THE RIVAL FROM THE DEEP

Lucian was standing at the door, ready to leave when Velma insisted, "I'm coming with you."

He looked at her, hesitation flashing in his eyes. "You shouldn't."

"I have to," she said firmly. "He's my husband."

Lucian didn't argue further. Together, they stepped into the cool night, the air thick with unspoken fear. He led her silently through narrow streets and past winding paths that led to the outskirts of the city, into a stretch of woods.

The farther they walked, the darker the night became. No city lights reached here. Only the moon cast its pale glow between the trees.

Then, they heard it—a hum. Not from any machine or creature Velma had ever heard. Low. Otherworldly. And then voices—dozens of them. Raspy. Unearthly.

They stepped into a clearing—and froze.

What stood before them wasn't a gathering. It was a host. Not people. **Monsters**.

Figures twisted in form, some taller than any human, others crawling on all fours with eyes that shimmered gold and crimson. Wings. Horns. Claws. Their very presence seemed to drain the warmth from the air.

In the middle of the group stood a woman.

She was striking. Her beauty was undeniable, yet terrifying. Skin like obsidian glass, a gown that looked stitched from shadows, and long black hair that curled at the ends like smoke. Her eyes glowed violet.

When she saw Velma, her lips curled into a wicked smile.

"Well, well," she said, voice silk and venom. "I'm so glad to see you… my rival."

Velma's hand instinctively reached for Lucian's arm. "Who are you?"

The woman stepped forward. "Azarath. First Wife of Azarel, King of the Underworld."

Lucian flinched.

Velma narrowed her eyes. "Daniel is my husband."

Azarath laughed, tilting her head. "Daniel? Oh darling. That name is a costume. A performance. There is no Daniel. There has only ever been Azarel. And *he… is mine.*"

"You're lying."

"I'm reclaiming what was taken."

Azarath turned and strode deeper into the woods, between the circling monsters.

Velma didn't hesitate. "Come on," she told Lucian, and followed.

They pushed through twisted roots and brush until the forest gave way to a second clearing—an older one. Stones marked its border, etched with strange runes.

In its center stood Daniel.

No… not Daniel.

He stood tall and straight, skin darkened with a bronze tint, glowing markings wrapping around his arms and neck. His eyes were no longer human—they glowed red. His features remained familiar, but refined. Sharper. Ethereal. Powerful. His hair had grown, wild and regal. Even his stance bore the presence of a king.

The monsters stood in reverence.

Azarath approached him, slowly. "My king… it's time."

Daniel said nothing, his face unreadable.

Velma took a step forward. "Daniel!" she called.

His head turned. The name hit something in him. A flicker.

Azarath spun around. "He belongs to me!" she barked. "He *was* never yours."

"You're wrong," Velma said, voice trembling but firm. "He chose me. He loves me."

Azarath's laugh echoed across the stones. "He *forgot.* The Underworld has *remembered.* You were a dream. I am his truth."

But Daniel—Azarel—took a step toward Velma. A breath left his lips.

"Velma…"

Her heart raced.

Azarath snarled. "No! Don't say her name!"

She lunged.

Velma rushed after her. Lucian drew a small, silver blade from inside his coat, ready for anything.

The monsters stirred, a low hiss spreading like a ripple through the crowd.

And then—it happened.

A light.

A light **shone from above.**