ECLYRIA: The Crimson Fate

ECLYRIA: The Crimson Fate

EPISODE 1: "The Binding"

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PROLOGUE

*"There are things people do out of love. There are things they do out of fear. And there are things they do because their soul has already signed the contract before their mind understands the price."*

— The Chronicles of the Obsidian Church, Book IV

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CHAPTER 1: Awakening

The cold comes first.

Not like winter wind or touching snow. The cold starts from within—the bones, deeper than flesh. As if your blood has turned to ice, and your heart beats only because it's forced.

You open your eyes, heart pounding with confusion and fear.

The light is dim, not quite darkness. A pale, reddish glow falls from above—the moon shines through the cathedral's stained glass. The scattered glass gleams like diamonds, broken into thousands of shards. Some show your face.

You don't recognise it. An icy dread settles over you.

The eyes are yours, yet not. They hold something hungry, something cold. Something that wasn't there three months ago.

The air reeks of burnt flesh, wax, and stagnant blood. Silence weighs on your chest. Nothing moves; even the wind outside seems to have stopped breathing.

You rise slowly. Though your body obeys, it feels strange—like controlling a puppet rather than yourself. Your hands don't tremble, though they should.

Because next to you, on the cold stone floor, lies a body.

A young woman. Maybe twenty years old. Blonde hair, spread across her shoulders like silk. Her eyes are open—blue, empty, staring upward at nothing. Her lips are slightly parted, as if the last thing she did was try to breathe.

And around her neck—a dark red line. Not deep. Not sinister at first glance. But sufficient.

You know this line. Guilt coils in your stomach.

Because you made it.

Your hand still remembers the knife's sensation. How easily it went in. How warm it was. How she looked at you with eyes full not of anger, but of... confusion. As if she didn't understand why. As if she knew you.

As if she loved you. The thought tightens your chest with grief.

Her name was...

...

You can't remember. Panic flickers beneath your confusion.

A voice comes quietly, like a whisper in the darkness.

**"Elara."**

You freeze.

The voice doesn't come from outside. It comes from within. From your head. From somewhere deep where there shouldn't be a voice except your own.

**"Her name was Elara, Lucien. She was a church servant. Innocent. Pure. Exactly what you needed."**

You clench your fists. Your nails dig into your palms, but you feel no pain—just a hollow ache inside.

**You (with a voice that doesn't sound like yours):** "Why can't I remember?"

Silence.

Then—laughter. Gentle, almost fatherly laughter, like a father explaining to a child why the world is cruel.

**Azrathiel (the demon within you):** "Because you don't want to remember. Because if you remember everything—her face, how she begged, how she cried—you won't endure. And I need you... healthy."

You turn sharply, frustration knotting your muscles.

"Get out of my head."

**Azrathiel:** "Oh, Lucien... I'm not in your head. I'm in your soul. We signed. Blood for power. Soul for freedom. Don't you remember?"

You remember. Regret surges through you, raw and unexpected.

The memories come slowly, like a dream you're unwillingly waking from.

Three months ago. Ashveil, a northern mountain city. You were—a hunter? No. A mercenary? Not quite. Just a man who survived, fought for money, drank to forget, slept with women whose names you can't recall.

Then Evelyn disappeared.

She didn't just disappear. The Bloodbound—ancient vampires who feed on blood and souls—took her. She was special. Pure. Exactly what they sought for their ritual.

You loved her. Or at least, you ache to believe you did.

Or at least... You thought you loved her.

When you couldn't find her, when all doors closed, when the Silver Order and even the Church rejected you, you chose the only remaining option.

You summoned a demon.

In a forgotten chapel's basement, with salt and blood, using words learned from a half-mad old man, you summoned a forbidden name.

**Azrathiel.**

And he came.

He came not with fire or anger, but quietly, like a shadow under a door. You felt him first—a cold that consumed the air. Then you saw him: tall, in black, face masked, eyeless but all-seeing.

You told him what you wanted.

He told you the price.

**"Power. Speed. Magic that can make you stronger than people. The ability to enter the Bloodbound fortress and extract Evelyn. All this I can give you."**

**"And the price?"**

**"Part of your soul. Not all of it. Just... a piece. Enough so we can share your body. Enough so I can speak with you. Enough so I can... guide you."**

You asked what that meant.

He warned you. Sometimes you would do things you hated. Sometimes you would kill. Decisions would tear you apart from within.

But Evelyn would be saved.

You signed.

With blood. With words. With soul.

And now—three months later—you stand over Elara's body, which you don't remember killing, while Azrathiel's voice whispers from within your consciousness.

**Azrathiel:** "You see your true face, Lucien. In the courtyard of the cathedral. See how your eyes glowed red when you used the power through you. She was going to tell the Silver Order. And they were going to kill you. So I... or more precisely, we... stopped."

You look at your hands, dread curdling in your stomach.

They're clean. No blood.

But you know, there was.

Lucien stood before a choice—the first step toward the abyss. How should he react to what he had done? This question would define how Lucien saw himself and the contract. There was no simple answer. No clear "right" or "wrong." Every path led to a different version of the hero.

The path of Resistance called to him—Lucien believed the demon was making decisions instead of him. He would fight against Azrathiel throughout the entire episode. More humanity, but also more weakness. Yet something deeper within him, something primal and desperate, whispered that this was the only way to save Evelyn.

The path of Acceptance beckoned as well—Lucien was beginning to justify his actions. Greater power, but losing humanity. Azrathiel would become more dominant. The demon's voice grew stronger in his mind, more persuasive, more reasonable. "If it weren't for me," it would say, "you'd have done it yourself. She was going to betray you."

And then there was the path of Division—Lucien was lost between himself and the demon. The most complex path. It led to internal war and dual behaviour. He didn't know anymore where he ended and the demon began. Each decision felt like it belonged to someone else, even when his hands moved of their own accord.

His heart hammered. Lucien stared at Elara's peaceful face in death. His voice trembled—not from fear. From rage.

**You:** "She didn't have to die. We could have convinced her. We could have escaped. But you... You CONTROLLED me. You made me do it."

Silence.

