Reality stitched itself back together as Elias stumbled forward, his knees buckling when solid ground suddenly appeared beneath him. He caught himself against a railing, the cold obsidian biting into his palms. His stomach lurched—like the worst hangover mixed with the drop of a roller coaster.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he gasped, blinking as his vision cleared.
The world around him defied comprehension. He stood on a vast platform of polished black stone, extending into... nothing. Absolute nothing. No sky, no ground—just an endless void stretching in all directions. Above him, colossal spires of midnight-black stone twisted upward, impossibly tall, vanishing into infinity.
"Welcome to the Citadel," Bishop said, already walking ahead, her heels clicking against the obsidian floor.
Elias forced himself to straighten, swallowing down nausea. "Let me guess—this isn't covered by my HMO?"
Bishop didn't turn around. "Follow me. Don't dawdle."
He trailed after her across a bridge made of what looked like glass and obsidian fused together. The material was partially transparent, and Elias found himself looking down into the abyss. He caught his reflection—and a glimpse up Bishop's skirt. He quickly averted his eyes; getting thrown into the void for being inappropriate wasn't how he wanted to die.
Fragments of... something... orbited the Citadel like satellites. Elias squinted at them: entire city blocks, mountain peaks, sections of ocean—pieces of worlds rotating slowly around the black towers.
"Are those—"
"Conquered realms," Bishop answered without slowing her pace. "Trophies, essentially."
"Right, trophies." Elias snorted, dragging his gaze back to the path. "You know, my apartment's a dump, but at least it's not floating in an existential nightmare."
Bishop finally glanced back, one eyebrow raised. "I expected more wonder, less sarcasm."
"Sorry to disappoint. I save my wonder for the second date."
Bishop rolled her eyes and continued walking, clearly at home in this impossible place. Elias followed, masking his genuine awe with quips. Each step felt unreal—like walking through someone else's fever dream. The Sigil on his hand pulsed, as if responding to the energy of this place.
Bishop led him through imposing black doors that opened without touch. They entered a colossal hall, its ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow. The space buzzed with misery.
Rows of people filled the chamber—hundreds sitting or standing in cordoned areas marked by shimmering barriers. Some sobbed into their hands, others screamed and hurled themselves at invisible walls, and many just stared emptily at nothing.
A man in his forties clutched his Sigil-branded hand, rocking back and forth while mumbling prayers. Nearby, a woman repeatedly slammed her head against a barrier until blood streaked down her face.
"What the hell is this?" Elias asked, his voice suddenly small.
"Processing," Bishop replied, devoid of emotion. "New recruits—like you."
Several lay motionless on the floor, eyes open but vacant. No one bothered to remove the bodies.
"The dead ones?"
"Rejected by their Sigils." Bishop shrugged. "Not everyone's compatible. The rest..." She gestured around. "Most won't survive their first mission. Don't get attached."
On balconies circling the hall, figures in dark uniforms observed the chaos below. They reminded Elias of zookeepers watching dangerous animals—clinical, detached, occasionally making notes on tablets.
"They look like..." Elias trailed off.
"Prey," Bishop finished for him. "That's because they are."
Elias caught his reflection in a polished obsidian column. Despite everything, he looked calm—no fear, no shock, just mild curiosity. He should've been terrified like the others, but instead felt oddly at home.
"Why am I not freaking out?"
Bishop's expression shifted slightly—was that surprise? "You're built different. That's why I picked you."
They passed a young woman, probably college-aged, curled into a ball and sobbing for her mother. Elias felt nothing—not sympathy, not superiority, just indifference. What was wrong with him?
"Keep up," Bishop called, already several paces ahead. "Your processing is different."
As Elias followed Bishop toward a side exit, movement caught his eye. Three guards in matte black armour approached a man who'd been screaming nonsense for the past minute. The recruit's eyes bulged, veins prominent on his forehead as he clawed at his own face, leaving bloody streaks across his cheeks.
"Please! It's in my head! Get it out!" The man convulsed, his body twisting unnaturally.
The guards exchanged brief glances before one stepped forward and drew a sleek black pistol. Without hesitation, he pressed it against the thrashing man's temple and pulled the trigger. A muffled thump, a spray of red, and the man collapsed.
No one in the surrounding pens reacted. No screams, no shock—just continued sobbing and rocking.
"Efficiency," Bishop remarked, noticing Elias watching. "Failed recruits are a resource drain."
Elias nodded, surprised to find himself agreeing.
***
The chamber darkened suddenly, plunging the mass of broken recruits into deeper shadow. Above them, the air rippled and tore open like black fabric splitting at the seams. Elias watched as something—not quite solid, not quite smoke—poured through the rift and coalesced into a towering figure that hovered twenty feet above the floor.
