The ruin reeked of rot and old magic. Caveen knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the cursed hall, the faint glow of the runes pulsing in a strange, rhythmic beat—as if the walls themselves were breathing.
Then came the sharp sting of betrayal.
Before he could react, a blade plunged into his back—laced with obsidian and suppressing sigils. His magic collapsed inward like a dying star. He crumpled, vision swimming in red as hooded figures surrounded him, their chanting low and guttural.
Everything went dark.
---
When He Awoke
Pain throbbed in his limbs. Cold, tight chains bound his wrists and ankles—engraved with ancient runes of subjugation. A magic circle enclosed the chamber, humming with restrained power.
Caveen blinked the blur from his eyes.
And there she was.
Lysandra.
Unconscious, her head tilted to the side, silver hair matted to her bloodied temple. Her wrists were bound, her aura smothered beneath a binding spell so dense it flickered like static.
His heart twisted.
"Lys…" he croaked.
Footsteps echoed in the silence.
Three masked Elders of the Crimson Order emerged from the shadows. Their bone-white robes were lined in blood-red thread, and each mask bore Lucifer's sigil—an ancient glyph long erased from most records.
"You are awake," one of them said. His voice was like rust scraping glass.
Caveen's glare cut through the fog. "Where are we? What do you want?"
Another Elder stepped forward, arms outstretched as if delivering a sermon. "What we want is simple, Caveen Landon. Completion. You and the others—your very blood—hold the last ingredients to perfect the Awakening Spell."
As if on cue, two more unconscious bodies were dragged in and shackled near them.
Madelline and Elias.
Bloodied but alive. Their auras pulsed weakly, magical binds suppressing every ounce of resistance.
"You bastards…" Caveen growled, straining against his chains.
"And soon," the Elder continued, "Nyra Moirel will join you. The last living child of the Lysus bloodline. Then we will begin."
"Begin what?" he spat.
"The Collection."
One of the Elders produced a blade—glass-thin and glowing with dark sigils. Another followed with a vial marked with Lucille's crest.
"You are all descendants of Lucille, the eighth child of our Lord Lucifer," the first Elder explained. "She bore children from different bloodlines. You—Caveen—are from her union with Lucan Carello, a line saturated in black magic. Elias and Madelline hail from Duke Koa, a mortal tyrant who sired his own legacy with Lucille. And Lysandra…"
He looked down at her sleeping form.
"Lysandra is the jewel. The blood of Dierus Moonwell and Lucille runs in her veins. When she resurrected you with forbidden magic, we knew it was time."
"You used her to bait me," Caveen whispered, realization hitting him. "This was all a trap."
"Yes," the Elder said, amused. "And now that the Moonwell seal has cracked, we will harvest what remains."
The third Elder stepped forward with a scroll etched in demonic text.
"We don't yet have the complete spell to awaken our Lord. The texts are broken. The pieces scattered. But with samples of all Lucille's bloodlines—your blood, your magic, your pain—we will recreate the incantation."
He unfurled the scroll. "We call it the Rite of Remembrance. And when we succeed, Lucifer's soul will find its way back to the realm of flesh."
The chains on Caveen burned as he thrashed. "You won't succeed. We'll stop you."
One Elder crouched beside Lysandra and ran a thin blade across her wrist, collecting a glowing drop of blood in a crystal vial.
"She said the same thing," he whispered, holding the vial up like a sacred relic. "And yet here she is. All your strength… and you could not save her."
Caveen let out a primal growl, but the chains sapped every spark of power he summoned.
"Resist all you like," the Elder said, turning back toward the ritual chamber. "It changes nothing. Once we complete the spell, we will have the location of the Gate of Embers. The very gate from which Lucifer fell—and through which he will rise."
"Lucifer is dead," Caveen hissed.
The Elder looked over his shoulder. "No, Caveen. He only sleeps. And your bloodline… your legacy… is the key to waking him."
They left the chamber, sealing it with a locking rune. The air thickened with despair and silence.
Lysandra stirred.
"Caveen…?" she murmured, eyes barely open, dazed.
"I'm here," he said, straining toward her. "I'm here, Lys."
Tears welled in her eyes before they drifted closed again.
Caveen turned to the others—Elias still unconscious, Madelline barely awake, and Nyra's presence lingering like a storm waiting to strike.
He gritted his teeth.
----
The metallic scent of blood soaked the air, thick and cold.
Caveen watched helplessly as the Crimson Order completed their preparations. They had gathered vials of glowing crimson essence—blood and magic forcefully extracted from him, Lysandra, Madelline, Elias, and Nyra.
