Raven looked at Azaelith again."And you agree to this?"
Azaelith finally spoke. Her voice was soft. Conflicted.
"I… have no choice, Raven. Cooperate with Lucifur, or remain in the void forever. You don't know what it's like—the nothingness, the isolation—"
"So you used me."
"Yes."
At least she was honest.
Raven closed his eyes and let everything crash down at once—betrayal, manipulation, a conspiracy far larger than him.
But beneath it all, a quieter question surfaced.
Did it even matter?
He was already a hybrid. Already marked. Already hunted by the Tamers. Already exiled from normal society.
Did the origin story matter if the ending was the same?
Raven opened his eyes and looked at the Masked One.
"What do you want from me?"
The Masked One's satisfaction was almost audible."Smart. Pragmatic. I knew you'd be reasonable."
She approached, producing another scroll—thicker. Formal. A contract.
"Cooperate with the ritual. When the time comes—and it will be soon—you will go to the location we designate. Stand in the ritual circle as an anchor. And after the Gate opens…"
She paused deliberately.
"…you will possess power beyond imagination. Not merely a hybrid. You will be a conduit. A bridge between worlds."
Her voice lowered.
"Essentially… a demigod."
Tempting. Very tempting.
Raven studied the document. Then he looked at Azaelith.
She looked away.
"And if I refuse?"
The Masked One shrugged with elegant indifference."We have ways to persuade you. But I prefer willing cooperation. It's cleaner."
The threat was unmistakable.
Raven's gaze drifted back to the diagram. Thirteen anchors. Twelve filled. One empty.
His.
"How long do I have to decide?"
"The ritual begins in three days. The lunar cycle must be exact." She rolled the scroll closed."You have until then. Explore the cathedral. Rest. We'll provide food, shelter, and information."
She turned to leave, the robed figures following.
At the threshold, she paused.
"Oh—and Raven?"Her head tilted slightly."Don't attempt to escape. The cathedral is surrounded by a barrier. You won't survive crossing it without… assistance."
A smile echoed in her voice, even if the mask hid her face.
"Rest well. Tomorrow, I'll show you exactly what you'll gain from cooperation."
The doors closed behind them with a heavy, reverberating boom.
Silence.
Just Raven and Azaelith.
It stretched—thick, uncomfortable.
Finally, Raven spoke.
"So. How much of it is true? From the beginning."
Azaelith manifested more solidly, sitting on the edge of the slab. She was still partially translucent, but almost physical now.
"Most of it," she admitted. "The contract mechanics—real. The costs—real. The dangers—real."
She hesitated.
"Only the circumstances were… arranged."
"And your feelings?" Raven asked. "Your concern for my survival?"
Azaelith looked directly at him. Red eyes locked onto red eyes.
"Real," she said quietly. "Unexpectedly… real."
Silence again.
"I didn't expect to care," she continued. "You were supposed to be a tool. A means to an end. But somewhere along the way…"
She stopped.
Raven stared at the ceiling."I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this."
"That's understandable."
"Part of me wants to be angry. To betray them back. To break the contract."
"You can't," Azaelith reminded him gently. "The mark is permanent until one of us dies."
"I know." Raven exhaled. Pain flared in his ribs—a sharp reminder of recent battles."But another part of me is… curious."
He turned to face her.
"What they're offering—power, evolution—it's tempting. And honestly?"A bitter smile tugged at his lips."I don't have attachments to the old world. No family. No friends. Nothing waiting for me."
"So you're considering it?" Azaelith asked carefully.
"I'm considering survival," Raven replied. "And if cooperation equals survival… then I cooperate."
Pragmatic. Cold. Just like before.
But beneath it, something else stirred.
Curiosity.
Azaelith nodded slowly."Then… shall we move forward?"
"For now." Raven pushed himself upright, careful of the pain. "But Azaelith?"
"Yes?"
"If this happens again—if there's another layer you're hiding—I will find a way to destroy the contract."
His voice was flat. Calm. Far more frightening than anger.
"Destroy you. Even if it kills me."
Azaelith held his gaze.
Then she nodded.
"Fair."
[Later – Cathedral Exploration]
Raven moved slowly through the cathedral, his ribs still aching—tolerable, but ever-present. Each breath reminded him how close he'd come to dying.
The structure was unmistakably Gothic. Towering ceilings vanished into shadow. Arched windows lined the walls, their stained glass shattered long ago, fragments crunching beneath his boots. Rotten pews sat crooked and dust-choked, half-swallowed by time.
And yet… beneath the decay, the place was alive.
Lucifur members moved with purpose through the nave. Hooded cultists carried crates of ritual components. Others knelt on the stone floor, chalking complex symbols with practiced precision. Low chanting echoed constantly, layered voices murmuring in a language Raven didn't recognize—ancient, rhythmic, oppressive.
This wasn't a ruin.
