Somehow, Khalid had slipped through the kingdom's edge moments before Barakhael's barrier sealed the skies. His escape wasn't without cost—his aura was fractured, his body half-healed, and his strength barely holding.
The desert greeted him with cruel, blistering winds, the kind that peeled flesh from bone if you lingered too long. Sand lashed across his skin, sticking to blood and sweat. His once-regal robes hung in tatters, stained dark from wounds that refused to close.
Icarus had left his mark.
Real, unforgiving damage.
Even for someone like Khalid—devil, ancient, fallen thing—the vessel he'd chosen was still flesh and bone. And it demanded rest, water, time to mend.
But none of those luxuries existed in the endless dunes.
His steps dragged across burning sands. The sun blazed overhead, mocking his weakness, but his eyes burned brighter. Rage kept him alive.
"Icarus…" he whispered through cracked lips, the name a curse and a promise.
"Wait until I come back."
The desert swallowed his voice. But not his hatred.
He tried to raise his hand, to summon even a flicker of the aura left behind by the real Khalid—but it was barely there. Faint. Fading. The soul of the man who once held it… vanishing.
Then something broke through.
A memory, buried deep in the ashes of what was once a heart.
Years Ago…
They were just children when their fates were tied. Betrothed from the age of ten. But unlike most royal matches, Khalid and Zara loved each other—not for duty, not for power, but with the desperation of two souls who believed they were born only for one another.
He couldn't breathe without her.She couldn't sleep without hearing his voice.Their fingers always found each other, their lips met in shy kisses, and their laughter echoed like prophecy through the halls of the Ashkalon palace. But even the purest love is not immune to cruelty.
It happened when—Zara was poisoned by an ancient relic.
Her body fell into a cursed slumber.
Zara wept for days, breaking in ways Khalid didn't know how to mend.
"I'll save her," Khalid whispered, holding Zara's trembling hands. He kissed her brow as if that could promise the impossible. "I swear it, love."
And he tried.
He rode through forests, deserts, mountains. He spoke to healers and witches, broke laws, stole books, offered coin and blood—but returned with nothing.
Zara was crumbling.
And so was he.
It was then that Lioan, his uncle, approached with something more than hope—a gamble.
"The Holy Land," Lioan said. "I've heard whispers. They say there's a power buried there… something that listens if you dare speak to it."
"Uncle, if I go and fail—I won't even be there when Zara takes her last breath."
"You want to save her, or say goodbye?"
That was all it took.
They rode through the night.
What met them was not holy.
A temple—hidden beneath shattered ruins. Cold. Quiet. Laced with the scent of rusted blood.
A man greeted them at the threshold, cloaked in shadow and silence. Immanuel, he called himself
"Speak of this, and death will not even welcome you," he warned.
And then the doors opened.
Underground, in a hollow chamber lit only by dying torches, a shattered ritual circle glowed faintly red. Bones littered the edges. Symbols written in forgotten tongues swam across the walls like they were alive.
Then came the voice.
"You brought me a strong one, Immanuel."
A shadow uncurled from the far end of the chamber—featureless, but full of eyes.
"Now… tell me, what do you desire?"
Khalid dropped to his knees.
"Please… save her. My Zara. I'll give you anything." The shadow paused.
"Even yourself?"
"Anything." The air trembled.
With a flick of its fingers, a glowing vial appeared. Golden, humming, warm.
"The cure… in your hands."
Khalid reached for it, breath caught in his chest.
"Now," the shadow said, "give me yours."
It stretched a hand toward him.
"Are you willing to let me in?"
Khalid didn't hesitate. Whether it was love, desperation, or arrogance—he didn't care.
He placed his hand in the shadow's grasp.
"Yes."
From that night forward, he was no longer entirely himself.
The soul remained, but it burned at the edges.
The devil didn't take over immediately. He waited. He fed.
And by the time Khalid realized what he had done, it was far too late.