Caelen stood there, eyes fixed on the smoky figure before him—this woman shaped from shadow and memory, laughing softly in the dim space between worlds.
"A demon," he muttered, still wrapping his head around it. "You're a demon…"
She twirled a finger through the air, trailing wisps of shadow behind it. "Oh please, say it with more excitement. I used to cause kingdoms to fall with a wink, and now I'm reduced to being someone's historical discovery."
"You're extinct," Caelen said flatly. "Demons vanished thousands of years ago."
Her eyes gleamed. "Correction—we were erased. Slaughtered. Systematically. But not before leaving behind… surprises."
He eyed her warily. "Like you?"
She gave a sultry smirk. "No, darling. I'm just the message. The real gift is in your hands, if you choose to take it."
He glanced toward the glowing object she'd shown him earlier—a seed pulsing with demonic energy.
Still unsure, he shifted the subject. "You mentioned your husband… and something about seven brothers?"
The demoness sighed, placing a hand over where her heart might once have been. "Yes. Seven primordial demons—brothers, each embodying a sin. Wrath, Greed, Envy, Pride… and my sweet, dangerous Lust."
Her smile turned sharp. "They ruled separate regions of our realm. Independent, powerful… until the Virtues decided our existence offended their delicate sense of order. So, the angels devised a plan—covert attacks on each brother, one by one, in their own domains."
"They were ambushed?" Caelen asked.
"Slaughtered," she spat. "Four fell before we even realized we were being hunted. When my husband understood what was happening, he turned to me. I was his weapon-maker, his trickster queen. We built barriers, forged artifacts from captured relics, seduced secrets from angels, and embedded traps across the demon realm."
Caelen frowned. "Then why are you dead?"
She tilted her head wistfully. "Because hiding was never enough. They found us. He died protecting the seed you see now. I died moments later—from the blast that triggered the seal… and from the silence that followed his last breath."
"But you're here," Caelen said. "Talking."
"A remnant," she said softly. "A whisper of what I once was. Bound to this place, to this book, to this moment." Then she chuckled. "And since I have so little time, I intend to enjoy it."
He quickly looked away as she teasingly ran a smoky hand down her illusionary form. "Don't get the wrong idea," he said, flustered.
"Relax," she said with a wink. "I may be dead, but I'm still a loyal wife."
He frowned. "I didn't mean it like that. I just… I'm trying to understand. You said this seed could make me a demon?"
"It can," she replied. "It's laced with my husband's essence and stabilized by my magic. A new vessel. A rebirth."
"And you left this all… waiting for someone like me?"
"Someone worthy. Someone desperate enough to fight gods."
Caelen's eyes darkened. "You said something about the Goddess of Light before. You hate her."
She hissed. "Don't say her name. She killed my husband's brothers and forced him into hiding. Her 'righteousness' is a blade dipped in honey."
"She spoke to me," Caelen said quietly. "During a ritual. She said something about a new era beginning."
The demoness rolled her eyes. "Prophecy nonsense. Always used to justify bloodshed. If she's making vessels again, then she's planning to return her children to this world."
Caelen went cold. "Emma… my friend. She was part of that ritual. She's… glowing now. Changed. Is she—"
"A vessel? Likely," the demoness said. "Chosen by the goddess to carry her 'children' into the mortal realm. And they erase the owner of the body, as you guessed, and the daughter doesn't struggle through the process except for time."
His fists clenched. "Then that ritual… it took something from me. But why am I still standing?"
She leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. "Because your spirit rejected her. It means you're not bound to her light. You still have a choice."
Caelen stared at the seed again.
"If I take this… I become a demon," he said slowly. "And everything changes."
"Yes," she whispered, "but you'll be able to protect those you care for. You'll never be powerless again, but with a cost, of course."
He stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and raised his hands.
"I will make sure this is the last time I ever go through something like this with anyone. But if you're serious about this and choosing me… thank you. You're changing my life forever."
The demoness smiled sadly. "Then take it. The world has forgotten us… but maybe the prophecy bastard she was talking about was right. Maybe the Primordials era is returning."
She leaned down, placed the seed in his hands, and as her form began to unravel into wisps of smoke and memory, her smile remained—sharp, wistful, and wicked to the end.
Earth — Deep Within the Forest
Not much time had passed.
The priest was tidying up the clearing, brushing away loose debris and gathering the last of his tools. His eyes drifted toward the tent where Emma still rested. With a quiet sigh, he turned to leave—
"Hm?"
A chill crept down his spine. Behind him, the once-vanished magic circle had reappeared—glowing again, only now its light pulsed with a deep, ominous crimson.
The priest froze, eyes wide with dread. "No… not again."
He raised his hand and conjured a radiant sphere of light, hurling it directly at the circle.
"Begone, you foul thing!"
The light struck the circle—and did absolutely nothing. It didn't shake, didn't flicker. It simply stood there, humming with steady malevolence.
