The Mage's Guild assessment wing looked different than the main halls.
Clinical. Precise. The walls were lined with crystalline panels that pulsed with soft light, and the air itself felt charged with ambient magic. Assessment rooms branched off a central corridor, each door marked with numbers and complex runic seals.
Nolan stood in the waiting area with a dozen other mages, all summoned for the mandatory evaluation. Some looked nervous. Others bored—apparently this was routine for established mages. A young human woman was actually reading a book, completely unconcerned.
Nolan felt like he might throw up.
"Nolan Thorne?" A clerk appeared with a clipboard. "Assessment Room Three. Master Lyra is ready for you."
His legs felt like lead as he followed the clerk down the corridor. Each step closer to the room felt like walking toward execution.
The weight in his chest—the ever-present darkness—remained utterly still. Not words. Not acknowledgment. Just there, as always.
"Good luck," the clerk said, opening the door.
Master Lyra stood in the center of a circular chamber, surrounded by equipment Nolan didn't recognize. Crystalline arrays floated in geometric patterns, connected by threads of pure light. Runic circles were etched into the floor, glowing faintly. It looked more like a laboratory than a training room.
"Nolan. Come in, close the door." Master Lyra's voice was professional, not unkind. "This won't take long. Standard procedure for all registered mages."
"Right. Standard." His voice came out steadier than he felt.
"The Council wants to assess mana capacity, signature patterns, and elemental affinity. Helps us identify who might be at risk for cult targeting." She gestured to the central circle. "Stand there, please. Try to relax."
Relax. Sure. Stand in a magic circle designed to map every detail of his power while hoping it doesn't detect the Dark Lord's heart sealed in his chest. Easy.
Nolan stepped into the circle. The runes brightened immediately, responding to his presence.
"First, we'll measure your baseline output." Master Lyra activated one of the crystalline arrays. "Channel a small amount of power—just enough to light a candle. Basic control test."
He raised his hand, calling up the familiar blue energy. It came too easily, as it always did. A small sphere of crackling light formed above his palm.
"Good. Hold it steady for thirty seconds."
The seconds crawled by. The sphere flickered but held. Master Lyra made notes on a floating parchment that wrote itself in response to her thoughts.
"Now we'll map your signature. This is the important part." She moved to a larger array—a complex arrangement of crystals and mirrors that began to rotate slowly. "Just stand still. The equipment will scan your mana pattern, identify your elemental composition, and record any anomalies."
Anomalies. Like a foreign presence. Like a seal containing ancient evil. Like half a Dark Lord's power corrupting him from within.
Nolan's throat went dry.
"Beginning scan," Master Lyra said.
The crystals flared to life, casting rainbow light across the chamber. Beams of pure magic swept over Nolan from multiple angles, probing, measuring, analyzing. He felt them like fingers of light, touching something deep inside him.
Touching the seal.
His heart hammered. This was it. They'd see it now. See what he really was. The equipment would detect the foreign presence, the corruption, the—
The weight in his chest shifted.
Not violently. Not even noticeably to anyone watching. Just a subtle movement, like something adjusting its position in sleep.
The scanning beams continued their work, moving through Nolan's body, mapping his mana pathways, recording his signature. The crystalline displays began showing data—complex patterns that meant nothing to Nolan but apparently made sense to Master Lyra.
"Interesting," she murmured, studying the readings.
Nolan held his breath.
"Your mana signature is remarkably pure. Raw elemental manifestation without specific affinity—I've only seen this a handful of times in thirty years of evaluation." She made more notes. "Your power doesn't align with fire, water, earth, or air. It's... fundamental. Base mana without elemental polarization."
"Is that bad?"
"Bad? No. Unusual, certainly. But not concerning." She adjusted one of the displays. "It actually explains your versatility. Most mages are locked into their primary element and maybe one sub-element. But raw mana users can theoretically access any application, given proper training."
Nolan barely heard her explanation. His mind was screaming: Why isn't it detecting the seal? It's RIGHT THERE. The artifact is in my chest. How is the equipment not seeing it?
"Your power levels are exceptionally high for your age and experience," Master Lyra continued, moving to another array. "But that's consistent with late awakening following severe trauma. The body sometimes overcompensates for lost developmental time. Not uncommon, though your case is on the extreme end."
The scan continued for another ten minutes. More measurements, more data collection, more crystalline displays showing patterns and numbers. Through it all, Nolan stood frozen, waiting for the moment everything would fall apart.
It never came.
"Alright, we're done." Master Lyra deactivated the equipment. "You can step out of the circle."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Results are conclusive." She reviewed her notes. "High power capacity, raw mana classification, control improving but still needs work—which we already knew from your training sessions. No anomalies detected, no signs of corruption or external influence, mana pathways healthy and stable."
