Chapter 5 : The Devil's Bargain

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The scent of blood still clung to the air long after the battle had ended. Elara stood motionless at the edge of the ruined sanctuary, her breath shallow, her hands stained with crimson. The bodies of those who had dared oppose the order lay scattered across the ground, their silent screams forever etched into the cold stone walls. She had fought with a vengeance, yet something within her trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of the darkness curling its fingers around her soul.

"Did you enjoy it?"

The voice came from behind her, smooth as velvet but sharp as a blade. She turned to face him—Lucian, the one who had orchestrated this massacre, the one who had whispered to her of power, of revenge, of breaking free from the chains of mortality.

She should have hated him.

Instead, her pulse quickened in his presence, a strange and dangerous sensation twisting in her chest. His crimson eyes held hers, unreadable, unwavering. He stepped closer, his long coat brushing against the floor as his fingers ghosted over the hilt of the obsidian dagger he had gifted her.

"You hesitate," he murmured, tilting his head. "Why?"

Elara clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "You turned me into a monster."

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips. "Did I?"

The truth hung heavy between them. Lucian had given her the means, but she had been the one to wield them. She had struck down her enemies without mercy, had relished in their pain. The bloodlust had not been forced upon her—it had been awakened.

"You had a choice," he continued, stepping even closer, his presence intoxicating. "And you chose to kill."

She hated how his words burned through her defenses, stripping her bare. But she wouldn't let him control her. Not fully. "I chose to survive."

Lucian's gaze darkened, and his fingers trailed up her arm, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down her spine. "Survival is not enough," he whispered, his lips ghosting near her ear. "You crave something more."

Elara's breath hitched. She knew what he meant, and she hated that he was right. There was a hunger inside her, one that had been buried for too long beneath fear and weakness. But now, in the aftermath of bloodshed, it was impossible to deny.

She wanted power.

She wanted revenge.

She wanted him.

Lucian's smirk widened as if he could hear her thoughts. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial filled with a thick, dark liquid. "Drink this," he said, his tone laced with something sinister yet irresistible.

Elara eyed it warily. "What is it?"

"A gift," he answered. "A piece of me. A piece of the abyss itself."

Her fingers hovered over the vial. This was it. The moment where she would either step fully into the darkness or retreat into the remnants of her old life. But was there anything left of that girl? The one who had been helpless, weak, shackled by fate?

No.

She was already gone.

Elara uncorked the vial and downed its contents in one swift motion. The taste was bitter, metallic, and it burned as it slid down her throat. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then pain erupted through her body.

She collapsed to her knees, her veins turning black as raw power coursed through her, setting every nerve ablaze. Her vision blurred, and she felt herself slipping into something vast and endless, an abyss from which she might never return. Shadows coiled around her limbs, seeping into her skin, becoming part of her. Her heart pounded violently, the sound of it deafening in her ears.

And then—silence.

When she opened her eyes, the world was different.

The darkness no longer loomed over her; it lived inside her.

Lucian knelt beside her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Now," he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to his, "you are mine."

Elara should have recoiled, should have fought against his claim. But the truth was, she had never felt more alive. The chains of her past had shattered. The weakness had burned away.

She was his, but more importantly—she was something far greater than she had ever been before.

She was unstoppable.

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But power always comes with a price.

Elara staggered to her feet, the weight of her transformation pressing down on her. The world pulsed around her, shadows whispering secrets she had never known. Her senses were sharper—she could hear the heartbeat of the dying man in the corner, feel the heat radiating from Lucian's skin. She was more than human now. She was something else entirely.

Lucian's hand remained on her chin, his touch both possessive and reverent. "Tell me, Elara," he murmured, "how does it feel?"

She licked her lips, tasting the remnants of the abyss on her tongue. "It feels like I've been reborn."

A pleased chuckle escaped him. "Then let's put your new existence to the test."

He gestured toward the remaining survivor—a priest, trembling as he pressed his back against the wall, his robes soaked in the blood of his fallen brethren. His eyes darted between them, desperation clouding his gaze. "Please," he whispered, "have mercy."

Elara turned to him, her new power thrumming in her veins. Before, she might have hesitated. She might have considered sparing him. But now?

Mercy was a concept of the weak.

She stepped forward, watching as the priest flinched. Lucian remained behind her, silent, observing. He had given her the means to kill before, but now, he wanted to see if she would do it not out of necessity—but out of desire.

She raised her hand, fingers curling, and the shadows responded instantly. They slithered toward the priest, wrapping around his limbs like hungry vipers. He struggled, his screams muffled as the darkness tightened its grip. His terror was intoxicating, his life slipping through her grasp like grains of sand.

"Elara," Lucian's voice was soft, coaxing. "Finish it."

She met the priest's gaze, seeing the flickering hope in his eyes. He thought she might still be human. That some part of her might spare him.

Fool.

With a flick of her wrist, the shadows crushed him, the sound of snapping bones echoing through the chamber.

Silence followed, heavy and absolute. The power coursing through her settled, and she exhaled slowly, reveling in the thrill of it.

Lucian stepped beside her, his smirk one of approval. "You're learning quickly."

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "And you knew this would happen."

"I did." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Because you were never meant to be ordinary, Elara. You were always meant to belong to the darkness."

A part of her knew he was right.

A part of her had always longed for this.

And as she met his gaze, as the shadows coiled tighter around her, she realized something else.

She had made a bargain with the devil.

And she had no regrets.

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