The morning sun cast long shadows across the ancient ruins of Valethros, its golden rays struggling to penetrate the mist that shrouded this forgotten realm. Kaelmir's boots crunched against brittle remnants of what might have once been a grand cathedral, each step echoing with hollowness.
"Hard to believe this place was once called the Heart of Divinity,"
Seraphiel's voice carried that familiar note of wonder that had captivated kingdoms. Even now, with his blonde hair catching the dim light and those azure eyes reflecting an almost childlike curiosity, he looked every inch the hero from the storybooks.
Kaelmir allowed himself a small smile. After ten years of journeying together, he'd grown fond of Sera's ability to find beauty even in desolation.
"The texts say it fell overnight. One day, a beacon of holy light. The next..."
He gestured at the twisted spires around them.
"Abandoned by the gods,"
Liraeth finished softly, her emerald eyes scanning the ruins with practiced wariness. As their team's scout and mage, she'd grown cautious of places where magic felt... wrong.
"Can you feel it too, Kael? The way the light seems to bend here?"
He could. His holy knight training had made him sensitive to divine presence—or in this case, its absence. The Sealed Domain of Valethros existed in a space between realms, cut off from the celestial order that governed their world. Here, his connection to the divine felt muted, like trying to hear a whisper through thick glass.
"The Crimson Scripture should be in the central sanctum,"
Gareth rumbled, adjusting his massive shield. Their tank and defender had been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd entered this realm.
"The sooner we retrieve it, the sooner we can leave this cursed place."
Even the mad Dwarf could feel this place's animosity.
Seraphiel nodded, but his gaze lingered on the twisted architecture with an expression Kaelmir couldn't quite read.
"Yes, the final key to sealing the Demon Lord's return. Everything we've fought for leads to this moment."
Ten years. Ten years since they'd been chosen for this sacred mission. Kaelmir remembered that day with perfect clarity—standing in the Grand Cathedral as High Priestess Celestine had blessed their quest. He'd been so proud, so certain of their righteousness.
"The four pillars of salvation,"
she'd called them.
"The Chosen Hero who shall lead them to victory, the Holy Knight who shall be his shield, the Sage who shall light their path, and the Guardian who shall protect them all."
Now, as they approached the heart of Valethros, that certainty felt as fragile as the crumbling stone beneath their feet.
The central sanctum was a marvel of corrupted architecture. What had once been a soaring dome now twisted inward like a spiral shell, its surface covered in runes that seemed to shift when viewed directly. At its center lay a pedestal, and upon it—
"The Crimson Scripture,"
Liraeth gasped with excitement.
The tome was smaller than Kaelmir had expected, bound in what looked like red leather but felt somehow alive when he focused on it. Dark knowledge made manifest, the final piece needed to complete their mission.
"Magnificent, isn't it?"
Seraphiel stepped forward, his usual warm smile replaced by something sharper.
"Ten years of searching, and here it is. The power to reshape the world itself."
Something in his tone made Kaelmir's hand drift toward his sword hilt.
"Sera? What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, Kael."
Seraphiel's laugh was soft, almost fond.
"Still so trusting. So pure. Do you know what I've always admired about you?"
The air in the sanctum grew heavy. Liraeth's staff began to glow with protective wards, while Gareth shifted into a defensive stance. They all felt it—the sudden wrongness, like the moment before lightning strikes.
"Your faith,"
Seraphiel continued, picking up the Scripture with his divine hands.
"Your absolute, unshakeable faith in the righteousness of our cause. In me."
His eyes, when they met Kaelmir's, were no longer azure. They burned with violet fire.
"It made betraying you so much easier."
The transformation was gradual, almost sickening in its horror. Seraphiel's golden hair darkened to midnight black, his perfect features sharpening into something inhuman. Spiraling horns erupted from his temples while his once-pure white wings unfurled, now dark as a starless sky and crackling with malevolent energy.
"Sera..."
Kaelmir's voice cracked like a boy's. This wasn't possible. This was their friend, their leader, their—
"The Demon Lord's most faithful servant,"
Seraphiel—no, whatever he'd become—said with obvious relish.
