In the upper chambers of the Duskspire Estate, Milo Varn sat cross-legged, surrounded by a ring of cracked black crystals. Lightning crawled across the sky beyond the stained-glass window, flashing eerie silhouettes across the velvet curtains.
The room was dim, the air thick with incense and whispered tension.Milo's eyes were closed, sweat beading across his brow as he recited from a scroll older than the nation of Valemire itself. Its text twisted like it didn't want to be read.
The candles didn't flicker. They strained, as if being pulled toward something hungry.
Just outside the circle stood his ever-faithful assistant, Percy, now wearing a flak vest, two crucifixes, and holding a fire extinguisher.
"Sir," Percy whispered, "just to clarify… the last person who read from this scroll turned into a flock of ravens, correct?"
Milo's voice was calm, eerie. "Yes. But that man lacked… charisma."
Percy side-eyed the window. "We still finding feathers around the east wing, just saying."
☠️ Something Ancient... Answers
The shadows in the corners twitched. Not metaphorical shadows—actual moving voids that slithered along the walls like ink swimming upstream.
One crystal let out a high-pitched hiss and cracked.The floor beneath Milo began to hum.
Then—
A whisper, not from the room. From inside Milo's mind.
"You open doors without knowing where they lead."
"Then teach me to walk through," Milo whispered, smirking.
The scroll burst into ash between his fingers.
A dark glyph branded itself on his palm.
🩸 The Pact
With the seal activated, Milo hovered slightly above the ground, the circle glowing beneath him with pulsing crimson. His body convulsed—just once—before a flood of dark power rushed through his meridians like wildfire laced with ice.
Black veins snaked up his arms. A crystal shattered violently against the wall.
Percy screamed. "Sir! That's the third priceless artifact tonight!"
Milo calmly adjusted his collar. "Charge it to the Silas fund."
Behind him, an ethereal shape rippled—horned, faceless, towering.
Percy looked like he was about to wet himself. "What in the seven contracts of sanity is that?!"
"I think it's my shadow now," Milo muttered, eyes glowing faintly. "Charming, isn't it?"
🧩 Far Below…
Deep beneath Nova Cathedral, one of the ancient diagrams pulsed. Softly. Like a heartbeat.
Chess Golding paused mid-step, holding a porcelain cup of jasmine tea.
He didn't look toward it. He just knew.
Lance, watching from across the command console, raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"
Chess smirked. "A child just picked up a loaded cannon."
Lance squinted at the glowing diagram. "Milo?"
Chess moved one piece on his board—a black rook with an etched M—to the center of the map.
"Activate Protocol Ebon."
Lance's eyes widened. "That's the one with the psychological observation team and two backup assassins."
"And?"
"You planned this, didn't you?"
"I plan everything," Chess said, sipping again.
👁️ Back at Duskspire
The ritual began to settle.
Milo slowly lowered to the floor, steam rising from the glowing sigil beneath him.
His breathing evened out, but his pupils remained pitch black for a full thirty seconds before flickering back.
Percy crept forward cautiously. "So... how'd it go? Still yourself, or am I talking to a 3000-year-old curse in your meat suit?"
Milo walked to the mirror.
Looked into it.
Behind his reflection… a second face smiled.
Eyes red. Horns faintly visible.
It vanished when he blinked.
Milo chuckled. "Guess it's a little of both."
Percy had already packed two go-bags and was whispering into a crystal-stone, "Yeah, I think the boss summoned a demon again. Cancel my dinner."
🗞️ Meanwhile...
In the city below, news tickers screamed chaos. Interpol raids. Resignations. Anonymous leaks.
Silas Kade stood on his penthouse balcony, scotch in hand, as yet another alert pinged on his device. Another ally gone. Another investment frozen. Someone was unraveling his empire thread by thread… quietly, and with surgical precision.
He sighed. "This isn't war. This is artistry."
He turned—and saw Milo standing in the doorway, dressed in black silk robes, eyes glinting with something... darker.
Silas blinked. "You look like you just got promoted in hell."
Milo smirked. "I did. Also, we have a rat problem."
Silas narrowed his eyes. "Golding?"
"I can't confirm that without being assassinated in my sleep. But if it is him—"Milo raised his hand, showing the branded glyph, "—I'll speak his language."
⚖️ Chess, Still Watching
In his lair beneath Nova Cathedral, Chess sat on a wide black stone slab carved with runes.
The incense dragon coiled beside him.He whispered, "The boy dances in shadow. Let's see if he learns the rhythm or breaks his legs."
The dragon exhaled smoke shaped like Milo.
Then it snapped its jaws.