When Serenya opened her eyes, the real world tasted like iron and fire.
She was on the floor of the summoning chamber cracked stone beneath her, arcane runes still glowing faint red. Her chest heaved. Sweat clung to her skin.
And in her hand…
"Oh gods," someone whispered. "She forged a weapon."
Not just any weapon.
Vowbreaker.
It pulsed like a second heartbeat. Jet-black metal with veins of glowing crimson, as if the sword drank her blood and made it holy.
She stood.
And the room backed away.
A noble girl screamed. One of the palace's priest-mages made a warding sign with trembling hands.
"She's marked," he gasped. "By Hell. That blade… it reeks of demon magic!"
She smiled.
"Funny. So do most of you."
Boom. Noble circles: rocked.
The High Inquisitor stepped forward then... silver robes, false piety, venom behind every word.
"You were brought here to prove your loyalty to the Crown. Instead, you consort with demons? Bear hell-forged weapons?"
He pointed at her.
"This is treason. Witchcraft. You'll hang."
"Again?" she said sweetly. "Bit repetitive."
The man flinched.
Because how did she know?
---
Then..... clatter at the back of the room. Guards flooded in. Crossbows raised.
"Seize her!" the Inquisitor barked. "Take the blade! If she resists—kill her!"
She didn't move.
Didn't blink.
She just… laughed.
Vowbreaker rose in her hand, slow and beautiful.
"You should've done that before I remembered how it felt to burn."
---
The first guard lunged.
She didn't dodge. She stepped into him.
Vowbreaker hissed through the air. Blood painted the wall behind him.
"She's not human—!"
"She's possessed—!"
She danced through the chaos like a dark flame. Every step a memory. Every strike a punishment.
She didn't kill everyone. Just the ones who'd smiled at her trial in the past life. Just the ones who'd called her "monster" while watching her burn.
Fair, right?
---
When it was over, the chamber was a battlefield.
The survivors trembled. No one stepped forward.
She stood in the center, black armor cracked with power, Vowbreaker humming with satisfaction.
"Tell the Crown this," she said to the Inquisitor, who was now sobbing behind an overturned altar.
"I was loyal once. And you lit the pyre anyway."
She turned her back.
"You won't get that mistake twice."
---
Later that night, far beyond the city, in the ruins beneath the old chapel, the Demon King waited. Reclining on a throne of bone and shadow.
She appeared, blood-spattered and alive.
He grinned.
"You brought Vowbreaker into the waking world," he said. "Did they beg?"
"Some," she said. "Others just screamed."
He leaned forward. "And how did it feel?"
She didn't smile.
Didn't smirk.
She just stared at the sword.
"Like freedom. And damnation."
He laughed, dark and thrilled. "Perfect."