The Warden's form never quite settled—face constantly shifting between male, female, and something altogether inhuman. Its "body" consisted of living shadow that billowed like a storm cloud in human shape, occasionally revealing glimpses of stars or impossible geometries within its core.
When it spoke, the voice didn't come from the figure but seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, vibrating in Elias's teeth and bones.
"RECRUITS OF THE OBSIDIAN ACCORD." The words felt physical, pressing against Elias's skin. "YOUR PREVIOUS LIVES ARE CONCLUDED. YOUR IDENTITIES ERASED. YOUR ONLY PURPOSE NOW IS SERVICE."
The sobbing around the room intensified. Several recruits clutched their ears, though covering them made no difference against that omnipresent voice.
"THE ACCORD EXISTS TO BRING ORDER TO CHAOS—TO CONQUER AND ASSIMILATE WORLDS ACROSS THE ENDLESS MULTIVERSE. YOU ARE NOT VOLUNTEERS. YOU ARE SOLDIERS. YOU SERVE OR YOU DIE."
The Warden's form expanded, tendrils of darkness reaching toward the ceiling as it continued.
"THE SIGIL YOU BEAR IS BOTH POWER AND CHAINS. IT WILL GRANT YOU ABILITIES BEYOND MORTAL COMPREHENSION. IT WILL ALSO ENSURE YOUR COMPLIANCE. YOU BELONG TO THE ACCORD NOW. YOUR FLESH, YOUR WILL, YOUR SOUL—ALL OURS TO COMMAND."
Elias glanced down at the mark on his hand.
"THOSE WHO EXCEL WILL BE REWARDED. THOSE WHO FAIL WILL FEED THE VOID. THOSE WHO RESIST..." The Warden's form shuddered, revealing rows of eyes opening within its shadowy mass. "WILL BEG FOR DEATH LONG BEFORE IT ARRIVES."
As the Warden continued detailing the various ways recruits might suffer for disobedience, Elias leaned slightly toward Bishop.
"Sounds like corporate training," he whispered, "just with more screaming."
Bishop shot him a warning glare, but Elias caught the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.
"Shut up before you get us both executed," she hissed, though without real venom.
they step into an office where tessa tells him about the accord and that he will now become a field agent if he survives the binding, his sigil with contain an entity which he will select.
Bishop's hand clamped around Elias's upper arm as she steered him away from the main chamber. The screams of the failing recruits faded behind them as they moved through a series of obsidian corridors that all looked identical.
"Where are we going?" Elias asked, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. "Not that I'm complaining about leaving the mass execution back there."
"My office." Bishop punched a code into a panel beside an unmarked door. "You're different from the others. No crying, no begging. Just sarcasm."
The door slid open to reveal a surprisingly ordinary space—if ordinary included walls made of polished black stone. A desk, chairs, and what looked like computer terminals lined one wall. The only window looked out onto the swirling void where fragments of shattered worlds drifted by like cosmic debris.
"Have a seat." Bishop gestured to a chair across from her desk. "I'll try to explain this in terms your Earth brain can comprehend."
Elias dropped into the chair. "My Earth brain appreciates the consideration."
Bishop ignored his comment and activated a screen that projected a three-dimensional model of the multiverse—countless spheres connected by threads of light.
"The Obsidian Accord isn't just an organization. It's an empire spanning thousands of worlds across multiple dimensions. We conquer, we assimilate, we grow. And now, you're part of it."
"Not like I had much choice."
"No, you didn't." Bishop's eyes met his. "But you do have a choice now. You've been marked as compatible for binding with a Sigil entity—a living weapon that will grant you power beyond anything on your world."
"The mark on my hand?"
"That's just the preliminary binding. The full binding is different." Something flickered across her face—concern? "Most don't survive it. The entity consumes them from within."
"But if I do survive?"
"Then you become a field agent. The Accord's weapon against resistant worlds."
She slid a tablet across the desk. On the screen, three symbols pulsed with unearthly light.
"You need to choose which entity you'll bind with. Each offers different abilities—and different prices." Her voice softened fractionally. "Choose carefully, Elias. The one you pick will be with you until death. And it will change you in ways you can't imagine."
***
Elias studied the glowing symbols on the tablet, each pulsing with an unsettling rhythm reminiscent of heartbeats from something not quite alive. He scrolled through what seemed to be a catalogue of bound entities, his finger gliding over the surface.
"So this is basically Tinder for demons?" he smirked at Bishop. "Do I swipe right on eternal damnation or what?"
Bishop's jaw tightened. "This isn't a joke, Crane. The entity you choose will literally become part of you."
"Got it. Hell's dating app. Very serious business." He continued scrolling, his fascination growing as he read the names and descriptions.
