Chapter 7: Burden of Perfection

Rin's gaze sharpens. "You can't be serious, Jack. Did you not hear the part where it says no host has ever succeeded? And the whole 'constant gaze of the world' thing? That's not a drawback; that's a nightmare."

I shrug, trying to project a confidence I don't fully feel. "Look, Rin, we're out of options. Most of these demons are worse than this. Falastor at least sounds like he's... cooperative. I'll take my chances."

"Cooperative?" she snaps. "The book basically says he's cursed. Do you have any idea what it means to attract everyone's attention? Good or bad, Jack. You'd never have peace. You'd—"

I cut her off. "We're in an old creepy corporate lab with an Ai that's trying to kill us, Rin. Peace is a luxury I'm not counting on. Besides, I've handled being in the spotlight before. I was arrested once you know."

Her lips press into a thin line. I know she's thinking about Finn, about the fallout from his betrayal, about the risks of trusting anything right now. Rin crosses her arms. "What's the real reason? Why this demon? There are other options, you know."

I hesitate, my confidence slipping for just a moment before I pull myself together. I glance down at the book, then back at Rin. "Because I get it," I finally say, my voice quieter now.

Her crimson eyes narrow slightly. "Get what?"

"Being hated," I mutter, unable to look her in the eye. "Feeling like no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, there's always someone out there ready to tear you apart. Falastor's story... I don't know, it just feels familiar. He might be a demon, but his price? That kind of spotlight? I think I can resonate with that kind of bad attention."

Rin's expression softens slightly, her arms uncrossing. She doesn't push me on it, and for that, I feel a small wave of relief. She glances at the page again, her lips pressing together like she's trying to come up with a counterargument but can't quite find one.

"Alright," she says after a moment, her tone resigned but not harsh. "If this is the one you're going with, I won't stop you. Just... don't let this thing consume you, Jack. You have to keep control of yourself."

I smile. "I could say the same for you. You ready to make our pacts?"

Rin nods, pulling out a small utility knife. "Let's get this shit over with. I hate anticipation."

She slices a bit of skin off her thumb, wincing slightly. I hold out my hand, and she sternly grabs it, slicing my thumb with the same efficiency. A sharp sting accompanies the deep crimson flow of blood. Rin holds her page in one hand, and I hold mine in the other. The positioning is awkward, but we both want to make the pact simultaneously. With a wordless nod, we press our bloody thumbs to the worn-out paper.

I half-expect nothing to happen, like this is all some elaborate prank, but then a voice rings out.

The AI's voice, cold and detached, reverberates through the room. "Pact initiation recognized. Host identities confirmed. Demonic entities: Nyr, The Veiled Sovereign, and Falastor, The Hated One. Proceeding with binding protocols."

The air around us grows heavy, like a storm about to break. A deep chill creeps up my spine, and I can feel the faint vibration of power radiating from the book.

Rin grips her page tighter, her jaw clenched. "Stay focused, Jack," she mutters, though her eyes flicker with unease.

"I'm focused," I reply, though my heart feels like it's trying to escape my chest.

The blood from our thumbs is absorbed into the paper, the sigils on the pages flaring to life. Nyr's symbol glows with a dark, shimmering light, like an oil slick in the moonlight. Falastor's sigil, on the other hand, radiates a blinding golden glow, sharp and unyielding, like the sun staring directly into my soul.

The endless sea of walls in the room begins to shake. The entire space feels more alive, more vibrant than ever. Two paths open up—one on the right side of the room and one directly ahead of us. The AI speaks again: "Hosts acknowledged. Contract terms binding. Payment accepted. Sacrifices, please make your way to the sigil you have selected. Aptitude tests for hosts will begin shortly. Failure to leave this room in ten minutes will result in termination. Good luck."

The AI's final words leave a hollow ring in the air. I exchange a look with Rin, and though neither of us says it, the weight of what's coming is clear. Two paths, two sigils. We knew this moment was coming. The labyrinth doesn't do hand-holding. The right path holds what I recognize as Falastors Sigil. A T shape with a U on the bottom with black dots on either side. On the other hand Nyr's sigil is a backwards half-moon shape with two pentagrams on the top and bottom of the moon. 

Rin gives me a final glance, "I better see you on the other side of that path. I will beat your ass if you die in there."

I snort, "Same goes to you. Now let's get going we got some demons to impress."

She doesn't smile back, but there's a flicker of something—maybe a faint smirk—before she turns and walks toward her path. The air seems to shift around her, almost like it's folding inward to welcome her. Nyr's energy pulses faintly as she disappears into the tunnel.

The empty room is hallowed and white the atmosphere is chilled which gives me goosebumps all over. The air seems to shift around Rin from afar, almost like it's folding inward to welcome her. Nyr's energy seems to pulse faintly as she disappears into the tunnel.

I take one last look at her before turning to my path. My path has the same pulsing red lights urging me forward, and white walls on all sides. The path is much narrower than the one we took before. I feel glow or aura already its oppressive, needy, and heavy all in one. I already feel eyes on me thousands of eyes like I am an ant in a jar. 