Panic rising, he cast another. Then another.
Each spell fizzled against the growing aura of power. Then, as if time itself acknowledged what was about to come, the red light surged, flaring like a dying star.
A pulse erupted.
The priest was thrown backward, crashing into a tree with a sickening thud. Blood splattered against bark as he slid to the forest floor, gasping for breath before darkness swallowed his vision.
Above the circle, something unfurled.
Massive black wings stretched wide, blotting out the canopy as the red light dimmed. At the center of the sigil now stood a young man—his figure regal and still, his silver-white hair lifting in the air's remaining currents. His tailored black suit gleamed faintly in the red mist that hung over the forest floor.
The priest, though barely conscious, could only glimpse him before the weight of fear pulled him under. In his last moment of awareness, he knew—he would regret this night for the rest of his life.
The young man touched down softly, wings vanishing into the ether.
"Just at the right place, and it looks like time barely moved at all."
His boots crunched softly against the grass as he stepped toward the fallen priest.
"I should kill you now—strike while you're broken and bleeding." His voice was low, quiet, but heavy with purpose. His demonic red eyes narrowed, the black of his sclera like twin voids. "But that would be cowardly."
He knelt slightly, just enough to lower himself to the priest's level.
"I'll grow stronger. I'll meet you at your peak. Then I'll kill you."
He stood again and turned without another word, walking toward the tents, his presence leaving behind only silence—and the faint hum of magic still clinging to the air like smoke.
Caelen's boots pounded the forest floor.
"It'll take a while for Emma to be swallowed by the light," he muttered, picking up speed. "Better be safe than sorry."
His breath was steady. His new body was barely tired, but the thought of being too late made his chest tighten.
He remembered what had just happened. He'd floated—fleetingly, just for a second.
"Maybe it's not that hard..." he glanced over his shoulder, flexing his back like he had wings, expecting something, anything.
Nothing.
Sigh. "Never mind."
He kept running.
Ten minutes passed. Through the trees, he saw it: the tent field, shredded and scattered like paper after a storm. Fabric whipped in the breeze. Empty.
"There was no one in the tents… he killed them all?" Caelen's voice dropped. Low. Bitter. The priest's face flashed in his mind. That coward.
His fists clenched. He nearly turned around, ready to finish it, to crush what was left of the holy man's spine—
—But the light caught his attention.
It leaked from the only standing tent like mist, like fire, and in it, he could feel her. The same way you feel a storm before it breaks.
"Emma..."
He ran again. Faster.
But the light... it stung. It burned. It licked at his skin like acid mist, creeping under the surface. What once felt warm now wanted to erase him.
He stopped, just a few steps from the glow.
"Can I even get in?" he asked himself, voice quieter now.
The pain was spreading. He winced.
That light—so beautiful when he was human—was now fire. Wrath. Judgment. And it hated what he'd become.
She was always kind...
Always had my back, even when I didn't ask for it. Even gave me things to sell when I had nothing...
She doesn't deserve this.
His jaw tensed.
"Come on, Caelen. Don't be a bitch. You can take the heat."
He dropped into a low racing stance—hands on the dirt, shoulders tight, like a predator ready to pounce. His eyes locked on the glow.
"Three... two... one—GO!"
He launched.
Pain ripped across his chest and arms as the light scraped through his skin. No time to stop. No hesitation. He grabbed the tent's edge mid-run, yanking it clean off the stakes as he barreled through. Fabric shredded behind him like wings made of fire.
He kept moving. Once he was far enough, he circled back, tying strips of the tent around his arms as a buffer.
Then he saw her.
Floating.
Weightless.
Small golden wings unfurled slowly from her back like petals. A soft halo crowned her forehead, and light curled around her like a cocoon.
"Woah..." he whispered.
She was beautiful. Otherworldly.
An angel.
And yet… it felt wrong. Deep in his gut, something twisted. Something he did not like.
He didn't hesitate.
Caelen bolted toward her again, slower this time, not out of fear, but calculation. He could feel the heat tearing into him again, but he pushed through. His skin screamed. The tent wraps burned, but he reached her. Grabbed her face.
Her lips parted.
And he shoved the smaller black seed into her mouth.
I'm sorry, Emma… this is the only way.
Then, in a sharp burst, he threw himself back, black wings erupting from his back mid-air, propelling him away just in time. He skidded across the grass, coughing from the burn, the light now a fading roar behind him.
He lay there, eyes squinting, watching the glow around her dim.
The pain started to dull.
The fabric on his arms was charred. His breath slowed.
And then—
[Congratulations on gaining your first demon servant.]
A soft red glow pulsed in front of his eyes. Lines of ancient script floated in the air, like someone was writing a story right in front of him.
Caelen blinked.
Then smiled.
"So it worked…"
He sat up slowly, his white hair fluttering with the last gust of divine wind, black horns catching the fading light.
"Guess this really is the beginning of something new."