The metallic taste of power lingers on my tongue as we step into the Meridian Club, my power thrumming beneath my skin like a barely contained storm. The gathering of supernatural creatures stretches before us—a sea of predators dressed in their finest, all pretending they're not calculating how to devour each other.
"Remember," Caleif whispers, her lips barely moving as we descend the grand staircase, "show no weakness. In this crowd, curiosity is dangerous, and fear is fatal."
I nod, feeling the weight of countless eyes tracking our entrance. My newly returned power pulses in response to the attention, eager to be unleashed. I force it down, maintaining the careful balance Caleif helped me practice back at her apartment. Too little control and I'll burst into flames; too much and I'll look defenseless. Neither is an option tonight.
"Is it just me," Kira mutters from my other side, "or did everyone just stop talking?"
She's right. The moment we appeared at the top of the stairs, the constant murmur of conversation faltered, leaving a ripple of silence that spreads through the opulent ballroom. I scan the crowd, noting the various supernatural beings trying to appear casual while studying us with predatory intensity.
"They sense something's changed," Caleif explains, her arm linked with mine in a gesture that's both affectionate and possessive. "The balance of power just shifted, and they're trying to figure out why."
The ballroom itself is a masterpiece of old-world elegance colliding with otherworldly elements. Crystal chandeliers hang from a ceiling that seems to shift between solid marble and swirling cosmic void depending on how directly you look at it. The walls shimmer with patterns that move when you're not watching them, and the air itself feels charged with competing energies.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, a tall figure detaches from the crowd, moving toward us with purpose. He's dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, but there's something off about his movements—too fluid, too precise, like a predator disguised as a businessman.
"Mira," he greets Caleif, his voice smooth as silk but cold as ice. His eyes flick to me, lingering on the places where my armor shows through the glamour Caleif helped me create. "I see you've brought... guests."
"Lazarus," Caleif returns the greeting with equal coolness, her posture subtly shifting into something more regal, more dangerous. This is Mira's territory, and she navigates it with practiced ease. "Allow me to introduce Kamen and Kira. They're under my protection tonight."
Lazarus's smile doesn't reach his eyes, which have begun to glow with a faint silver light. "How generous of you. The Council will be... interested to meet them." The pause before "interested" carries volumes of subtext I can't quite decipher.
"I'm sure they will," Caleif replies smoothly. "But first, we'd like to enjoy the gathering. It's been too long since I've attended."
"Of course." Lazarus steps aside with a slight bow that somehow manages to feel mocking. "Enjoy the festivities. The Council convenes at the stroke of one."
As he melts back into the crowd, I lean closer to Caleif. "Friend of yours?"
"Hardly," she murmurs, guiding us deeper into the room. "Lazarus is the Council's enforcer. If someone breaks the rules of the gathering, he's the one who... handles the situation."
"Great," Kira sighs. "Just what we needed—supernatural security keeping tabs on us."
I scan the room again, taking in the diverse array of beings mingling in what appears to be careful harmony. There are obvious vampires like Caleif, their movements too graceful to be human. Werewolves cluster near one of the bars, their laughter too loud, their gestures too expansive. And scattered throughout are creatures I can't even begin to classify—beings with skin that shifts colors like oil on water, others with eyes that seem to contain entire galaxies.
"What's the plan?" I ask, accepting a glass of something dark red from a passing server. I sniff it cautiously before taking a sip—it's wine, rich and complex, with an undertone of something I can't identify.
"We mingle," Caleif says, her eyes constantly moving, cataloging faces and interactions. "We listen. The gathering is as much about information exchange as it is about maintaining peace between factions. Someone here knows why we've been brought to this city."
"And how do we figure out who that someone is?" Kira asks, declining a drink with a polite shake of her head.
"We pay attention to who's paying attention to us," Caleif replies. "Trust me, they'll reveal themselves."
As if on cue, a woman approaches our small group. She's stunning in a way that defies human standards of beauty—her features almost too perfect, her movements so graceful they seem choreographed. Her dress shimmers between deep blue and violet, like twilight made fabric.
