11 Unwilling

Haisley POV

I’m not this person. At least, I never used to be. My whole life was built around pleasing others, ensuring they were happy, making sure they had what they needed. But now? That feeling, that need to protect and serve everyone else, it’s gone. I’m not sure if it was the reality of this place that broke me, knowing the women here only care about themselves, or if it was something Zyraxiel did when he took that memory from me. Either way, right now? I don’t care if these women survive.

I sit apart from them, their shifting bodies rustling as they begin to wake. They peer over at me, and I feel their eyes on me, but I avoid their gazes. I don’t care about their whispers. I don’t care about their fear or their desperation. Instead, I focus on the mirror in my hand, hoping to see Zyraxiel.

Their voices rise in low murmurs, whispering behind me. The old me would’ve cared, would’ve wondered what they were saying, maybe even worried about them. But that version of me is dead. The only thing that matters now is surviving, and I’m going to survive.

I glance up seeing the room shift, and I see him. Zyraxiel, stepping through the shadows with that commanding presence. He doesn’t speak, just sets something down in front of me before disappearing again, as silent as he came. I look at the gift he’s left: food, water, and a dagger. Another essential survival item, something tells me I will need that.

Without hesitation, I tear into the food, devouring it as if it’s the only thing tethering me to life. The water is cool, soothing the dryness in my throat, and I wrap the blanket around me, savoring the warmth it brings. Placing the dagger, in my pocket, I eat and drink in silence, paying no attention to the women staring at me.

Megan, her voice trembling, speaks up. “Will you… will you ask Zyraxiel to bring us food too?”

I look at her, my face expressionless. There’s no pity in me anymore. “No.”

The shock on their faces is almost laughable. “What? How can you be so cruel?” Olivia blurts out, her voice rising in disbelief. “Why won’t you help us?”

I laugh, cold and hollow. “Cruel?” I look between them, the twisted irony of their words settling deep inside me. “I did help. I told one of my darkest secrets to save someone else. And you?” I shake my head. “You told each other’s secrets. Including mine.”

They look at each other, shame creeping across their faces, but Megan steps forward, trying to explain. “It was part of the game, Haisley. We had to. It’s how you survive.”

“Exactly,” I say, my voice sharp. “And this is how I survive. I get fed. And you? You don’t.”

Their begging eyes, their desperate pleas, mean nothing to me now. They’re all just playing a game, and so am I. The difference is, I’ve accepted it. I’ve embraced the truth.

I’m not here to save anyone anymore.

“You can’t do this. How can you refuse to help us?” Megan stands over me, desperation in her voice, as she continues pleading.

I look up at her, unbothered by her panic. “How could you scream one of my secrets after I saved you from that creature? They didn’t help you. Why not reveal their secrets? Instead, you betrayed the only person who stood by you.” I shake my head and return to eating. “Well, no more. You’re on your own.”

I don’t look at her, but I can feel her glaring, feel the heat of her anger radiating off her as she stands there, motionless, waiting for me to change my mind. But I don’t. I just keep eating, ignoring the tension in the room.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, I hear her shuffle away. I finish my meal, unbothered, and wrap myself up in the warmth of the blanket. With the dagger firmly in my hand, I feel a sense of safety, knowing it’s there if I need it. My eyelids grow heavy, and I let myself drift into sleep, my body finally relaxing.

---

I wake abruptly, the uneasy sensation of something being taken from me snapping me into consciousness. My eyes fly open, and I feel the tug on my water bottle. I grab it before it’s fully taken, twisting around to see one of the women, Olivia, trying to steal it, her hands trembling with guilt. Behind her, the others lurk in the shadows, watching.

“Stop,” I warn, my voice cold, as I pull the water back. But Olivia doesn’t listen. The others close in, their eyes locked on me with a hunger and desperation that sends a shiver down my spine.

Suddenly, they all rush at me.

I spring to my feet, the dagger already tight in my grip. They’re faster than I expected, clawing at me, their hands grabbing for the mirror, for the water, for anything they can take. It’s chaos, wild, desperate hands and frenzied movements. My heart races, but my mind remains sharp, my instincts kicking in.

Without hesitation, I thrust the dagger forward.

A sickening gasp fills the air as the blade sinks into one of them, Star. She stumbles back, clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers. The others freeze, staring in shock as she crumples to the ground, whimpering in pain.

I pull the dagger back, the tip dripping with her blood. My breath is shallow, my chest tight, but I don’t falter. I hold my ground, standing over Star’s fallen form, the blade gleaming in the low light.

The rest of them back away, their wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. No one dares move closer.

“Try that again,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll do worse than this.”

Silence. None of them speak. They’re terrified. And they should be.

They retreat into the shadows, leaving me standing there, my heart still pounding, my hand gripping the dagger tightly. The power I hold now is undeniable. And I realize, in that moment, I’ll do whatever it takes to survive this.

A few moments later, the portal opens with a low, ominous hum. My heart races as I watch a demon step out from the swirling darkness, its massive, twisted form filling the room. It’s still not as big as Zyraxiel however. The demon’s red eyes sweep over us, cold and calculating, before it strides toward Star’s crumpled body. Without hesitation, it lifts her limp form and carries her back into the portal, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

“They’re not going to punish you for it!” Megan’s voice breaks through the silence, shrill and furious. She stares at me with wild eyes, her anger boiling over. “She shouldn’t be allowed to survive! She killed Star!”

Her scream echoes off the cold stone walls, filled with venom and desperation. The other women stir, their eyes flickering between Megan and me, uncertainty clouding their faces. But I remain still, my grip on the dagger tightening.

Suddenly, a loud BEEP pierces the air, and the screen flashes to life.

“This is all part of the game.”

