Naretha lingered by the obsidian archway, her eyes fixed on the fading shimmer left behind after Shaoline's group had been dismissed. Her nephilim daughter had looked… too different. Too poised, too radiant for a creature bred from sin and sorrow. Even among the half-blood maidens of the Abyss, her beauty had burned like a forbidden flame and she worried for her sake, that it might get in danger some day.
"Shaoline…" Naretha murmured the name like a secret. "What are you hiding?"
Her fingers twitched toward the cracked leather strap of her Echre, which was basically one of the few possessions she'd inherited from the past era before the demon wars.
The book was alive, its cover breathing faintly as though it slumbered. Each page shimmered with moving ink, a vast consciousness that connected to the Abyss's eternal memory. It could show you the truth of anyone, past, present, or future.
But it demanded payment. Always.
Payment in blood.
Naretha hesitated. "Later," she whispered, pressing the book to her chest. "When I'm alone."
She turned to leave, stopped only by, a guttural voice to cut through the air like a blade.
"Naretha!"
Her heavy heart leapt. The voice belonged to Lord Vyrack, one of the mid-tier overseer demons, a tall, horned brute whose wings were more bone than flesh. His presence alone warped the air, bending the torches to flicker an evil blue.
She dropped to her knees instantly. "My lord."
Vyrack's claws left marks on the obsidian floor as he approached, each tap echoing like a countdown. "I sent you for a vial of human blood from the tank, didn't I?"
Naretha's throat went dry. "Y-yes, my lord, but..."
"Then where is it?"
"I was just about to..."
But Vyrack would hear no excuse.
The blow came before the words could finish. His clawed hand swept across her face, sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood along her cheek. The impact sent her sprawling, the side of her head striking the cold black stone.
Vyrack sneered. "Useless. Always thinking, never obeying."
Pain pulsed through her skull, but she bit back a cry. In the Abyss, weakness was an invitation. She could feel his demonic aura pressing down on her, thick as tar.
"I... I will retrieve it, my lord. I won't fail again"
"You will," he hissed, crouching beside her.
His breath reeked of brimstone and rot. "And if I ever catch you whispering to that book again, I'll feed your soul to the Shadow Mills. Do you understand?"
Her fingers trembled where they pressed to the ground. "Yes, my lord."
Vyrack's laughter was a rumble that vibrated in her bones. "Good little halfling. Remember your place."
With a beat of his ruined wings, he vanished, leaving only the stench of sulfur and a faint ripple in the air.
Naretha stayed motionless for a long moment, the echo of his violence still throbbing through her body. Then slowly, she lifted herself up. A small drop of blood fell from her deeply scarred cheek to the floor, sizzling when it touched the black stone.
She let out a bitter laugh. "Perfect," she muttered. "My blood feeding the very ground that hates me."
Dragging herself to her feet, she staggered toward the blood chamber. The path wound through narrow corridors lined with torches whose flames burned purple, casting distorted shadows on the walls. Demonic whispers, etched with pandemonium followed her mocking, hungry sounds that crawled beneath her skin.
She tried to ignore them, clutching her Echre tight. The cover twitched, as though the entity inside was aware of her turmoil.
"I'll learn your secret, Shaoline,my dear, I cannot let this realm destroy you. I love you child." she whispered under her breath. "Why did they chose you? Why does your name stirs the Abyss like a storm?"
The tank room loomed ahead, sealed with bone doors engraved with sigils that needed to be decided to grant permission.
Inside, great glass vats pulsed with red light collected offerings from mortals above, siphoned through contracts and sacrifice. The air smelled metallic, thick with the essence of life stolen and stored. The faint hum of draining souls followed suit.
Naretha reached for one of the vials, her hands still shaking. As she filled it carefully, her reflection shimmered on the glass, her golden eyes dulled, her once-angelic glow now buried under layers of shadow.
When she turned to leave, she could have sworn she saw movement in one of the tanks, swift and haunting. A faint silhouette pressed against the glass human-shaped, lips moving soundlessly in the liquid.
Her blood turned ice cold.
"Naretha…"
She dropped the vial, which shattered instantly. The voice faint, gurgling had come from inside the tank.
"Who... who's there?" she whispered.
The figure inside tilted its head. "The one you seek to know, be careful what you wish gor" it murmured, voice muffled by the liquid. "The one who will ruin or redeem you."
Before she could respond, the lights in the chamber flickered violently. The silhouette vanished. She could hardly make anything out of it.
Her hands flew to the Echre, whose cover now pulsed rapidly like a heartbeat. When she opened it, ink spilled across the page, forming the words:
SHAOLINE.
Naretha's breath hitched. "No… that's impossible. She's not even bound to me."
The book's pages shivered, then snapped shut, refusing to open again. Naretha felt more frustrated. She stumped and tried to hold herself from screaming with anger.
Somewhere deep within the Abyss, a low horn sounded a reminder that the next shift was beginning. Naretha gathered the shards of the vial, wiped her bloodied cheek, got fresh new blood, and forced herself to walk back toward Vyrack's chamber.
But with every step, one truth pressed harder in her mind:
Shaoline was not just another Nephilim.
That feeling kept nudging at her chest. She knew she was her daughter, but she was becoming something the Abyss itself was beginning to remember. And she was afraid it would only do nothing but bring Shaoline to notice. She had to save her, she wouldn't fail her beloved daughter and only child, for she wouldn't ever forgive herself if she did.