"Mira," she says, her voice musical and light. "How lovely to see you again. And with such... interesting companions."
Caleif inclines her head slightly. "Selene. It's been a while."
"Too long," Selene agrees, her eyes—a startling shade of silver—fixing on me with unsettling intensity. "Won't you introduce me to your friends?"
"Of course. This is Kamen and Kira. They're new to our little community."
Selene's smile widens, revealing teeth that are just a fraction too sharp to be human. "How fascinating. New arrivals are so rare these days." She extends a hand toward me, palm down as if expecting me to kiss it. "Welcome to our humble gathering."
I take her hand but merely squeeze it gently, unwilling to play into whatever power game she's initiating. "Thank you for the welcome."
Something flashes in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or annoyance—but it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it. "You must tell me how you came to our city," she says, her tone making it clear this isn't a request. "We so rarely get newcomers who... shine so brightly."
The reference to my barely concealed power makes my skin prickle with warning. I feel the hellfire surge in response, and I have to concentrate to keep it from manifesting visibly.
"It's a long story," I reply noncommittally. "One that's still unfolding."
"The best ones always are," Selene purrs, her gaze intensifying. I feel a strange pressure against my mind, like someone trying to peek through a keyhole. The hellfire flares defensively, and Selene withdraws slightly, her expression shifting to one of cautious respect.
"Interesting," she murmurs, more to herself than to us. "Very interesting indeed."
Caleif steps closer to me, her posture subtly protective. "Selene is one of the Fae Court," she explains, though her eyes never leave the woman's face. "She specializes in... information."
"Among other things," Selene adds with a laugh like silver bells. "But information is certainly my favorite currency." She focuses on me again, the pressure returning but gentler this time. "I would very much like to trade with you sometime, Kamen. I suspect you carry secrets worth knowing."
Before I can respond, a commotion near the entrance draws everyone's attention. The crowd parts to reveal a new arrival—a man who seems simultaneously ancient and ageless, his silver hair contrasting with a face that could be thirty or three hundred. He moves with the confidence of someone who knows his own power intimately, and the other guests shift away as he passes, like prey instinctively recognizing a predator.
"Asmodeus," Caleif breathes, tension radiating from her in waves. "I didn't expect him to attend tonight."
"Who is he?" I ask, watching as the man—if that's what he is—accepts a glass of something that definitely isn't wine from a server who seems to materialize specifically for him.
"One of the Demon Lords," Caleif explains, her voice barely audible. "He rarely attends these gatherings unless something significant is happening."
Kira edges closer to us, her expression wary. "Demon Lord as in...?"
"As in a being of immense power who rules over a portion of the demonic realms," Caleif confirms. "His presence here is... concerning."
I watch as Asmodeus surveys the room with casual interest, his gaze eventually landing on our small group. Something like recognition flickers in his eyes, and a smile slowly spreads across his face—not warm, not threatening, but deeply, profoundly knowing.
"I believe," Selene says, watching this exchange with evident fascination, "that your presence has been noted, Kamen." She steps back with a small bow. "I'll leave you to it. But remember my offer—I would very much like to trade information with you... soon."
As she glides away, I feel the weight of Asmodeus's attention like a physical pressure. He makes no move to approach us, but his gaze remains fixed on me with an intensity that makes my hellfire surge in response.
"He knows something," I mutter, fighting the urge to meet his stare directly. "About me, about why we're here."
"Almost certainly," Caleif agrees, her hand finding mine and squeezing gently. "But confronting a Demon Lord at a gathering like this would be... unwise."
"So what do we do?" Kira asks, her voice tight with tension.
"We wait," Caleif says, her eyes still tracking Asmodeus as he begins to mingle with the other guests. "We observe. And we prepare for whatever comes next."
