---
The Black Mist Forest did not welcome the living.
It judged them.
The moment Demian crossed the invisible boundary, the world behind him vanished as if erased by an unseen hand. The road he had walked moments ago no longer existed. There was no sky—only a ceiling of shifting black fog, swirling endlessly like a living ocean.
Each breath tasted bitter, metallic.
The air was heavy, pressing against his lungs, as though the forest itself demanded payment for every inhale.
Demian took one step forward.
The ground screamed.
Not metaphorically.
A shrill, distorted shriek echoed beneath his boots, vibrating through bone and marrow. The soil beneath him pulsed like flesh, veins of dull crimson light spreading outward before fading back into darkness.
Demian froze.
"So this is it…" he muttered. "The place you feared more than war."
His father's face flashed before his eyes.
Some doors, once opened, never close.
Demian clenched his fists.
"Good," he whispered. "I don't intend to leave."
---
The Forest of Trials
The Black Mist Forest was not a forest.
It was a graveyard of failed ambitions.
Shadows moved between the twisted trees—shapes that resembled humans but lacked faces. Some crawled. Some knelt. Some screamed silently, mouths stretched wide in eternal agony.
They were not illusions.
They were what remained.
Demian soon realized the first rule of the forest:
It attacked the mind before the body.
Whispers crawled into his ears.
You were too late.
You let them die.
Your father begged while you drank in the Holy City.
Demian staggered, gripping his head.
"Shut up," he growled.
The mist thickened, forming images.
His sister, burned and crying.
His mother reaching out.
"Brother… why didn't you come back sooner?"
Demian dropped to one knee, blood leaking from his clenched teeth.
"I know what you are," he hissed. "You're not them."
The forest responded.
Pain exploded through his body.
Invisible claws tore into his flesh, ripping skin, carving symbols into his arms and chest. Blood splattered onto the black soil, immediately absorbed as if drunk by a starving beast.
Demian screamed—but did not beg.
Hours passed.
Days.
Time lost meaning.
He walked.
Collapsed.
Crawled.
Each step forward was paid for in blood, sanity, and memory.
At some point, his left arm broke.
He reset it himself, biting down until his teeth cracked.
At another point, something inside the mist bit into his soul, tearing fragments of his emotions away—fear, hesitation, mercy.
The forest tested resolve.
Those who entered seeking power without conviction were stripped bare.
Demian walked with only one thought anchoring him.
Burn the Church.
That hatred became his spine.
---
The Gate of Blasphemy
On what might have been the seventh or the seventieth day, Demian saw it.
A structure rising from the mist.
A temple.
Its architecture defied logic—massive black stone slabs floating without support, carved with infernal scripture older than the Church itself. Chains thicker than castle walls wrapped around the structure, extending into the void above and below.
At the temple gate stood a single inscription:
"ABANDON ALL DIVINE ILLUSIONS."
Demian laughed weakly.
"I abandoned those long ago."
The moment he stepped onto the temple stairs—
The forest attacked him one last time.
Every injury he had ever suffered reopened.
Every memory of warmth returned—only to be torn away again.
His father's voice echoed:
Run.
Demian spat blood onto the steps.
"No."
He climbed.
Each step shattered bone.
Each breath burned.
By the time he reached the gate, he was barely human—more wound than flesh.
The gates opened by themselves.
---
The Throne of Hell
Inside, the temple was silent.
At its center sat a throne forged from blackened starlight and crushed halos.
And upon it—
Lucifer.
Not the winged demon of Church propaganda.
Not a beast.
He appeared as a tall man clad in crimson and obsidian, silver hair cascading down his shoulders, eyes glowing like dying suns. Six broken wings of shadow hovered behind him, chained at the roots.
He smiled.
"So," Lucifer said softly, voice echoing across dimensions, "another child comes crawling to damnation."
Demian forced himself to stand straight.
"I didn't come to kneel."
Lucifer's smile widened.
"Good. I despise beggars."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.
"Demian Valen. Son of the White Shield. A soul soaked in grief and rage… yet still intact. Do you know how rare that is?"
Demian met his gaze.
"I came for power."
Lucifer laughed—rich, amused, ancient.
"Everyone does."
---
The Contract
Lucifer descended from the throne, each step cracking reality itself.
"I offer you authority," he said. "Strength beyond saints. Command over hellish forces. The right to stand before emperors without kneeling."
Demian remained silent.
"In return," Lucifer continued, eyes gleaming, "you will become my vessel in the mortal realm. My will shall act through you. Your body—mine. Your future—ours."
Demian finally spoke.
"And my revenge?"
Lucifer chuckled. "The Church? I will personally teach you how to dismantle it."
Demian extended his bloodied hand.
"Then let's make a deal."
A magic circle ignited beneath them, infernal runes spinning violently.
Lucifer sliced his palm.
Black-gold blood dripped onto the sigil.
"Swear it," Lucifer commanded.
Demian lowered his head.
"I swear… to fulfill all demands of Lucifer, Hell Emperor, without refusal."
The sigil blazed.
Chains of light wrapped around Demian's heart and soul.
Lucifer laughed triumphantly.
"Excellent."
He stepped forward—
And froze.
Demian lifted his head.
Smiling.
---
The Deception
"You never asked," Demian said quietly, "how I would fulfill them."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Demian slammed his hand onto the sigil.
A second circle ignited.
Older.
Darker.
Not infernal—
Primordial.
The forest roared.
Lucifer staggered back.
"What is this?!" he snarled.
Demian's voice echoed unnaturally.
"A loophole."
The Black Mist surged into the temple, flooding the sigil.
Demian had not come alone.
He had brought the forest itself.
Lucifer screamed as chains reversed direction—binding not Demian's soul, but his own essence.
"You dare—!"
"I fulfill your demands," Demian said coldly, eyes glowing abyssal black. "By becoming capable of fulfilling them."
Lucifer realized the truth too late.
Demian had never intended to be a vessel.
He intended to be a prison.
The Hell Emperor was dragged into Demian's body, piece by piece, screaming curses that shattered stars.
The temple collapsed.
The throne shattered.
Silence fell.
---
The Authority of Hell
Demian collapsed to his knees.
Inside him, Lucifer raged.
"You treacherous insect! Release me!"
Demian coughed blood—and smiled.
"No."
Dark authority flooded his veins.
Knowledge.
Power.
Names of hellish legions.
Forbidden laws.
Lucifer snarled, then laughed bitterly.
"Very well, boy. If I am trapped… then rule with me."
Demian stood.
"I will," he said calmly.
"But on my terms."
He walked out of the Black Mist Forest as it parted before him.
Behind him, the forest bowed.
Inside him, an emperor waited.
And far away—
The Church felt something shift.
---
End of Chapter 2