The words burn bright on the screen, cutting through Megan’s rage. The tension in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating. She glares at the message, her body trembling, but she’s powerless to stop what’s happening.

Another message flashes, filling the screen with new instructions:

“All demons will visit their possible chosen ones again. Each will have two hours this time to visit. They may bring gifts.”

The portal opens once more, and before anyone can react, Zyraxiel steps through, his massive, dark figure appearing like a shadow pulled from the depths of hell itself. The air grows thick with heat as he moves toward me, his red eyes locking onto mine. Without a word, he gestures for me to follow him, and I rise, my body moving without hesitation.

We sit together, away from the others, his presence wrapping around me like a protective shield. He sits across from me, his towering form somehow more comforting than terrifying now. There’s something about him, something dark, yes, but also familiar, a steadying force in this madness.

He reaches into the swirling portal beside him and pulls out several items: more food, water, and another gift, a music player. He hands them to me silently, and I accept, placing them next to the dagger at my side.

“You’re spoiling me,” I murmur, half-joking, though part of me is deeply relieved to have these things. The warmth of his gifts, the security of being prepared, it steadies me.

Zyraxiel chuckles, the sound deep and rough. “You’ve earned them.”

I glance back at the other women. They watch in silence, their eyes hollow, their bodies tense. None of their demons come for them. Not a single one.

“They’re not getting visited,” I say, more as an observation than a question.

“They’re weak,” Zyraxiel replies, his voice filled with disdain. “The only reason they’ve survived this long is because you made me feed them. Without your requests, they would have starved days ago.”

I look at the others, seeing them now for what they truly are, hollow shells clinging to life because of my mercy. Without me, they would have withered away, unable to fend for themselves.

“And now?” I ask, my voice steady.

“Now?” Zyraxiel smirks. “They’re as good as dead. Their demons, have stronger claims they want.”

I don’t flinch. The truth of his words settles deep inside me, cold and final. I did what I had to do to survive, and I’m still here because of it. As for the others? They were never strong enough to make it this far.

I look back at Zyraxiel. “What happens next?”

He leans forward, his red eyes burning into mine. “You prepare for the next test, Haisley. The others are nothing now, mere obstacles. You, however… you’re ready. And when it’s time, you’ll be the one who stands victorious.”

I nod, the weight of his words sinking in. I no longer feel the guilt or hesitation that plagued me before. I’m ready. Ready for whatever comes next. Ready to win.

Zyraxiel gives me one last look, filled with something I can’t quite place, pride, perhaps, and then he disappears back into the portal. I sit there, clutching the gifts he’s given me, the silence of the room pressing in.

The others may watch, they may wait, but I know now, I’m the one who will survive this. Out of these women anyway. I peer at the board, each demon now only has two women left.

I know that I’m not free after this, but surely where ever I go after here, isn’t as bad?

12 Their Plan

Haisley

It’s been hours since the demons visited, well, since Zyraxiel visited. None of the other demons bothered to show up. It’s strange to think that out of everyone in here, I’m the only one who still has the attention of my demon. We’re down to the final two now, so this is when it matters most. Having your demon’s support could be the difference between life and death, between winning and vanishing into oblivion.

The women whisper amongst themselves, speculating about the next game. Their voices grate on me, and I don’t care to hear any of it. I slip on my headphones and crank up the music, letting it drown them out. I see them glaring at me from across the room, their eyes filled with contempt, but I just smile back. Let them hate me. I don’t care anymore. Caring about them would be a mistake, a weakness. It’s how I’d lose.

Hours drag by in a blur of silence and tension until the screens beep, pulling me from the music. I pull off my headphones and glance up at the message flashing across the screen.

“For the next twenty-four hours, your demons may visit you as and when they wish. If they offer it, you will be allowed to leave the room.”

A smile tugs at my lips. I know Zyraxiel will come for me. He’s been with me from the start, watching, guiding. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be here.

But then the screen flashes again, and the next message wipes the smile from my face.

“Each demon also has the opportunity to visit those who are not their chosen. This is because they may claim you in the very end. They may also assist you in the next round.”

My stomach twists. Panic surges through me. Zyraxiel might not come. He could be visiting another woman, someone in another room who’s impressed him more than I have. The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine. What if he decides I’m not worth it after all? What if I’ve already lost him?

I force myself to breathe, to push the panic down. But then the portal opens, and I freeze, watching as Megan’s demon steps through. Ashurith.

I glance at Megan, expecting her to be relieved or happy, but her eyes are filled with cold fury, locked onto me. Why is her demon standing in front of me?

I look up at Ashurith. He’s smaller than Zyraxiel, not as terrifying. His features are more human, his skin a deep, mottled grey, but his eyes glow with an eerie light. His frame is lean, almost gaunt, and there’s a certain frailty to him that Zyraxiel lacks. Where Zyraxiel exudes raw power and dominance, Ashurith looks more… calculated, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He peers down at me, a twisted smile curling across his lips. “Congratulations, Haisley,” he says in a voice that slithers through the air. “You were the only one to remain silent while losing something so sacred. The others screamed, but you didn’t. You never resisted.”

I stiffen at his words. My mind flickers back to that dark moment when I lost part of myself, the pain of my darkest memory being ripped away. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. But I didn’t. I refused to let the pain control me.

Ashurith takes a step closer, his glowing eyes locked onto mine, as if he’s searching for something deep within me. “Zyraxiel must be very proud,” he adds, his voice laced with something that sounds almost like jealousy.

I glance over at Megan again, her glare burning holes into me. I can feel her hatred, her desperation. She’s angry that her demon is here, speaking to me instead of her. I don’t want Ashurith. I don’t care what he has to say.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice low, my eyes narrowing as I meet his gaze.