I nod, feeling the hellfire settle into a steady burn beneath my skin. Whatever game is being played here, whatever forces brought us to this strange city, I'm no longer just a pawn. With my power restored and Caleif at my side, I'm ready to face whatever comes—even if it's a Demon Lord with secrets in his eyes and my name on his lips.
"Let the games begin," I murmur, raising my glass in a silent toast to the challenges ahead.
I'm about to take a sip of my drink when I notice Asmodeus cutting through the crowd, moving with deliberate purpose straight toward us. The conversations around him fall silent as supernatural beings part like water before a shark. My hellfire responds instantly to the danger, churning beneath my skin, eager to be unleashed.
"He's coming over," I mutter to Kira, who tenses beside me.
Caleif straightens her posture, chin lifting slightly as Asmodeus approaches with that same knowing smile that makes my blood boil. When he reaches us, he ignores me completely, focusing entirely on Caleif.
"My dear Mira," he says, his voice like velvet over steel. "It's been far too long."
"Asmodeus," Caleif replies, her tone carefully neutral. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
"And miss the opportunity to see you?" He places his hand on her shoulder, fingers lingering there with casual possessiveness. "I would never."
My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. The hellfire surges through my veins, demanding release, but I force it down. Starting a fight with a Demon Lord in the middle of a supernatural gathering seems like a spectacularly bad idea, no matter how much I want to burn that smug smile off his face.
Asmodeus leans in closer to Caleif, his lips hovering near her ear as he whispers something I can't hear. Then, with a boldness that stuns everyone watching, he tilts his head to kiss her.
My vision goes red around the edges. I feel the hellfire scorching me from within, my control slipping with each passing second. My hands clench into fists, armor forming around my knuckles without my conscious command.
But before his lips can make contact, Caleif takes a deliberate step backward, putting distance between them. Relief washes through me, cooling the hellfire just enough to maintain control.
That relief is short-lived.
Asmodeus's smile only widens at her retreat. With fluid grace, he drops to one knee before her, taking her hand in his. The entire gathering falls silent, all eyes fixed on this unexpected display.
"Mira," he says, his voice carrying through the hushed room, "or should I say Caleif? I've waited centuries for this moment. For you to remember who you truly are." His eyes flick briefly to me, triumphant. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride? Together, we could rule not just this city, but realms beyond imagination."
I can barely process what's happening through the roar of blood in my ears. The floor beneath my feet begins to crack, hairline fractures spreading outward in a perfect circle around me. The air grows thick, heavy with power that pulses from me in waves I can no longer contain.
Glasses shatter throughout the room. The chandelier above us sways dangerously. Supernatural beings back away, sensing the storm brewing within me.
"Kamen," Kira hisses, grabbing my arm. "Get it together!"
But I'm beyond hearing her. My hellfire responds to the rage, the betrayal, the sheer possessive fury that consumes me at the sight of Asmodeus kneeling before Caleif. The power that has been dormant for so long doesn't just return—it erupts, stronger than it ever was in Hell.
The cracks in the floor widen, revealing molten heat beneath the marble. The air shimmers around me like a desert mirage, and I feel my armor fully materializing, no longer hidden beneath Caleif's glamour but proudly displayed, gleaming with infernal light.
"Kamen," Caleif says, her voice cutting through the haze of my rage. Her eyes lock with mine, steady and certain. "It's alright."
But it's not alright. Nothing about this situation is alright. Asmodeus still kneels before her, still holds her hand, still looks at her like she's a prize to be claimed. And worse, he knows her—knows her real name, knows who she was before she became Mira. How is that possible unless they shared a past I know nothing about?
"Answer me, my dear," Asmodeus prompts, seemingly unconcerned by the destruction spreading around us. "Surely you haven't forgotten our arrangement? The promise made before the academy fell?"
"Arrangement?" I manage to grind out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
Caleif's expression remains unreadable as she gently extracts her hand from Asmodeus's grip. "There was never any arrangement," she says, her voice cool and controlled. "Only your assumptions, Asmodeus."
