The blackened roots began to spread, slithering from the base of the dark mass like veins feeding a living fire. Black flames licked upward, pulsing with a dangerous energy. Luciana hesitated only for a moment before placing her burnt hands around it—close enough to contain its growing tendrils but careful not to make direct contact.
It was hot.
The heat radiated through the air, searing against her exposed skin. Her hands trembled, her vision blurred by the intensity of it. It was as if the very space around her warped, consumed by the oppressive force emanating from the cursed heart.
Then, suddenly—she heard a voice.
Soft. Weak. Aching.
"It hurts! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"
Luciana gasped, her breath hitching. The black fog that surrounded her vanished in an instant.
She blinked, and the world shifted.
Before her stood a small boy, no older than Nemesis, his tiny frame trembling as he sobbed. His scruffy black hair hung just past his shoulders, his sun-tanned skin marred by dirt and soot. But it was his eyes—large, pitch-black, and hollow—that sent a shiver down her spine.
A sudden explosion tore through the scene behind him. He flinched, his head snapping upward in terror. Without hesitation, he turned and ran past her, his panicked cries echoing through the chaos.
"Asm! Asm! Where are you?"
Luciana's heart pounded as the vision unfolded before her. This was no longer the ritual—she was inside a memory.
A battlefield stretched before her, engulfed in bloodshed and destruction. The clash of steel, the guttural roars of demons, and the cries of the fallen filled the air. Amanécerians, humans, and demonic forces waged war, bodies collapsing into the dirt like withered leaves.
The boy kept running, his voice breaking.
"Brother Asm!" he choked out, his small hands grasping at the empty air.
Luciana chased after him, her feet moving instinctively.
A pursuer suddenly appeared—a soldier, blade drawn, his focus locked on the child. Luciana reacted on impulse, snatching a stone from the ground and hurling it. But it passed through him like mist.
This wasn't real.
It was a fragment of the past.
The soldier lunged, but before he could strike, another figure emerged from the rubble—a boy of similar age with piercing golden eyes. He moved swiftly, yanking the smaller child into the shadows.
"Asm!" the boy gasped.
The golden-eyed child hushed him, gripping his hand tightly.
"We're safe, Erebus. We'll be safe as long as we're together."
Snowflakes began to fall, blanketing the ruins in silent contrast to the chaos. The battlefield, the bodies, the blood—all of it faded in an instant.
Luciana turned, disoriented. The vision had shifted again.
This time, she stood outside a ramshackle hut, the first snow of the year dusting its fragile roof. The door creaked open, and she saw him again—older now, just past childhood, his small frame having stretched slightly with age. Erebus hurried inside, clutching a large loaf of bread.
"Asm! Asm! Look! I got bread from a nearby village!" he called, his face lit with excitement despite the biting cold.
Inside the dimly lit space, another boy—Asmodeus—sat by the dwindling fire. His sharp golden eyes flicked toward the bread before narrowing.
"Did you steal it again?" he asked, sighing.
Erebus flushed, looking away.
"How else was I supposed to get food?" he muttered irritably.
Asmodeus ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "We need to find better ways to survive the winter. Let's use our heads for once."
Erebus scowled but reluctantly agreed.
Their efforts began small—borrowing a rusted axe from a dying villager, chopping firewood for meager coin. As seasons passed, they grew taller, stronger. Hunting replaced stealing, and they traded exotic beast parts for a decent price.
Then, everything shifted again.
The memory blurred, skipping forward to a moment of consequence.
Luciana saw Erebus now—a teenager, standing defensively in front of Asmodeus, his arms outstretched. Three other children huddled behind him, terrified. Before them stood tall figures in black and gold robes, their faces obscured.
She could see the desperation in Erebus' stance, the unspoken plea in his eyes. He was trying to stop Asmodeus from leaving with them.
The memory fractured again.
Now he was taller than Luciana, but not yet the man he had become. The surroundings were a battlefield, but this time, he wasn't running—he was fighting. Against demons. Against beasts. Against men.
A blurred figure approached him—an older man with indistinct features, his presence oddly familiar. They exchanged words.
"Wanna join the Domestic Corps?" the man asked.
Erebus shook his head.
Another shift.
Luciana's pulse quickened. This time, he was with someone. Protecting.
She ran forward, desperate to see.
A woman.
He lifted her in his arms, shielding her from something unseen.
Luciana gasped.
"Silver hair?"
The woman's clothing was outdated, belonging to a fashion long forgotten in Amanécer. But there was no doubt—Erebus had held her like she was precious.
The vision fractured once more, plunging her into darkness.
Luciana turned, her breath catching in her throat.
A basement. Pitch black. A suffocating presence filled the air, pressing against her very soul.
Then, a voice.
"Your great evilness. I have brought you a sacrifice worthy of your desires."
Her blood ran cold.
Erebus stood before the presence, unmoving, though sweat dripped down his brow.
She couldn't see it—couldn't fully comprehend its form—but the sheer malevolence that radiated from the entity was unlike anything she had ever encountered.
Her knees buckled.
The memory spiraled toward its inevitable horror.
The entity reached forward. A sharp black tip, emerging from the shadows, pierced Erebus' chest.
He screamed.
Luciana covered her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.
The blood poured freely. His body trembled, his eyes filling with something darker than pain—an emptiness that swallowed everything in its path. He wept blood as his heart was torn from him, the agony of it reverberating through the chamber.
Then—stillness.
A final, tortured gasp.
Everything shattered.
Luciana jolted back into reality, her body drenched in sweat. Her breath came in ragged gasps as the memory dissipated, leaving only the scorching heat of the cursed heart still before her.
The truth was clear now.
Erebus had died once before.
And something—someone—had brought him back.