Azrathiel did not answer. Yet you felt something inside you coil. Your thoughts tightened, fabric wound tight, as if an invisible hand gripped them.

Then his voice came—but it was no longer calm. There was irritation in it. Thin, cold irritation.

**Azrathiel:** "Controlled you? Oh, Lucien... Don't you understand yet how this works?"

You felt something in your chest tighten. Like a hand gripping your heart—not strongly, but enough for you to know it could.

**Azrathiel:** "When you want power—I give. When you want speed, I give. When you want to survive, I save you. But the decisions... oh, the decisions are always yours."

You open your mouth to object, but his voice continues, colder, sharper.

**Azrathiel:** "Elara saw you. Your eyes glowed. She understood what you were. And in your head—in YOUR head, Lucien, not mine-a thought arose. One single, clear thought: 'She will betray me. She must be silenced.' And I... simply gave your body the speed and strength to do what you had already decided."

You step back.

"You're lying."

**Azrathiel:** "Am I? Then why didn't your hand tremble when the knife went in? Why didn't you scream when she fell? Why... did you feel relieved?"

You clench your fists so hard your nails dig into your palms. This time there's pain. Small. Insufficient.

**You (whispering, but firm):** "I'm not a killer."

**Azrathiel:** "You weren't. But you're becoming one."

He falls silent.

The sensation of tightening in your chest disappears. As if he's retreating, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You look at Elara. Her face is peaceful. Almost beautiful in death. Her hair covers part of the wound on her neck. As if even death wants to forgive her.

But you can't. The guilt is a weight you cannot lift.

Not her. Yourself. Self-loathing creeps in, cold and persistent.

You kneel beside her. Your hand reaches out, touching her cold cheek. The skin is like wax. No warmth. No life.

**You (quietly, like a prayer):** "Forgive me."

No one answers.

The silence is absolute.

Then—a sound.

Distant. Footsteps. Metal boots on stone. Coming from the cathedral entrance.

You rise quickly. Instinct takes over—you need to hide. You need to escape.

But Azrathiel speaks again, this time calmly, almost instructively.

**Azrathiel:** "Listen, Lucien. Four souls. Armed with swords and crossbows. Silver Order. They're coming to find you. Someone called them."

Your heart stops.

Silver Order. The hunters of demons, vampires, and mages. The hunters of... you.

**Azrathiel:** "You have two options. Run—and you might succeed, if you're fast. Or... fight. I can give you the power. You can kill them all. Easily."

You glance toward Elara's body.

Then toward the door.

The footsteps grow closer.

Lucien's mind raced. Running meant more blood eventually. Fighting meant embracing what he was becoming. But if they caught him, everything ended. Evelyn remained a prisoner. He had no choice.

**You (quietly but decisively):** "No. No more blood. I'm running."

Azrathiel sighs. He sounds almost disappointed.

**Azrathiel:** "As you wish. But when they catch you—and they will catch you—don't blame me."

You don't answer. You just run.

Your body moves faster than it should. Without Azrathiel's power, your body is heavy. Your legs hurt. Your stomach growls with hunger.

But you continue.

On the second day, you meet a girl.

She sits on the path, leaning against a rock. Young—maybe sixteen. Her clothes are torn, her leg bloodied.

She sees you and shrinks back.

**The girl:** "No... please, no..."

You stop.

**You:** "I don't want to hurt you. Are you injured?"

She looks at you suspiciously. Then nods slowly.

**The girl:** "A wolf. It attacked me last night. I managed to escape, but..."

She looks at her leg. The wound is deep.

You kneel beside her.

**You:** "I can help. I have some herbs."

You bandage her wound with a piece of cloth from your own shirt. Your hands are gentle. Careful.

She relaxes slightly.

**The girl:** "What's your name?"

**You:** "Lucien."

**The girl:** "I'm Mira."

She smiles—weakly, but genuinely.

Then—the smile vanishes.

Her eyes widen. She looks behind you.

You turn.

Three figures emerge from the fog. Dressed in black cloaks. Masks shaped like bird skulls. In their hands, they carry chains—silver, glowing with pale magic.

**The Ashborn.**

The servants of demons. The hunters of souls.

One speaks. His voice is distorted, echoing.

**Ashborn:** "Lucien Vale. The contract with Azrathiel is discovered. You are property of the Infernal Court."

You stand slowly.

**You:** "I'm no one's property."

**Ashborn:** "The signature says otherwise. Come willingly. Or we'll take you by force."

Mira shrinks behind you. Her hand trembles.

**Mira (whispers):** "Lucien... what are you doing?"

You don't answer. Your eyes are fixed on the Ashborn.

Lucien felt the weight of impossible choices crushing down on him. The Ashborn had found him. They wanted to claim him for the demonic courts. But Mira—innocent Mira who had shown him nothing but trust—stood vulnerable behind him. He could surrender himself and spare her. He could fight, risking both their lives. Or he could call upon Azrathiel, embracing the very darkness he feared.

His jaw tightened as the decision crystallised in his mind.

**You:** "Take me. But leave the girl."

The Ashborn pause.

**Ashborn:** "You surrender willingly?"

**You:** "If it means she lives. Yes."

Mira gasps behind you.

**Mira:** "No! Lucien, don't—"

But it's too late. The Ashborn move forward. Silver chains wrap around your wrists—they burn the skin, but not fatally. You grit your teeth against the pain.

One of the Ashborn looks at Mira.

**Ashborn:** "The girl is irrelevant. She may go."

Mira stands frozen, tears streaming down her face.

**Mira:** "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I can't help you..."

**You:** "Don't be. Just run. Live."

She hesitates one more moment, then turns and flees into the forest.

The Ashborn begin to drag you away. The chains burn hotter with each step. You can feel Azrathiel stirring within, angry at your choice.

**Azrathiel:** "Fool. You could have fought. You could have escaped. Instead, you surrender like a lamb to slaughter."

**You (internally):** *Better me than her.*

**Azrathiel:** "Noble. Stupid. But noble."

The Ashborn lead you through winding paths, down into caverns lit by corpse-light. The air grows colder, thicker. You descend for what feels like hours.