He rises smoothly to his feet, not a trace of embarrassment on his face despite the public rejection. "Come now, don't be coy. We both know the truth of what passed between us. The bonds that tie us go deeper than this temporary infatuation." He gestures dismissively toward me.
The floor beneath him cracks violently, a jagged line shooting directly toward his polished shoes. He steps aside with casual grace, watching the destruction with detached amusement.
"Such passion," he observes, his eyes meeting mine at last. "But so little control. Is this truly who you choose to align yourself with, Caleif? This... half-formed creature who can barely contain his own power?"
"Enough," Caleif says, stepping between us. The movement is protective, but I'm not sure which of us she's protecting. "This is neither the time nor the place, Asmodeus."
"On the contrary," he replies, his smile never faltering. "This is precisely the right moment. The Council gathers tonight to discuss the shifting balance of power in our city. Your pet hellspawn's arrival has upset delicate equilibriums. Decisions must be made."
Pet hellspawn? The insult pierces through my rage, focusing it like a laser. The temperature in the room spikes dramatically, causing several nearby guests to retreat further.
"I am no one's pet," I growl, my voice distorted by the hellfire that now visibly flickers around my armor. "And I'm tired of being a pawn in games I don't understand."
Asmodeus regards me with something like approval. "Finally, a spark of intelligence. Yes, you've been a pawn—moved across the board by forces you can't comprehend. But pawns can become queens with the right... advancement." His gaze slides back to Caleif. "Isn't that right, my dear?"
Caleif's expression hardens. "You've said enough. Leave us."
"As you wish." He inclines his head in a mock bow. "But this conversation isn't over. The Council convenes soon, and your presence—all three of you—is required." His eyes lock with mine once more. "Bring your fire, hellspawn. You'll need it before the night is through."
He turns and walks away, the crowd parting before him once again. Only when he's well out of earshot do I allow myself to breathe, to try reining in the power that continues to pulse from me in waves.
"What the hell was that?" I demand, turning to Caleif. "What arrangement? What promise? How does he know your real name?"
She meets my gaze steadily, unflinching in the face of my anger. "It's complicated, Kamen."
"Uncomplicate it," I snap, aware of the eyes watching us, the supernatural beings pretending not to eavesdrop on our conversation.
"Not here," she says firmly. "After the Council meeting, I'll tell you everything. I promise."
I want to argue, to demand answers now, but Kira steps in, her hand on my arm grounding me. "She's right, Kamen. This isn't the place. Look around you."
I follow her gaze and realize just how much damage my loss of control has caused. The elegant marble floor is spiderwebbed with cracks. The air still shimmers with heat. Several of the supernatural guests eye me with a mixture of fear and calculation that makes my skin crawl.
"Fine," I concede, forcing the hellfire back down, willing my armor to recede just enough to appear less threatening. "But I want the truth, Caleif. All of it."
"You'll have it," she promises, her eyes softening. "But first, we need to survive the Council meeting. Asmodeus wouldn't have made such a public spectacle unless he was certain of his position."
"What does that mean for us?" Kira asks, glancing nervously around the room.
"It means," Caleif says grimly, "that we're about to face judgment from the most powerful beings in this city. And after Kamen's display of power, they'll be deciding whether we're assets to be courted or threats to be eliminated."
The weight of her words settles over me, cooling my rage but replacing it with something equally dangerous: fear. Not for myself—the hellfire makes me nearly indestructible—but for Kira, and even for Caleif. I've dragged them into this mess, whatever it is, and now they might pay the price for my loss of control.
"Then we'd better make sure they see us as assets," I say, straightening my shoulders and letting just enough hellfire shimmer beneath my skin to serve as a reminder of what I'm capable of. "Because I'm not letting anyone eliminate what's mine."
Caleif's eyes meet mine, a silent communication passing between us. Whatever she's hiding, whatever history she shares with Asmodeus, I know one thing with absolute certainty: she's mine, and I am hers, and no Demon Lord's proposal is going to change that.
