A cliff jutted out over the abyss like a black fang, its edge fractured into jagged teeth. Beneath it stretched a chasm that was not space but absence, a hollow that devoured even silence. The wind screamed as it passed over the ravine, carrying voices. Whispers that slithered along the ear but never quite shaped themselves into words.
Upon that cliff stood a figure, crimson hair whipping in the storm like a banner of blood. His cloak was torn at the hem, shadows threading through its fabric as if eager to consume him. But what bound him was not the abyss, nor the wind, nor his own sins.
Chains held him.
Not iron chains, nor shackles of steel, but pale glimmering bands of law itself. They dug into his wrists, coiled about his chest, wrapping around his throat like a leash. Each shimmer carried the cold weight of the Codex. These were not bonds that could be broken by strength. They were decrees written into reality.
Vladimir inhaled, slow and steady. Even bound, even gagged by law, he still tasted ash and iron on the air. The scent of the Nether Realm's marrow was not something any decree could strip away.
And with it came a memory.
Once, his claws had raked the mortal plains. Once, his fangs had found the necks of both ShadowKin and OtherKin who strayed from the Codex. He had been the Veil's executioner, the Shadow's crimson hound. And oh, how the screams had satisfied him. The terror in their eyes. The blood spilled warm and vital across his tongue. It had been more than work...it had been purpose. It had been a pleasure.
But Alavion had robbed him of that.
The name still curled like acid in his mind. Alavion. That wretched Asura, whose defiance had cost him his freedom. The very chains that now bound him still hummed with the echo of the Asura's curse.
And worse than the bonds, worse than the humiliation were the words Alavion spoke before he was bound to the Nether Realm.
That's if you can find my son.
The phrase burned deeper than the chains themselves.
"Son."
Vladimir rolled the word across his tongue like wine. The veil would hear it, and the Shadow would stir. And if the forbidden child did exist, if the blood of Alavion had indeed seeded a hybrid...
Then destiny itself had been rewritten.
Vladimir's lips curved into a grin sharp as daggers.
He raised a hand as shadows slithered to him like serpents to a master, eager and writhing. They wound around his wrist and wove themselves into a circle, a mirror of living whispers. Within its shifting surface, faint silhouettes wavered—masked shapes, half-formed yet undeniable.
The Veil was listening.
"Heralds of the Veil and Shadow," Vladimir intoned. His voice carried less sound and more like a curse carved into the marrow of the world. "The hybrid exists. Spawn of Alavion. Spawn of the fallen angel. The child's awakening has begun. The Asura and the Fallen one have perished, yet their seed still survives within the Nether realm, hiding."
The circle pulsed. The surface rippled as if blood had been poured across water. He did not need to hear the voices that answered. He only needed them to listen.
The mirror collapsed into smoke, swallowed by the abyss as Vladimir clenched his right hand into a fist.
"The hunt," Vladimir whispered, ethereal chains rattling as his grin widened, "has begun."
Vladimir threw back his head and laughed. The ethereal chains trembled as the sound rang across the cliffs. In an instant, his body fractured into a storm of bats into the crimson sky as his laughter echoed long after his form vanished.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Beneath a city built of bone and black stone, the chamber of the Veil stirred awake.
The city above lived in silence, but never stillness. Towers rose from stacked skeletons, bridges arched over rivers of ichor, and streets wound like veins through a corpse. Beneath it all, hidden deeper than catacombs, was the chamber. No torch lit its walls, no flame dared burn here. Only crimson runes carved into stone bled faint light.
At its center sat an obsidian table, grown from the ground like a wound in the world. Around it, shadows thickened into thrones. And upon those thrones appeared masks. Seven in total. Each a Monarch of the deadly sins.
However, they were not truly here. But their essence was enough.
The first mask gleamed like a crown of polished gold, smooth as a mirror. Pride's voice rang with calm cruelty, every syllable heavy as judgment.