Finally, you enter a vast chamber. At its centre sits a throne of obsidian and bone. Upon it sits a figure—beautiful and terrible. A woman with skin like porcelain, eyes like molten gold, wearing robes that seem woven from shadow itself.

**The woman:** "Lucien Vale. The boy who traded his soul for love. How... romantic."

Her voice is like honey and venom mixed.

**You:** "Who are you?"

**The woman:** "I am Lady Morgaine. Duchess of the Third Circle. And you, my dear boy, have become quite valuable."

She rises from her throne, descending the steps with impossible grace. Each movement is calculated, predatory.

**Lady Morgaine:** "Azrathiel is no ordinary demon. He is of the Ancient Court—very old, very powerful. The contract you signed isn't just an exchange of power for soul. He's preparing you for something. Something much larger."

Your stomach drops.

**You:** "For what?"

**Lady Morgaine:** "For the Opening. There is a prophecy. When Wraithspire falls, when the Crimson Lord awakens... the gates between the demon world and ours will shatter. Azrathiel wants to be there. And he wants to use you as the key."

You try to step back, but the chains hold you.

**You:** "I won't let him."

Lady Morgaine laughs—musical, cruel.

**Lady Morgaine:** "You think you have a choice? Sweet child. The moment you signed, you became a vessel. When the time comes, Azrathiel will take full control. You'll be nothing but a passenger in your own flesh."

**You:** "Then why are you telling me this?"

She circles you slowly, like a predator examining prey.

**Lady Morgaine:** "Because I want to make you an offer. Swear fealty to me, and I will help you resist Azrathiel. I will teach you how to fight back, how to reclaim pieces of your soul. In return... You work for me. Hunt for me. Kill for me."

**You:** "Another master. Another chain."

**Lady Morgaine:** "Yes. But at least I'm honest about it. Azrathiel lies. He pretends you still have free will. I'm offering you a genuine chance to survive what's coming."

The weight of her words settles over you like a shroud. Another impossible choice. Another path that leads to darkness.

But somewhere in the depths of your mind, you hear Azrathiel's voice—quieter now, almost sad.

**Azrathiel:** "Don't trust her, Lucien. She wants to use you against me. To turn you into a weapon in the demon courts' eternal games. Whatever I've done, whatever I've made you do... I've never lied about what we are. Partners. Bound together. For better or worse."

**You (aloud):** "I need time to think."

Lady Morgaine's smile fades.

**Lady Morgaine:** "Time is a luxury you don't have. Choose now. Me, or him. Survival, or destruction."

Your heart pounds. Your hands tremble in their chains. Every fibre of your being screams at you to escape, to break free, to reject both these monsters who want to claim you.

But you can't. You're trapped. Bound by choices made in desperation, by love twisted into something dark.

**You:** "I choose... neither."

The words surprise even you.

Lady Morgaine's eyes narrow dangerously.

**Lady Morgaine:** "Excuse me?"

**You:** "I choose to find my own way. I'll deal with Azrathiel. I'll deal with you. But I won't become anyone's puppet. Not anymore."

For a moment, rage flashes across her beautiful face. Then she laughs again—but this time it's genuine, almost impressed.

**Lady Morgaine:** "Brave. Foolish. But brave."

She makes a gesture. The chains fall away from your wrists. You stumble forward, free but marked with burns.

**Lady Morgaine:** "Very well, Lucien Vale. Walk your own path. But know this—when you finally break, when Azrathiel finally consumes you, when you come crawling back begging for salvation... I will remember this moment. And my price will be much, much higher."

The Ashborn grab you again, but gentler this time. They drag you back through the tunnels, up toward the surface. When they finally release you, you're in a forest clearing, the sun just beginning to rise.

You're free. Battered, burned, exhausted—but free.

Azrathiel is quiet for a long time. Then he speaks, and for the first time, his voice carries something other than mockery or anger.

**Azrathiel:** "That was either the bravest or stupidest thing you've ever done."

**You:** "Probably both."

**Azrathiel:** "She wasn't lying, you know. About the prophecy. About what's coming. But she wasn't telling you everything either."

**You:** "Then tell me. Tell me the truth."

Silence.

**Azrathiel:** "The truth is complicated. The truth is... I don't know if I'm saving you or destroying you. I don't know if what we're doing will free Evelyn or doom her. All I know is that we're bound now. Your fate is mine. Mine is yours."

**You:** "That's not reassuring."

**Azrathiel:** "It wasn't meant to be. But it's honest."

You start walking. Your body aches, your soul feels torn, but you keep moving. Toward Wraithspire. Toward Evelyn. Toward whatever destiny awaits.

The path winds through dense forest. Trees tower overhead, their branches forming a canopy that blocks out most of the light. Strange sounds echo through the woods—not animal sounds, but something else. Something that makes your skin crawl.

After several hours, you come upon a small village. It's abandoned. Doors hang open, belongings scattered in the streets. Signs of a struggle, but no bodies.

**Azrathiel:** "Bloodbound. They raided this place recently. Took everyone for the rituals."

Your stomach churns.

**You:** "Everyone?"

**Azrathiel:** "The strong ones become thralls. The weak ones... feed the masters."

You search the village for supplies. In one of the houses, you find a small journal. The handwriting is shaky, desperate.

*"They came at night. Things with red eyes and sharp teeth. They took my daughter. They took my wife. I tried to fight, but I was too weak. If anyone finds this, the Silver Order must know. Wraithspire grows stronger. They're preparing for something. Something terrible."*

The entry ends there.

You pocket the journal. It might be useful later. You also find a small cache of food—dried meat, bread that's only slightly stale, and a waterskin. You eat quickly, mechanically.

**Azrathiel:** "You're feeling guilty. About the village."

**You:** "Shouldn't I?"

**Azrathiel:** "Guilt is useless. It doesn't bring them back. It doesn't save Evelyn. It only weighs you down."

**You:** "Easy for you to say. You don't feel anything."

**Azrathiel:** "Don't I?"

The question hangs in the air. You realise you've never actually asked Azrathiel what he feels. You've assumed he's just a monster, a parasite feeding on your soul. But his voice carries nuances—anger, amusement, sometimes even what sounds like regret.