Ashurith’s smile widens, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. “Because I recognize strength when I see it, Haisley. You’ve done what few others have managed. You’ve embraced the darkness, let it become part of you.” He leans in closer, his breath hot against my skin. “Perhaps, in the end, you’ll be the one I claim.”

I feel a cold shudder run through me at his words. No. I belong to Zyraxiel. But I don’t say it. I keep my mouth shut, my expression hard.

Ashurith steps back, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I’ll be watching you, Haisley.” He turns, his figure dissolving into the shadows as the portal opens once more.

Megan’s eyes are still on me, fury written across her face. I meet her gaze, unblinking, and she turns away, bitter and defeated.

I glance back down at the mirror, hoping Zyraxiel will appear soon. I don’t need another demon. I only need him.

The portal opens, and Zyraxiel steps through, his presence instantly calming me. I smile, feeling a wave of relief as he moves closer and sits down in front of me, his red eyes locking onto mine. There’s something serious in his gaze this time.

“You need to see the other demons,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

I shake my head instinctively, confused. “What? No… I don’t need them.”

“The next game is different,” Zyraxiel explains, his tone unyielding. “The other demons can help you in ways I cannot. Their consideration of claiming you is a good thing, Haisley.”

“I don’t need their help,” I whisper, unwilling to believe it. I trust him, not the others.

“You do,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The other women are already teaming up, planning to help each other reach their demons first. You’re not just playing a game against them, you’ve got women coming after you. They’ll try to sabotage you. You need the other demons on your side, talk to them. Play nice.”

The idea of “playing nice” with demons doesn’t sit well with me. “Who are you going to see?” I ask quietly, unsure if I want to know the answer.

Zyraxiel’s gaze drifts toward Megan, his lips curling into a small, dark smile. “I’ll give her false hope,” he says casually. “That way, she won’t try to kill you when the game begins.”

The blood drains from my face. Megan plans to kill me? The thought lodges itself in my mind, cold and terrifying. Zyraxiel stands and walks away, leaving me with that unsettling truth.

As soon as he sits with Megan, another demon steps through the portal, and then another. Hours pass, and one by one, all ten demons visit me. Every single one.

They each offer their congratulations. Each praises me for not screaming, for not resisting when they took that sacred part of me. They admire my silence, my strength in the face of torment. Their voices, though dark and twisted, echo with a strange respect.

Each demon shares a bit of history with me, explaining why so many other women before me failed to hold their own demon’s attention. It’s almost always the same story, selfishness.

“They cling to their own survival above all else,” one demon, a hulking creature with eyes like embers, tells me. “They see their fellow competitors as tools, as expendable. When the time comes, they turn on each other.”

Another demon, his skin sleek and shadowy, adds, “They used the others for personal gain, trying to force their way to victory without truly earning it. They become desperate, resorting to lies and manipulation. It’s why we don’t claim them.”

I listen as more demons share their observations. Their failures are rooted in weakness, not physical, but moral. Women who beg for help but refuse to take the first step themselves. Women who crumble under pressure and become dependent on the gifts of others, never seeking their own way out. Some demons reveal that the women who failed did ask for food and water, but only after being cornered into desperation.

“Many were too afraid to ask,” another demon says, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “They waited, hoping someone else would offer first. They wanted to be saved rather than save themselves.”

It all comes down to fear. Fear of standing alone. Fear of sacrifice. Fear of the pain they might face. I realize, in that moment, that while I might have once been like them, hesitant, afraid to let go of others, I’ve changed. I did ask for help, but not because I feared I couldn’t survive without it. I asked because I chose to. There’s power in that.

“They failed because they lacked the strength to be truly self-reliant,” the final demon says, his voice a low growl. “Instead, they became parasites, draining others without ever contributing their own strength.”

As I sit, absorbing everything they’ve told me, I think back on Megan, Olivia, and the others. They glared at me, waited for me to take the lead, to ask for their survival on their behalf. They waited for someone else to save them, never once taking the risk themselves.

I now know why none of these demons want to claim them going forward. They’re weak, reliant on others, unwilling to stand in the darkness alone.

And here I am, the only one who isn’t afraid to face it.

13 Jealous

Haisley

While I’ve had visits from all the demons, Zyraxiel has spent hours sitting with Megan. She’s laughing, stroking his arm, and constantly glaring in my direction. It makes me feel uneasy, and, oddly, jealous. Why the hell am I feeling jealous over Megan flirting with a demon? It’s not just her laughing and touching him, but the way he’s spending so much time talking to her. Every look she shoots me feels like she’s silently mocking me, as if she’s won something I’ve lost.

I try to brush it off. I shove the headphones on and turn up the music, hoping to drown out my thoughts. But it’s hard to ignore. Every now and then, I glance up, catching sight of Megan’s smug face, her eyes locked on me as she leans in closer to Zyraxiel, acting like she’s in control. It’s infuriating.

A short while later, Zyraxiel finally stands. He turns his back to Megan, gives me a small, almost secretive smile, and steps back into the portal. Relief washes over me, but the portal remains open. There’s still time for him to return, or for the other demons to come back.

Suddenly, a sharp tap on my shoulder breaks through my thoughts. I pull off the headphones and turn to see Megan standing over me, her arms crossed, that same smug smile plastered on her face.

“You can keep my demon,” she sneers. “Looks like Zyraxiel has a new favorite.”

I shrug, trying to act like her words don’t bother me, though I can feel my jaw tighten. “As soon as they were given permission, Haisley, he came to me,” she continues, standing there like she’s won some sick game.

I look away, refusing to engage with whatever power play she’s trying to pull. But Megan won’t stop. She laughs loudly, her voice sharp and grating. “Yeah, now you’re realizing you’re not as amazing as you thought, right?”

