He found himself back on the red planet, bathed in the glow of the three moons. The Devil appeared before him once more. But this time, he did not seem predatory or seductive, but triumphant. He proclaimed that Elandor was truly worthy of being a Champion of Darkness.
Overjoyed, as if holding a grand celebration, the Devil exclaimed: "You are the one! You shall be my champion! My Champion of Darkness!" A devilish laugh echoed across the desolate landscape, making the very air vibrate.
The Devil reached into his own chest and extracted a portion of his dark essence. With an almost tender gesture, he implanted it into the body of Elandor, whom he now called his son. His voice boomed like thunder: "The birth shall now be completed. Arise, my son... Arise, my champion... And enslave the world for me! Complete my work!"
Shadows shot from the ground, binding Elandor and enveloping him completely. Under their touch, his body contorted, and he finally assumed his Noctusborn form. He rose in his new, monstrous shape. He opened his mouth and roared with the roar of thunder—louder than he had ever roared in his entire life.
But it was not a roar of triumph. It was a scream of unending pain, suffering, and utter hopelessness.
A burning symbol blazed on his arm—the Mark of the Devil. It branded him as his property forever. The shadows thickened, slowly dragging his massive body down into the dark earth. He was already powerless, his will broken. He no longer fought the darkness. His entire body sank into the gloom.
The pact was sealed.
Somewhere in Middle Valley
The ground tore open and the darkness spat him out.
He lay on the ground. Scorched, smoldering earth. Ash. A dog barking in the distance. He opened his eyes, but everything was pitch-black as night. Then he closed his eyes, and suddenly, with his new eyes, he saw everything crystal clear. He raised his arm—the symbol still burned, red and alive.
A farmer came down the path. Saw him. Beheld the symbol. The blood on his chin.
The man ran. Screamed.
Elandor wanted to call after him, to tell him he was mistaken. That this had all been a dream. A test. He was still in the pentagram, somewhere. He only needed to open his eyes.
He opened them.
The farmer was still there. Further away now, but still running and screaming. And the symbol burned.
Elandor smiled. Not because he was free. But because he knew: The dream had become real. Or reality had become dream. It no longer mattered.