"The Council chambers will be through there," Caleif says, nodding toward an ornate door at the far end of the ballroom. "We have a few minutes to prepare ourselves."
"What exactly should we be preparing for?" Kira asks, her voice steady despite the tension radiating from her.
"There are powerful people in there, far more powerful than I am, especially Kamen. So be on guard and watch what you say." She says as she sighs and walks towards the door.
As we approach the ornate door, I can feel the weight of countless eyes tracking our movement. The hellfire beneath my skin pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat, a steady reminder of the power I've only just reclaimed. The marble floor still bears the spiderwebbed cracks from my earlier loss of control—a testament to how badly I handled Asmodeus's little performance.
"Breathe," I mutter to myself, forcing my shoulders to relax. The last thing we need is for me to lose it again in front of whatever supernatural tribunal waits beyond that door.
Kira glances at me, her expression tight with concern. "You good?"
"Define good," I reply, managing a weak smile. "My girlfriend just got proposed to by a Demon Lord who apparently knows her entire history, I've discovered I can crack marble with my emotions, and we're about to face judgment from beings that could probably erase us from existence with a thought. So yeah, I'm peachy."
"Your sarcasm is showing," she observes dryly.
"My sarcasm is the least of our problems right now." I pause at the door, placing my palm against the ornate wood. It's warm to the touch, almost alive, and I can feel something ancient and powerful thrumming beneath the surface. "Whatever happens in there, stay close to me. If things go sideways, I want to be able to protect you."
"And who's going to protect you from yourself?" she asks, nodding toward the damaged floor behind us.
Before I can answer, Caleif rejoins us, her expression carefully composed but her eyes troubled. "The Council is ready for us," she says, her voice pitched low. "Remember, they respect strength but despise recklessness. Show them your power, but keep it controlled."
"Right," I say, though my grip on control feels tenuous at best. The memory of Asmodeus's hand on her shoulder, the casual possessiveness in his touch, still makes the hellfire surge beneath my skin. "Any other helpful advice? Like maybe an explanation of what the hell that was back there?"
Her jaw tightens. "After the meeting, Kamen. I promised you the truth, and you'll have it. But right now, we need to focus on surviving the next hour."
The air feels oppressive and agitates the hell fire inside me,
I push down the surge of hellfire that threatens to spill out every time I think about Asmodeus's smug face. The ornate door feels like it's pulsing with its own heartbeat under my palm, and I can't shake the feeling that we're walking into a trap.
"Let's get this over with," I mutter, pushing the door open.
The Council chambers beyond are nothing like I expected. Instead of some gothic throne room, we step into what looks like a cross between a corporate boardroom and an ancient amphitheater. Seven figures sit around a crescent-shaped table that seems to be carved from a single piece of obsidian, their faces illuminated by floating orbs of light that hover overhead.
Asmodeus is already there, of course, lounging in one of the chairs like he owns the place. His eyes find mine immediately, that same knowing smirk playing at his lips. I force myself not to react, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my armor wants to manifest fully.
"Ah, our guests of honor," says a woman at the center of the table. She's stunning in an otherworldly way, with silver hair that moves like liquid mercury and eyes that hold the depth of centuries. "Please, approach."
We walk forward, our footsteps echoing in the vast space. I can feel the weight of their combined attention pressing down on us, and it takes everything I have to keep the hellfire from responding defensively.
"I am Seraphina," the silver-haired woman continues, "and I speak for the Council tonight. We've heard... interesting reports about recent arrivals to our city."
"Interesting is one word for it," drawls another Council member, this one appearing to be made of living shadow. "Destructive might be another."
My cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. The cracked marble in the ballroom wasn't exactly subtle, and I can feel their judgment like a physical weight.
"The boy has power," Asmodeus interjects, his tone casual but his eyes locked on me. "Raw, untrained, but undeniably potent. The question is whether that power serves our interests or threatens them."
"I'm not a boy," I snap before I can stop myself. The hellfire flares, and several of the floating orbs flicker in response. "And I'm not here to serve anyone's interests but my own."
