Kneel to none. Rise above all 

Empress of Hell was chosen. 

I heard millions, perhaps billions, of voices whispering in the darkness of Purgatory, their murmur like the wind passing through the ruins of a long-forgotten world. 

"You were chosen. The first woman on the throne in history. But don't forget—the crown is not yours yet, and you're still mortal." 

"Not for long," I said. 

"Are you ready to announce the coronation date?" 

"Your coronation and final task will happen in three months. You'll be crowned on August 31, the day of your 32nd birthday." 

"Perfect," I said. "I'll meet you in three months, then." 

"Adelina, you'll need the training to pass the final task." 

I stopped mid-walk, didn't even turn back, and said: 

"I refuse your training. See you in three." 

And with that, I walked out. Once I was outside, I snapped my fingers, and a cigarette appeared. Another snap, and I had fire. I took a deep drag, my hands trembling. 

I did it. I made it through. Again. 

Suddenly, a spark of red hair flashed at the far end of the corridor, and my chest tightened. My heart, frozen in the icy grip of despair for so long, suddenly roared to life, like a flame fanned by an unexpected gust of wind. 

Alice. It had to be her. 

I didn't stop to think; my legs moved on their own. Each step echoed in my ears, my breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps, like a bird thrashing in a cage. The narrow corridor seemed to close in around me, blurring everything except the figure ahead—the one I couldn't tear my eyes from. 

"Alice!" My voice cracked, hoarse and raw. But the red hair disappeared around the corner. 

I ran faster, almost blindly, my trembling fingers brushing against the cold walls for balance. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of my footsteps. 

There—another turn. The red hair again. She stood with her back to me, unmoving, as if frozen in time. She was just about to turn. 

"Alice…" I whispered, my voice trembling, almost breaking under the weight of my desperate hope. 

But when she turned, the world around me shattered. It wasn't her. The eyes weren't hers. The face, the expression, the soul I had searched for—it was all wrong. 

The stranger frowned, her confusion cutting through the silence like a knife. "Were you looking for me?" 

I couldn't speak. I stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of disappointment crashing over me like a wave. The air felt heavier, suffocating, pressing down on my chest as tears stung my eyes, threatening to fall. 

"No… I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. I turned away, each step heavier than the last, retracing my path down the same empty corridor. My shoulders sagged, my arms hung limp at my sides, and all I could feel was the sharp ache of loss, the cruel weight of a hope I shouldn't have dared to hold. 

My cigarette was gone, my mood darkened. I needed to talk to Lucifer. But first, I had to go back and talk to Elisa. 

Alice 

I pressed my back against the cold wall, my breath shallow, trembling with every exhale. The spell was holding, my reflection warped to show a stranger's face, but my heart rebelled against it. I could feel her, even from this distance—Adelina. The intensity of her presence pierced me like a blade, pulling me taut with longing and regret. 

I had waited so long for this moment, dreamed of it, feared it. And now, here she was, running toward me, her voice raw with desperation, calling a name I couldn't allow her to recognize. My name. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, the ache in my chest nearly unbearable. 

When I turned that corner, I knew what I would see—her face, radiant with hope, her eyes searching for me as if I were her salvation. I didn't deserve that hope. I couldn't. Not after what I had done. Not after what I was about to do. 

"Alice!" she called again, and the sound shattered me. My knees nearly buckled, but I forced myself to keep walking, to turn just enough to keep her chasing, but not enough for her to truly see. The closer she came, the harder it was to hold onto the mask, the harder it was to keep my trembling hands at my sides instead of reaching for her. 

I stopped just before the final turn, closing my eyes as her footsteps echoed closer. I could hear the desperation in her breath, the raw need in her voice as she whispered, "Alice…" 

It took everything in me not to break the spell, not to let her see me—the real me. But when I turned, wearing the face of a stranger, I saw her eyes fill with doubt, her shoulders sink under the weight of disappointment. She didn't recognize me. 

"Are you looking for me?" I asked, my voice steady, though inside, I was breaking apart. I wanted to scream, to shake her, to tell her it was me—that it had always been me, waiting, hiding, longing for her to find me. But I stayed still, silent, because I knew she couldn't hear the truth. Not now. Not like this. 

Her face twisted with pain, a flicker of something deeper that she quickly tried to hide. "No… I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely audible, as if the apology was meant for someone who wasn't even there. And then she turned away, retreating down the corridor, her silhouette growing smaller, lonelier with every step. 

I stayed there long after she disappeared, the mask fading, leaving me exposed to the emptiness of the corridor. My own face, my own reflection, stared back at me from a dusty windowpane, and I hated what I saw. She didn't see me because I hadn't let her. I had made myself invisible to her, and now the weight of that choice was suffocating. 

