Her limbs felt like molten lead, heavy and unyielding, as she battled against the oppressive fog of unconsciousness. The weight of the recent events bore down on her like a thousand-pound weight, a relentless reminder of her fragility.
As she strained to escape the suffocating grip of sleep, the earth beneath her was damp and cold, a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth swirling in her disoriented mind.
She blinked slowly, her vision blurring and flickering, each blink an arduous quest for clarity.
Her fingertips inched toward her hairline, flinching back twice before making contact with a tender mound of flesh the size of a golf ball. Lightning shot behind her eyes. Her vision swam with black spots.
"Fuck," she muttered, tongue heavy in her mouth, the copper tang of blood coating her teeth as she jerked her hand away. The lump pulsed in time with her heartbeat, each throb a hammer strike against her skull.
Yet amid the disorientation, she felt a determination flicker within her, but it was tangled with doubt. Could she really resist the pull of despair in this cold, damp place?
Her heart ached with the flood of memories—her family, the warmth of home, the laughter shared over family dinners. But alongside these memories lingered an uncertainty, a fear that perhaps she was fooling herself.
Her thoughts kept returning to her older sister, Leanna, her confidante and best friend. The bond they shared was irreplaceable, and the idea of leaving her behind wavered between motivating her to fight through the haze and questioning her ability to truly reclaim her life.
Her skull pulsed as she squinted through swollen lids. Six paces to the wall. Four to the bars. The air coated her tongue with copper and ammonia, forcing bile up her throat. She swallowed it back.
Crimson light sliced through a slit twenty feet up, painting her scraped palms the color of rust when she pressed them against the damp stone. She shifted her weight and something jangled. A manacle bit into her ankle, its chain snaking to a ring worn smooth in the center of the floor.
"What the hell," she whispered, fingertips suspended an inch above the oxidized links. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed down the corridor.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Closer now. Her pulse quickened to match the rhythm, each beat hammering against her temples.
When their eyes locked, an icy wave surged through her veins, plunging her into the abyss of his piercing violet gaze. Every fiber of her being screamed that this encounter was orchestrated, the air vibrating with a palpable tension as he advanced toward the metal bars.
Her heart pounded as she steeled herself for whatever chaos was about to ensue, painfully aware that her destiny lay in his hands.
Could she somehow manipulate him, seduce him to gain an edge? "No, he's not the type to be swayed by such trivialities," she realized, catching the sinister curl of his lips.
Her mind frantically spun with strategies, a whirlwind of desperate tactics as she fought to carve a path to survival. None of the countless true crime podcasts she'd obsessively consumed had prepared her for the terror of this moment.
Natalia froze under his dissecting gaze. Each shallow breath seared her lungs as her mind cycled through visions of violence—strangulation, violation, torture.
Still, she locked eyes with him, refusing to look away even as bile scorched the back of her throat.
The intricate tattoos on his neck writhed like living things in the crimson half-light, black tendrils disappearing beneath his collar where they surely mapped the geography of violence across his body.
He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just calculated her suffering with mathematical precision, a spider measuring the tremors of its web.
This wasn't just a game—it was her execution delayed for his amusement. Her fingers curled into fists, nails drawing blood from her palms. If he wanted to destroy her, she'd make him work for every scream.
"Astaroth, let the little pet be. You can indulge your whims after our discussion." The voice sliced through the darkness like silk over steel, each syllable hanging in the air long after it should have faded.
A figure materialized from the shadows—first the silhouette, then details emerging like a photograph developing: alabaster skin catching the crimson light, a face with angles too perfect to be human and she wasn't.
When she unfurled her wings, they scraped the ceiling with a sound like leather stretched over bone, deep purple membranes blocking what little light remained. The air around Natalia grew heavy, pressing against her skin as if the atmosphere itself bent toward this creature.
Astaroth moved aside with a serpentine grace. A sly grin crept across her lips, charged with the promise of imminent upheaval in their destinies.