Azrith, the Infernal Crown - fire and dominion. Elias imagined himself wreathed in flames, incinerating everything that had ever made him feel small.
Syrathis, the Serpent of Ruin - decay and plague. That one made his skin crawl; he'd seen enough rot in the world already.
Kaelith, the Mirror of Blades - bloodlust and war. Straightforward, at least. Kill or be killed.
Morwen, the Wailing Choir - madness and adoration. That combination turned his stomach.
Drexxar, the Abyss Maw - consumption. The brief description mentioned "devouring worlds." Pass.
His finger paused on the last name. Nyxira, the Black Sigil. Unlike the others, it had no simple description, just a strange symbol that seemed to pull at his vision, like staring into the void between stars.
"This one." The words escaped him before he consciously decided.
Bishop's eyebrows shot up. "Nyxira? Why that one?"
Elias shrugged, unable to articulate the strange pull he felt. "No fire and brimstone. No plague or bloodlust. Just... darkness." He tapped the symbol. "This one feels right."
Bishop's eyes widened, her usual confidence faltering. "You understand what that means, right? Nyxira has never accepted a host."
Elias glanced back at the tablet, the black sigil pulsing with quiet intensity. Unlike the other entities with detailed descriptions and footage of previous hosts wielding their powers, Nyxira's entry remained sparse—just that strange symbol drawing his gaze deeper.
"Never? As in, everyone who's tried ended up dead?"
"Worse than dead," Bishop replied, her voice dropping. "The Black Sigil doesn't just kill incompatible hosts—it erases them. No body, no soul, nothing left to recover."
Elias studied the symbol more closely. The longer he stared, the more it seemed to shift subtly, as if the darkness had depth beyond the screen's surface.
"So why is it even an option?"
"Because theoretically, it's the most powerful of all the Sigils. Cosmic force manipulation—gravity, inertia, the fundamental forces that shape reality." Bishop leaned forward. "The Accord keeps offering it, hoping someone will survive the binding."
"And you're letting me choose certain death?"
Bishop's face hardened. "Every recruit chooses their own fate. The Accord values autonomy—right up until you're bound." She leaned back, studying him. "But I'll give you one professional courtesy: don't pick Nyxira."
Elias stared at the pulsing black sigil. Something about it called to him—not a voice, but a gravity that pulled his attention deeper into that endless darkness. The other sigils felt crude by comparison: fire, blood, decay. Nyxira promised something purer.
His thumb hovered over the screen. "Why not? Scared I'll actually survive it?"
"No one survives Nyxira." Bishop's voice was flat. "I've seen twelve recruits try. Twelve empty rooms where humans used to be."
Elias grinned, his finger descending toward the symbol. "Lucky thirteen."
"Crane—"
"I choose Nyxira." The screen flashed in confirmation as his finger pressed against the Black Sigil.
Bishop's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Idiot."
The tablet chimed with confirmation, and Bishop snatched it back, irritation clear on her face.
"Congratulations on your death wish, Crane. Let's get this over with." She stood abruptly, gesturing toward the door.
"So how does this work?" Elias asked, following her through the obsidian corridors. "I get demon whispers in my head? Tentacles? What's the procedure here?"
Bishop walked briskly, not bothering to slow down. "You'll be taken to the Binding Chamber. There, you'll have a brief communion with your chosen entities before the final selection."
"Entities? Plural?"
"Yes, idiot. You'll meet several, including your ill-advised first choice." She stopped at a massive circular door etched with symbols. "That's your last chance to see sense and pick something that won't erase you from existence."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Almost sounds like you care."
"I don't." She punched a code into the panel beside the door. "But I've put work into recruiting you, and I hate wasted effort."
The door slid open, revealing a chamber with a lone chair in its centre, surrounded by floating obsidian shards.
"Sit," Bishop commanded. "And try not to die immediately. It reflects poorly on my recruitment record."
***
Elias lowered himself into the chair, metal restraints snapping around his wrists and ankles. The floating obsidian shards began to orbit faster, drawing closer with each revolution. Bishop stepped back toward the door, her expression unreadable.
"Try not to scream too much," she said before sealing him inside.
The chamber was engulfed in darkness. Elias strained against the sudden blindness, his heart hammering in his chest. The obsidian shards vanished from sight, but he could feel their movement, the air disturbed as they brushed against his skin.
A sharp crack split the silence—one of the shards had shattered. Tiny fragments rained across the floor, and the darkness ignited. Fire blossomed in the void, coalescing into a humanoid shape crowned with flames.
"Elias Crane." The voice was molten, crackling with heat. "I am Azrith, the Infernal Crown."
