Seris thought she had begun to understand the Abyss.
She was wrong.
The corridors shifted again that night, not by Mason's hand. The shadows themselves whispered of something approaching—an intelligence older and crueler than the demons who obeyed him.
A chill ran through her blood. The mark burned violently, screaming at her. Not pain—warning. Danger.
Before she could move, the air split with a deafening crack. A figure emerged from the darkness: a god, but not one she recognized. Cloaked in crimson and smoke, its eyes were pits of endless fire.
"Seris Vale," it hissed, voice like molten metal. "You carry what is not meant for mortals."
The mark flared, searing her chest. Mason appeared instantly—no footsteps, no warning, simply standing between her and the god.
"You dare approach her," he said. His voice rolled like thunder over the void. "Speak, and you die."
The god laughed, a sound that made the very stone shiver. "You claim her, Mason? She is not yours. She is a key to the Abyss itself. You would betray eternity for a mortal?"
Mason's eyes narrowed. The aura around him deepened, darkness folding over the world like a living thing.
"She is mine," he said, quiet but absolute. "And you will not touch her."
The god advanced, and Mason did not move. He did not flinch.
The bond flared again, and Seris felt it like a rope tightening around her soul—an intense, dangerous comfort. She hated it. She loved it. She feared it.
And Mason noticed.
The god paused. "Do you mean to destroy me for her?" it demanded.
"I would unmake the cosmos," Mason replied calmly.
The god's laughter died in its throat as the ground beneath it cracked, jagged pillars of darkness rising, spears of shadow reaching for the uninvited immortal.
"You are dangerous," the god spat, retreating. "And she will be your undoing."
Mason's gaze swept over Seris like fire over ice. He crouched slightly, close enough that the shadows themselves leaned toward him.
"Perhaps," he murmured. "Or perhaps she will make me complete."
Seris's heart twisted. The words were not for her, yet they were. Every syllable etched into her chest alongside the burning mark.
Mason turned, voice low and intimate, though no one else could hear it:
"Do you see, Seris? Even gods fear what I claim. Even eternity bends to me. And yet… I do not fear you."
The weight of that gaze pressed against her like a living thing. She wanted to recoil. She wanted to resist. But somewhere deep inside, an unfamiliar thrill surged.
She had survived attacks, horrors, and ancient powers—but Mason's obsession, as terrifying as it was, felt… unstoppable.
And part of her feared she might not want to escape.