The room seemed to hold its breath as Vomraic drank. The liquid slid past his lips, thick and viscous, leaving a faint, oily sheen on the rim of the chalice.

  At first, nothing seemed to happen. Vomraic stood rigid in the circle, his grip tightening on the chalice. Then his eyes widened, and his entire body jerked violently.

  The chalice slipped from his trembling hands, striking the floor with a metallic clang that echoed unnaturally in the chamber. Its contents spilled across the arcane circle, the crimson liquid spreading like veins through the glowing runes.

  The air turned frigid. Shadows writhed at the edges of the circle, creeping closer like sentient, predatory things. His scream ripped through the air, raw and primal, as the blood within the circle surged upward, coiling around him like living tendrils. The crimson ribbons bound him, constricting tighter and tighter until his stout frame seemed to vanish beneath them.

  All at once, the candles snuffed out, plunging the chamber into darkness. Only the circle remained alight, its glow now searing and blood-red, casting grotesque, flickering silhouettes on the walls.

  Then the transformation began.

  Vomraic’s eyes snapped open, glowing a malevolent crimson that pierced the gloom. His tan skin turned ashen, cracking like parched earth, revealing a dark, stone-like texture beneath. Two horns, wicked and jagged, burst from his forehead with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating like a breaking bone.

  His fingers contorted, nails elongating into razor-sharp claws, each movement accompanied by a grotesque popping of joints. His legs twisted unnaturally, bones snapping and reshaping, transforming into gnarled, bestial limbs. The air filled with the stench of sulfur and burning flesh as his form shifted further from mortal to monstrous.

  Then came the howl.

  It was inhuman, a piercing, guttural cry that seemed to emanate not just from his throat but from the very air around him. The mana-infused howl tore through the chamber like a shockwave, hurling us back against the walls. The force ripped the mask from the figure’s face, exposing a sickly pale visage—hollow eyes wide with terror, lips trembling as they muttered inaudibly.

  Vomraic’s transformation wasn’t just a change; it was a violent act of unmaking and remaking. The shadows danced around him like they were alive, feeding on the essence of his pain and reshaping him into something that should not exist.

  As the howl subsided, the chamber fell deathly silent, save for the faint crackling of the circle’s light and Vomraic’s labored, guttural breathing. He stood there—no longer a dwarf, no longer a man. His presence was oppressive, his crimson gaze sweeping the room like a predator’s, exuding power and malice in equal measure.

  "Wha… H-how… a complete possession… right from the start," the now-unmasked man stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief. His pale face, slick with sweat, twisted in confusion and dread. "I should... I should report this," he mumbled, his words mechanical, as if his mind struggled to process what he had witnessed.

  But my attention was pulled to the guttural laughter emanating from the transformed being—Vomraic no longer.

  "Whahahaha! Finally, freedom!" The voice, deep and resonant, reverberated through the chamber, laced with an unnatural glee. The creature stretched its new limbs, each movement accompanied by grotesque pops and cracks, testing its newfound form. "Hmm, this body... far better than I feared. Unlike that wretched Athiel’s failure, this one is... satisfactory."

  Its gaze, burning with malevolence, shifted to the judge, who stood frozen, his eyes wide with terror.

  "What are you doing, animal?" the creature snarled, its voice dropping to a guttural growl. "Kneel!"

  The single word was laced with mana, a palpable command that hit us like a wave. The judge fell instantly to his knees, his head striking the stone floor with a sickening thud.

  "I-I’m sorry!" he sobbed, his voice breaking as he pressed his forehead to the ground repeatedly. "Forgive me... forgive me..." His trembling form was a pitiful sight, a man stripped of all dignity, groveling as if in the presence of a god.

  The creature tilted its head, a cruel smile stretching across its face. "Good. You remember your place." It chuckled, the sound grating like a blade dragged across stone. "Now, crawl to the Council and inform them of my ascension. Tell them another Servant has been born."

  It straightened, flexing its claws. "Hah, now then, I will—"

  The creature’s sentence cut off abruptly as its head jerked violently to the side. It froze, its expression flickering with confusion and a flicker of fear.

  "Wha—?"

  Another jerk, this time harder. Its body began to tremble, spasms rippling through its limbs. The twisted grin faltered as panic set in.