My patience snaps. “No,” I say coldly, “I’m just saving my energy rather than wasting it on pointless conversations.” My words are sharp, and I can see her smile falter for a second before she covers it up with another laugh.

“Zyraxiel told me, you know,” Megan smirks, her eyes gleaming. “All those demons visiting you? It was just to give you a false sense of security. They don’t actually want to claim you. They’re playing games with your mind, and you—” she laughs again, “you actually believe they want you.”

Her laughter echoes through the room as she walks away, leaving me sitting there, fuming. I can feel my anger rising, but I push it down. I won’t lose control. Demon support or not, I’m not losing this game. I’ll do whatever it takes to survive and win.

Hours pass in silence. Well, not exactly silence, my music drowns out the chatter. Eventually, I watch the others begin to fall asleep, and soon I follow, exhaustion pulling me under.

---

When I wake, warmth surrounds me, and my body is moving. My eyes snap open, and I find myself in Zyraxiel’s arms, being carried through a dimly lit passage.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice groggy with sleep.

“They’re asleep,” he says with a smile, his voice low and soothing. “I came to get you.”

I peer around as he carries me, my fingers brushing against the walls. They’re black, jagged, like coal. I reach out farther, running my hand along the surface. It is coal, sharp and rough to the touch. This entire place feels like a fire hazard waiting to explode.

Zyraxiel steps into a room, and the air changes immediately, heavy with something primal and ancient. The walls, just like the ones in the passage, are made of coal, dark and textured, but here it’s different. Everything seems meticulously crafted. The bed in the center of the room is made from the same material, coal or some strange, red-hued brick that gives off an eerie glow in the low light. The whole space is built like some kind of devil’s lair, deep in the heart of hell, yet there’s no fire, no heat beyond the warmth radiating from Zyraxiel himself.

The bed is massive, carved from the coal-like rock, its surface draped with dark, silken sheets that look out of place in such a harsh environment. The floor beneath us is uneven, made of the same jagged material, and the red glow that reflects off the coal gives the room an ominous, otherworldly atmosphere. Everything here feels ancient, dangerous, like this is a place where demons rest, where darkness thrives.

Zyraxiel sets me down gently on the edge of the bed, his red eyes watching me closely as if gauging my reaction to this strange, hellish space.

“Welcome,” he says, his voice low and rich, “to where I live.”

“To where you live?” I repeat, glancing around the room again. The thought of this being Zyraxiel’s home seems bizarre, but when I really take it in… if I squint hard enough, I can almost pretend it’s like any other apartment. Almost. There are books stacked on shelves, a sound system for music, a few things that would make any normal human space feel lived in.

But then there are the other things, the things that make it clear this is no human’s room. Strange, twisted artifacts line the walls, objects that hum with a dark, otherworldly energy. One shelf holds jagged, blackened skulls, their eyes glowing faintly. Above the bed, there’s a mural carved into the coal-like wall, depicting some kind of demonic battle, the figures moving ever so slightly as if they’re alive. And the air… it feels thicker here, like the room itself is alive, breathing with the same dark energy that radiates from Zyraxiel.

Standing, I walk over to the bookshelf and run my fingers over the spines of the books. “You read?” The words slip out before I can stop them. It seems strange, but here it is. A demon with a library.

Zyraxiel laughs, the sound low and almost human. It sends a shiver down my spine. “What do you think demons do all day?” he asks, amused.

“Torture people?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Sit around a pit of fire all day. I don’t know… don’t you have the ability to torment people in their nightmares? Possess them?”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Lower-level demons, yes. Those who haven’t earned the right to do anything else.”

“Lower level?” I ask, tilting my head as I walk back toward the bed. “What does that mean?”

Zyraxiel leans back slightly, watching me as I sit. “Lower-level demons like Ashurith are not strong, not powerful. They have specific jobs, tormenting, haunting dreams, causing small chaos in the human realm. It’s work they must do, tasks given to them by those who are stronger.”

“And you?” I ask, curious. “What do you do?”

“I don’t have to do those things,” he says, his voice deepening slightly, more serious now. “I could, if I wanted. But my strength means I don’t need to. Demons like me… we control others. I command a group of demons, those weaker, lower beings. They answer to me, and I decide what happens with them. I decide who gets tormented, who gets spared. My power means I don’t get involved in the small things. I am in charge of shaping larger outcomes.”

“So, like a general,” I muse, trying to make sense of it.

“Something like that,” he replies. “But it’s not just about war or torment. I control how demons like Ashurith behave, how they follow their orders. I oversee the bigger plans, the movements within our realm and sometimes the human one. My power gives me the ability to influence outcomes, but I don’t need to get my hands dirty unless I want to.”

I nod, taking in what he’s saying. It’s strange to think of demons having a hierarchy, but it makes sense. Zyraxiel is clearly above the others in terms of strength and influence. “So you control them, but you don’t need to torment people?”

“Not unless I choose to,” he says, his eyes gleaming with something dark. “But I do when it’s necessary, when it’s… entertaining. My influence goes far beyond simple nightmares and hauntings. I can shape fate itself, push the world in directions that benefit me, or those I care to claim.”

The words hang in the air between us. Claim. It’s a reminder that, in his eyes, I’m something to be claimed, something he’s been watching and guiding all along.

“So, you’re powerful enough that you don’t need to play games with people,” I say, narrowing my gaze at him. “But you’re choosing to play this one.”

Zyraxiel’s smile darkens, and he leans in slightly. “I chose this game because it interests me, because you interest me. I could have claimed any of the others, but I haven’t. The others are weak, desperate to survive without understanding the cost. You… you’re different, Haisley. That’s why I’m here.”