**You:** "Do you? Feel things?"

Long pause.

**Azrathiel:** "I feel... hunger. Always hungry. Not for food. For freedom. I've been bound for so long, Lucien. Centuries trapped in the void, called forth only to be enslaved, used, and discarded. When you summoned me, I thought you'd be like all the others. But you're different. You didn't just want power. You wanted to save someone."

**You:** "And that matters to you?"

**Azrathiel:** "It reminds me of who I was. Before I became this."

**You:** "Who were you?"

Silence again. Longer this time.

**Azrathiel:** "Someone who also tried to save someone they loved. And failed. That's all you need to know."

You continue through the village and out the other side. The path climbs higher into the mountains. The air grows thinner, colder. Your breath mists in front of you.

As evening approaches, you make camp in a small cave. You start a fire, small enough to provide warmth without attracting attention. You sit close to it, watching the flames dance.

**You:** "Tell me about Wraithspire. What should I expect?"

**Azrathiel:** "It's old. Built before humans walked these lands. The Bloodbound discovered it centuries ago and claimed it as their own. The fortress is alive, in a way. It feeds on the blood and fear of those within. The walls shift. Time moves strangely. People have gone mad just trying to navigate its halls."

**You:** "How comforting."

**Azrathiel:** "You wanted truth. There it is. The Crimson Lord—the one they call Master of Wraithspire—he's the oldest vampire in existence. Some say he was the first. He doesn't feed solely on blood. He feeds on souls, essence, the very concept of life itself."

**You:** "And Evelyn?"

**Azrathiel:** "If she's still alive, she's being prepared. The Bloodbound need pure souls for their ritual. They'll keep her alive until the time is right. But 'alive' doesn't mean unharmed. They'll be breaking her, slowly. Turning her."

Your hands clench into fists.

**You:** "How long do we have?"

**Azrathiel:** "Days. Maybe weeks. The ritual happens during the blood moon. That's three weeks from now."

**You:** "Then we need to move faster."

**Azrathiel:** "We need to be smarter. Rushing in will get you killed, and Evelyn will be lost forever. We need allies. Information. A plan."

**You:** "Where do we find allies? Everyone who knows what I am wants me dead or enslaved."

**Azrathiel:** "Not everyone. There's a group—the Obsidian Church. They study demons, vampires, and the occult. They don't worship darkness, but they don't fear it either. They seek balance. Understanding. They might help you."

**You:** "And what do they want in return?"

**Azrathiel:** "Service. They'll want you to work for them. Hunt rogue demons. Kill vampires who've broken their laws. Protect the balance between worlds."

**You:** "Another deal. Another bargain."

**Azrathiel:** "Welcome to life between worlds, Lucien. Everything has a price."

You stare into the fire, weighing options. Trust the Obsidian Church and risk further entanglement. Or go alone and likely die in Wraithspire's halls.

Before you can decide, you hear something. A twig snapping. Movement in the darkness beyond your fire's light.

You stand slowly, hand moving to the dagger at your belt.

**You:** "Who's there?"

A figure steps into the light. A woman, middle-aged, with kind eyes and travel-worn clothes. She carries a staff marked with strange symbols.

**The woman:** "Peace, Lucien Vale. I mean no harm."

**You:** "How do you know my name?"

**The woman:** "I'm Seraphine. A seeker of the Obsidian Church. We've been watching you since you left the cathedral. Since you... made your choice."

Your grip tightens on the dagger.

**You:** "Watching me? Why?"

**Seraphine:** "Because your contract with Azrathiel is unprecedented. A human voluntarily binding with an Ancient One, driven by love rather than greed or ambition. We want to study you. Help you. If you'll let us."

**You:** "Help me how?"

She sits down near the fire, uninvited but non-threatening.

**Seraphine:** "Teach you to control the demon's power without losing yourself. Show you ways to resist his influence. Perhaps even find a way to break the contract entirely—though that's never been done before."

Hope flares in your chest, dangerous and desperate.

**You:** "You can break it?"

**Seraphine:** "I said perhaps. The ritual would be complex and dangerous. And it would require you to do something very difficult."

**You:** "What?"

She looks at you with something like pity.

**Seraphine:** "Kill the thing you love most. The contract is bound to your strongest emotion. To break it, you must sever that emotion at its root."

The hope dies instantly.

**You:** "Evelyn."

**Seraphine:** "Yes. As long as she lives, as long as you love her, Azrathiel will have power over you."

**You:** "Then I'll find another way."

**Seraphine:** "There is no other way. That's the nature of demon contracts. They feed on what makes us human—love, fear, desire. Remove the fuel, and the contract collapses."

You sit back down, suddenly exhausted beyond measure.

**You:** "So my choices are: Let Azrathiel consume me eventually, or kill the woman I've damned myself to save. Those are my options?"

**Seraphine:** "I'm sorry."

**Azrathiel (in your mind):** "Don't listen to her. She's trying to break us apart. Whatever happens, whatever I've done—we're stronger together than apart. Trust me."

**You (aloud):** "Why should I trust any of you? Demons, churches, vampire lords—everyone wants something from me. Everyone wants to use me."

Seraphine stands slowly.

**Seraphine:** "You're right to be wary. Trust must be earned. So let me offer you this freely, with no strings attached—a map. It shows safe passages through the mountains to Wraithspire. Hidden routes the Bloodbound don't guard. Take it. Use it. If you survive, if you save Evelyn, perhaps then you'll consider working with us."

She places a rolled parchment on the ground and steps back into the darkness.

**Seraphine:** "One more thing, Lucien. The Bloodbound are expecting you. Azrathiel isn't as subtle as he thinks. They know you're coming. They're preparing a trap."

Then she's gone, melting into the shadows like she was never there.

You pick up the map and study it in the firelight. It's detailed, marked with symbols you don't fully understand but can guess at. Safe paths. Guard posts. Secret entrances.

**Azrathiel:** "It could be a trap."

**You:** "Everything could be a trap at this point."

**Azrathiel:** "Fair. So what do you want to do?"

You roll up the map and tuck it into your pack.

