eastern member."

Lucian nodded and replied on the device: "All clear. We will be coming to the Red-Eastern guild base in this country now."

The response was immediate, just three words: Master Sung awaits.

"Well," Lucian said, pocketing the device and scanning with his eyes what remained of the guild's outpost, "we'd better not keep him waiting. Master Sung won't show patience in a matter involving his guild recruits."

"Gather the wounded," Lucian ordered the recovery team, then turned to the medical team. "Let's be cooperative; heal anyone who can't walk now. We move in five minutes."

"He'll never be the same," Hwang Fan murmured to no one in particular as he took one final glance at Tang Fan.

***

At the guild makeshift base in England.

Dwang Sung remained unmoving right from the start of the narration till the end. He was like a statue made of flesh, instead of stone.

He never allowed Xao to make the narration, even though she had been there long before the others arrived.

It is common knowledge among all the Red-Eastern members that the guild master hears all reports in full assembly, with proper ceremony and witnesses.

Haste or urgency was irrelevant; tradition remained dominant. Xao Fan had waited, sitting uncomfortably on a bench near the door, fidgeting with her fingers and stealing glances at Master Sung—guild master, once in a while.

Dwang Sung allowed all of the others to be brought to the base before he asked for a full report on the situation.

The survivors filed in slowly, many supported by FSG, into the chamber; their wounds were healed, but they still weren't in the best condition to do things on their own.

Tang Fan was wheeled in on a medical stretcher with wheels, still unconscious but now restrained with thin straps rather than human hands.

He twitched occasionally, mumbling something in his slumber that sounded like: "Bring my lava mantis back."

Lucian and the other members of the FSG were excused before the narration began, after the order of Master Sung.

Guild business was guild business, and outsiders—even those who had given assistance, no matter their status—were not excluded from internal matters rule. The heavy oak doors closed behind them with a resounding thud that echoed loudly.

And after all the reports, Dwang Sung remained stagnant. No one could read him until, after a while, Dwang Sung clenched his fist so hard that his veins bulged and trembled.

Everyone gulped; they couldn't tell if Dwang Sung was angry or very angry. They screwed up big time, every single one of them. Everyone gulped and lowered their gaze, afraid, when suddenly, Dwang Sung stopped trembling.

Starting with Tang Fan, who lost his familiar, Hwang Fan, who was trashed by the mysterious figure, and the others, who were defeated faster than they could summon their beast, he glared at all of them.

Master Dwang Sung will clearly be disappointed and enraged at them, but at least, he should also direct his anger toward the mysterious figure who messed with the Red-Eastern guild members.

"That is an insult to the dignity of the guild."

Everyone gulped and lowered their gaze, afraid, when suddenly, Dwang Sung stopped trembling.

For the next few seconds, nothing happened, so they decided to take a peek. It was at that moment they all received their greatest shock.

Dwang Sung was smiling!

Of all the emotions Dwang Sung could show right now, he never expected amusement to be one of them.

"You mentioned that Lucian had his suspicions about the name of the person responsible, didn't you?" Dwang Sung directed the question to Hwang Fan.

"Yes," Hwang replied hesitantly, "I overheard him mentioning the name once."

A low chuckle escaped Dwang Sung's lips, which surprised everyone present. Some exchanged confused glances, wondering if perhaps the guild master had suffered some kind of mental break under the strain of the day's events. Stress could affect even the most powerful summoners; perhaps—

Turning to his personal assistant, Ming Fan, he ordered, "Tell the FSG members to come in."

Ming Fan gave a short bow and left.

Moments later, he came back alongside the current members of the FSG, who numbered thirteen, including Elena, Lucian, and his squad that accompanied him during the observation of the Ludlow incident. Rather than claiming seats, they took up positions along the chamber's perimeter, clarifying their status as guests rather than guild members.

"So, what do you say about the entire event, Master Sung?"

Sung replied with an extended grin that revealed teeth too white to be natural. "Give me the details of the person responsible."

A smile spread across everyone's face upon hearing this.

'Now this is the Dwang Sung we know.' A grin extended on all their faces as the thought in sync. 'We might be seeing him in action very soon after this request.'

After receiving the necessary details, Dwang Sung turned to the Red-Eastern comrades.

"You should go have some rest. Tomorrow, we'll begin an intense training season to help you dive deep into the harnessing of more of your summoning potential."

"Tang Fan, you have lost your beast, so we won't have any use for you from here on out." As Sung spoke, Tang Fan, who had just woken up from his half slumber, rushed out of the stretcher and fell to the ground on his knees.

His face was drained of any positive emotion, his eyes filling with tears of despair rather than pain.

"Please, Master Sung," he began crying, his voice cracking. "I'll do anything—"

"But we won't be disposing of you," Dwang Sung added, cutting through Tang Fan's plea.

Upon hearing this, Tang Fan's eyes lit up with hope.

"You lost your familiar while fighting to protect the dignity of the Red-Eastern guild and maintain our value, so for that, we will find a new use for you. You deserve a spot here."

Tears streamed down Tang Fan's face, tears of joy, upon hearing this.

Dwang Sung stood up from his throne-like chair and ended the session.

"Everyone, dismiss."

He walked away while Ming Fan, his personal butler and assistant hurriedly followed him from behind to help him open the door just in time.