No anomalies. No corruption. No external influence.
But there was. There absolutely was. The seal, the artifact, Diablo's presence—all of it right there in his chest.
"Is something wrong?" Master Lyra asked, noticing his expression.
"No, I just... I thought the scan would show my control problems more clearly."
"Oh, it does. Your mana flow is erratic, inefficient, prone to surging. But that's a training issue, not a structural problem. You can learn better control. You can't learn better power capacity." She stamped a document. "You're cleared for continued adventurer work. Just maintain your training schedule with me, and report any unusual symptoms immediately."
"Unusual symptoms?"
"Sudden power spikes, loss of control during emotional stress, unexplained exhaustion—anything outside normal parameters for your baseline." She handed him the stamped clearance. "Standard monitoring for high-capacity mages. Nothing to worry about."
Nolan took the document, his hands trembling slightly. "Thank you."
As he left the assessment room, his mind raced. The scan should have found something. Should have detected the foreign presence. But it hadn't. Why?
He thought about asking—calling Diablo out, demanding an explanation. But the presence in his chest remained utterly silent. Not ignoring him exactly. Just... not responding. Like it had more important things to do than explain itself.
The weight felt different as Nolan walked through the Guild halls. Not heavier in quantity, but denser somehow. More consolidated. Like it had settled deeper into his being during the scan.
He returned to the townhouse to find his team waiting anxiously.
"How'd it go?" Selene asked immediately.
"Fine. Everything's normal. Just high power capacity and control issues we already knew about."
"See?" Darion said. "Nothing to worry about. You stressed yourself out for nothing."
"Yeah. For nothing." Nolan forced a smile.
Kaida studied him for a moment longer than comfortable, then nodded. "Good. That's one crisis averted. I'm going to the library—need to return some books."
After she left, Selene pulled Nolan aside. "You sure you're okay? You look... unsettled."
"Just relieved. It's been a stressful few weeks."
"It has. But it's over now. The evaluation cleared you, the cult hasn't made any major moves, things are finally settling." She squeezed his shoulder. "We can actually relax for once."
"Right. Relax."
But as Nolan climbed the stairs to his room, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had fundamentally changed. The evaluation should have exposed him. Should have revealed the seal, the artifact, everything.
Why hadn't it?
He pressed his hand against his chest, feeling for the familiar weight. Still there. Still present. But different somehow—less like a foreign object and more like... part of him.
That thought was terrifying in ways he couldn't articulate.
"What did you do?" he whispered to the silence.
No answer came. Not words. Not even acknowledgment.
Just the weight. Heavier than before. Denser. More integrated.
And utterly, completely silent.
That night, Nolan couldn't sleep.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the evaluation over and over. The scan should have worked. Master Lyra's equipment was Guild-certified, designed specifically to detect anomalies in mana signatures. How had it missed something as massive as a sealed artifact?
Unless it hadn't missed it. Unless something had hidden it.
The presence in his chest remained stubbornly quiet. Days of silence now, ever since the evaluation. Not gone—the weight proved that. Just... dormant. Or occupied with something else.
Around midnight, Nolan gave up on sleep and pulled out his grandfather's journal. Maybe there was something in the entries about the seal's properties, about how it interacted with detection magic.
He flipped through familiar pages, scanning technical sections he'd read dozens of times. Most of it was still beyond his understanding—complex seal theory, mathematical formulas, references to techniques he'd never heard of.
Then he found an entry he'd skimmed over before:
Day 1544: The seal is designed to be adaptive, responsive to external threats. If someone attempts to break it forcibly, it will resist. If someone attempts to analyze it deeply, it will... adjust. Camouflage itself. The power within wants to remain hidden, wants to survive until the moment of its choosing.
This was necessary. If the seal were easily detected, enemies would find it immediately. But this adaptability comes at a cost—every adjustment the seal makes, every response to external examination, requires it to interface more deeply with the vessel. Drawing power from the host to fuel its own protective mechanisms.
In essence, the seal grows stronger by binding tighter to the vessel. Protection through integration. Safety through symbiosis.
Nolan read it three times, ice spreading through his veins.
The seal had hidden itself during the evaluation. Protected itself by camouflaging its presence, making the equipment read Nolan's power as normal instead of corrupted.
And to do that, it had integrated deeper. Bound itself more thoroughly to him.
Which meant Diablo had bound more thoroughly to him.
"No," he whispered. "No, that can't be right."
The weight in his chest pulsed once. Not words. Just acknowledgment. Confirmation.