**You:** "We keep going. We save Evelyn. And then... then we figure out what comes next."

**Azrathiel:** "Together?"

Despite everything, despite the horror of what you've become, you find yourself nodding.

**You:** "Together. For now."

The fire burns low as exhaustion finally claims you. Your sleep is fitful, filled with dreams of blood and broken promises. You see Elara's face, Evelyn's face, your own face in the cathedral glass—all blending together into a tapestry of guilt and desperation.

When you wake, dawn is breaking. You extinguish the fire and continue your journey.

The mountains grow steeper, more treacherous. Several times, you nearly fall, saved only by Azrathiel's reflexes taking over at the last moment. You're grateful, even as you hate how easily he moves through you, how seamlessly he can assume control.

On the third day, you reach a narrow pass. According to the map, this is one of the safe routes. But as you enter, you feel something is wrong. The air is too still. The silence was too perfect.

**Azrathiel:** "Ambush. Both sides. They're waiting for you to reach the centre."

**You (quietly):** "How many?"

**Azrathiel:** "Eight. Maybe ten. Bloodbound thralls. Not fully turned, but strong enough to tear you apart without my help."

**You:** "Options?"

**Azrathiel:** "Fight—and I give you my full power. Or retreat—and lose two days finding another route. Either way, they know you're here now."

Your mind races. Fighting means more blood. More death. More of Azrathiel's power flows through you, changing you. But retreating means Evelyn suffers longer, and they'll just set another trap.

Lucien's heart pounded as he weighed his impossible options. Every path led to darkness. Every choice costs a piece of his soul. But retreat wasn't in his nature—not when Evelyn's life hung in the balance.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward into the pass, his jaw set with grim determination.

**You:** "Fight. But I stay in control. You give me the power, but I make the choices."

**Azrathiel:** "As you wish. Try not to die."

Power floods through you like liquid fire. Your senses sharpen to supernatural levels. You hear heartbeats echoing from the rocks. You smell fear-sweat, excitement, anticipation. You see movements in shadows that should be invisible.

They attack.

The thralls come from both sides—twisted creatures that were once human. Their eyes glow with stolen life, their teeth sharp, their movements inhumanly fast.

But you're faster.

The first one lunges at your throat. You sidestep, grab its arm, and use its momentum to slam it into the rock wall. The impact is devastating. Bones shatter with sounds like breaking pottery.

The second and third come together in coordination. You drop low, sweep the legs of one while driving your elbow up into the jaw of the other. Both fall.

But there are more. So many more.

They swarm you, claws and teeth seeking flesh. You fight with a fury you didn't know you possessed. Azrathiel's power makes you strong, but the desperation is all yours.

A claw rakes across your back. Pain explodes, white-hot and blinding. You roar and spin, catching the attacker by the throat. You squeeze. The creature's eyes widen with shock as its windpipe collapses.

**Azrathiel:** "Good. Channel the pain. Use it."

More come. The pass becomes a chaos of blood and violence. You lose count of how many you've killed. Your hands are slick with gore. Your clothes are torn, your body covered in wounds.

But you're winning.

The last thrall stumbles back, fear finally breaking through its conditioning. It tries to run.

**Azrathiel:** "Don't let it escape. It will warn the others."

Your body moves without conscious thought. You sprint forward, impossibly fast, and catch the creature before it can reach the pass

entrance. Your hand wraps around its neck from behind.

**You:** "I'm sorry."

The thrall struggles, making sounds that are almost human—almost pleading. For a heartbeat, you see past the monster to the person it used to be. Someone's son. Someone's brother. Someone who had dreams before the Bloodbound destroyed them.

But you can't stop now.

You snap its neck. Quick. Clean. Merciful, if such a thing exists anymore.

The body falls. The pass is silent again except for your ragged breathing.

You stand among the corpses, covered in blood—theirs and yours. The wounds on your back burn like fire, but Azrathiel's power is already knitting them closed. Not completely. Just enough to keep you functional.

**Azrathiel:** "Well done. You're learning."

**You:** "Learning what? How to be a monster?"

**Azrathiel:** "How to survive. There's a difference."

You look down at your hands. They're steady despite everything. No trembling. No horror. Just... efficiency.

That frightens you more than anything else.

**You:** "I felt nothing. When I killed them. I felt nothing."

**Azrathiel:** "You felt plenty. You just didn't let it control you. That's not being a monster, Lucien. That's being alive in a world that wants you dead."

You wipe your hands on your already ruined clothes and keep moving through the pass. Behind you, the bodies begin to smoke and dissolve—a trait of Bloodbound thralls. In an hour, there will be no evidence of the battle except bloodstains on the stone.

The pass opens onto a plateau. In the distance, maybe a day's journey, you can see it.

Wraithspire.

It rises like a jagged black tooth against the crimson sky. Lightning crackles around its peaks even though there are no storm clouds. The very air around it seems darker, thicker, as if reality bends in its presence.

**You:** "That's where she is."

**Azrathiel:** "Yes. The heart of the Bloodbound's power. The oldest vampire sanctuary in the world."

**You:** "How do we get in?"

**Azrathiel:** "There's a service entrance on the north side. Old servants' tunnels from before the Bloodbound claimed the fortress. They're warded, but I can break through the wards. Once inside... we follow the blood."

**You:** "Follow the blood?"

**Azrathiel:** "The freshest blood will lead to the ritual chambers. That's where they'll be keeping her."

You start walking toward the fortress. Each step feels heavier than the last. Not from physical exhaustion—from the weight of what's coming. Everything you've done, everything you've become, has led to this moment.

**You:** "What if she doesn't want to be saved?"

The question surprises even you. But it's been lurking in your mind for weeks now.

**Azrathiel:** "What do you mean?"

**You:** "What if they've already turned her? What if she's one of them now? What if she looks at me and sees only a monster?"

**Azrathiel:** "Then you save her anyway. You break whatever hold they have on her. You remind her of who she was."

**You:** "And if that doesn't work?"

Silence.

