Despair

Lioren awoke to darkness and cold. A dull ache throbbed at the back of his skull; for a moment he didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten here. He tried to move, but heavy chains held his arms taut above his head. The clink of metal echoed through the vast chamber as he twisted in panic. Memory returned in jagged flashes—an ambush in the forest, a burst of pain, then nothing.

His eyes adjusted to a dim, eerie glow. Faint runes glimmered in a circle around the obsidian platform where he lay, pulsing with sickly green light that threw distorted shadows on distant walls. The platform beneath him was smooth and bitterly cold against his back. The air felt thick and oppressive, each breath a struggle that tasted of iron and old stone.

Lioren tugged at the chains, but the cuffs only bit deeper into his wrists. With rising dread, he reached for his magic—the Light inside him—but nothing answered. It felt as if a part of him had been cut away. The runes brightened at his frantic effort, drinking in his power and leaving him utterly helpless. For the first time, true terror took hold of him at the thought of being completely powerless.

A tremor of fear rippled through him. Without his power, he felt exposed and small. Blinking through the gloom, he made out strange shapes looming at the edges of the chamber: silhouettes of twisted cages or racks, and on a stone table a row of cruel-looking instruments that glinted faintly. Everything here was built for suffering. This lair was a temple of pain, and he was the sacrifice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down a wave of panic. He had to think of a way out—there had to be a way. He tested the chains again, more slowly, feeling for any weakness. There was none; the metal was solid and hummed with dark enchantment. He forced down the bile rising in his throat and tried to steady his breathing. His heart thundered as he realized with sickening certainty where he was: Asmodan's lair. He had heard whispers of this cursed place—now he was its prisoner. There would be no easy escape.

A low, chilling chuckle drifted through the darkness. Lioren froze. He was not alone; eyes watched him from just beyond the ring of runes. The oppressive air grew even heavier, as if the darkness itself were holding its breath.

"Struggling already, are we?" a silky voice purred from the blackness. Lioren's blood turned to ice. A tall figure in midnight-black robes stepped into the sickly green light. Beneath the hood, pale eyes gleamed with cruel delight. Asmodan.

He began to circle slowly, each footstep echoing on the stone. Lioren's mouth went dry. He forced himself not to shrink away, but he couldn't stop trembling. "What… what do you want?" he rasped, unable to keep the quaver from his voice.

Asmodan's lips curled in a thin smile. "What do I want?" he murmured. He tapped a rune on the platform with one clawed finger. The symbol blazed; a jolt of icy fire knifed through Lioren's body, tearing a raw scream from his throat. Then it was over, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath.

"I already have what I want," Asmodan purred, leaning over him. "You. Helpless." Lioren felt that gaze like a weight on his chest. "Did you really think you could stray into my domain unnoticed? I've been waiting for you, and here you are." He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. "So full of power, and now at my mercy."

Lioren clenched his hands into fists; the chains clinked softly overhead. He had to stay calm, to think—anything to keep the panic at bay. But Asmodan's presence was like a crushing weight on his mind, making it nearly impossible to focus. "If you're going to kill me, just do it," Lioren forced out, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Kill you?" Asmodan tilted his head, feigning surprise. "No, I have far more interesting plans than that." He gave a low, pleasant laugh. "Your power will serve me well. That Light inside you will be mine. And your fear… is exquisite."

A cold sweat broke out across Lioren's skin. Each word Asmodan spoke drove the dagger of terror deeper into his mind. He had never felt so vulnerable. He grasped desperately for a scrap of courage, but the suffocating darkness smothered it. A tiny sob escaped his throat before he could stop it.

Vael's face flashed in Lioren's mind—a memory of warm eyes and unwavering trust. Regret stabbed through him. He should never have left Vael behind. Now no one even knew he was here. He was truly alone.

"No one is coming for you," Asmodan said, each word razor-sharp. "No friends, no Vael. You're mine. Scream if you like—no one will hear you."

Lioren's heart lurched painfully at Vael's name on the demon's tongue. Fury and despair surged inside him, shattering the last of his control. He heaved against the chains with wild strength, pain burning in his wrists as tears blurred his vision. A ragged, wordless scream burst from his throat—a cry of pure anguish.

"Vael!" Lioren screamed, pouring everything into that single name. The cry echoed off the stone walls, then died into silence. He screamed it again into the void, voice cracking with desperation—even though he knew no one was coming.