The scan hadn't failed. The seal had adapted. And in adapting, in protecting itself, it had given Diablo exactly what he wanted—deeper access, stronger integration, another step toward complete takeover.
Nolan had walked into that evaluation room afraid of being exposed. He'd walked out relieved at passing.
But he'd lost anyway.
The cost of protection was corruption. The price of hiding was surrender.
And he hadn't even known he was paying it.
The next morning came gray and cold.
Nolan went through the motions of breakfast, of team conversation, of planning the day's activities. Everything felt distant, muffled, like experiencing life through thick glass.
"Easy contract today," Selene announced. "Merchant needs escort to a warehouse inspection. Two hours of work, 100 silver. Basically free money."
"Sounds good," Nolan said automatically.
Kaida frowned at him. "You look tired. Didn't sleep well?"
"Just restless. I'm fine."
"You keep saying that, but I'm not convinced." She didn't press though, just returned to her tea.
The escort job was indeed easy—boring, even. They walked a nervous merchant through the warehouse district while he inspected properties. No danger, no excitement, no need for Nolan to use his power at all.
Perfect.
Because every time he called up his magic now, even for simple tasks, he felt it. The weight responding, the darkness stirring. Not fighting him exactly. Just... present. More present than before.
Like it was learning. Growing. Spreading through him one breath at a time.
By the time they returned to the townhouse, Nolan's nerves were frayed. He retreated to his room immediately, claiming exhaustion again.
Alone, he pulled off his shirt and examined his chest in the small mirror. The seal mark was still there—the circular pattern of symbols that had appeared when his father died, that glowed faintly whenever he used significant power.
But it looked different now. Darker, maybe? Or was that just his imagination? The symbols seemed to pulse with their own rhythm, independent of his heartbeat.
He pressed his palm against the mark, feeling the cold presence beneath.
"I know what you did," he said quietly. "During the evaluation. I know you hid yourself. Integrated deeper to protect the seal."
Silence.
"You're growing stronger, aren't you? Every time something threatens to expose you, you adapt. And every adaptation gives you more control."
Still nothing.
"Say something," Nolan demanded, louder now. "Gloat. Threaten. Anything. Just... acknowledge this."
The weight remained utterly, maddeningly quiet.
And somehow, that was worse than any threat could have been.
Because silence meant Diablo didn't need to speak. Didn't need to argue or convince or manipulate.
He was winning without words. Taking over piece by piece while Nolan stood helpless, watching his own slow corruption.
A week passed. Then another.
Life continued with desperate normalcy. Missions, training, team dinners with Varrick telling stories and making everyone laugh. Nolan's control sessions with Master Lyra, where she praised his improving technique.
Everything fine. Everything normal.
Except for the growing weight in Nolan's chest that pressed heavier each day. The darkness that felt less foreign and more familiar with each passing hour.
He started having dreams. Not nightmares exactly—more like... memories that weren't his. Battles from centuries ago. Magic he'd never learned but somehow understood. A perspective that looked at humanity from the outside, seeing them as pieces on a board rather than people with lives.
Diablo's memories. Bleeding into his own.
The integration was progressing. And there was nothing Nolan could do to stop it.
Master Lyra noticed during one training session. "Your power is more stable lately. Better flow, less erratic surging. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
But Nolan knew the truth. It wasn't more stable. It was more controlled. Controlled by something that wasn't him.
"Thanks," he said. "I'm trying."
"It shows. At this rate, you'll be ready for Advanced Core classification testing within six months. That's remarkable progress."
Six months. If the integration continued at this pace, would he even still be himself in six months? Or would Diablo have consumed him completely, wearing his body like a suit?
That night, Nolan made a decision.
He would fight back. Not with power—Diablo was stronger than him in that regard. But with will. With determination. With the one thing the Dark Lord couldn't simply take by force.
His humanity. His choice. His self.
The presence in his chest could grow stronger, could integrate deeper, could bind itself to his very soul.
But it couldn't make him surrender.
Not without a fight.
In the darkness of his chest, something ancient registered the shift in its host's determination.
Not concern. Not worry.
Just... interest.
The boy was going to resist. How quaint.
But resistance was futile when working from within. The seal would continue adapting, the integration would continue progressing, and eventually—inevitably—there would be nothing left of Nolan Thorne but a distant memory in a body that belonged to someone else.
All according to plan.
Patience was a virtue the Dark Lord had mastered over two centuries of imprisonment.
He could wait a little longer.
The pieces were moving into position. The grooming was progressing perfectly. And soon—very soon—the vessel would be ready.
Until then, silence was the most powerful weapon. Let the boy think he had a chance. Let him believe his will mattered.
It made the eventual surrender so much sweeter.