His words send a chill down my spine. I’m not sure what I should feel, flattered, afraid, or both. But as his eyes hold mine, I realize one thing: there’s no turning back now. Not from him. Not from this game.

“And what if I don’t want to be claimed?” I whisper, testing him.

His smile deepens, dangerous and alluring. “You will, eventually.”

“Right, but what if I don’t?” I ask again, testing the boundary between curiosity and fear.

Zyraxiel sighs, his dark eyes locking onto mine as he moves closer, the space between us shrinking. “Then I claim you without your choice,” he says, his voice steady but filled with something deeper, more possessive. “But I’d rather you want to be claimed.”

I blink, trying to process his words. Why? Why does it matter to him if I want it? That makes no sense to me. “For a demon, you’re… kind of nice,” I mutter, and he laughs, a sound that’s far too human for comfort.

“I’m not nice,” he says, his smile darkening. “You’re only seeing me as nice because I want you to choose this. That’s purely because you’re the first human I’ve ever wanted, for more than just a passing amusement. It’s rare for someone like you to enter this game, Haisley. Most who come here die within days or weeks, claimed by demons who see them as little more than playthings. But you? You’re different. That’s why the demons at the end of this game battle for the chance to claim you.”

“Battle?” My eyes widen in shock. “You mean, you have to fight for me?”

He nods, watching me carefully. “Yes. The final round is not just a test of your strength, but of mine. At the end of the games, the demons must search for their chosen human. Along the way, we face each other, and the strongest demon wins the right to claim. But it’s not just us, other demons, ones who weren’t part of the game, can join in too. The human is awarded to the best demon.”

My heart pounds in my chest. Does that mean there’s a chance someone else could win and claim me? The thought makes my skin crawl. I don’t know if I’m ready to accept that, or if I’m even okay with that possibility.

As if sensing my fear, Zyraxiel’s eyes narrow, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “I won’t lose, Haisley.” The confidence in his tone is absolute, like losing isn’t even a remote possibility. But how can he be so sure? I watch him closely as I kneel in front of him, the weight of this revelation settling over me.

There’s a small but very real chance someone else could win me in the end. As I contemplate the idea, my gaze drifts over Zyraxiel’s form, lingering on his horns. They’re curved, powerful, and dark, something about them draws me in. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of one horn.

In an instant, his hand snaps around my wrist, gripping it tightly. “No,” he growls, the sound low and primal, vibrating through the room. His chest heaves with a sharp breath, and I feel the tension radiating from him. Did I hurt him? The intensity in his eyes is too much, burning through me, and I quickly look away, feeling a surge of embarrassment.

That’s when I notice something I hadn’t before. My gaze falls lower, and I gasp, eyes widening. Where the hell did that come from? I hadn’t realized, hadn’t even considered, that demons like Zyraxiel might have a cock. But now, there’s no ignoring it. He’s been walking around undressed this entire time, and I’ve somehow managed not to notice. Until now.

“Don’t touch them again,” he growls, his grip on my wrist still firm, but the edge of his voice has shifted. It’s darker, deeper. I nod quickly, heat rising to my face as I realize what I’ve just discovered. Are his horns some kind of sexual trigger for him? My mind races, piecing together this new information. I hadn’t thought about demons having desires like this.

Suddenly, the reality of what might happen if Zyraxiel claims me hits me hard. I’d seen what happens to women who refuse to play the game, the punishments they endure, the horrible deaths that follow. But I hadn’t truly considered what these demons want after they win, after they claim us. What that really means.

There’s more at stake here than survival. There’s the claim itselfwhat it will demand of me. What he will demand.

Zyraxiel’s eyes haven’t left mine, and for the first time, I feel the full weight of what’s coming. It’s not just about winning this twisted game. It’s about what happens after. And suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m prepared for it.

14 Her Touch

Zyraxiel POV

She touched me. Not just anywhere, but on my horns, the one place she shouldn’t have. It was a simple, almost innocent gesture, but it sent shockwaves through me. My mind races, the urge to claim her now, in this very moment, screaming at me. It would be so easy, too easy, to take her, to end this game and make her mine. Right here, right now, it would all be over, and she would be with me.

But I can’t. Not yet. She’s not ready, not willing, and I want her to be. I’ve never cared about consent before, never needed it. But Haisley… she’s different. There’s something about her that makes me want her to choose this. To choose me.

She stays frozen, her body tense, as if she’s only just now realizing what all of this truly means. She’s beginning to understand the depth of the game, of what lies beyond survival. I should send her back to the room, give us space before I lose control. But if I do that, I’ll lose this opportunity. And the next few days are going to be brutal.

I want her to see this world, to understand it, so she’ll give herself to me willingly. But having her so close, here in this room, makes it hard to hold back. The need to touch her, to claim her, is growing stronger with every second. I was fine, everything was fine, until she touched my horn. Now I’m struggling to maintain control.

My hands cup her face, and she looks at me with those wide, uncertain eyes, like she’s lost in some internal battle. I could dive into her mind, easily read her thoughts, but I won’t. Not yet. I’m giving her the space to figure this out on her own.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t resist when I hold her face, her soft skin warm beneath my rough palms. She just stares at me, breathing shallowly, waiting for something.

And then I lean in, and I kiss her.

Her lips are soft, so soft against mine, contrasting the rough, hard texture of my own. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she presses closer. The kiss deepens, her mouth molding against mine as though she’s been waiting for this too.

Her hands move, sliding along my body, stroking the hard lines of my chest, my arms. The sensation of her gentle touch against the unyielding stone of my skin sends a surge of heat through me, making it harder to resist. Her fingers trail across my torso, exploring the contours of muscle and the roughness of scars, before she reaches my horns again. She touches them with curiosity, with care.

That’s when I slip.

I lose control.