Now, the Elders moved with unholy grace, placing each vial at precise points around an ancient circle carved into the obsidian floor. The pattern glowed faintly, reacting to the magic embedded in their bloodlines.
The Circle of Reclamation—a lost relic of demonic rites—was about to be activated.
Caveen gritted his teeth, straining against his shackles as they positioned him and the others around the circle. Their wrists were still bound, magic still suppressed, but their eyes held fire.
"I swear to the gods," he muttered, "if I get free—"
"You won't," an Elder cut in calmly. "Not until He has risen."
The moment the final vial was placed at the circle's heart, the ground trembled. Sigils awakened—red, black, and violet—spreading outward like a serpent made of flame. The Elders lifted their arms, their voices rising in rhythmic, dark incantations:
"El'vathul A'kasha... Lucifel var'mi…"
"Blood returned to blood… Light devoured by shadow…"
"Rise, son of the Eternal Flame... Rise!"
The silence after the incantation was almost sacred.
The ancient circle, now drenched in the harvested blood and magic of Lucille's last living descendants, pulsed one final time before the earth itself groaned beneath them. A thunderous crack split the ground at the center, and a vortex of darkness rose upward—ripping open the fabric of the plane like a wound.
The Awakening had begun.
Elders of the Crimson Order held their breath.
The tornado of shadow spiraled violently—until it suddenly collapsed inward, like a heart compressing before a beat. The black mist twisted, shrank, and condensed into a smaller, more compact shape. The air grew heavier, suffocating, as something ancient and eternally wrong began to breathe again.
From within the swirling dark—
a child emerged.
Not a monstrous creature.
Not a fallen angel in full godly terror.
But a boy, no older than ten.
He stood barefoot in the center of the broken ritual circle, surrounded by crushed sigils and spilled blood. His white tunic, loose and simple, billowed around his knees, untouched by the filth below. His hair was a silver so pale it almost shimmered like glass under starlight, cascading down just to his shoulders.
His skin—flawless, ghost-pale, almost glowing.
And his eyes—
Unreal.
They were an impossible crimson, deeper than blood. Too old. Too deep. Not human.
When he blinked, the shadows around him shivered.
Caveen felt his stomach twist.
This was no ordinary child.
This was Lucifer. In flesh. In blood. In rebirth.
Lysandra gasped behind him. Even Madelline and Elias, still groggy from their captivity, seemed to feel the wrongness. Nyra clutched her arms as if the very air sliced at her skin.
The Elders fell to their knees again, sobbing in awe.
"Oh... My Lord," one whispered. "You are perfect."
Lucifer tilted his head. The child looked down at his hands—small, uncalloused, innocent. Then he looked up at the sky, the swirling clouds, the dying light above them. A faint smile curved on his lips. Not cruel, not kind. Just… knowing.
He stepped forward.
Each footstep echoed as though the stone floor carried his heartbeat.
The room bent around him.
Power coiled around his limbs like silk, but he carried no arrogance. In fact, it was the stillness of his demeanor that chilled Caveen most. There were no tantrums. No rage. Just absolute presence.
The boy blinked and looked at them—first at Elias and Madelline, before finally pausing on Lysandra and Caveen.
His gaze locked with Caveen's.
And in that instant, Caveen felt as though he stood on the edge of a cliff staring into the void—and the void had the face of a child.
"You are the one," Lucifer said, voice soft, melodic, eerie in its lack of emotion. "The one who once defied death."
Caveen didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His throat had closed, his heartbeat gone ragged. His instincts screamed to fight, to run, to submit—and yet none of those things seemed possible.
Lucifer turned to Lysandra, a spark of curiosity flaring in his ageless eyes.
"I felt you before I was whole," the boy whispered, his tone childlike yet thunderous in intent. "You broke time to bring him back. You peeled away death with your tears."
Lysandra flinched.
"You should not have been able to do that," Lucifer said. "Yet you did. Because the blood of Lucille runs pure in you... stronger than even the Elders knew."
He touched the ground gently. Sigils burst to life in response.
"The spell is complete."
Caveen struggled against the invisible magic that still kept them frozen in place. "What do you want from us?" he growled.
Lucifer looked back at him.
This time, he smiled—small, boyish, and utterly horrifying.
"I don't need you now," the child said sweetly. "Your blood has already brought me back. You may live... for now."
Then his eyes narrowed, darkening like a star collapsing.
Caveen, Lysandra, Madelline, Elias, and Nyra all dropped to the floor, coughing and breathless, free… but under the gaze of something unfathomable.
Lucifer had returned.