The transition between realms was seamless, so much so that Asher didn't even realize he had crossed into this place until his boots touched the cold, damp stone. One moment, he had been in the hallway trying to make out Ezekiel cell, now here he was, struggling against the weight of exhaustion and the strange pull of his divine powers, and the next—he was here.
The dungeon.
His breath came sharp as he took in his surroundings. The air was thick with decay, the scent of rusted iron mingling with something far worse—blood, old and new. The walls, blackened stone covered in grime and claw marks, seemed to whisper the agony of those who had perished within these depths. The ceiling was impossibly high, disappearing into an abyss of darkness, and the only source of light came from blue fire torches mounted on the walls. Their eerie glow flickered like restless spirits, casting wavering shadows that twisted along the corridors.
It was hauntingly familiar.
His vision.
He had seen this place before—not with his eyes, but in the strange glimpses of fate that haunted his mind. He had dismissed them, convinced they were nothing more than echoes of a past he did not understand. But now, standing here, his skin prickling with an energy that hummed through his veins, it was obvious the truth was evident, he once thought he was seeing things but the cell was all real.
His power—unpredictable, growing stronger—had brought him here.
A shiver rolled down his spine. Was this destiny? Or something far more dangerous?
He exhaled slowly, his emerald eyes scanning the endless rows of cells. Some were empty. Others were not. The silhouettes of broken figures lay crumpled in corners, their bodies barely stirring at his presence. But he wasn't here for them.
He was here for one.
And then, he saw him.
Ezekiel.
The name alone sent a current through his chest, tightening something deep within him.
Curled in the corner of his cell, silver chains wrapped cruelly around his wrists and ankles, Ezekiel lay motionless. His raven-black hair, longer than Asher remembered, cascaded messily over his face, obscuring those piercing gray eyes that once held an almost unbearable intensity. His pale skin gleamed under the dim blue light, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life.
For a long moment, Asher simply stared.
He's alive.
A sharp breath rushed from his lungs, a relief so deep it made his knees weak. He had prepared himself for worse—much worse. Torture. Disfigurement. Death. But Ezekiel was still whole, still hauntingly beautiful, even in his battered state.
Then, as if sensing his presence, Ezekiel stirred.
Slowly, languidly, his head lifted, and those gray eyes—sharp, mesmerizing—locked onto Asher's.
And then, he smiled.
A slow, lazy grin that curled at the edges of his lips, something dark and knowing dancing behind his gaze.
"Oh, Asher," Ezekiel murmured, his voice rough from disuse, yet impossibly smooth. "You're back."
The words sent a shiver straight to Asher's spine.
"I knew it," Ezekiel continued, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "I knew you wouldn't die so easily. You're too stubborn for that."
There was something almost affectionate in the way he said it, something that made Asher's heart tighten against his will.
He forced himself to focus. "How the hell did you end up here?"
Ezekiel exhaled a soft chuckle, shifting slightly. The chains clinked as they dragged across his skin. "Oh, you know, the usual. Betrayal, torture. A rather tragic turn of events. But let's not talk about that, shall we?"
His eyes flickered over Asher's form, and his smirk deepened. "Now, what I do want to talk about…" He leaned forward, silver chains sliding against his wrists, the metal glinting under the torchlight. His voice dropped, becoming something low and intimate. "Is how breathtaking you look right now."
Asher stiffened.
"What?"
Ezekiel hummed, his gaze tracing Asher's crisp white uniform. "White suits you. Pure. Untouched. Devastatingly beautiful." His smirk turned wicked. "Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?"
Asher swallowed, heat creeping up his neck. He refused to let himself be affected, but Ezekiel had always been like this—always knew exactly where to strike.
"We're not doing this," Asher muttered.
Ezekiel tilted his head, his eyes darkening with amusement. "Oh? Doing what?"
"Whatever game this is," Asher bit out, stepping closer to the cell. "Can you stand?"
Ezekiel sighed, slow and indulgent. "I could… if you hold me."
A muscle in Asher's jaw twitched. "Ezekiel—"
"You're hesitating," Ezekiel whispered, his voice velvet-soft. "Are you admiring me?"
Asher exhaled sharply. "Shut up."
Ezekiel grinned. "But you are, aren't you? I can feel your eyes on me." His gaze flickered down, then back up, slow and deliberate. "Do you know how long it's been since I've felt touch?" His voice dipped lower, almost sultry. "Since I've felt you?"
Asher's throat went dry.
"Enough," he said firmly, reaching for the lock. He murmured a single word, one that felt like a prayer, and the chains sizzled. A soft hiss echoed through the chamber as they unraveled, clattering to the floor.
Ezekiel moved immediately.
With a grace that should have been impossible after weeks of imprisonment, he stepped forward, out of the cell. And then—
Asher gasped.
Ezekiel was impossibly close. His warmth seeped through Asher's uniform, his scent—something dark and intoxicating—curling around his senses.
"You hesitated," Ezekiel murmured. His lips were inches away. "Why?"
Asher's pulse hammered.
"You were… admiring me," Ezekiel mused, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.