  "What is this?" it growled, its voice edged with desperation.

  Abruptly, its right arm twisted unnaturally, snapping with a sickening crack.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Arghhh!" the creature howled, the sound distorted, like the demon’s raw agony.

  Its left arm followed, bending backward at an impossible angle. Then its legs. Its spine. One by one, bones snapped and twisted, the body contorting into a grotesque parody of its former self. The once-terrifying being was now a broken, writhing abomination, its windpipe crushed, silencing its screams to rasping gasps.

  The scene was horrifying, even to me, a visceral display of pain and agony.

  Then, with an audible, wet sound, the body exploded.

  Blood and gore painted the chamber, the walls, and everyone within. The air was thick with the stench of iron and decay. A grotesque silence fell, broken only by the faint dripping of blood onto the stone floor.

  The judge, drenched but still trembling, dared to stand, his pale face streaked with gore.

  But the spectacle wasn’t over yet.

  As the groveling man struggled to his feet, the blood coating me and the others began to stir. It moved unnaturally, flowing upward and toward the center of the arcane circle like a serpent obeying its master’s call. The sight was mesmerizing and horrifying all at once—a grotesque spectacle that defied logic.

  The blood, glistening darkly in the dim candlelight, gathered into a pulsating sphere. It quivered and expanded, growing larger as more of the crimson liquid joined it. Slowly, the sphere began to elongate, taking on a rough, humanoid shape. Then came the sound—wet, organic cracks and snaps as bones materialized within the form, weaving themselves into a framework. Flesh followed, sinews stretching and twisting over the growing skeleton, until a layer of smooth, pale skin sealed the grotesque creation.

  When it was done, a figure stood in the center of the circle—a being both otherworldly and unnervingly human.

  The creature flexed its hands, examining its new form with detached curiosity.

  Then it spoke.

  “You didn’t lie,” the voice said, rich and smooth, resonating with an unsettling charm. “This power... I don’t even have the words to describe it. It’s... intoxicating. I feel like I could take on an army. Alone.”

  The tone was unmistakably Vomraic’s—gruff yet confident, tinged with the faintest hint of awe. But there was something more layered beneath it, a subtle undercurrent of malevolence. It wasn’t the tone of the demon that had possessed him, but much closer to Vomraic.

  I was able to take in its form more clearly as the flames of the candles flickered back to life, casting the chamber in an unsettling glow.

  It stood tall—far taller than before. Where Vomraic had been stout and sturdy at just over four and a half feet, this new form loomed close to six feet, its presence dominating the space. The figure before me was no longer a dwarf. No, it wasn’t mortal anymore. It was something other, something twisted.

  Its skin was a pale gray, smooth yet strangely luminous, with a texture that seemed almost too perfect, like marble come to life. The stocky build that had once defined Vomraic was gone, replaced by a lean, athletic frame, each muscle taut and coiled with unnatural strength. The once rough, weathered face of a miner and warrior had transformed into something eerily symmetrical, its sharp features almost beautiful in their cold precision.

  But the most disturbing part was the eyes. Glowing faintly gray, they burned with an unrelenting intensity, devoid of any emotion save for an overwhelming sense of superiority.

  The judge was frozen in place, his pale face betraying his shock and fear. He stood stiffly, his wide eyes locked onto the transformed figure as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing. I wasn’t much better. Even as I tried to maintain composure, I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. A silent dread had gripped the room, shared by every onlooker.

  The creature—Vomraic, or whatever he had become—tilted his head slightly, examining his surroundings with an almost lazy disdain. Then he smirked, his lips curling into something that might have passed for amusement if it weren’t so utterly devoid of warmth.

  “You,” he said, his voice smooth and laced with power, the rough edge of his dwarven accent barely recognizable now. “Why don’t you inform the… Council, was it? Tell them I want to meet them.”

  He paused, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly as if recalling something. A faint glimmer of irritation crossed his face before he continued.

  “No, on second thought, I’ll go to them myself,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  With a gesture, a robe materialized around his form—a deep, inky black that seemed to drink in the light around it. The fabric shimmered faintly, like oil on water, and hung perfectly across his broad shoulders.

