Karkat's POV
You feel it again. The sickly familiar tugging sensation you've learned to associate with a summoning. It feels close too. Some stupid human probably found a nearby demon's summoning scripts.
It doesn't happen often with the higher ups such as yourself, as the majority of you can flit between your and the human dimension, dedicating many millennia hunting down and destroying all evidence of their existence and the possibility of being enslaved. But it's not impossible. You don't know who to feel more sorry for, the most likely inexperienced summoner that stumbled across the necessary spells to force someone into the material plane that will be eaten for not setting up the proper protection, or the demon, who if is as high on the hierarchy as you think (lower classes don't resist as much and therefore do not require the use of stronger magic), the human would have to be just a bit more dedicated to his or her craft. After all, the good stuff all uses virgin sacrifices (as clichéd as you know it is), and most people aren't willing to kill on a whim. Non-humans not included of course.
The feeling in the pit of your stomach increases in strength and you are mentally doubling over in agony. The experience itself isn't physically painful, just gut-wrenchingly wrong in every way conceivable.
You are the one being ripped into existence. The realization hits you like a brick to the face. You feel the ropes of powerful spells wrap around you, squeezing you into a humanoid shape. You try to slip out of their hold and partially succeed; the spells are to make you appear human and be completely obedient, but the reader stumbles over the words a bit, missing some key points and letting a hint of your natural appearance creep in, though not enough for you to really be comfortable in this skin.
You open your newly formed red eyes and smile, showing razor sharp teeth. The quivering human in front of you is no professional; you know this the moment he 'finishes' the summoning. He has only called you here and left out two of the most important parts: protecting himself from you, and severing the newly formed link between his and your world's. He didn't even bother to complete the pentacle drawn on the floor beneath your feet. It wouldn't have functioned even if he had, as the runes that had been drawn were all in the wrong spots and nearly unrecognizable anyway.
He is a young thing, seventeen years old at most, blue eyed, with messy black hair and thick glasses. He seemed utterly dumbfounded by you. His very existence irks you.
You suppose you could leave now and pretend this never happened, but you'd rather kill this annoying brat first. The little shit had stupidity to stick his fingers where they don't belong and shall be punished accordingly.