Gravity is a cruel master, and as Harry Vedman tumbles through the freezing air of the ravine, the expected impact feels moments away.
Yet, as his body streaks toward the jagged rocks below, a strange warmth begins to bloom at the centre of his chest. It radiates from the light, black locket, the heirloom his father had pressed into his palm just days before his passing.
"Never take it off, Harry," his father had whispered with his final breaths. "It is more than just jewellery."
At the time, Harry, a two-year-old child, had dismissed it as the ramblings of a dying man. Now, as he plummets, the crystal embedded in the black and violet begins to hiss.
A thick, violet mist erupts from the stone, swirling around his falling form like a protective cocoon. It is viscous, shimmering with a life of its own, smelling of ozone and ancient, forgotten dust.
Then, the true anomaly begins. The blood leaking from Harry's broken ribs and shattered face does not fall into the abyss.
It stops in mid-air, trembling like mercury, before being violently yanked toward the pendant.
The locket drinks him dry, absorbing every drop of his life force. As the stone consumes the blood, its glow intensifies until the violet light is so blinding that Harry's body vanishes entirely inside the glow.
Crack
A rift in reality tears open, a jagged, amethyst-coloured wound in the fabric of space. It swallows Harry whole, snatching him away from the Jones brothers and the mundane life he once led.
Jones brothers had no idea what happened here, as Soris left immediately after pushing Harry off the cliff.
. . . . . .
UNKNOWN PLACE
The atmosphere shifts; it is not into the embrace of death, but into a silence so profound it feels heavy.
Everywhere the eye can see, jagged mountains pierce a sky choked with heavy, churning clouds.
There is no green in this realm. The forests below are comprised of trees with bark the color of ash and leaves of deep black-violet.
Even the lightning that dances between the peaks is a jagged, electric purple, illuminating a world painted in a monochromatic study of shadow and amethyst. It is beautiful, desolate, and utterly terrifying.
At the highest peak sits a castle. It is a monstrous structure, carved entirely from black obsidian crystal. Its spires are like needles stitching the clouds together, a monument to a ruler long forgotten.
There are no birds, no insects, and no signs of life, only the whistling wind against the glass-smooth walls of the fortress.
Suddenly, the air inside a grand chamber on the upper floor ripples. A portal bursts open, and Harry's body is unceremoniously expelled.
THUD.
He hits the floor with a sickening sound. The impact sends a fresh wave of agony through his broken frame, and his heart flutters like a dying candle flame.
He lies on a floor of polished white stone, his remaining blood smearing against the pristine surface.
The room is a cathedral of dark luxury. Golden pillars rise to meet a ceiling so high it is lost in the shadows.
Dark silken drapes hang from the walls, embroidered with silver symbols that seem to shift and writhe as if watching the intruder.
Above, a massive crystal chandelier floats without chains, scattering light like frozen starlight across the chamber.
But the centerpiece of the room is the bed.
It is a throne of silk and velvet, and on it lies a woman.
Her beauty is a physical weight, something so perfect it feels dangerous to behold. Her hair is a river of midnight silk flowing across white pillows, and her skin is the color of cream. Her ears taper into delicate, elegant points.
The most striking features, however, are the two spiraling, jet-black horns rising from her forehead and a slender, dark tail curled near her feet.
She is a demoness, trapped in a slumber that seems to have lasted a thousand years.
Snap
The crystal in Harry's pendant suddenly snaps its chain. Guided by an invisible force, it flies through the air and strikes the woman's chest. Instead of bouncing off, the stone dissolves into her skin like a drop of ink in water.
A long, suffocating silence follows.
Then, the demoness's eyelids flutter. She opens them, revealing irises that shine like polished amethysts.
"Am I... awake?"
Her voice is a melody, sweet and angelic, yet it carries a vibration that makes the very walls of the castle hum. She sits up slowly, her movements languid.
Confusion flits across her perfect features as she looks around the empty room. "Why would Mother wake me?"
She feels the lingering lethargy of her sleep, her hand trembling as she brushes a stray lock of hair from her face.
Her gaze wanders until it falls on the broken, bloody human gasping for air on her floor.
"HUMAN."
The word is a snarl. A flash of pure, murderous rage ignites in her eyes, and she prepares to strike.
But just as quickly as the anger appeared, it vanishes. She tilts her head, her nostrils flaring as she catches a specific scent emanating from the boy's wounds.
With a casual wave of her hand, Harry floats into the air. He drifts toward her like a leaf on a breeze until he is lowered onto the bed beside her.
She leans over him, her finger tracing the line of his jaw. "Who are you? And how can you possibly..." She stops.
Her finger brushes the dried blood on his lips. She tastes the air, her eyes widening as a realization dawns on her. A small, melodic laugh escapes her. "Ahh, fufu... I see. You are the… fufu."
She smiles, looking at his bone-deep gashes and internal haemorrhaging. She knows he has only seconds of life remaining.
"Ahh, how can I let my saviour die just after saving me?"
Without hesitation, she drags a long, sharp nail across her own wrist. A single drop of violet-red blood wells up—thick and glowing. As the blood drop formed, she became paler.
She presses her wrist to Harry's lips, letting the drop fall onto his tongue.
The moment the demon blood touches him, it feels as though he has swallowed a sun.
The blood doesn't just flow; it conquers. It races to his heart, which begins to beat with a terrifying, violent vigor.
The sudden spike in blood pressure is so extreme that his veins bulge beneath his skin.
"Oops," she giggles, watching his face turn a dark, bruised purple. She doesn't appear truly worried.
"I think I gave him a bit more than he can handle. Well... if he wants to live, he'll have to overcome it. 'Yawn,' I'm still so lethargic..."
She yawns and, with the casualness of a predator who has finished a meal, she curls up beside him and falls back into a light sleep.
Harry, however, is far from rest.
His eyes snap open, no longer dark brown but glowing with a fierce, radioactive violet light.
"AAAGGGGHHHHH!"
The scream is torn from his lungs. It is not just pain; it is a forced evolution.
He feels his forehead split as two nubs of bone push through the skin, curling upward into horns.
His fingernails and hair fall away, replaced by something harder and darker.
Inside him, muscles tear themselves apart only to knit back together ten times stronger. His broken bones dissolve into a paste before reforming into a structure that is no longer human.
"AAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"
The agony is too much for the mind to bear. Harry's brain finally triggers a kill switch, plunging him into unconsciousness to protect itself from the trauma.
His body continues to jerk and twitch on the silken sheets, a vessel being rewritten by the blood of a queen.
When the tremors finally stop, the boy from Ashmere is gone. Something ancient and powerful is breathing in his place.