  “The memory implant,” he murmured to himself, his tone irritable, “what a hassle. It’ll take time to adjust to having that demon’s thoughts and experiences cluttering my own.”

  Then his gaze swept the room, and the air seemed to grow colder with every second. Those gray eyes moved methodically, scanning each person, lingering on them just long enough to make their skin crawl. There was nothing human in that stare—it was a predator sizing up prey, calculating, dispassionate.

  When his eyes locked onto me, the world seemed to still.

  Then the memory shattered, leaving me standing in the mindscape, again.

  But this time, I was not alone.

  “Curious,” he said, his voice smooth and rich, every syllable carrying an unsettling charm that felt both disarming and dangerous. “You’re not like the others…”

  He took a step closer, in the abyss we were in. The movement unhurried, almost casual. “You’re hiding something. Or rather, someone.”

  His gaze narrowed, a flicker of something sharper crossing his expression. “Who are you, brat? You’re not that boy, just wearing his skin. I can’t see your soul—an anomaly, in all senses of the word.”

  The question hung between us, demanding an answer.

  “Speak,” he said, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight. “Or I’ll strip away your secrets myself.”

  “Why should I?” I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You are unable to engage me here and if I reveal my identity, you are sure to come after me, and that would be little problematic. Tell me demon, do I look like someone gullible?”

  He froze, his expression twisting into one of confusion, the he threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the mindscape like the rumble of distant thunder. “Well, your current appearance certainly looks that way.”

  That made me chuckled. He got me there.

  “What a fascinating creature you are,” he said, the smile never leaving his face, though his tone grew quieter, more deliberate. “You have my full attention now, and I will find out who you are in time.”

  He paused, his gray eyes narrowing slightly, as if savoring a private realization. The air between us grew heavier, charged with a suffocating presence. “Ah, yes,” he said at last, his voice soft but carrying a weight that seemed to vibrate through the mindscape. “The demon Kramiel is no more, just as the dwarf Vomraic is no more. Their purposes... fulfilled. Their essences devoured.”

  His smile widened, cold and deliberate, a predator baring its teeth. “What stands before you now is Abbodan—the Destroyer.”

  I inclined my head in a measured bow, mocking but deliberate. “Forgive me my lord, but as of right now, I cannot give me my name as our meeting was… unexpected, but no less enlightening” Straightening, I met his gaze, my voice cutting through the tension. “Our paths will cross again, Abbodan. When that day comes, you’ll also disappear, just like Vomraic and that demon.”

  His grin faltered for just a moment, his form flickering slightly.

  “Enjoy what little time you have, Abbodan,” I said, the golden fire beginning to spark at my fingertips. “For even the sky has limits, and I plan to find yours.”

  Golden fire surged from my fingertips, a controlled inferno that swept through the mindscape like a tidal wave of light. Shadows twisted and screamed as they disintegrated, memories fractured and burned to ash, and Abbodan’s looming specter dissolved in the brilliance. Every flicker of flame was a declaration, a deliberate purge of darkness, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.

  The searing brilliance faded, and a hollow silence followed. My consciousness lurched, the mindscape collapsing like a shattered mirror. When I opened my eyes, reality slammed into me—the cold air of the tent, the stench of blood sharp and unyielding, and Nell’s lifeless body crumpled before me, a grim testament to his folly.

  I stood over Nell’s ruined body, his head a grotesque ruin of shattered ambition. His story was a lesson—a warning etched in blood. A family abandoned, a life gambled, all for power he could never wield. And yet, for a fleeting moment, I felt the faintest echo of pity.

  Not for the fool he had become, but for the man he might have been.

  With one final glance, I turned and stepped out of the tent, the cold air biting against my skin. There was no time for sentiment. Abbadon’s appearance was an unexpected complication, one that required immediate adjustments. Plans had to change.

  "Vyk," I called.

  Vyk emerged from the shadows with the fluid grace of a predator, his dark cloak settling around him like a second skin. He saluted without hesitation, his sharp eyes scanning my face for unspoken orders. There was no questioning, no hesitation—only silent efficiency. A perfect tool, honed for moments like this.

  “It’s an emergency,” I said, my voice carrying the weight of urgency. “Gather everyone. Now.”

  He saluted again, his figure dissolving back into the darkness as swiftly as he had appeared.