Once again, he found himself at the center of the pentagram. And once again, the pointer turned relentlessly until it finally stopped at the third point. Lust.
The symbol that now illuminated showed two beings inextricably intertwined. At their center pulsed a heart symbol, its heart crystal glowing. Suddenly, the silhouette of a woman detached itself from the rune. She leaped toward him, seized his hands, and pulled him into a wild dance of darkness. Together, they swirled toward the abyss until the inevitable pull swallowed them both.
When they landed on the other side, the woman was no longer just a shadow. She was real—more real than he had thought possible. It was Lysandra. She seemed more beautiful than ever, forged from his boundless longing, which heightened his desire immeasurably. She wore a traditional blue Caelonian dress with a deep neckline that accentuated her curves. Slowly but surely, she approached him. Her movements were fluid, full of promise. Once again, she took his hands, entwining them seductively, and together they began the dance of the senses.
Although lust gripped him with an iron fist, a part of him—buried deep beneath the intoxication—knew that this could not be his Lysandra. He couldn't stop thinking of his true lover, who had been taken from him. With his last ounce of willpower, he pushed away the woman who bore the face of his love. He practically wrestled on the floor, desperately fighting his desires, temptations, and sins.
But a whisper penetrated his mind: "Take her... Now... Take what is rightfully yours... Nothing shall be denied you."
"And what about my lover?" he demanded angrily, tears welling in his eyes.
"Have you already forgotten?" the devil retorted mockingly. "You swore eternal loyalty to me! Take her… It's a command from your God."
His resistance crumbled. Reluctantly, driven by the command and his own treacherous desire, he took lust in the form of his lover. A lovemaking session began, wild and desperate. A dark mist began to envelop their two naked bodies as they kissed, caressed, and clung intimately to one another. The mist thickened, almost completely enclosing them.
But then… lust changed. It was no longer pure sexual urges. It mutated into something else, something darker: hunger. And thirst. It began as a soft whisper, tender yet demanding. A thought, barely tangible, but impossible to ignore. A promise of warmth. Of life. Of flesh and blood.
He tried frantically to ignore it. He tried to think of something else—light, the gentle voice of his true love, the taste of her lips, anything human. But even in the stillness of his mind, this hunger screamed. The thought of the taste of raw meat made his mouth water. He fought against the desire, which grew stronger by the second. It was no longer a mere desire. It was a law. A necessity. And so it was to happen: his first bite into the neck of his first victim was inevitable.