I wanted to call out to her, to run after her, to beg her to turn around and look again. But I stood frozen, as I had so many times before, watching her leave while the space between us filled with all the words I would never have the courage to say. 

I don't want to hide anymore. Why does this have to be so difficult? 

Adelina and Elisa 

It took me 15 minutes to walk to my room and calm down. My heart was still racing, my hands trembling. I could swear to all the gods—it was Alice. But somehow, it was a completely different person. 

I stopped in front of my door, a strange unease settling over me. What if it was just an illusion? No… She could never… Could she? 

I entered my room, and Elisa jumped right in front of me. 

"So?" she asked impatiently. 

"I passed. The coronation is in three months." 

"Woman, I'm very proud of you. Tell me about it!" 

"Elisa, I can't even begin to put into words how it felt. It wasn't just fear—it was something deeper, something primal, like my entire being was unraveling piece by piece. 

Every step through those trials felt like walking a tightrope over an endless abyss. There was no safety net, no promise of salvation if I fell. It wasn't just my body they tested—it was my mind, my soul, everything that made me who I thought I was. I was stripped bare, left with nothing but the raw edges of myself. 

There were moments I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls of reality were pressing in on me, suffocating me. The weight of every choice, every failure, hung heavy in the air. No matter how hard I tried to push forward, the doubt whispered in my ear, telling me I wasn't enough. 

But the worst part? It wasn't the pain or the fear. It was the loneliness. Every trial felt like it was designed to isolate me, to remind me how small and insignificant I truly was. I felt like I was screaming into a void, and no one would ever hear me. 

And yet… I couldn't stop. As much as it hurt, as much as I wanted to crumble and let it all end, something inside me kept burning. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was hope, or maybe it was just sheer desperation—but I knew I had to survive. Even when I felt like I was breaking into a thousand pieces, I told myself I could put them back together again. 

Now, standing here, looking back… I'm not sure if I came out of those trials stronger or just more scarred. But I know one thing: I wouldn't be who I am now if I hadn't faced them. Every moment of agony, every doubt, every tear—it all shaped me into the person I had to become. Whether that's a blessing or a curse… I don't know. But I did it. There's more to go, but it's a good start." 

Elisa placed her hand on my shoulder. "Hey, I know you're tired of the constant fight for everything. You're almost there. I'll stay with you no matter what—you know that. Vasya's here too. We've got a beautiful team. And hey—you'll find Alice." 

"I think I saw her," I admitted. 

"What? Where?" 

"Outside of Purgatory. I ran after her, but I found someone else instead. The thing is… now I think it was a complete illusion." 

"You know a regular witch can't use an illusion like that." 

"I know. We need to figure out who can, aside from the usual suspects." 

"Or…" Elisa paused, looking at me. "You don't know what creature she really is." 

Her words lingered long after she left. 

Later at Night 

As I lay in bed, hugging my cat, Elisa's words echoed in my mind. What if I didn't truly know Alice? Then again, it was logical—she didn't know much about me either. Or… did she? 

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how little we truly know about anyone, even those we think we're close to. What if the gaps in our understanding were intentional, like unspoken boundaries we're too afraid to cross? 

Eventually, I reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, and carefully wrote my response to Lucifer: 

"I will come to see you tomorrow at 10 o'clock. Be ready for me." 

With minimal effort, the letter was in his possession. Moments later, I could feel that he had read it. The meeting was set. 

Next Morning 

I woke at 6 a.m. The routine was the same—30 minutes of stretching, an hour and a half of training, followed by a shower. I fed my cat, who had the luxury of sleeping more, and went to choose my clothes. 

Lucy—short for Lucifer, as I liked to call him—was… complicated. Too much, even. Let me explain. 

Lucifer exudes an ethereal, captivating beauty that feels almost inhuman. Tall and lean, his frame is perfectly proportioned, radiating both elegance and dominance. His skin, pale and almost luminous, seems untouched by time, smooth and flawless. His eyes—one a radiant silver, the other a deep, bottomless black—gleam with unsettling intelligence and a hint of mischief. 

Jet-black hair falls in soft, slightly tousled waves, reaching just past his shoulders, contrasting with his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His lips, often curled into a sly, knowing smile, are as tempting as they are deceptive. Clad in impeccably tailored dark suits with intricate patterns that shift under the light, his attire subtly hints at his otherworldly nature. 

He's the embodiment of charisma and cunning, a master of manipulation and eloquence. Yet beneath the charm, there's an undeniable darkness—a presence that both draws people in and keeps them at bay. 

Why this extravagant, otherworldly being was obsessed with me… Well, that's a mystery for another time. 

I sighed, choosing baggy black jeans and a simple black shirt to keep him from getting too excited. No makeup, hair in a ponytail. Coffee, cigarette, and I was good to go. 

It took mere moments to teleport to his palace. He was standing beside a table set for two. 

"Breakfast, my lady?" he asked, kissing my hand. 