"So Alavion's bloodline stirs," Pride declared. "Defiance echoing beyond his grave. The Asura's legacy, once more woven into flesh. Did I not foretell this?"
A crimson mask shaped like full lips tilted back in laughter. The shadows themselves seemed to lean closer, intoxicated by Lust's presence.
"Not merely legacy," she purred. Her voice slid like silk, curling into the ear. "Temptation. I felt it. A surge of lust unlike any other. A hybrid awakened in desire. That makes the child mine. I will claim him. Shape him. Break him until he begs to serve me."
Her last word lingered like perfume, thick with both promise and threat.
Wrath's answer was thunder. A jagged mask split with glowing cracks slammed a gauntlet onto a table. Fire bled from the fractures as his roar shook the chamber.
"Enough! Abominations are forbidden! Such hybrids pollute our dominion. And this one...this one will not be suffered. He must die!"
Greed's mask clinked like shifting coins as he leaned forward, voice a rot-sweet whisper.
"Why waste a treasure? Asura blood mingled with fallen angel sin...imagine the value. The power. To destroy it would be to squander wealth itself."
Across from him, a mask shaped like a cracked face, weeping, trembled. Envy hissed, voice sharp and venomous.
"Why should this child have what we were denied. Two legacies. Two powers. Bound in one vessel, favored by fate. I will not stomach it. Rip his power out, yes. However, leave his body to rot."
A wet clicking answered. Gluttony's insectoid mask twitched, mandibles dripping ichor that hissed where struck the stone. His voice came as a buzzing hum.
"Why squabble? Feed him to me. Flesh, soul, sin. I will consume it all. Then his strength will be ours."
On the far side, a porcelain mask with drooping eyes lifted barely a fraction. Sloth sighed, voice sluggish, as though each word cost him dearly.
"You chatter too much. Hunt. Kill. Claim. Consume. Or...not. If he is what Vladimir claims, he will come to us. If not...this is wasted breath."
Their voices rose, clashing in chaos.
Lust mocked Wrath's fury. Wrath cursed her, shaking the chamber with threats. Greed promised riches if the child was spared. Envy shrieked of fairness, her voice breaking. Gluttony droned, mine, mine, mine in an endless mantra.
The chamber shook with discord. Shadows writhed across the walls like serpents ready to strike.
Then a single voice silenced them.
At the head of the table, the serpent-masked herald spoke. His voice was law, and the Codex itself weighed each syllable.
"Enough. The decree of Tenebris does not waver. The hybrid is to be found. Pride may test. Lust may tempt. Wrath may strike. Greed may scheme. Envy may plot. Gluttony may consume. Sloth may wait. But the child will not walk unseen. The Shadow will have its due."
The runes across the floor pulsed red, sealing the words into law.
The decree had been made.
The hunt has initiated.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex woke to pain.
A heaviness clung to her chest, a throbbing ache between her shoulder blades. For a moment, she wondered if it had been a dream. The wings, the sin, the hunger that had consumed her in the bath. But the soreness across her body, the weight dragging from her back, told her otherwise.
Her wings twitched faintly against the bedding. Heavier. Longer. Unfamiliar muscles strained with each motion.
Alex groaned and pushed herself upright, rubbing her face with trembling hands, but froze when she spotted Azaelia was here with her.
She stood at the bedside, arms folded, crimson eyes fixed. Her gaze usually glinted with mockery, or with the cool edge of indifference. But now her expression was unreadable. There was almost worry in it. And something else Alex could not name.
Alex's face burned hot. Memories of what had just happened not too long ago played back in her head. The humiliation of her arousal going out of control flashed through her mind.
She turned away, covering her face one more time.
"That was..." she muttered, voice strangled, "so embarrassing."
"What happened," Azaelia said flatly, " was expected. Absorbing sin is never without risk. You took in more than you could bear. What was unexpected..." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "...was you growing something between your legs."
Alex's blush deepened until her ears burned. "I--I'm sorry you had to--,"
"Don't worry about it." The sharpness in her voice cut the apology short, but Azaelia's gaze had already shifted, head tilting as though listening to something far away.