Her expression, a fierce blend of electrifying excitement and chilling indifference, sent a resounding message: she was no ally, but the mastermind, the puppet master pulling the strings.
"Well, mortal, how did you find yourself in the Abyssal realm?" The stranger's voice echoed through the oppressive air, each syllable a haunting melody that seemed to carry the weight of destiny and hidden truths.
Natalia's feet rooted to the stone floor. Each heartbeat slammed against her ribs like a fist. The stranger's words hung in the air—Abyssal realm—and clung to her skin, a film she couldn't wipe away.
Her tongue tasted metal. A sentence fragment skittered through her mind: she saw it with her own eyes. The walls around her contracted, then expanded. Pulsed. The shadows at the corners stretched toward her, then retreated, stretched again. Black tendrils. Like ink in water.
The hair on her arms stood up, and her shoulders hunched inward as if she could make herself small enough to disappear.
Was this overwhelming sense of fear a natural reaction to crossing into another world, or was it the malevolent presence of this ghastly place itself that set her heart racing with such terror?
Magenta eyes dissected her. A predatory smile curved slowly upward. "I don't remember mortals looking so pathetic, or is that just you?" The woman's sarcasm promised greater dangers to come.
Natalia's irritation simmered beneath the surface, provoked by the woman's condescension. Yet, she swallowed her retort, acutely aware of Astaroth's formidable power and the torment it had once caused her.
Her fingers brushed against her temple, a gesture to steady herself as she stole a glance at him. His gaze met hers, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, as if he guarded a secret she desperately wanted to uncover but feared to confront.
"Chancellor, we're wasting our time on this mortal," Astaroth scoffed, his eyes, keen as daggers, flicking dismissively toward the woman standing beside him. Her back was straight, her expression unyielding as she focused intently on Natalia. "She seems so oblivious and pitiful that she couldn't possibly be a spy," he added, his voice dripping with contempt.
The Chancellor, draped in an elegant robe, waved her hand with an air of irritation, her fingers slicing through the air with a practiced grace.
Astaroth fell silent, his voice cut off by her mere gesture. Her presence was as cold and commanding as a winter storm, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him.
"You know very well the implications of her presence in this realm," she replied, her voice resonating with authority, each word tinged with a hint of disdain that lingered in the air.
Caught in the midst of this chilling exchange, Natalia couldn't help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction at Astaroth's reprimand. Her lips curled slightly, a flicker of relief washing over her features.
Despite the perilous nature of her situation, she reveled in the sight of his arrogance deflating, if only for a moment. The gravity of their conversation seemed to slip through her fingers, overshadowed by the strange, intoxicating sense of empowerment coursing through her veins.
The Chancellor leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, coaxing murmur that was almost hypnotic. "Do you remember how you crossed the portals?" she pressed, her words weaving through the air like a delicate spell.
"Do you recall what you sought in the darkness between worlds?" Her gaze raked over Natalia's petite frame, a palpable anxiousness crackling in the space between them.
The Chancellor's magenta eyes ignited, pulsing with ancient power that scorched the air between them.
The cell walls contracted violently, stone groaning as if in pain. Natalia's lungs seized—the oxygen itself seemed to flee from the Chancellor's rage as the temperature plummeted and shadows writhed across the floor like living things desperate to escape.
Natalia's knees shattered against the stone floor as invisible hands crushed her skull from both sides. Blood erupted from her nose in a hot rush, metallic on her tongue as she bit through her lower lip.
The pressure in her ears built until she heard nothing but the thunderous roar of her own pulse, each heartbeat threatening to burst vessels behind her eyes.
Through the haze of agony, Natalia's dark brown eyes locked onto the Chancellor's face, refusing to surrender even as crimson tears leaked from the corners.
The woman's lips peeled back in a predator's smile, revealing teeth too white, too sharp. A single glance passed between the Chancellor and Astaroth his body rigid.
Subway car. Flickering lights. Falling. Endless black. The memories flashed behind Natalia's eyes like a broken film reel. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
"I—I don't remember," she managed, each word scraping her throat.