Seraphina raises an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. "Bold words from someone who arrived in our city with no memory of how or why." She leans forward slightly. "Tell me, Kamen Driscol, what do you remember of your journey here?"
The use of my full name catches me off guard. How much do they know about me? "I remember everything, i remember my time in hell, the five thousand years there, i remember killing millions of demons and preventing a extermination from the purifiers, and… i remember everyone that died for me" I admit, hating how exposed that makes me feel as I crack my neck as the memories flood my mind and my anger starts rising.
"Don't even think about testing me; you won't like the monster that emerges." A grin stretches across my face, sharp and predatory, as Asmodeus strides toward me, his laughter echoing through the chamber. He closes the distance until we're eye to eye, his gaze piercing through layers of flesh and bone, delving deep into my very essence. I can feel the tension crackling in the air, electric and charged.
As he peers into my soul, beads of sweat begin to form on his brow, cascading down his skin like tiny rivers of fear. The weight of countless demon souls thrashes beneath the surface of my being, an unrelenting storm of anguish and fury. They swirl like a tempest, each one a vivid reminder of the power I wield, and the darkness that lurks within, clawing at the edges of my consciousness. The air thickens with anticipation, heavy and electric, as if the very fabric of reality holds its breath.
I can sense the shift in Asmodeus's demeanor, the shock rippling through him like a sudden chill in a sweltering desert. His confident facade falters, revealing a flicker of uncertainty in those predatory eyes. "Do you like what you see?" I taunt, my voice dripping with a mix of defiance and dark amusement.
He stumbles back a step, his usual swagger replaced by a tangible tension. "You've killed so many demons," he breathes, disbelief lacing his tone. The echo of my past reverberates in the chamber, each word a dagger aimed at the heart of his arrogance.
The Council watches, their eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and dread. I can almost hear their thoughts, weighing the implications of my dark history against the raw potential they see before them. Asmodeus's smirk falters further, and I relish the moment, the tables turned in a game I never intended to play.
"Those souls are not just numbers," I continue, my voice low and steady. "They're echoes of pain, loss, and betrayal. Each one a story, a life extinguished—some by my hand, some by the relentless tide of war." My fists clench, the hellfire within me simmering just beneath the surface, eager for release.
I glare at Asmodeus, feeling the weight of his gaze like a vise around my chest. "I just want to live my life on my terms, only my terms," I state, emphasizing each word, the hellfire within me simmering right below the surface, begging for release as the tension in the room thickens.
Asmodeus's expression shifts, his smirk faltering for just a moment, but it quickly returns, tinged with a predatory gleam. "You think this power makes you special? You think you can just walk into my city and dictate the rules? You have much to learn, little hellspawn."
Before I can retort, the ground beneath us begins to tremble, a low rumble that sends a ripple of unease through the Council chamber. I steady myself, instinctively reaching for Caleif's hand as the vibrations intensify, rattling the obsidian table and making the floating orbs above sway dangerously.
"What's happening?" Kira shouts, gripping the edge of the table as the tremors escalate into a violent shake. Gasps echo around us as supernatural beings stumble to keep their balance, glancing around in confusion.
"Everyone stay calm!" Seraphina calls out, her voice rising above the chaos. But even her calm demeanor can't mask the growing uncertainty in the air.
Asmodeus's eyes narrow, a predatory glint sparking within them as he scans the room, seemingly unfazed by the disturbance. "You think this is your doing, hellspawn?" he taunts, but there's a flicker of something else in his expression—concern, perhaps.
But before I can respond, a blinding light erupts in the center of the chamber, blinding me momentarily. I shield my eyes, feeling a strange pull, a ripping sensation that tugs at my very being. Caleif's grip on my hand tightens as the ground shakes beneath us, and I can hear the panicked shouts of the Council members around me.
"What's happening?!" Kira cries, panic lacing her voice.
