Fated
The five candles placed on the points of the star glowed an eerie red illuminating the ring of blood salt around it, to ward off any super naturals from nearing it. The pentagon inside the star was lit by he'll fire, its black smokeless flames flickering in an invisible breeze. In the center of it all, chained at the ankles and wrists, was Eliot. From the scratches around the chains, it was evident he'd put up a fight, or at least tried to. The cuts on his wrists, which looked like it was made with a knife, were bleeding staining his small hands red. Dian froze at the sight, a sense of dread washing over him. "Eliot", he called shakily, voice barely above a whisper. When there was no response, he started to panic. He wasn't ready to lose him yet, not when he was finally able to move on from his past. "Eliot!", he called again, louder this time. Just as he was about to take another step forward, the blood trickling from Eliot's wrists sealed the pentagon completing the ritual. A gust of wind blew, plunging the hallway into darkness with the light from the candles and the fire as the only source of illumination
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