Chapter One: The Descent
Drake was bloodied and beaten, but he didn't fall.
Slashes and gashes marred his body, each one burning with searing pain, but he gritted his teeth and smiled. He had to. He couldn't show weakness--not to this thing.
The weight of the sword in his hands was impossibly heavy, yet he found the strength to lift it against the demon.
He spat blood in the dirt. "That all you got?"
The demon's aura pressed down on him like a suffocating force. The very air around them was oppressing, as if even the world itself knew who held true power here.
"Strong words from a man on the brink of death," said the demon in a thunderous voice.
And then--the demon raised his sword.
Steel came crashing down.
Drake lifted his blade in a desperate block, but the moment they met, his sword shattered. The sheer force sent him sprawling onto his back.
Pain flared through his ribs. He gasped--the air like fire in his lungs. He tried to push himself up--
Cold metal punched through his stomach, pinning him to the ground.
He clutched the sword's edge, blood from his palm dripping onto the metal. He held the demon's gaze, unwavering. A final act of defiance even as his light began to slip away.
It didn't take long for it to fade. His fingers loosened, his vision blurred, and the pain began to subside.
Soon, everything went black.
But in the same second, his vision returned.
The battlefield stretched before him, but something wasn't right.
The demon hovered over his body, gripping the sword buried in his gut. With a slow, effortless pull, he slid it free.
Drake expected pain--but there was none.
Not even the pang of old wounds. It was as if his body had never been brutalized.
The demon flicked the blood from his blade with a snap of his wrist, then turned away.
Wait.
Didn't he see him? Didn't he realize he was still alive?
Drake tried to move. Nothing.
He tried to breathe. Still nothing.
He tried to speak. He couldn't.
And then--the earth ruptured.
A jagged crack tore open beside him, and from the abyss, skeletal hands emerged.
Massive. Monstrous. Oozing dark energy. Their claws bored into his formless self. Their cold embrace contrasted the inferno emanating from the chasm.
And then, they pulled.
Drake sank, dragged downward as the pit swallowed him whole like a meal.
The heat rose.
At first, it was only warm, then hot, then blistering, rising to an all-consuming blaze that burned without touching him.
Somewhere in the distance--screams. Endless, tortured, echoing cries.
And then--a voice.
Commanding. Feminine. Powerful.
"Finally," it purred, followed by a slow, deep inhale.
"You are mine."
Who was that?
The fall was endless. Minutes? Hours? Days? He didn't know. Was he even falling?
Regardless, It gave him time to think.
So this was it.
He had spent years fighting Hell's creations, cutting down demons, sending them back to the underworld. Now, he was finally joining them.
The moment solid ground was beneath him, the falling sensation stopped.
Cool, smooth marble. A welcome relief from the heat.
He opened his eyes.
A gargantuan chamber stretched around him--towering pillars of stone and gold, draped in deep red accents. Candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the walls.
And then he noticed--
He was naked.
Guess you don't come to Hell with clothes.
He pushed himself up, hands pressing against the floor. His body was whole. No wounds. No pain. Not even the faintest scar.
But he wasn't alone.
His eyes followed a long crimson rug leading across the chamber, up a short flight of stairs, to a throne.
A figure sat there, studying him.
Drake exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering drowsiness of his descent. His gaze locked onto the figure.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
She stood.
The weight of her presence was immediate--a mix of power, grace, and something far more dangerous. From a distance, he could tell the greater demon that had killed him was nothing in comparison to her.
She approached.
