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The wasteland that had once been Velia's home stretched endlessly beneath a bruised sky. The Serpent Village was a ruin now, nothing but splintered huts, rotting wood, and sands that shimmered like molten glass under the dying sun. Every few paces, a skeleton half-buried in dust jutted from the earth, the remnants of warriors who had perished long before even Velia's time. The air was acrid with the stench of decay, though centuries had passed since the village fell. It was as if the very land had preserved the memory of its own agony.
Velia stood tall at the head of the column—her long black hair whipping like a lash in the harsh wind, serpent tattoos glowing faintly on her arms. Beside her walked Gavriel, cloaked in shadow, his eyes burning with the unmistakable hunger of a vampire who relished chaos. Behind them marched a scattered but deadly host: rogue demons, feral vampires, banished witches, and exiled werewolves. The outcasts of every race had answered Velia's call, bound together not by loyalty but by shared hatred for the underworld's rulers.
"Velia," one of the werewolf captains growled, baring his teeth as his boots crunched over the cracked earth. "You've led us for weeks into this cursed desert. What do you seek in this graveyard? The air here poisons even the strong."
Velia did not slow. She turned her head just enough for the fading light to glint in her reptilian eyes. "You question me now? After all this way?" Her voice was silk over steel.
The werewolf stiffened but did not back down. "We follow strength. But strength without purpose rots like carrion. You promised us glory, yet we march into ruins. Tell us why."
The rogues and witches murmured in agreement, their unease swelling. Even Gavriel's lips curved into the faintest smirk, as though he too wanted to hear how Velia would hold their allegiance.
Velia stopped. The wind hushed for a moment, as though the land itself waited. She stepped up onto a broken pillar, her form towering over the host. The tattoos on her skin flared green like venom under her skin.
"You want to know why I brought you here?" she hissed, her voice carrying like a blade's edge. "This is no graveyard. This—" she swept her arm across the desolation, "—is the birthplace of something greater than all of you combined. Buried beneath this wasteland lies the one true god of serpents. The Ancient. The Calamity. The Devourer who once made the underworld tremble—the Serpent Demon."
A ripple ran through the crowd. Some laughed nervously. Others shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. A witch spat into the sand. "A bedtime story. We've all heard the tale. The Serpent Demon was defeated before time was time."
Velia's lip curled in a dangerous smile. "And you think stories don't have teeth? Fools. I carry his blood in my veins. My people were his chosen. When this land still thrived, the Serpent Demon's whispers filled our ears, his power coiled in our hearts. He is not dead. He is bound."
Her words darkened, dropping to a growl that sent chills across even the werewolves' backs. "And I will free him. When I do, he will rise again—and together, we will burn the underworld. Hades and his precious phoenix bride will bow. And you—" she pointed at the crowd, her hand trembling with venomous conviction, "—will be rulers of the ashes. Or corpses beneath them."
The murmurs died instantly. Fear had a way of turning into obedience, especially when laced with the promise of vengeance. Gavriel chuckled under his breath, stepping closer to her.
"You do have a talent for speeches, my dear," he whispered, voice smooth like wine. "You make even myths sound inevitable."
Velia's eyes burned brighter. "They are inevitable. You'll see."
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By dusk, they reached the heart of the ruined village. There, in the center, stood the Tomb of Scales—a massive, circular well made of black stone. Its surface was etched with sigils so ancient the carvings seemed half-erased by time, yet still thrummed with faint energy. The air here was thick, pressing down on the lungs, as though the weight of an invisible coil tightened around all who dared approach.
Velia's breath quickened. For years she had dreamed of standing here, of gazing upon the prison that had stolen her people's god. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the stone.
"This is it," she whispered, almost reverently.
The host kept their distance. Even Gavriel tilted his head, studying the well with fascination rather than eagerness. The rogues muttered among themselves, and one vampire spat onto the ground. "It's just stone. No demon breathes here."
Velia ignored him. She began to chant.
Her voice slithered into the wind, syllables sharp and curling like serpents. The tattoos across her skin pulsed with each word, glowing brighter as her mantra grew faster, louder. She repeated the invocation again and again, calling in the old tongue:
"Serra'tesh… Kal'thorr… rise, rise, rise!"