It was a functioning machine.
At the center of the cathedral lay the heart of it all.
A massive ritual circle stretched across the nave floor. Thirteen equidistant points formed its perimeter, each marked by a black candle burning with an unnatural flame—too steady, too dark. Twelve pedestals already stood in place, each bearing an object: bleached bones etched with runes, jagged crystals pulsing faintly, organic masses that looked disturbingly alive.
The thirteenth pedestal was empty.
Waiting.
For him.
Raven swallowed and activated his spiritual sight.
The world shifted.
Energy bled through reality like a second layer of existence. The ritual circle blazed red-black, power pulsing through it like a living heart. And at its very center—
A crack.
A thin fracture in reality itself. Barely visible, like a hairline split in glass, but unmistakable. It shimmered with wrongness, space folding inward around it.
The Gate.
Already opening.
A voice spoke beside him.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
The Masked One approached, hands clasped calmly behind her back.
"Twelve anchors have been activated," she continued. "The Gate has begun to open. But without the thirteenth, the process remains incomplete. Stabilized—but stalled."
Raven couldn't take his eyes off the crack."What's on the other side?"
"Everything," she replied, reverence creeping into her voice. "A realm of pure spirits. Pure demons. Pure existence—unbound by physical law."
She gestured toward the fracture.
"When the Gate fully opens, the boundary dissolves. Two worlds become one. Chaos, at first. Naturally."
A pause.
"But from chaos… a new order."
Raven processed this in silence."And you're confident humanity survives that chaos?"
The Masked One shrugged elegantly."Some will. Some won't. Evolution has always demanded sacrifice."
Cold. Pragmatic.
Uncomfortably familiar.
"Show me," Raven said suddenly.
She turned toward him, intrigued."Show you what?"
"The power you're promising," he replied evenly. "Prove this isn't just a death cult with grand delusions."
For the first time, she laughed—genuine, delighted.
"Oh, I like you," she said. "Very well."
She turned sharply."Summon a Corrupted."
Two nearby cultists bowed and moved at once. A smaller ritual circle was drawn with alarming speed. Vials were opened. Blood spilled in precise patterns, soaking into the stone.
And then—
Something emerged.
A spirit, once humanoid, now twisted beyond recognition. Limbs bent at wrong angles. Translucent skin revealed warped bone beneath. Its eyes burned purple-black, and its mouth hung open in a silent scream that Raven felt more than heard.
A Corrupted Spirit.
"That's—" Azaelith's voice trembled in his mind. "That's a spirit forced into a contract. Bound without consent. It's—"
"Suffering," Raven finished quietly.
He didn't need explanation. The agony radiated from it like heat.
"Yes," the Masked One said casually. "Corrupted contracts are painful. But the power they grant…"
She snapped her fingers.
The Corrupted lunged at Raven with terrifying speed.
Raven tensed—
But the Masked One raised a single hand.
The spirit froze mid-air. Struggled. Twitched. But could not move.
"Absolute control," she explained calmly. "A corrupted spirit becomes an extension of the contractor's will. A weapon. A tool."
She lowered her hand.
The spirit collapsed to the floor, writhing helplessly.
"Twelve anchors," she continued, "means twelve Lucifur elites with corrupted contracts. Each capable of controlling multiple spirits."
She turned to Raven.
"And when the Gate fully opens? Hundreds. Thousands. An army the Spirit Tamers cannot hope to contain."
Raven stared at the Corrupted Spirit.
Mindless. Broken. Reduced to a function.
Something tightened in his chest.
Not fear.
Not disgust.
Empathy.
The realization unsettled him more than the Gate ever could.
He wasn't supposed to feel this. Humanity was supposed to erode with power. With contracts. With demons.
Yet—
"Raven," Azaelith whispered gently. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," he lied. "Just… processing."
The Masked One gestured dismissively. The cultists banished the Corrupted, the ritual circle fading as if it had never existed.
"Impressive, no?" she said. "And that was merely a demonstration. Imagine what full access would grant you."
Raven nodded slowly."I need time to think."
"Of course," she replied smoothly. "Chambers in the east wing are prepared for you. Food will be delivered."
She turned and walked away, cultists trailing behind her.
Raven remained in the nave, alone once more, staring at the fracture in reality.
"Azaelith," he said quietly.
She manifested beside him.
"What are you feeling?"
"I don't know," he admitted. Rare honesty. "Part of me is intrigued. Power. Survival. Evolution. Its logical."
"And the other part?"
A pause.
"The other part remembers the faces of the Malicious Spirits. Victims. People consumed."
He turned to her.
"And now I see the Corrupted. Same suffering. Different source."
He met her eyes.
"And I wonder—what's the difference between me and them? Aren't we all just tools for someone else's agenda?"
Azaelith had no answer.
And that silence was heavier than any threat Lucifur had made.