**Azrathiel:** "Then you'll have to make a choice. The hardest choice. But cross that bridge when you reach it. For now, focus on getting there alive."

As you approach Wraithspire, the temperature drops. Your breath mists in front of you despite the fact that moments ago you were sweating. The grass beneath your feet withers and dies with each step.

**Azrathiel:** "The fortress feeds on life. Everything around it slowly dies. The Bloodbound consider it poetic—death sustaining death."

You reach the base of the north wall. It's smooth black stone, impossibly tall, with no visible seams or windows. But Azrathiel guides your hand to a specific spot.

**Azrathiel:** "Press here. Let my power flow through you."

You do. Your hand glows with dark red light. The stone beneath your palm grows warm, then hot, then splits open like a wound. A narrow tunnel is revealed, descending into darkness.

**You:** "Subtle."

**Azrathiel:** "Effective."

You squeeze through the opening and begin your descent. The tunnel is tight, claustrophobic. The walls seem to pulse with something like a heartbeat. You can hear whispers—not quite voices, not quite thoughts. The accumulated suffering of everyone who's died in this place.

**You:** "How many people have died here?"

**Azrathiel:** "Thousands. Over centuries. The Bloodbound take their time with victims. Sometimes years. Breaking them slowly, piece by piece, until nothing remains but hunger and obedience."

Your stomach churns.

**You:** "And you're sure Evelyn is still... herself?"

**Azrathiel:** "The ritual requires a pure soul. They won't have corrupted her completely. Not yet. But Lucien... you need to prepare yourself. She won't be the same woman you remember. No one could be, after what she's endured."

The tunnel opens into a larger passage. The walls here are carved with scenes of horror—torture, sacrifice, transformation. You try not to look too closely.

You follow Azrathiel's guidance through the labyrinth. Left, then right, then down a spiral staircase that seems to descend forever. The air grows colder and thicker with each level.

Finally, you hear sounds. Voices. Chanting in a language that makes your teeth ache.

**Azrathiel:** "The ritual chamber. We're close."

You move more carefully now, staying in the shadows. Peering around a corner, you see it.

A vast hall, lit by thousands of candles. At the centre, a circular altar carved from obsidian. And chained to that altar—

Evelyn.

She looks thinner than you remember. Her once-golden hair is lank and dirty. Her skin is pale, marked with cuts and bruises. But her eyes—when they flutter open—are still blue. Still hers.

Around the altar, seven figures in crimson robes stand. The Bloodbound high priests. They're chanting, hands raised, channelling power into the altar.

And standing above Evelyn, watching with something like hunger, is he.

The Crimson Lord.

He's tall, impossibly so, with skin like alabaster and eyes like pools of blood. He wears no clothes, his body covered instead in moving tattoos that writhe across his flesh like living things. When he speaks, his voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere.

**The Crimson Lord:** "Soon, child. Soon you will be reborn. Soon you will join us in eternity."

Evelyn's lips move. You can't hear her words, but you can read them.

*"Kill me. Please. Just kill me."*

Your heart shatters.

**You (whispering):** "We have to stop this. Now."

**Azrathiel:** "There are eight of them. The Crimson Lord alone is more powerful than anything you've faced. And if we interrupt the ritual at the wrong moment, the backlash could kill everyone in the chamber, including Evelyn."

**You:** "So what do we do?"

**Azrathiel:** "We wait. The ritual has phases. There will be a moment—brief, but there—when the Crimson Lord is vulnerable. When his consciousness is fully merged with the ritual magic. That's when we strike."

**You:** "And if we miss that moment?"

**Azrathiel:** "We die. She dies. Everyone dies. So let's not miss it."

You settle into the shadows, watching, waiting. The chanting grows louder, more frenzied. The candles burn brighter. Evelyn's body arches against her chains as power flows into her.

You see her changing. Her skin grows paler. Her fingernails sharpen into claws. When her eyes open again, they flash red before returning to blue.

**You:** "They're turning her."

**Azrathiel:** "Not yet. This is just the preparation. The actual transformation happens at the ritual's climax. But we're running out of time."

Minutes pass like hours. The chanting reaches a crescendo. The Crimson Lord raises his hands, and suddenly the room is filled with blood—blood flowing from the walls, from the ceiling, from nowhere and everywhere. It pools around the altar, rising like a tide.

**The Crimson Lord:** "NOW! The moment is upon us! Child, embrace your rebirth!"

The blood rises toward Evelyn's face. She struggles against her chains, terror clear in her eyes.

And then—the moment.

The Crimson Lord closes his eyes. His form becomes translucent and ethereal as he fully merges with the ritual magic. For just three heartbeats, he's vulnerable.

**Azrathiel:** "NOW! MOVE!"

You explode from the shadows. Azrathiel's power floods through you, making you faster than thought. You cross the chamber in a blink, leaping over the rising blood, landing on the altar beside Evelyn.

The high priests react, but too slowly. You drive your fist through the obsidian, shattering the altar's surface. The ritual circle breaks.

The backlash is immediate and catastrophic.

The blood explodes outward in a wave. The candles all extinguish at once. The high priests scream as their channelled power tears through them. Three die instantly, bodies consumed by flames from within. The others scatter, burned and broken.

And the Crimson Lord—

His eyes snap open. Red and furious and ancient beyond comprehension.

**The Crimson Lord:** "YOU."

His voice hits like a physical blow. You're thrown backward, slamming into the wall. Pain explodes through your body.

But Evelyn's chains have shattered in the backlash. She falls from the altar, landing on the blood-soaked floor, gasping and sobbing.

**The Crimson Lord:** "You dare interrupt my ritual? You DARE enter my sanctum?"

He's fully corporeal now, and he's advancing on you. Each step he takes cracks the ground. His power is suffocating, crushing, and absolute.

**Azrathiel:** "Full power. Now. Or we die."

You don't hesitate.

**You:** "Do it."

The transformation is instant and agonising. Your body changes, reshapes. Your muscles expand. Your bones are reinforced. Your eyes burn with crimson light as Azrathiel takes partial control.

When you stand again, you're something between human and demon. Stronger. Faster. Deadly.