Her jaw tightened. "Shit."
Alex blinked. "What?"
"Vladimir," she said darkly. "He's stirred the Veil. The Monarchs have decreed the hunt. And I just received Lust's own words:
Find the child of divided blood. His sin awakened in desire, and I will shape it. Bind him. Tempt him. Drown him in pleasure until he begs to serve me. No one else may claim him. He is mine. Whoever brings him to me will have any of their desires granted.
Alex's throat dried.
Before she could speak, Azaelia pointed to the nightstand. "It's about time you use the Black Grimoire. If anything, besides me, can assist you in keeping you alive. It is most likely that book."
Alex turned. The book lay there, darker than void. Not leather, not stone, but something between flesh and shadow. Its clasp was formed of interlocking wings, one feathered, one skeletal, pulsing faintly with blue and black veins.
Her hands shook as she touched it. The surface was warm.
Alex unfastened the clasp.
Pages fluttered open.
Blank.
Her stomach sank. She turned page after page faster than the last with desperation.
"It's empty," Alex whispered.
"Not empty," Azaelia corrected. "Locked. Grimoires reveal themselves to the worthy. Feed it sin."
Alex hesitated, then closed her eyes. She let her energy bleed into the book.
The grimoire pulsed, warm as breath. Shadows shimmered across its cover, edged faintly with midnight blue.
Alex gasped. "It feels...alive."
The first page rippled. Words began to rise from it like smoke.
Child of divided blood. Heir to exile and defiance. Speak your name.
Alex's lips trembled. "Alex Gray."
No child. State your true name.
Time froze.
The world drained into grayscale. Shadows and flame stilled. Even Azaelia hung motionless, her breath caught halfway.
Only the grimoire breathed.
Speak it. Only I will hear.
Alex's chest heaved. Her throat tightened. Slowly, she whispered:
"Zivarel. Zivarel Asura-Nocthyrion."
The name burned across the page in light, letters shimmering blue, edged with gold.
Ah...Zivarel, which means Fallen Light or The Radiant One Cast Down. Your mother chose well. Within you lies what none before you has yet to master. The Forbidden Cultivation: Sin and Virtue, two sides of one law.
The voice rumbled in her mind, deep and fatherly, impossible to resist. As if the creator himself was speaking into her mind.
I am the Codex of Creation and Exile. Once the Book of Raziel, the Angel of Secrets. Now corrupted. Knowledge to heal or corrupt. Power to preserve or unmake. You are Asura. You are also Fallen of what was once pure. A paradox. The vessel I awaited.
Alex's breath quickened. "Why me?"
Because war comes, Zivarel. Armageddon stirs. If you do not intervene, all realms will burn. If you accept me, I will cloak you from the Veil. Refuse, and you will stand alone against the Shadow.
The page pulsed, waiting.
Decide.
Alex's hand hovered. Her heart thundered.
Then it happened.
Light flared from the page. It rippled outward like a heartbeat through the house, across the city, down into the bones of the Nether.
And something not only heard it but felt the light.
Deep beneath Wrath's domain, chains rattled. Stone cracked. Eyes like molten furnaces snapped open in the drowned catacombs. Baelgor, Wrath's hound, rose from its slumber. It's flesh split with fire, its chains straining as it inhaled the scent of angelic light.
The beast howled.
Azaelia jerked as time resumed. Her crimson eyes narrowed with dread. "It can't be," she whispered.
Alex clutched the grimoire, heart racing. "What was that?"
"Baelgor," she said grimly. "Wrath's chained hound. It hunts all not yet drowned in sin. And it is awake."
Before Alex could answer, Azaelia seized her arm. Black-blue flame engulfed them. In the blink of an eye, they reappeared in a barren clearing, the forest at their backs, sky burning with a red sun beginning to set to welcome in the dark.
Another howl ripped across the horizon. Chains scraping like thunder.