"Did you really think the forces of darkness would leave something as important as the Hero Trials to chance? I've been preparing for this role since childhood, Kaelmir. Every smile, every shared meal, every moment of camaraderie—all of it crafted to bring us to this moment."
Liraeth's spell struck first, a lance of pure light that should have purified any demonic influence. It splashed harmlessly against Seraphiel's corrupted form.
"Impossible,"
she whispered.
"The wards, the blessings—you couldn't have hidden this!"
"Couldn't I?"
Seraphiel's grin revealed teeth that were just slightly too sharp.
"Tell me, dear Lira, what's the first rule of illusion magic?"
Her face went white.
"The best lies... are built on truth."
"Exactly! I am the Chosen Hero. I was blessed by the divine. I did lead you to victory after victory."
His wings spread wider, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
"I simply chose a different definition of 'victory.'"
Gareth charged with a roar of rage, his blessed shield gleaming with holy light. Seraphiel caught him mid-stride with one clawed hand, lifting the massive warrior as if he weighed nothing.
"Poor Gareth. Always so direct. I always hated your ramblings by the way."
With casual contempt, Seraphiel hurled him into the sanctum wall. The sickening crack of breaking bones echoed through the chamber.
"I'll make your death quick. You were never important to the plan."
"The plan?"
Kaelmir found his voice, though it felt like speaking through a dream.
"What plan, Sera? We trusted you. I trusted you!"
"And that trust was a tool, beautifully crafted and perfectly used."
Seraphiel advanced slowly, savoring the moment.
"Do you know how long I've waited to see that expression? The exact moment when faith crumbles into despair?"
Behind him, Liraeth was desperately weaving protection spells around Gareth's broken form, tears streaming down her face. The sight of her anguish struck Kaelmir like a physical blow.
"Why?"
The word tore from his throat.
"We could have accomplished anything together. We were changing the world!"
"Oh, but we are changing the world, my dear friend."
Seraphiel's clawed hand came to rest almost gently on Kaelmir's cheek.
"Just not in the way you imagined. The Demon Lord's return isn't a catastrophe to be prevented—it's an evolution to be embraced. And you, my faithful knight, were always meant to be the final sacrifice."
The betrayal cut deeper than any blade. Not just the revelation of treachery, but the cold calculation behind it. Every shared victory, every moment of trust, every time Kaelmir had risked his life for this man—all of it had been a performance.
"The Sealed Domain,"
Kaelmir realized with growing horror.
"You needed me to get you here. My holy knight status, the divine blessings—"
"The only way to enter Valethros without being consumed by its darkness, yes."
Seraphiel's grip tightened, claws pressing against Kaelmir's throat.
"Your pure heart was the key that unlocked this prison. And now that the Scripture is mine..."
"You're going to kill us."
"I'm going to complete my masterpiece."
Seraphiel's eyes blazed brighter.
"Your deaths here will fuel the ritual to break the final seals. Ten years of accumulated trust and friendship, curdling into betrayal and despair—there's no more potent sacrifice than a broken heart."
Kaelmir looked past his former friend to where Liraeth knelt beside Gareth's still form. Her now dull green eyes met his, and in them he saw the same crushing realization. They were going to die here, forgotten in this cursed realm, their bodies fuel for unspeakable evil.
"We swore an oath,"
he whispered, blood beginning to trickle where Seraphiel's claws pierced his skin.
"Before the altar of light. To stand together against the darkness."
"Oaths are for those who lack vision."
Seraphiel began to chant in a language that predated human civilization, words that made reality itself shudder.
"I swore that oath to a naive boy who believed in fairy tales. I'm keeping my true oath—to power itself."
The curse took hold like ice in Kaelmir's veins. He felt his strength bleeding away, his connection to the divine light severing one thread at a time. But worse than the physical agony was the emotional devastation—watching someone he'd loved like a brother reveal himself as a monster.
"Do you want to know the cruelest part?"
Seraphiel whispered as Kaelmir's vision began to dim.
"Part of me did care for you. All of you. Which is why I'm making this as quick as possible. Consider it... professional courtesy."
The final snap of Kaelmir's neck was almost gentle.