The Chancellor's gaze slid to Astaroth. One eyebrow arched a millimeter higher, her magenta irises hardening to gemstones. The invisible vice around Natalia's skull released suddenly, and she collapsed forward, lungs heaving.
The stone floor tilted beneath her, first left, then right. She fixed her eyes on a single crack in the flagstone, willing it to stay still.
"I'll discover how you ended up in this realm." The Chancellor's lips curled upward, exposing the edge of a canine tooth. "I could leave you here until your bones bleach white." She traced one finger along the metal door.
"But such delicate features... Astaroth," she commanded without looking away, "this mortal is yours now. Keep your new pet on a short leash."
The Chancellor, glanced around the dimly lit underground prison with a yawn and turned on his heel to leave. As she descended into the dark corridor, she tossed a casual remark over his shoulder, "Oh, and if she isn't obedient, just remember not to harm her pretty face. It pleases me."
Natalia's eyes widened, and her lips parted in silent disbelief as the meaning of her words sank in. A chill settled in her bones, and she clutched her arms tightly around her.
The Chancellor's presence had been suffocating, like a dark cloud that now lingered even in his absence. The realization that she was perceived merely as a decorative possession by this powerful figure made her skin crawl.
Her mind raced with questions—how would he use her? Was there some clever way to outwit him and reclaim her freedom? The idea of finding her way back to Earth seemed like an insurmountable dream.
The air crackled with tension as Astaroth clicked his tongue in irritation, jolting Natalia from her spiraling thoughts. He moved toward her cell door, and she instinctively shrank back, heart racing.
When he waved his hand and the lock clicked open, he paused as if wrestling with how to take her away. This moment of hesitation filled Natalia with hope—perhaps this was the opportunity she had been waiting for.
She glanced at the heavy chain around her ankle, the last remnant of her captivity, and steeled herself. With a determined step forward, she focused on the stairs at the end of the hall, her heart pounding with the thrill of possibility as she prepared to seize her moment.
Astaroth growled, "Don't," his narrowed gaze fixed on her with a penetrating intensity. "I'd prefer not to carry your unconscious body to my quarters."
The lingering threat hung heavy, eclipsing her initial will to resist; she was determined to avoid that pain again.
As Astaroth stepped into the dimly lit prison cell, the heavy iron chains clanked against the stone wall, breaking the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.
He held the chains firmly in one hand, their cold metal biting into his skin, while his other hand grasped Natalia's elbow with an insistent grip, guiding her toward the worn stone stairs that spiraled upward.
The haunting echo of his earlier words lingered in the air, an ominous reminder of the unknown fate that awaited her. Natalia felt a mix of fear and steely determination as she complied, steeling herself for whatever trials lay ahead.
With each step up the rough-hewn stones, the gritty surface beneath her bare feet clawed at her senses, a stark reminder of her vulnerable state.
As she carefully ascended, her gaze wandered, taking in the grandeur of her surroundings—a massive castle steeped in history, its ancient architecture whispering tales of an ancient past.
The warmth of the red light filtering through the tall, intricately designed glass windows bathed the corridor in an ethereal glow, illuminating the stark contrast that reminded her she was far from the familiar comforts of Earth.
Urging herself to glance out at the sprawling landscape beyond, but the heavy shackles still tethered to her ankles pulled her back to the grim reality of her captivity.
Astaroth's fingers dug into Natalia's elbow as he steered her forward, his violet eyes flicking between her face and the corridor ahead.
Her breath caught when they rounded the corner into a hallway that stretched wider than a cathedral nave, its ceiling lost in shadow. Natalia's steps faltered.
Three winged figures lounged against a marble column—one with peacock-blue plumage, another with feathers like beaten copper, the third with wings black as oil.
Their conversation died mid-sentence. A wine glass froze halfway to parted lips. The chains at Natalia's ankles scraped against stone, each clink echoing in the sudden silence.