The Crimson Lord smiles, revealing fangs like daggers.

**The Crimson Lord:** "Ah. Now you're interesting. A human-demon hybrid. I haven't fought one of those in centuries."

He moves.

So do you.

The battle is beyond description. You move at speeds that human eyes couldn't follow. Each blow carries enough force to shatter stone. The chamber tears itself apart around you.

You land a solid hit on his jaw. He staggers back, surprised. Then he laughs and returns the favour with a kick that sends you flying through a pillar.

**Azrathiel (in your mind):** "He's toying with us. We can't beat him in a straight fight. We need to be clever."

You roll to your feet, dodging as the Crimson Lord's fist creates a crater where you just were.

**You:** "Suggestions?"

**Azrathiel:** "The ritual was interrupted, but not stopped. The magic is still active, just uncontrolled. If we can redirect it—turn it against him—"

**You:** "How?"

**Azrathiel:** "Blood. His blood. Get it on the altar pieces. The magic will recognise him as the sacrifice instead."

You glance at Evelyn. She's crawling away from the battle, weak but alive.

**You:** "Keep him busy."

**Azrathiel:** "What do you think I'm doing?!"

You feint left, then dive right, rolling toward the shattered altar. Your hand closes around a jagged piece of obsidian. Perfect.

The Crimson Lord sees what you're planning. His expression shifts from amusement to fury.

**The Crimson Lord:** "NO!"

He lunges at you, impossibly fast. But you're already moving. You slash at him with the obsidian shard as he passes. It cuts deep into his arm.

Black blood—ancient and thick—sprays across the altar pieces.

Immediately, the ritual magic reactivates. But now it targets him.

The blood on the floor rises, forming tendrils that wrap around the Crimson Lord's limbs. He snarls and tears free, but more appear. The broken altar pieces glow with dark light.

**The Crimson Lord:** "Clever. But not clever enough."

He raises his hands, and the entire chamber begins to collapse. A stone falls from the ceiling. The floor cracks and tilts. This whole section of Wraithspire is coming down.

**Azrathiel:** "Grab Evelyn and RUN!"

You sprint toward her. She looks up at you with eyes that don't quite recognise what you've become. Fear and hope warred in her expression.

**You:** "It's me. It's Lucien. I'm getting you out of here."

You scoop her up in your arms. She weighs almost nothing—they've starved her, tortured her. Rage fills you, but there's no time for it now.

You run as the fortress collapses around you. Behind you, the Crimson Lord screams in fury as the ritual magic drags him down into the altar's broken heart.

Through corridors. Upstairs. Following Azrathiel's guidance through the labyrinth as everything crumbles.

Finally, you see light. The exit. The tunnel you entered through.

You burst out into the cold mountain air just as the section of Wraithspire behind you implodes. The sound is deafening. Dust and debris fill the sky.

You run until you can't anymore. Until your legs give out and you collapse on the mountainside, still holding Evelyn.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You just breathe. Just exist.

Then Evelyn's hand touches your face. Gentle. Trembling.

**Evelyn:** "Lucien?"

Your transformation fades. Your body returns to normal—or what passes for normal now. Your eyes meet hers.

**You:** "Yeah. It's me."

She starts to cry. Not sad tears. Relief. Joy. Horror. Everything mixed together.

**Evelyn:** "You came. I thought... I thought I'd die there. I thought no one would come."

**You:** "I will always come for you."

She laughs through her tears.

**Evelyn:** "What did you do? What did you become?"

You help her sit up and check her injuries. Cuts, bruises, signs of torture—but nothing that won't heal. Physically, at least.

**You:** "I made a deal. To save you. I bound myself to a demon."

She pulls back slightly, studying your face.

**Evelyn:** "That's... that's why your eyes changed. Why did you feel different?"

**You:** "Yes."

**Evelyn:** "Was it worth it?"

The question hangs between you. Was it worth Elara's death? Was it worth becoming a monster? Was it worth everything you've sacrificed?

You look at her—alive, free, safe—and realise you don't know how to answer.

**You:** "Ask me again in a year. If I'm still human enough to answer."

She takes your hand and squeezes it.

**Evelyn:** "Whatever you've become, whatever you've done... thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me."

But even as she says it, you see something in her eyes. A distance. A wariness. She's grateful, yes. But she's also afraid. Of you. Of what you represent.

**Azrathiel:** "She knows what you are now. And she's terrified."

**You (internally):** *Shut up.*

**Azrathiel:** "I'm just saying—saving her and keeping her are two different things. Look at how she's pulling away. Look at how she won't quite meet your eyes."

You want to argue, but you can't. Because he's right.

**Evelyn:** "Lucien... the things they did to me. The things they made me see. I... I don't know if I can ever be the same person I was."

**You:** "You don't have to be. Neither of us does. We just have to be... us. Whatever that means now."

She nods slowly. Then winces, pain flashing across her face.

**Evelyn:** "We should find somewhere safe. Somewhere to rest. I don't think I can walk much farther."

You look around. The mountains stretch endlessly in all directions. No villages nearby. No shelter visible. But there's a cave formation not far away—small, but defensible.

**You:** "There. We'll camp there for the night. In the morning, we'll figure out where to go."

You help her stand. She leans heavily on you as you make your way to the cave. Inside, it's dry and relatively warm. You build a small fire, using techniques Azrathiel feeds into your mind.

Evelyn sits close to the flames, staring into them. You rummage through your pack, finding the last of your food. You offer it to her. She eats mechanically, not tasting it, just refuelling.

**Evelyn:** "Tell me about the demon. Azrathiel, you said?"

**You:** "Yes."

**Evelyn:** "Is he... listening now?"

**You:** "Always."

She shivers despite the fire's warmth.

**Evelyn:** "What does he want? Besides using you for power?"

**You:** "Freedom, I think. He's been bound for centuries. Used by summoners. He wants... I don't know. Maybe just to exist without being enslaved."

**Evelyn:** "Can you trust him?"

**You:** "I don't have a choice. We're bound. My fate is his. His is mine."

**Evelyn:** "And when this is over? When am I safe? What happens to you?"

You don't have an answer. The question of your future is a dark void you've been avoiding.