The primal part of me, the one I’ve kept buried, surges forward, and without thinking, I pin her beneath me. My body moves on instinct, pressing hers down against the coal bed as our kiss becomes harder, faster. She responds, her body arching into mine, her hands grasping me, pulling me closer. There’s no hesitation in her movements, no fear. Just need.

I kiss her deeper, my breath growing ragged as I let myself get lost in her. For the first time, I feel the pull of wanting a human, not just for the claim, but for her.

But then, as quickly as it started, I pull away, jumping back as if I’ve been burned.

“I can’t,” I say, my voice low and strained, my chest heaving. I look at her, sprawled on the bed, her eyes wide with confusion and desire. “I can’t claim you yet.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, sitting up, her brow furrowed. Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge of something deeper there, something like fear. “What does it mean to claim someone?”

I take a breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. She deserves the truth. “For a demon to claim a human, Haisley,” I say slowly, “we have to… consummate the claim. We have to have sex. And then…” I pause, watching her reaction carefully. “I take your soul. When that happens, our souls merge. You become mine, permanently. Forever.”

She stares at me, processing the weight of my words. I can see the questions swirling in her mind, the uncertainty and the fear. But there’s something else there too. Curiosity.

“Is that what you want?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I step closer, my gaze never leaving hers. “More than anything. But I want you to want it too. I won’t take your soul unless you give it to me willingly.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the battle still waging inside her. She’s teetering on the edge of a decision that will change everything.

But I won’t rush her. Not yet.

The claim will happen when she’s ready, and I know that when the time comes, she will be ready. I hope she’ll be ready, otherwise, in the final battle, I’ll have to claim her against her will. I won’t risk letting anyone else take her.

“I… I won’t touch you there again, I promise,” she whispers, her voice soft and unsure. I step back from the edge of my restraint and return to the bed, this time keeping a distance between us. Her eyes track my movements, curiosity mixing with the tension between us.

“Can you tell me things? About the game, the women, the demons, and this place?” she asks tentatively. “Or is that against the rules?”

A smirk pulls at my lips. “Against the rules? I made the rules.” The moment the words leave my mouth, her eyes widen in surprise.

“You created this game?” Her disbelief is evident, but she looks at me with more eagerness now. “So, can you tell me how many other women are here? Not in the game, I mean, those who’ve won before. Do they live here? Or is this just your place? What happens to the women who were claimed before?”

Her barrage of questions catches me off guard, but I’m not surprised. This is a place built on uncertainty, and she’s trying to make sense of it. I watch her closely before answering.

“I’ve already told you, most of the women who are claimed… they die quickly,” I say, my tone measured. “They become mere toys for their demons, because they are like the others, ordinary, unremarkable. They can’t survive the pressure of being claimed by us.”

She shifts, her voice lower when she asks, “And the ones like me?”

I meet her gaze. “The ones like you? They don’t die. Not in the same way. They don’t belong to this world, but slowly, they become part of it. They stop being fully human, they live, but they don’t age. They’re consumed by this place.” I pause, watching her expression as I continue. “There are about thirty others like you, and their demons, masters, do everything to make sure they have what they need to exist here.”

Her brows furrow as she processes this. “So do they live here? With their demons?”

“Yes,” I reply. “There are many parts of this kingdom, and they live throughout it. This place is just a small part of something much larger.”

She nods, her curiosity far from satisfied. She scoots a little closer to me, her face still filled with questions. “I need to understand how this world works,” she says, her voice more determined now. “The Devil… he’s real, isn’t he? Do I see him? Do I have to face him?”

I give a small chuckle, dark and low. “Yes, the Devil is real. But no, you won’t be facing him directly. Not unless you draw his attention, and trust me, you don’t want that.” My voice softens as I meet her gaze. “He watches over all of this, but his interest lies elsewhere. You’ll be dealing with demons like me, creatures who have earned their place. The Devil created this realm, but he lets the rest of us play our games.”

She looks thoughtful, processing everything I’ve told her. I can see the questions forming in her mind, the wheels turning. This world is starting to pull her in, and whether she realizes it or not, she’s already becoming part of it.

“But,” I add, leaning in slightly, “if you want to survive, you’ll need to stop thinking like a human. This isn’t your world anymore. You need to understand what it means to be claimed, and what happens when you give yourself over fully.”

Her eyes flicker with uncertainty again, but this time there’s a glint of resolve. She’s learning. Slowly, but surely.

And soon, she’ll be mine.

15 Final Few Hours

Haisley POV

His words send a chill down my spine, but not from fear, it’s the way he talks about this world, about me becoming part of it. It’s unsettling, yet… oddly comforting. Thirty women like me, living here, no longer fully human but not dead either. It’s a lot to take in, but somehow, knowing I’m not alone makes it easier.

I glance up at him, his dark eyes watching me closely, as if he’s waiting for me to process everything he’s said. The air feels thick with tension, but not the kind that sends me running. It’s something different, something that pulls me closer to him.

Without thinking, I shift nearer, pressing myself against his side. His body radiates warmth, far more than anything I’ve felt in days, and for a moment, I let myself relax into it. He doesn’t move, but I feel his gaze lower as I nestle into him, the rough texture of his skin contrasting with the soft fabric of the blanket still wrapped around me.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to fully give myself to this place,” I whisper, my voice quieter than I intended. “But part of me already feels like I’m being pulled into it, like I don’t have much of a choice.”

Zyraxiel’s arms slowly wrap around me, pulling me closer. The warmth of his touch sends a strange sense of security through me. It feels wrong, yet comforting. He’s supposed to be a demon, a creature that claims and destroys, but here in his arms, I feel like nothing could touch me.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost soothing. “It won’t feel like losing yourself, Haisley. It’s about finding something else, something that was always there, waiting. You were meant for this.”

