Ezra Varkis stumbled out of the Abyss & Ale, Kael Ren's words—"I'm your solution"—echoing in his mind like a haunting. The neon-lit streets of New York City in 2025 pulsed with life, their crimson glow reflecting off the rain-slick pavement. With his Noctari blood thrumming in his veins, the desire-curse woven into Veyra's contract tugged him back toward the Duskborn spy who had invaded his life. The athame pressed against his spine felt like a fragile tether amidst the chaos swirling within him.
He slipped into a dimly lit alley, aware of Kael's drone buzzing above—a reminder of the corporate net closing in around him. Just then, his phone vibrated with a message from Lila, his anxious human assistant. "Ezra, Varkis Enterprises is malfunctioning. Where are you?" He muttered, "Not now," and dismissed it. The curse was a breach in his defenses, corrupting his systems and distorting essence trades. Kael was aware, and that knowledge felt like a knife at his throat.
He sought refuge in an abandoned church, dust-covered pews lining the walls and faintly glowing wards etched into the stone. As he traced a Noctari sigil, he hoped it would contain the curse, but his fingers shook—half the spell failed, his blood too corrupted by desire. Suddenly, he heard footsteps crunching along the floor. In a defensive stance, he drew his athame, only to find Lila standing there, her eyes wide with concern. "Ezra, what's going on? The office is falling apart."
"Leave, Lila. It's not safe here," he rasped, his voice strained. She moved closer, fear etched on her face. "Safe? You're freaking me out." The wards flickered ominously. Outside, Kael's drone hovered, and in the shadows, amber eyes glimmered—Kael was watching. In the Demiverse, weakness wasn't tolerated. Neither was Kael. And Ezra's curse was hungry for both.