"Stay together!" Caleif yells, but her words are swallowed by the chaos. The ground beneath us shatters, fissures spreading outward like veins of darkness as a gaping vortex of energy opens in the air—a gaping maw that seems to draw everything toward it.
I feel the pull intensifying, as if the fabric of reality itself is tearing apart. Everything feels surreal and chaotic, and I can barely keep my footing. "Caleif!" I shout, my voice drowned out by the cacophony surrounding us.
With a swift motion, Asmodeus reaches out, his hand grasping for both Caleif and me, but the energy swirling around us is too strong, too insistent. It pulls at us with a force that feels like gravity turned inside out, yanking us toward the rift.
"Hold on!" Caleif cries out, but even her voice is becoming muffled as we're drawn closer to the vortex. I feel Asmodeus's grip slipping, his eyes wide with realization that he won't be able to hold us back.
And then—everything goes black.
I awaken with a jolt, gasping for air, the ground cold and solid beneath me. Blinking against the sunlight filtering through the trees, I take a moment to gather my bearings. The scent of pine and earth fills my nostrils, grounding me as I sit up.
"Where the hell are we?" I mutter, my voice rough from disorientation.
"Caleif?" My voice shatters the silence, scraping against the undercurrents of wind and distant birdsong. I spin in place, heart pounding so hard it echoes in my ears, and call out again, this time louder, desperate: "Caleif!"
But the only answer is the whisper of branches overhead, the soughing of needles cascading in a gentle green rain. I'm standing in the middle of a sprawling forest—no, that's too passive a word. The place has weight and intention, as if the trees themselves are sizing me up, waiting for me to make the next move. They're nothing like the stunted, sad specimens I've seen on the edge of Aridia. These are ancients, their trunks ridged and furrowed, bark the color of charred espresso, limbs twisting skyward with the slow, predatory patience of things that have outlived empires.
Every sense is on edge. The air here is so clean and cold that my lungs ache. It's a sharp contrast to the sulfurous, muggy hell I'd left behind just minutes—no, seconds?—ago. The last thing I remember is the Council chamber dissolving into chaos, a blinding light, the ground buckling beneath my feet, and a sense of being sucked through the eye of a cosmic storm. Now, I'm here, and every muscle in my body is screaming.
I turn, shouting again: "Kira! Caleif, where the hell are you?" A crow takes offense at my volume, launching from a nearby branch with a squawk and a blast of black wings. No answer. No movement. Just the endless, dizzying verticality of the pines.
I stagger forward, fighting the urge to simply drop to my knees and scream into the leaf litter. Instead, I run my hands through my hair, yanking at the roots as if pain will somehow ground me. "Goddamn it! I just got her back!" The admission hangs in the air, raw and unfiltered. My throat tightens, and I blink hard, refusing to let tears have even a second of this moment.
And then—
A window blooms before my eyes. Not a metaphorical window; not a hallucination conjured by anxiety or trauma. A literal, floating, blue rectangle, refracting the sunlight, casting a faint glow on the space between me and the mossy ground. The text inside pulses in time with my heartbeat:
[You have successfully obtained the Otherworldly Being System.]
I freeze, caught between suspicion and the horrifying certainty that this is real, that I am being trolled by the universe itself. The words hover, an unblinking eye.
I lift a trembling finger, poke at the window. It resists with a tactile shimmer, the surface rippling like pond water disturbed by a stone. I half-expect nothing to happen, or for the entire scene to blink out and leave me alone in a fever dream. Instead, the window responds with yet another pop-up, this time in a slightly smaller font, as if lowering its voice for dramatic effect:
[I have feelings too, you know.]
I say nothing for a full ten seconds, just staring at the thing, memorizing every pixel of its passive aggressiveness. Then, slowly, I mutter, "What kind of name is that? Who the hell comes up with 'Otherworldly Being System'? That's—"
Another window, snapping open before I can finish:
[Your feedback is valuable, but unfortunately, renaming protocols are currently locked. Please contact your Administrator for further assistance.]