His words are smooth, almost hypnotic, and I find myself leaning into him more. I should be questioning everything, why I’m letting this happen, why I’m so willing to let him hold me like this, but I don’t. I just… let go.

The room feels distant now, the jagged coal walls and the demonic symbols etched into the stone fading into the background. All I feel is him, his warmth, his strength. The conversation lingers in my mind, his talk of demons battling for me, the idea that I could become something more. But in this moment, all of that fades into the background.

I close my eyes, my body growing heavier as exhaustion sets in. The warmth of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest, it lulls me into a state of calm I haven’t felt since this nightmare began.

“I don’t know what happens next,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, “but I don’t want to be alone when it does.”

“You won’t be,” Zyraxiel whispers back, his voice wrapping around me like a promise. “I’ll make sure of that.”

His words, so dark and reassuring, seep into me, filling the void of fear and uncertainty with something I can’t quite name. My body relaxes fully against his, and before I know it, my eyelids grow too heavy to keep open.

As I drift into sleep, still wrapped in his embrace, I realize just how deeply I’ve allowed myself to fall into this world. And in this moment, I don’t care. All that matters is that I feel safe, safe in the arms of a demon.

The last thing I remember before slipping into darkness is the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, and the faint promise that whatever happens next… I won’t face it alone.

When I wake, I’m not with Zyraxiel anymore. I know it without even opening my eyes, the scent here is different, unfamiliar. The warm, solid heat of his body is gone, replaced by the slight comfort of the blanket he gave me. But it’s not his warmth. It’s not the same.

My mind feels sluggish, as if waking up is a struggle I can’t fully win. My limbs are heavy, and a soft whimper escapes my lips. That’s when I realize there’s a familiar heat between my legs. It’s him. Zyraxiel’s warmth.

I try to move, but his hands tighten around my hips, holding me in place. His tongue, wet, hot, and relentless, moves against me, and my body betrays me, trembling at the sensation. Each thrust of his tongue is rough, long, pushing me deeper into a spiral I can’t control. My mind slips, lost to the overwhelming pleasure as his hand clamps over my mouth, stifling any sound I might make.

I’m shaking, on the edge of losing everything, and then I do. My body trembles as I climax, but he doesn’t stop. Each orgasm rolls into the next, my legs shaking as I try to hold on, but it’s no use. His tongue keeps working, his free hand gripping my breast, tugging at my nipple as another wave of pleasure crashes into me, stronger than the last.

A low, satisfied groan rumbles from him as his tongue slows, then finally stops. My body feels limp, drained, as I lay back, breathing heavily, completely spent. Zyraxiel rests his head on my stomach, his fingers still wrapped possessively around my breast, the other hand lightly pressing on my throat. His eyes close, and for a moment, I wonder, do demons sleep?

I stare down at him, my mind still trying to catch up. I take in the room. The other women are still asleep, unaware of what just happened. But why did he bring me back here to do this? And why is he suddenly resting? Questions swirl in my mind, but I can’t make sense of them.

Slowly, I lower my hand, gently stroking his face, feeling the rough texture of his skin, then resting my hand on his shoulder.

“Zyraxiel,” I whisper.

His eyes stay closed, but his voice is a low, gravelly murmur. “No one is claiming you but me. I’m not leaving until the time for visits is up.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?” I gasp softly, confused.

“Some of the other demons plan to claim you during these hours, so they won’t have to battle me later,” he grumbles, his grip on me tightening slightly. “But they won’t. I’m not letting them.”

I blink, trying to process his words. Demons are planning to claim me before the final battle? So now I’m not just dealing with a twisted game, I’ve got other demons who could snatch me away at any moment? Great. Just what I needed.

I stare at him, feeling both safe and overwhelmed at the same time. His possessiveness, his determination to keep me for himself, it should terrify me, but instead, it makes me feel… protected. Claimed, in an almost comforting way, even though I know the danger that lurks.

“So you’re just going to stay here? Until time’s up?” I whisper, still trying to wrap my head around it.

“Yes,” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep, or whatever demons do when they close their eyes. “No one else will take you. You’re mine, Haisley. Until the end.”

I don’t know how to feel about that. Part of me should resist, should be scared of being claimed so completely, but the other part of me, the growing, darker part, almost wants to accept it.

And with that thought swirling in my mind, I rest my head back against the blanket, wondering what happens next.

16 The Game

Haisley

I wake to a harsh beeping sound, my heart jolting as my eyes snap open. Zyraxiel is gone. The warmth of his presence, the weight of his touch, everything that made me feel safe is gone. The women around me stir, waking slowly, confusion and grogginess written across their faces.

Turning, I catch sight of the screen. It flashes with an announcement, the words bold and ominous.

The Final Game!

Please move to your name.

The room stills as the message appears, the tension thickening with every passing second. We move quickly, standing in the spots and bars appear around us. The details unfold on the screen, and I read them with a sinking feeling.

The final game has begun. All remaining women will be placed in a maze. You must find your way to your demon, using the clues hidden throughout the maze to guide you.

The screen flashes again.

Along the way, you will encounter various challenges and obstacles. You are allowed to sabotage others, hurt them, or even kill them to succeed. Survival is key.

My stomach twists. Sabotage? Hurt others? Kill them? The air grows heavier as the realization sets in, this isn’t just about reaching Zyraxiel. It’s about survival. And the only way to make sure I reach him is to be prepared to do whatever it takes.

Zyraxiel has warned me that the others plan to fight against me.

The screen flashes again, displaying the rules of the game in cold, unfeeling text:

The game lasts 12 hours.