"Sure. Can I smoke here?" 

"Of course. Anything my future Empress desires." 

"You already know?" 

"Everyone does. You're too controversial to ignore. As an Empress, as a woman, as a witch, as the protégé of Mother Fate. You're one of a kind. Unique. Beautiful. Brilliant. You'll start a war." 

"I'll try to avoid that. Good riddance, Lucy. Did you read How to Make Compliments or something?" I teased, sipping an incredible coffee. 

I pulled out my cigarette, and he rose, snapped his fingers, and lit it for me. "I love watching a woman smoke," he said, his gaze lingering. 

I stared back, took a long drag, and exhaled. "So, my lord, I understand your company isn't always the most pleasant. What do you want from me?" 

Lucifer's smile widened. "Alice, of course. You're still looking for your little witch?" 

"I am." 

"Well, I know what's going on. But…" 

"But?" I prompted. 

"You know the price. Tell me about the night you met Mef—or, as you call him, Antoine." 

The room fell silent. I stared at him for a long moment, then smirked. 

"That's a deal." 

14 Years Ago - Paris 

The cold, damp air of the basement clung to my skin, biting and relentless. Suspended from the ropes, every inch of my body ached—sore, bruised, and battered from the hours of torment. But it wasn't the physical pain that suffocated me most; it was the silence. An oppressive, all-encompassing quiet that seemed to mock me, pressing in from all sides. 

I heard his footsteps before I saw him—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment. Then he stepped from the shadows. His cold blue eyes locked onto mine, void of humanity, his lips curling into a twisted smile. 

"You're mine now," he murmured, his voice low and almost tender, like poison sweetened with honey. "I'll never let you go. You'll be my toy, my plaything, and there's nothing you can do about it. Every breath, every second, will belong to me. And soon... you'll crave it." 

A shiver ran through me, but I refused to look away. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. 

"No one will come for you," he continued, stepping closer, his breath warm and vile against my ear. "You'll beg. You'll plead. But I'll never let you go. Not until you understand exactly who you belong to." 

He loomed over me now, towering and smug. My body was his prisoner, but my mind—my soul—I clung to what was left of me with a fierce, unyielding grip. 

But the atrocities only escalated. Every inch of me was violated. He raped me. Over and over. I lost count somewhere past thirty. His brutality wasn't limited to that—he beat me mercilessly, his favorite tool a metal whip that turned my back to raw, bleeding flesh. Yet, somehow, he still wanted me, driven by a sick, twisted excitement at my suffering. 

Day after day, my blood and torn skin painted him. His blond hair was streaked with it, his bright blue eyes alight with the kind of madness that burned its way into my nightmares. 

And then came the day I'll never forget—the day he decided to make me beg for mercy. 

He shattered my leg in three places, broke my arm, and crushed every finger on my hands. The pain was unbearable, each break an explosion of agony. Yet, through it all, I refused to yield. 

I wasn't broken. Not yet. 

And then, suddenly, I died. 

In the moment of my death, I met someone unexpected—a woman cloaked in shadows, her presence both terrifying and serene. She wasn't death herself but something more. Death loomed behind her, silent and inevitable. 

This woman—this Goddess of Death—offered me a deal. 

Help her on Earth, and in return, she would delay my death. 

I didn't want to die. Not yet. I was consumed by rage, by an insatiable desire for revenge. Though my body was broken, my spirit burned with fury. 

And so, I agreed. 

Our contract was sealed. Half of my soul was to be given to a cat—a peculiar stipulation, but one I didn't question. Death had marked me, and now I was hers. 

Antoine, thinking I was gone for good, discarded my broken body in a field far from Paris. I was found by passing cars and spent months in the hospital recovering. Triple fractures in my leg, dislocated joints, broken ribs, torn flesh—they pieced me back together as best they could. 

The police opened a case, asked their questions, but it led nowhere. These things rarely did. 

As for me, I waited. I lived for revenge. 

Two years later, he showed up. 

Lucifer's Castle 

The memories faded as I snapped back to the present, Lucifer's piercing gaze pulling me from the depths of my thoughts. 

"Are you satisfied now?" I asked, my voice cold. 

Lucifer set his coffee cup down and leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You're a victim," he said simply. 

I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "No. I'm not a victim. I'm a survivor." 

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the weight of his presence filled the room. "Fair enough," he said. "Now, your turn to uphold our deal. You want answers." 

I leaned forward, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Where's Alice? What happened to her?" 

Lucifer stood, walking slowly to kneel in front of me, his mismatched eyes—one silver, the other a fathomless black—holding mine. 

"Alice is alive," he said softly. "She's under the protection of the Christian God." 

The words hit me like a blow, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Be 

"She's alive?" I whispered, barely able to form the words. 

He nodded. "But she's not the same. The Alice you knew... she's gone."