But the well remained silent. The stone thrummed faintly, but nothing stirred.
Again she chanted, louder this time, her voice cracking with desperation. Still—silence.
Sweat glistened on her forehead, her chest heaving with rage. Her followers shifted uncomfortably, murmuring doubts. The werewolf captain barked, "This is madness! You drag us here for nothing!"
Velia's roar cut him off. "Silence!" Her fangs elongated, venom dripping to the ground. "You dare doubt me now?"
She turned back to the well and pounded her fists against the stone until blood smeared across the carvings. Her voice trembled, not with weakness but fury. "Why will you not answer me? Why will you not RISE?"
Then, in the dying light, her gaze caught on a single line of writing near the base of the tomb. It glowed faintly as though mocking her. She crouched, running her bloodied fingers over the inscription.
Her eyes widened.
"The one who sealed him… is the only one who can break him free," she whispered.
"What?" Gavriel asked, stepping closer.
Velia read the words again, translating slowly, each syllable weighted with disbelief. "The Serpent Demon was not slain. He was bound by fire—by the blood of the celestial phoenix. Only that same blood can unbind him."
For a long moment, silence blanketed the wasteland.
Then Velia screamed. Her voice shook the air, rattled bones in the sand. Her fury was volcanic. She unleashed her wrath upon the ruins, striking down stone with her coils of venomous energy. Pillars cracked, huts collapsed, and the earth itself hissed as venom seeped into the sand. Her followers scattered in terror as she tore through the wasteland like a storm.
"All this way!" she shrieked, her eyes blazing. "All this way—for NOTHING! A myth! A creature that never existed!"
She sank to her knees, trembling, her hair falling wild around her face. For the first time, she looked broken, her rage collapsing into despair.
But then—
The well glowed.
Her blood on the carvings seeped deeper, activating something ancient. Velia froze as a hiss echoed in the depths, slithering into her mind. Her body stiffened, eyes rolling back as visions overtook her.
In her mind's eye, darkness unfurled like scales. A massive shape coiled around her—eyes glowing green, fangs dripping poison large enough to dissolve mountains. The Serpent Demon himself loomed before her, his voice a guttural rumble that shook her very soul.
"Daughter of my bloodline," he whispered, his words both caress and command. "You seek to free me."
Velia's heart pounded. "Yes, my lord. I came to awaken you. But the writings—only the phoenix who bound you—"
"—can unbind me," the serpent finished. His voice curled around her like a constricting coil. "The phoenix is no myth. She lives."
Velia's breath caught. "Lives?"
The serpent's laugh was low, venomous, echoing like a thousand rattles. "Her soul has worn many faces through time. Now, she wears the body of a girl they call Hazel."
Velia's blood ran cold. "Hazel…"
"The phoenix walks in flesh once more. Her blood is the key. Bring her to me, and I will rise. Together, we will drown this world in venom and fire."
The vision snapped. Velia collapsed against the tomb, gasping, her body drenched in sweat.
Gavriel crouched beside her, gripping her arm. "What did you see?"
She turned her head slowly, and a wild, elated smile curved her lips. Her despair was gone—replaced by a feverish triumph.
"I saw the truth," she whispered. "The phoenix lives. And it's Hazel. That little human queen Hades guards so jealously."
Her laughter rose, sharp and serpentine, echoing over the wasteland until even her followers shivered.
"Oh, Hades," she crooned, her eyes gleaming. "You thought to cast me aside? You thought to humiliate me? You will regret the day you ever dared. For your bride is the key to everything. And I will take her. Through her blood, the Serpent Demon will rise again. And when he does—" her voice broke into a hiss, " —the underworld will kneel, or it will burn."
Her host erupted into cheers, some out of zeal, others out of terror. Gavriel only smiled, his fangs glinting, as though savoring the thought of Hazel's blood spilling into the tomb.
Velia stood tall, her hair whipping in the poisoned wind, her aura blazing with venomous promise.
The Serpent Demon had chosen her.
And Hazel's doom had been sealed.