"Administrator?" I say, incredulous. "Is this a joke? Are you—" I break off, looking wildly around for cameras, observers, anything. "Caleif, if you're doing this as some sort of elaborate prank, I swear—"
The silence that follows is absolute. The system, or whatever it is, seems to take my outburst in stride. In fact, it doubles down, opening a third, larger window that spreads like a digital smirk across my field of vision:
[Welcome, Kamen Driscol.]
[Initializing user profile...]
[Name: Kamen Driscol]
[Race: Human]
[Age: 27]
[Primary Abilities: Fireball, Ice Breathe, Enhanced Physicality, Enhanced Charm, Stone Skin, ???,???,??? ]
[Secondary Abilities: Unlocked upon Level Advancement]
[Faction: None]
[Alignment: Unspecified]
[Skill Points Available: 0]
[Current Location: ??? (Undiscovered)]
[Warning: Immediate Danger Detected. Stay alert.]
[Would you like a tutorial? Y/N]
A shiver runs down my spine. The longer I stare at the display, the more I realize how little I know about what's actually happening to me. I've always suspected I wasn't normal—growing up in exile with a voice in my head and the ability to set things on fire with my thoughts—but this feels like something else entirely. Like the universe finally decided to stop pretending and hand me the user manual I never asked for.
"Are you going to start talking to me now?" I ask the window, half expecting it to start narrating my every move in a monotone desktop assistant voice.
An icon appears in the lower right corner. It blinks once, twice, then morphs into a vaguely humanoid silhouette—genderless, faceless, and entirely too chipper. A cartoon speech bubble pops up:
[Hello, Kamen. I am your personalized Otherworldly Being System. You may call me OBS. My primary function is to assist you in adapting to your new environment and maximizing your potential. Please note: Repeated attempts to break the fourth wall will be logged for future review.]
"OBS," I repeat. "Like... observation? Or are you actually observing me?"
[Both,] the system replies, with what I swear is a hint of pride.
I close my eyes, counting to five. When I open them, the UI is still there, persistent as a mosquito bite, taunting me with its faux friendliness. "Right. So, tutorial," I say, squinting at the Y/N prompt. "Is there an option for 'go fuck yourself'?"
The icon flickers, then displays a short message:
[Input not recognized. Would you like a tutorial? Y/N]
Despite everything, I almost laugh. The absurdity of it—the forest, the system prompts, my own voice echoing back at me like I'm trapped in some demented video game. The anger and terror congeal around my heart, hardening into something sharp and unyielding. If this is the way the universe wants to play it, fine. I can play along. I smash the 'Y' with more force than is necessary.
Immediately, the environment around me shifts, colors sharpening, shadows melting away to reveal a HUD overlay that pinpoints my position on a rough, hand-drawn map. There's a red dot labeled [Player: Kamen Driscol] and a scattering of question marks in every direction. The nearest one pulses, accompanied by another floating prompt:
[Nearby objective detected: Locate Starter Equipment.]
[Secondary objective: Survive, Level Up.]
"Helpful," I mutter, then start trudging in the direction of the pulsing marker, scanning the undergrowth for any sign of Caleif, Kira, and the supposed 'Starter Equipment—though, honestly, I'd accept a lesser wolf or a three-legged squirrel at this point, just to prove I'm not the last sentient thing alive in this dimension.
The ground is spongy and damp, every step springy and uncertain. I have no idea what sort of monsters stalk this place, but the warning from OBS is clear enough: Danger is imminent, if not already upon me. I glance back at the stats window, half expecting it to update with something useful, but all I get is a progress bar labeled [Tutorial Completion: 1%]. "I hate you so much." I sigh out in frustration as I realize that in the status window it said I was human and there was no mention of Hellfire.
"Did I lose the Hellfire again? Holy shit, my life fucking sucks dick. Atleast if I don't have the Hellfire anymore I can't burn anything down." I laugh out in a sad attempt to make myself feel better as I open the status window and confirm it's true.