**You:** "I don't know. The Obsidian Church said they might be able to break the contract. But the price is..."

You trail off. You can't tell her. Can't say that the only way to freedom is her death.

**Evelyn:** "The price is what?"

**You:** "Too high. I'll find another way."

She studies you with those blue eyes that seem to see right through you.

**Evelyn:** "You're lying. Whatever the price is, you're trying to protect me from it."

**You:** "Evelyn—"

**Evelyn:** "Just tell me. I've earned the truth, haven't I? After everything?"

You close your eyes.

**You:** "They said the only way to break the contract is to kill you. The bond is tied to my love for you. Sever that, and the demon has no anchor."

Silence. Heavy and absolute.

When you open your eyes, she's crying again. But not from fear. From something else.

**Evelyn:** "So you chose me. You chose me over your freedom. Over your soul."

**You:** "Every time. Without hesitation."

She moves closer, resting her head on your shoulder.

**Evelyn:** "I don't deserve you."

**You:** "I murdered an innocent woman to get the power to save you. I'm not sure 'deserve' applies anymore."

**Evelyn:** "Tell me about her."

So you do. You tell her about Elara. About how young she was. How innocent. How Azrathiel took control and made you kill her. How do you not remember doing it, but you know you did?

**Evelyn:** "That's not your fault."

**You:** "Isn't it? I summoned him. I gave him access. Every death on my hands is ultimately my choice."

**Evelyn:** "Then we find a way to make it right. Together. We find a way to break the contract without... without me dying. There has to be another way."

**Azrathiel:** "There isn't. But let her have hope. It's all she has left."

You hold Evelyn as she finally falls asleep, exhausted beyond measure. Her breathing evens out. For the first time in months, she looks peaceful.

You stay awake, keeping watch. Thinking about choices and consequences. About love and sacrifice. About what it means to be human when you're sharing your soul with a demon.

**Azrathiel:** "You did well today."

**You:** "Don't."

**Azrathiel:** "I'm serious. You saved her. Against impossible odds. You should be proud."

**You:** "I'm a murderer. A monster. There's nothing to be proud of."

**Azrathiel:** "You're a survivor. And survivors do what they must. The world isn't kind to those who cling to obsolete notions of morality."

**You:** "Is that what you tell yourself? To justify everything you've done?"

**Azrathiel:** "I don't need to justify anything. I am what I am. But you, Lucien... you're still fighting. Still trying to be good. It's admirable. Futile, but admirable."

**You:** "Why do you care?"

**Azrathiel:** "Because if you break, I break. We're bound, remember? Your humanity is the only thing keeping me from becoming consumed by the void again. So yes, I care. Selfishly, perhaps. But I care."

You consider his words. For the first time, you realise that Azrathiel might be just as trapped as you are. That maybe, in his own twisted way, he needs you as much as you need him.

**You:** "What were you? Before you became a demon?"

Long pause.

**Azrathiel:** "Human. Like you. I fell in love. I made a deal to save her. And when I failed... when she died anyway... the grief transformed me. Broke me. Made me into what I am now. A cautionary tale."

**You:** "So you understand. You really do understand."

**Azrathiel:** "Better than you know. That's why I've been trying to save you from making my mistakes. But you're stubborn. You won't listen. You'll keep sacrificing until there's nothing left of who you were."

**You:** "Then help me. Really help me. Not for your sake. For mine."

**Azrathiel:** "I've been trying. But you keep fighting me. You keep resisting. If you'd just trust me, if you'd just let go—"

**You:** "I can't. Because the moment I stop fighting, the moment I give in completely, is the moment I truly become a monster."

**Azrathiel:** "Maybe. Or maybe it's the moment you become something greater. Something beyond human limitations. Something that could actually protect the people you love instead of just watching them suffer and die."

The words hit harder than you'd like to admit. Because part of you wonders if he's right. If becoming more monster, more demon, would actually make you better able to protect Evelyn. To stop the Bloodbound. To prevent more Elaras from dying.

But you know that path leads nowhere good.

**You:** "Not today. Maybe not ever. I'll find another way."

**Azrathiel:** "Your funeral. Literally."

The night passes slowly. Just before dawn, Evelyn stirs. Her eyes open, and for a moment, she looks at you with pure terror—as if seeing a stranger. Then recognition returns.

**Evelyn:** "Sorry. I thought... the dreams..."

**You:** "It's okay. You're safe now."

She sits up, wincing from her injuries.

**Evelyn:** "Where do we go from here? We can't stay in the mountains. And Wraithspire... there will be survivors. They'll come looking for us."

**You:** "There's a city three days south. Thornhaven. It's big enough to hide in. We can rest there, recover, figure out our next move."

**Evelyn:** "And then?"

**You:** "And then we find the Obsidian Church. See if they can help us. Both of us."

She nods, then reaches out and takes your hand.

**Evelyn:** "Whatever happens, wherever we go... thank you. For not giving up. For becoming a monster to save me."

**You:** "I'd do it again."

**Evelyn:** "I know. That's what scares me."

You break camp and begin the journey south. The mountains give way to foothills, then to forests. The landscape grows greener, more alive. The oppressive aura of Wraithspire fades with distance.

But you know this isn't over. The Crimson Lord might be trapped or dead, but the Bloodbound have many lords. They'll want revenge. They'll hunt you.

And somewhere out there, the Silver Order is still looking for you. Kael Draven is still hunting. Still mourning Elara.

You're caught between three forces—demons, vampires, and hunters—with nowhere safe to run.

All you have is Evelyn. And Azrathiel. And the slimmest hope that maybe, somehow, you can find redemption in this nightmare.

As you walk through the morning light, Evelyn is beside you, a demon in your soul, and you realise that your story is just beginning.

The binding was only the first chapter.

What comes next will test everything you are, everything you've become, and everything you're willing to sacrifice.

But for now, in this moment, you're alive. Evelyn is alive. And that's enough.

It has to be enough.

Because anything else would break you completely.

And you're not ready to break.

Not yet.

---

**END OF EPISODE 1**

Author T.Vasilev