Bound by Fate

I don't know how this happened.

One moment, I was sitting in my apartment, typing away at my keyboard, finishing the last chapter of a novel I had never intended to bring to life. 

The next, I was here.

A place I didn't recognize.

A body that wasn't mine.

I pushed myself up, but something felt wrong. My head was clear, my breathing steady—too steady. There was no panic, no rush of fear like there should have been. Just an eerie, creeping sense of wrongness.

My hands… They weren't mine.

My body felt stronger. Taller. I reached up, running my fingers through my hair—longer than I remembered, thick and slightly unkempt. My clothes were different too—dark, fitted, made for movement.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

Damien Wells, that was my name. 

Or was it?

I turned my hands over, trying to understand what I was seeing.

And that's when I noticed it.

The mark.

A symbol, black as ink, etched into my wrist like it had always been there.

Cold. Unnatural.

It wasn't just a tattoo. It pulsed, like something alive.

I traced my fingers over it, and the moment I did, something cracked through my mind—

A vision.

A figure in a black cloak.

Eyes like burning embers.

Their face hidden in shadow.

"You made this world."

"You're bound to it now."

The voice slithered through my thoughts, quiet but unshakable.

I stumbled back, my breath caught in my throat.

No.

No, this wasn't real.

But the ground beneath me was solid. The air was thick with dust, dry and unmoving. I turned, looking around for any sign of where I was, but there was nothing.

Just wasteland.

Endless cracked earth, jagged rocks, and swirling dust. No sun. No sky. Just a vast emptiness stretching forever.

I clenched my fists, trying to slow my thoughts.

I needed to focus.

I needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

But before I could take another step, a sharp pain stabbed through my chest.

My knees buckled.

The world blurred.

Then—

Darkness.

***

When I woke up, everything was the same, but nothing was.

I was still here.

I was still here. The barren wasteland, the oppressive silence, the swirling dust. Everything felt eerily unchanged. But the air grew colder, as if something had shifted. And I wasn't alone.

A figure stood before me.

I hadn't heard him approach, hadn't sensed him at all, yet here he was, draped in black from head to toe. A cloak that swirled around him as if it had a life of its own, shadows dancing across the fabric. 

The figure's hood was pulled low. But beneath it, a faint glow of burning embers pierced through me. 

His eyes.

They glowed bright like molten gold, with a strange intensity. And though I couldn't see his face, something about the way he stood, the aura he exuded, made my heart beat erratically. 

A wave of dread washed over me.

I knew those eyes.

I had written them.

"…No."

It was impossible. Yet, there he stood. A man who shouldn't exist. A character that had once only lived in the words I had written.

Emil.

The protagonist of my novel.

And yet… not him. Not entirely.

He tilted his head slightly, those glowing eyes narrowing as they studied me.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire, ready to snap.

Then, he spoke. His voice was deep, cold, and yet there was something almost... familiar about it.

[You've been waiting for me.]

I didn't respond immediately, too stunned by how real he looked. How real he was. 

"No, this isn't possible," 

I whispered, struggling to find my words. 

"You're not Emil. You can't be."

The figure tilted his head, his glowing eyes narrowing as he seemed to study me. 

[I am Emil, and yet, I am not.]

His lips twisted into something resembling a grin, though it held none of the warmth I had imagined for my character. 

[I am what you made me to be.]

My mind raced. What the hell was he talking about? Was this some twisted game, a delusion? 

The weight in my chest tightened, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. This wasn't Emil. The man I had written had been a hero, a man burdened by the weight of saving a broken world.

But this?

This wasn't my Emil.

"What the hell is this? What do you want from me?"

Emil's eyes flickered with an odd amusement.

[A wish,]

he said simply.

"A wish?" 

I repeated, my throat dry. 

"You dragged me into this hellhole for a wish?"

He stepped closer, the shadows swirling around him like they were alive, reaching for me. 

[Not just any wish. A specific wish,] 

he explained, his voice growing colder, more insistent. 

[You will grant it, whether you wish to or not. Because you're bound to this world. You are as much a part of it as I am.]

I couldn't even fathom what he was implying. My brain was still stuck on the fact that this… Emil was standing in front of me. 

"What kind of wish?" 

I asked, my voice showing a tremor in it I couldn't hide.

His gaze softened for a moment, but the warmth was anything but comforting. 

[You will give me what I need to change this world. To shatter it, if need be. To break the chains of fate you have so carefully crafted.]

The words hit me like a hammer. Change the world? Shatter it? 

"What are you talking about? I just wrote this damn thing! It's fiction!"

Emil's grin widened at my outburst, but it wasn't reassuring. 

[You think you wrote it. You think you created it. But this world has a will of its own. And you've already set things into motion, whether you like it or not.]

I swallowed hard. Wasn't this a story? Some words written and typed out? Yet, now it has become entirely too real. And somehow, I had become its unwilling participant.

[You will grant my wish,] 

Emil said with a smooth tone, as if he knew I had no choice. 

[There's no escaping this. Not for you. Not for anyone.]

A wave of nausea suddenly washed over me, but I couldn't look away. I had to know what the hell was going on. 

The tattoo on my wrist burned once more, as if responding to his words, and for the briefest moment, I saw glimpses of a world collapsing under its own weight. 

A world of power, of darkness. And in the center of it all was Emil, watching as everything unraveled.

"I don't know how to grant your wish," 

I finally managed to squeeze out those bitter words. 

"I don't even understand what you're asking for."

Emil's lips twisted into a smile.

[You will. In time. Because you are the key.]

The key?

I opened my mouth to demand answers, but before I could speak—

Snap.

Emil snapped his fingers, and the world collapsed into darkness.

Snap!

...

"Ugh…"

I gasped, my head pounding as I sat up. The barren wasteland was gone. Instead, towers of black stone rose high above me, their surfaces lined with crimson sigils that pulsed like living veins.

The air was thick with magic, the streets filled with people clad in armor and Victorian-style coats, their whispers carrying an unnatural edge.

I knew this place.

Sevrath.

The heart of the Demon Realm.

The capital of the Seven Clans of Sin.

A chuckle echoed behind me, and I turned slowly, my breath catching.

Emil.

Standing in the midst of the chaos, his presence untouched by the crowd, those golden eyes locked onto me like a predator watching its prey.

[Welcome, my dear creator, to the capital,]

he said smoothly, his lips curling into something unreadable.

I barely had time to breathe before he spoke again.

[The heart of the Demon Realm, the city of Sevrath.]

A cold realization settled in my chest.

I was sure of it now.

I was here. Trapped inside my own creation.

And whatever Emil had become, whatever I had made him into, he had no intention of letting me go.