The Abyss was alive with whispers of death. Seris could feel it crawling through the walls, through the shadows, through her own veins.
"Stay close," Mason murmured, appearing silently behind her. His presence was a dark weight pressing into her back, his silver eyes scanning the corridors like a predator.
"Why? I can fight," she said, defiance sharp in her voice.
"You can," he said softly, "but not against them all. Not yet."
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward—tall, draped in crimson, eyes like molten gold. A rival god. Their aura burned with centuries of malice and power.
"You carry what belongs to the Abyss," it hissed. "The Sovereign does not own you. I will take what is mine."
Mason's gaze dropped to Seris's chest—the mark pulsing like a living thing. His hand moved, brushing the edge of her shoulder, not enough to touch fully, but the air between them thickened.
"Do you feel it?" he whispered, his voice a dark caress in her mind. "The bond? It does not lie. She is mine."
The rival god laughed, a sound like cracking stone. "Claimed or not, mortal blood is fragile. I will crush it."
Seris stepped forward, drawing from the surge of her goddess blood. Shadows curled from the walls, responding to her will. The rival god froze, surprised. Mason's eyes widened slightly—interest, admiration, obsession all mingling in his silver gaze.
"You dare?" he murmured.
"Yes," she spat. "I will not be taken. Not by you. Not by him. Not by anyone!"
The rival god hissed and lunged, and the Abyss exploded into shadows and power, screaming in recognition of the duel about to begin.
Mason did not move to stop her—he didn't need to. She was already part of his obsession, and he was fascinated by her defiance.