Asher scowled, stepping back. "Get dressed before I leave you here."
Asher knew Ares was away for now. They had to get Zeke out of the cell before he returned. But something wasn't right. It was too easy—too simple—to get in here.
His instincts screamed at him to be cautious. Why had no one stopped me? The realization gnawed at him. There were deadly vampires everywhere, yet not one had sensed his presence?
Before he could dwell on it, a familiar voice—smooth and teasing—cut through his thoughts.
Ezekiel chuckled, low and knowing. "As if you could ever leave me."
Asher should have argued. He wanted to argue.
But deep down, he knew Ezekiel was right.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
At that moment, Ezekiel was already dressed, his long dark hair tied back in a casual yet elegant way. He shot Asher a playful wink, making his stomach flip despite the situation.
"You do realize there are deadly vampires lurking around, right?" Ezekiel muttered, narrowing his eyes. "How the hell did you get in here without any of them sensing you?"
A flicker of doubt crept into Asher's mind. He had been walking through the class hallway when a sudden vision struck him—Ezekiel, trapped in this very dungeon, tortured mercilessly by the unholy alliance of vampires and witches. The thought still unsettled him. Since when did those two factions work together?
"Zeke, do you know something?" Asher asked, voice laced with unease. "This… this was too easy. I shouldn't have gotten in here without resistance."
Ezekiel exhaled softly, dusting his face with his hands. That's when Asher noticed them—the dark red marks jaggedly etched into his elbows, the countless wounds trailing down the back of his neck. Some were still fresh, deep enough to make his stomach churn.
"Zeke, that looks awful." Asher swallowed thickly, stepping closer. "Let me tend to it before it gets infected. You're losing too much blood." His emerald eyes shimmered with genuine concern, his silver hair glinting under the dim light. He looked almost ethereal—so breathtakingly stunning that Ezekiel, despite his pain, couldn't help but stare, momentarily entranced.
"It's fine, Asher," Zeke murmured, a small smirk curling on his lips. "I endured this for you. And I'd do it again and again."
Before Asher could respond, Ezekiel reached out and clasped his hand.
"Now, let's get the fuck out of here."
But as they reached the cell gate, Ezekiel's eyes flickered—dark fire igniting within them. His hands began accumulating a thick, sinister darkness, tendrils of black mist seeping into the stone floor. The entire dungeon trembled as an ominous force crackled through the air.
The iron gate groaned under the pressure before shattering into pieces.
Just as they were about to step out, a low, guttural growl echoed from the shadows.
A sickening stench filled the room.
Asher's heart pounded as corpse-like creatures emerged from the darkness, their hollow eyes locked onto them.
Behind them, more figures appeared—pale, inhumanly beautiful faces with crimson eyes.
Vampires.
Panic surged through Asher's veins. They're back.
Then, a slow, deliberate clapping sound echoed through the dungeon. A figure stepped out of the shadows, his presence suffocating. His crystal-like eyes glowed with a dangerous light, lips curling into an amused smirk.
"Ares," Asher breathed, his blood running cold.
"Congratulations, Zeke," Ares drawled, his voice like silk laced with venom. His gaze flickered toward Asher. "And you, Asher, for so graciously falling into the trap I created with Zeke's blood, we have finally found the divine being."
Asher stiffened. His stomach twisted in betrayal.
His gaze snapped toward Ezekiel.
Was this part of his plan?
Had he been used?
Ezekiel's eyes darkened. A slow, eerie smile spread across his lips.
"You know," Zeke mused, "torturing me while my powers were sealed was one thing." His voice dropped lower, thick with malice. "But now? Now I have an army."
A sudden gust of darkness spiraled around them.
The corpses twitched violently. A suffocating black mist slithered through the air, seeping into their decayed flesh.
Then, they rose.
Dead eyes snapped open, hollow screams ripping through the dungeon.
Zeke turned to Ares, his expression cold.
"Say your last goodbyes, darlings."
Before anyone could react, an explosion of red light filled the space—pure, unholy energy siphoning from the creatures. A guttural, ear-splitting scream erupted as their flesh began to wither and rot at an unnatural speed.
The witches began chanting desperately, but their voices faltered. Their blood turned cold as Ezekiel drained them—stealing their power, their life force.
Asher felt his breath hitch as he watched the horror unfold.
Zeke was blood-bending.
The witches choked violently, collapsing one by one.
The vampires shrieked as their bodies ignited, bursting into fireballs that consumed them whole.
And within seconds—
The dungeon fell silent.
The only thing left was the scent of death and the piles of charred corpses surrounding them.
Ezekiel turned to Asher, his gaze unwavering.
"No one harms a companion of mine," he whispered darkly. "Not even a single strand of hair." His eyes flickered, glinting with something almost… possessive. "And take this as my revenge—for the brutality they inflicted on me."
Asher stood frozen, unable to look away from the carnage.
His hands trembled.
His mind reeled.
Had Ezekiel just declared war on the supernatural realm?
The realization sent a cold, dreadful shiver through him.
This… this was a disaster.