The fiery figure advanced, flames licking the air. As it approached, Elias felt beads of sweat form on his forehead, his skin tightening from the heat.
"I could remake you," Azrith purred. "Everything that humiliated you would burn. Everyone who ignored you would kneel. You would never be powerless again."
"Not interested," Elias interrupted, surprising himself with his quick response. "Next."
Azrith's flames flared violently, the temperature in the room surging until sweat dripped from Elias's brow. The entity's mouth twisted in rage.
"You dare dismiss me? You, a pathetic mortal who—"
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're terrifying." Elias rolled his eyes. "But fire's too obvious. Anyone can burn things. Not exactly original."
The flames roared, scorching the air inches from Elias's face. For a moment, he thought Azrith might incinerate him out of spite. Instead, the entity's form began to unravel, flames collapsing inward like a dying star.
"You will regret this choice," Azrith hissed, voice fading as his essence spiralled back toward the obsidian shard. "When you're screaming in the void, remember—I offered you glory."
The entity compressed violently, sucked back into the floating fragment with such force that the obsidian cracked. Darkness swept over the room again, leaving Elias alone with his rapid breathing.
"That was dramatic," he muttered to the empty air, trying to ignore how his hands trembled against the restraints.
Another obsidian shard fractured with a crystalline ping. This time, the darkness shimmered and rippled like water. A figure emerged—sinuous and graceful, with scales gleaming iridescent green in the shadows. As she moved closer, Elias saw that the beautiful woman's face was framed by writhing serpents instead of hair. Her smile revealed teeth too sharp to be human.
"Elias," she breathed, her voice honeyed and hypnotic. "I am Syrathis, the Serpent of Ruin."
She glided toward him, each movement liquid and sensual. The air around her shimmered with spores that danced like dust in sunlight. Where they landed on the chamber floor, small patches of mould bloomed instantly.
"We could be magnificent together," she purred, reaching out with slender fingers. As her hand approached his face, Elias noticed the skin between her knuckles was webbed with decay, flesh peeling back to reveal glimpses of bone. "I can teach you the beauty of entropy, the power in dissolution."
Elias leaned away from her touch. Despite her allure, he could smell the putrid sweetness emanating from her—like overripe fruit on the edge of fermentation.
"I'll pass," he said. "Rot and plague? Not really my aesthetic."
Syrathis's beautiful face contorted, the serpents in her hair hissing with rage.
Her form crumbled like wet sand, disintegrating as her furious snarl echoed through the chamber. The darkness swallowed her remains, pulling them back into the shard.
Another fragment shattered, releasing a blinding silver light. From this glow stepped a woman with skin like polished steel and hair that flowed like liquid mercury. Hundreds of miniature blades orbited her body, catching the light in dazzling patterns.
"I am Kaelith, the Mirror of Blades," she announced, her voice resonating like metal striking metal. "With me, you will become the perfect weapon."
Elias tilted his head, appreciating her sleek, deadly beauty. "You're gorgeous, sweetheart, but swords?" He chuckled. "I'm joining a multiversal conquest organisation, not some fantasy adventurer's guild."
Her silver eyes narrowed. "You mock what you don't understand, mortal."
"Oh, I understand perfectly." Elias winked at her. "But anyone can swing a blade. I was hoping for something more... unique. Though if you're free later, we could discuss other ways to use that body."
Kaelith's blades spun faster, her perfect features contorting with rage. "You dare proposition me? I've slaughtered gods!"
"And you've got no sense of humour. What a waste." Elias laughed as her furious expression intensified. "Hard pass. Next, please."
Kaelith shattered into a thousand metal fragments, pulled screaming back into her shard.
"You're an idiot," Bishop called from the doorway, arms folded as she leaned against the frame. "Azrith would have accepted you. So would Kaelith. But no, you had to mock them." She shook her head, exasperation clear in her voice.
Elias strained against his restraints, grinning despite the tension building in his chest. "What can I say? I've got standards."
"Standards?" Bishop laughed bitterly. "The only one left is Nyxira, and she's killed every recruit she's touched. You're going to die." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I actually thought you might survive this process."
The final obsidian shard hovered before him, untouched and pristine. Unlike the others, this one didn't shatter—it simply dissolved, melting into the darkness like ink in water.
The chamber plunged into absolute blackness. Not shadow, but void—an absence so complete that Elias felt it pressing against his eyeballs. The darkness had weight, pressure, presence.
"Elias Crane," whispered a voice directly into his mind, bypassing his ears entirely. Each syllable felt like velvet dragged across his soul. "I've been watching you reject my... colleagues."
The voice was amused, feminine, and intimate—as though someone were speaking from inside his own skull.
"You seek something beyond mere destruction, don't you? How fascinating."