The night was thick with silence. Even the stars seemed to dim, cloaking the world in an eerie hush as Zyren followed Jarvis from the shadows. He didn't know what compelled him to tail her—curiosity, guilt, or perhaps the sickly churn of dread in his gut. Either way, he knew something was off.
Jarvis wasn't heading toward any usual hunting ground. No alleyways, no abandoned warehouses. Instead, she moved through the forest like a ghost—swift, calculated, and utterly focused.
Zyren's footsteps were light as whispers. He hid behind trees, crouched in bushes, until finally, she stopped in a clearing where moonlight fell like silver fire. The ground was scorched in a perfect circle. Strange symbols had been carved deep into the soil with claws, and in the center, an ancient sigil pulsed like a beating heart.
Jarvis knelt before it.
Zyren's breath hitched.
He watched as she drew a dagger from her belt—an obsidian blade from the pits of Hell itself. She gripped it tight and whispered in a tongue so old and dark it made Zyren's bones rattle. Her voice echoed unnaturally, dancing across the trees and air like venom.
"I, Jarvis… descendant of Fortress, daughter of Flame, bred in the deepest pit of Hell, give my life and blood to summon the Lord of Night and his right hand, Bal."
Then—without flinching—she slit her palm and let the blood pour into the carved sigil. The earth trembled.
A sickening gust of wind blew through the trees, as if the forest itself recoiled. The sigil ignited in black fire. The sky above cracked like shattered glass. And with a final cry, Jarvis coughed violently, spitting blood into the center of the burning symbol.
And then… they came.
Two figures rose from the infernal smoke—one cloaked in an aura of absolute darkness, and the other in burning red flame. The Devil, in all his malevolent glory, stood with horns that pierced the night sky and eyes that burned with ancient judgment. Beside him towered Bal, the Warbringer, his armor drenched in eternal blood, and his eyes—no, voids—locked on Jarvis.
"Why have you summoned us?" the Devil asked, his voice making the trees bow.
Jarvis stood up, bruised but proud. "My Lord… I've sensed weakness in Jaceon. He's fading. Cracking. Levi is making him vulnerable."
She clenched her fists, breathing hard.
"I ask your permission… to kill Levi myself."she added.
A silence followed. Cold. Crushing.
The Devil stared at her with a gaze that could split mountains. "You dare request to break a contract I have forged with my own blood?"
"My Lord, I only seek to protect—"
"Silence!" the Devil roared.
Then Bal stepped forward, his voice a snarl.
"If she can't do it… why not let me? Let me kill them both. The traitor Jaceon and his pathetic mortal pet. I've waited centuries for revenge."
The Devil tilted his head.
"You think you can kill Jaceon? He defeated you once already. You still bleed from that shame."
Bal growled. "That was then. This is now. Give me this chance."
The Devil stared long and hard, then smirked. "Only if you succeed. Fail… and you'll be chained under my throne for eternity."
Jarvis had stepped back, listening quietly, thinking the deal was done when she walked away. She believed she had protected Jaceon by asking for Levi's death—unaware that she had just thrown him into the very jaws of betrayal.
But Zyren… he saw everything.
Hidden behind a tree, heart pounding like a drum of war, he trembled.
Bal was coming.
The Devil had agreed.
And if he didn't warn Jaceon or Levi soon… Hell itself would break loose on Earth.