More faces turned: amber eyes, red eyes, eyes with pink hues. Someone whispered something that made another laugh—a sound like breaking crystal.
Each individual exuded a distinctive appearance, their features uniquely sculpted, and they radiated an energy that entranced all who beheld them—an ethereal spectacle that captivated the senses.
Yet, amidst this beauty, Natalia's wrists burned raw beneath her shackles while her heart raced traitorously at the sight of their wings. She tugged against her chains, hating herself for the way her eyes lingered on their perfect faces.
Her stomach churned with disgust—both at them for their casual cruelty and at herself for the shameful flutter of excitement that rose whenever one's gaze met hers.
She wanted simultaneously to spit at their feet and to beg them to touch her, to explain what she was doing here, to tell her why some buried part of her felt like she'd finally come home.
Natalia's eyes burned holes into the floor, but their gazes pierced her skull like hot needles. Their whispers slashed at her ears—"filthy creature," "disgusting pet," "how dare he bring it here"—each syllable a barbed hook in her flesh. The marble beneath her feet blurred as tears threatened to spill.
A thunderclap of footsteps shattered the corridor's hush.
"MASTER! The Chancellor FORBIDS you parading this mortal through sacred halls!" shrieked a voice that made Natalia's head snap up. A boy—no, something only resembling a boy—stood trembling before them, perfect features contorted with panic.
Despite his plain garments, his eyes blazed with inhuman light. Astaroth's jaw clenched so tight Natalia heard teeth crack, the air around him darkening visibly, temperature plummeting until her breath clouded between them.
"Vassal, inform the Chancellor that my quarters are inaccessible by any other route," Astaroth said. Frost seemed to crystallize around each syllable.
The young vassal's Adam's apple bobbed once before leaving. The corridor fell silent as onlookers froze, watching.
Astaroth's hand slashed through the air, dismissing the vassal with such brutal finality that the young man's face drained of color.
Though he squared his shoulders in defiance, his body betrayed him—a violent tremor rippled visibly from his neck to his fingertips before he fled, leaving behind a silence that crushed against Natalia's eardrums.
As Astaroth dragged her through the palace's twisting corridors, she couldn't tear her eyes from his face—that marble-carved profile betraying nothing while his violet eyes burned with something feral, something starving.
God help me, she thought, hating the electric current that shot through her veins when his gaze flicked to hers. Stupid, stupid girl.
The doors that loomed before them weren't merely carved—they were violated with symbols that writhed against the wood as if desperate to escape their prison. Natalia's breath caught painfully in her throat as an invisible force yanked her forward.
Her fingertips brushed the central symbol and white-hot pain shot up her arm. The marking flared, casting Astaroth's face in unholy light.
She screamed as lightning coursed through her veins, her vision shattering into blinding fragments. Her legs gave way.
Astaroth seized her wrist with crushing force, his violet eyes ablaze. He yanked her close, his breath hot against her face as he examined her trembling hand.
His eyes fixed on her hand where the symbol had burned her, his pupils expanding until only a thin ring of violet remained. The muscle along his jawline jumped once, twice, as he stared at her palm like a starving man before a feast. Then he dropped her wrist as if it scalded him.
He flicked his fingers toward the doors. The ancient wood groaned open, hinges protesting with a sound that bounced off stone walls and multiplied into a chorus of creaks.
Beyond the threshold lay a room where moonlight spilled across a bed that could hold ten people, its posts carved into writhing serpents. Bookshelves stretched to a ceiling lost in shadow.
A crystal decanter caught light on a table inlaid with what looked like actual stars, twinkling against black marble. Natalia's fingers curled, aching to touch it even as she recoiled from its impossible beauty.
Part of her longed to smash it against the wall, while another part wanted to cradle it close, to possess something so perfect.
She thought of the coffee stain on her worn laminate countertop back home, how she'd scrubbed at it for weeks before giving up—was that life even real anymore? Or was this the reality she'd been denying all along?