"Third point of view "
The mist thickened around the ruined gates of Cindergloom Fortress. The air carried the scent of charred bone and roses, strangely fragrant and foreboding. Sebastian strode forward, his crimson cloak fluttering like a wing of war behind him. Beside him, Azariah walked silently, eyes glowing faintly blue beneath her hood. The others remained behind, shielding the wounded and watching from a distance.
As Sebastian passed over the stone threshold, the world darkened. The torches on the wall sprang to life, crimson flames licking the ancient walls. They lit not only the hallway but also cast flickering shadows that slithered like serpents along the ground.
"It's her domain now," Azariah whispered. "The Reaper's Bride. She controls what is seen… and what is hidden."
Sebastian's grip tightened on the hilt of his blade. The weapon responded with a hum of eager bloodlust.
"Then let her show herself," he said, voice deep and quiet. "I've come for her."
They passed through a hallway of ancient portraits, most too defaced to recognize. One, however, remained untouched—a woman with silver eyes and black veins lacing her throat. Azariah looked up at it, shuddering.
"That was her before the curse. Before she drank the heartblood of a dying god."
A sudden shriek split the air. From the ceiling, shadows dropped—shapes half-human, half-beast, their faces melted into snarling masks of agony. Sebastian slashed through the first, blade slicing cleanly. Azariah followed, ice blooming from her fingertips as another creature froze mid-leap.
"They were once priests," Azariah whispered. "Sacrificed to bind her soul."
The hallway narrowed, closing in like a throat. At its end, a massive iron door pulsed with a heartbeat of its own.
Sebastian raised a hand.
"She's behind there," he said. "Waiting."
He pushed the door open.
Beyond it was a massive chamber, wreathed in fog and filled with the sound of slow, seductive music—a harp played by unseen hands. The walls were draped in blood-red silk, and in the center stood a dais of bone and obsidian. Upon it sat a woman, veiled in shadows, her crimson gown pooled like liquid fire around her.
"So," she said, her voice a whisper of silk and sin. "You are the Forbidden King. The one whose name makes angels flinch."
Sebastian stepped forward, head high. "And you are the one who dares to steal souls from my kingdom."
She laughed, and the sound shook the room.
"Your kingdom? You are but a child playing with crowns, Sebastian. Do you not know what I am?"
She rose, and her veil fell.
Her face was ethereal, unearthly. Eyes like molten silver, hair cascading in black fire, and on her brow burned a sigil of forbidden power. But it was her aura that chilled the bones—a mixture of seduction and doom.
"You will kneel," she whispered.
"I don't kneel to dead gods or their brides."
The Reaper's Bride flicked her wrist, and the ground split. Flames erupted, forming a burning circle around the dais. From the floor rose the chained specters of Sebastian's past victims—each one staring at him with hollow eyes.
Azariah screamed, clutching her head.
"Don't look at them! It's illusion!"
But one of the specters spoke.
"You promised to protect us, Sebastian. You let us die."
His expression hardened. "I remember every face. Every name."
He stepped into the fire.
The flames licked at his boots but didn't burn. His tattoos glowed bright crimson, pulsing to his heartbeat. The Reaper's Bride narrowed her eyes.
"You're not entirely mortal anymore, are you?"
Sebastian smiled, showing his teeth. "I never was."
They clashed.
Shadow met fire. Her fingers launched threads of death magic, each one like a scythe. Sebastian dodged, his blade singing through the dark. The air shattered with every blow. Azariah tried to enter the ring of fire, but it tossed her back like a ragdoll.
"This is his trial," a voice echoed in her mind. "He must survive it alone."
On the dais, the Reaper's Bride hissed. Her power was immense, bending reality. She summoned hands from the floor, each one clawing at Sebastian's legs. He roared and shattered them with an explosion of energy.
Then he was behind her, blade to her throat.
"Yield."
"Never," she whispered—and vanished.
The chamber twisted. Reality cracked. He was suddenly in a mirrored hall where hundreds of reflections of the Reaper's Bride surrounded him. Each mirror showed a different version—some weeping, some laughing, others drenched in blood.
"Choose the true me," her voice echoed. "Or you'll be trapped forever."
Sebastian's heartbeat slowed. He closed his eyes.
He remembered something Azariah once said: "The truth is never loud. It hides in silence."
He turned, blade raised, and slashed a silent mirror.
The illusion shattered.
She was there, real and furious, cloak whipping behind her. She launched forward, stabbing a dagger toward his heart. He caught her wrist.
"End it, then," she hissed.
He didn't. He pressed his lips to her ear.
"You're not beyond redemption."
The moment froze. She trembled. Her eyes widened—and then rolled back.
With a scream of pain, she collapsed. The sigil on her brow cracked, leaking blood and shadow.
Azariah ran to Sebastian as the flames died.
"Is it over?"
But then came a sound. Not from the hall. Not from the ruins.
From beneath.
The floor beneath the dais split open, revealing stairs descending into darkness.
And from the abyss… came laughter.
Not the Reaper's Bride. Something older. Deeper.
Sebastian turned, expression grim.
"We haven't killed the god. We've only awakened him."