"Alright, Falastor," I mutter, forcing myself to step forward. "Let's get this over with."

The moment I cross the threshold, the light intensifies, swallowing me whole. It's blinding, but I push forward, each step heavier than the last. The air vibrates with power, and I swear I can feel the walls watching me, judging me.

The sound of shifting walls echoes behind me, sealing off the path I came from. No turning back now. I come to a room that opens up into much brighter lights. There is a giant glass wall to my right. There are hundreds of symbols on the glass making it impossible to see inside. The energy seems contained, but I still feel something intense behind the glass. There is a small hole to see inside. The hole is covered in symbols carefully cut into the steel, but it allows me to peer inside the caged room.

The faint glow of the runes etched into the steel pulses with life, as if warning me of the power contained within. I peer through the opening, my breath hitching as I catch sight of Falastor.

He isn't what I expected. The man before me is a lot more humanoid than I imagined I didn't know if it was the same for all demons. His air was white as snow and tied back into a ponytail. His skin is utterly radiant like the deepest bronze chiseled from the god of crafting. His features are sharp and regal, a face that might have once inspired awe but now evokes unease. His eyes, glowing orbs of molten gold, are fixed on nothing and everything, as if they see through time and space. They flicker occasionally, each movement carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible weight that presses on my chest.

Around his neck, a series of jagged chains glint in the dim light. They dig into his flesh, golden ichor seeping from the wounds they create. They have symbols carved into them runes that seem to hold weight to his body. His golden eyes are looking right at me through the hole. Falasator has a hateful look on his face like his worst fate has just appeared before him, and he has every intention of fighting it.

Most unnerving of all is the way the world seems to react to his presence. The air around him bends and shimmers as if reality itself is struggling to contain him. The golden aura radiating from his body doesn't just illuminate; it sears, leaving faint burn marks on the walls of his glass cage.

A voice resonates in my head, deep and resonant, dripping with bitterness and unshakable resolve. "You look upon me, mortal. Do you understand the weight you have chosen to bear? Or have you already begun to regret your folly?"

My expression turns serious, "Not much to regret either we form a pact, or I die. Seems straight forward to me."

Falastor adds, "Some fates are worse than death. I would be careful what you wish for mortal."

Something deep within me tells me this demon is unlike any other. Falastor is the first demon I've ever encountered, yet the look in his eyes speaks volumes. Unlike the more conniving demons described in the texts, Falastor isn't scheming for an easy escape from his prison. Other demons tempt their would-be hosts with enticing pacts, their promises laced with hidden traps that reveal their sinister intent. They prey on weakness, starting with subtle whispers that grow into complete dominance, bending their hosts to their will. They're parasites, exploiting every crack in their host's resolve. But Falastor? He exudes a pride and resolve that sets him apart. This demon isn't looking for a victim—he's searching for something worthy.

One look at the demon in his chains and I know the reason he hasn't squirmed his way into a host yet. The pride in his eyes suggests that he would rather spend 1000s of years tied in chains than spend even a moment in a human body. Falastor feels like he is above that he refuses to lower himself in any capacity.

Falastor seems to be reading my mind he lifts his face. His face is unbelievable not herculean or chiseled, but divine is the only way to describe it. Falastor's face is the definition of otherworldly, a masterpiece that seems almost too perfect to exist in any reality. His features are symmetrical in a way that defies human expectation, a haunting balance between ethereal beauty and sharp intensity.

His nose is straight and refined, with nostrils that flare slightly as he exhales, betraying an undercurrent of restrained power. His lips are full and sculpted, the kind that might belong to a benevolent god or a cruel tyrant, depending on his mood. They sit in a neutral line, but there's something unsettling about the way they seem poised to twist into a smirk or snarl at a moment's notice.

But it's his expression that draws you in—a mask of serene composure that conceals the storm of emotions just beneath the surface. His gaze is intense, as if he's simultaneously judging and understanding you in a single glance. It's not a human face; it's the face of something higher, something eternal, and yet its perfection is unnerving, almost suffocating. You can't decide if it's beautiful or horrifying—only that it's unforgettable.

He smiles softly, "You are unlike other hosts that have tried to woo me with praises and gifts. I see your thoughts mortal. You are right I would rather spend an eternity bound here than spend a moment in a less than perfect body. However, I have to admit I am growing tired of this prison. I would never normally lower myself to being in a human's body, but I see potential in you," Falastor continues, his voice resonating not only in the air but deep within my bones. "Potential to be more than just a fleeting vessel. I have waited centuries, mortal, for someone who might rise above the mediocrity of their kind. Your body... I am disgusted by its imperfection, but I think it can be a worthy base. I can sculp it towards something better. Your mind is another story. I am content to say your body is worthy, but your mind. Must be tested."

I stare at the demon that is now smiling slightly more ominously, "Test my mind? How?"

Falastor's eyes narrow, his expression shifting to something unreadable. "I will show you," he says, his voice reverberating through me. "I will show you what it means to feel the gaze of eternity. What it will be like to become my host. The burden of perfection."