The maze is filled with hidden items. Some will aid you in your journey, others will slow you down. Food, water, and weapons can be found at various points. Use them wisely. Demons may assist the women they want to see succeed. They can provide guidance, but only within certain limits.

Twelve hours. The entire game will take twelve hours. Twelve hours in a maze where every step could lead to survival, or death. The weight of it presses down on me like a stone in my chest.

The screen continues.

The game ends when all women have reached their demon or have been eliminated. Only one can win per demon. If you don’t get there first, the penalty is death.

I glance around the room, seeing the panic starting to set in among the women. Their eyes dart from the screen to each other, the reality of the situation sinking in fast. They know what this means. I know what this means.

It’s not just about solving the maze or finding Zyraxiel. It’s about fighting for my life.

The room erupts into chaos as the details of the final game sink in. Women are panicking, some shouting, others going silent in grim understanding. My heart races, the dread I felt earlier now curling into a dark knot of fear and adrenaline. This is it. The final game. There’s no time to think, just survive.

The next thing I know, everything around me shifts, the room dissolving into darkness. My body feels weightless for a moment, and then I’m suddenly there. I stumble forward, my feet landing on rough stone. The air is heavy, damp, and cold. I’m in the maze.

The walls rise high around me, jagged and uneven, like they’ve been carved from rock with claws. The dim light barely illuminates the path ahead, casting long, menacing shadows that seem to shift on their own. The sounds of the other women’s panicked breaths and hurried footsteps echo faintly, but I can’t see them. I’m alone, surrounded by the labyrinth of twisting passages.

I glance down at my wrist, where the first clue is inscribed. The words pulse faintly, like a heartbeat.

“To find your demon, you must first find the blade that cuts through deception and the shoes that carry you to truth. Look where the air feels thick and the shadows cling.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I turn and move deeper into the maze. The air does feel thick here, like something oppressive lingers just out of sight. The shadows along the walls seem to crawl as I pass, twisting into strange shapes, but I force myself to keep moving. I can’t afford to be afraid. I have twelve hours, and I need to use every second wisely.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on me as I follow the winding path, the sound of my own footsteps echoing back at me. Suddenly, I notice the air growing heavier, colder. The shadows seem thicker, darker, like they’re suffocating the space. This must be it, the place the clue is talking about.

I spot a small wooden box nestled in the corner of the passageway, nearly swallowed by the dark. My pulse quickens as I approach it, crouching down carefully to open the lid. Inside, there’s a knife, sharp and gleaming, with a jagged edge, and a pair of trainers, sturdy and worn. Relief washes over me as I pick them up. The trainers will help me move faster, and the knife… well, I know I’ll need it.

But just as I’m pulling the items from the box, a cold laugh echoes through the maze.

I freeze, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Before I can react, something slams into me from behind, knocking me off balance. I hit the ground hard, the knife slipping from my hand and clattering across the stone floor.

A woman looms over me, her eyes wild with fear and desperation. Her dirty hair hangs in her face, her hands outstretched like claws as she lunges at me again. She’s not just attacking, she’s hunting me.

I scramble back, my hands searching the ground frantically for the knife, but she’s on me, her fingers wrapping around my throat. My vision blurs as she squeezes, and I can feel her nails digging into my skin.

“I need this!” she snarls, her voice hoarse, manic. “I’m not going to die here!”

My hand finally finds the knife, and I swing it up without thinking. The blade slices through the air, catching her arm. She screams, releasing her grip on my throat just long enough for me to shove her off me.

I stumble to my feet, gasping for air, clutching the knife in my shaking hand. She’s not backing down. She rushes at me again, her movements erratic, desperate. I dodge to the side, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and bring the knife up, catching her in the side.

Her scream echoes through the maze, a horrifying sound that sends chills down my spine. She collapses, blood pooling around her as she gasps for breath, clutching her side. I can’t stand here, I don’t have time to watch her die.

I grab the trainers and slip them on, my hands trembling. My mind races, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t know if I killed her, and I don’t want to know. All I care about is surviving.

The maze feels more dangerous now, the weight of what just happened sinking in. If the other women are as desperate as she was, I’ll have to fight, again and again.

I take a deep breath, my grip on the knife tightening. I can’t let my guard down. Not for a second.

The blood on the blade drips down in slow, deliberate drops, a chilling reminder of what I’ve just done. My hands shake, and my breath is ragged, but I force myself to keep moving. There’s no time to dwell on the woman I just fought, no time to let the guilt settle in. This is survival, and if I don’t keep moving, I’ll be next.

As I stand, wiping sweat from my brow, the blade glints in the dim light. But it’s not just reflecting the light, it’s glowing. There, on the blood-slicked surface, I can see letters forming, pulsing like a heartbeat. Another clue.

I peer closer, my chest tight with dread, the words searing into my mind.

“Your path is clouded by shadows. Trust the blade, and it will guide you through the darkest parts of the maze. Follow the blood to find your way.”

I stare at the words in disbelief. Follow the blood? Does that mean… I’m supposed to trust this? The blood from the woman I just fought? My stomach churns, but there’s no time to question it. This game isn’t about fairness, it’s about survival.

Just as I’m about to move, something drops at my feet with a dull thud. I flinch, gripping the knife tighter, and look down. Another box. I hesitate for only a second before I crouch down, pulling it open. Inside, there’s a small black ball, perfectly round, smooth, and oddly warm to the touch. As I pick it up, a message is engraved on the inside of the lid.

“Look into the ball. Listen to the others. It has only one use.”

A sick feeling settles in my stomach. Whatever this is, it’s not going to be good. But I need information, and if this ball can give me a glimpse of what’s going on, I have to use it. My hands still trembling, I grip the ball tightly and bring it to my face, peering into the inky black surface.

The world around me fades, the maze dissolving into a swirling mass of shadows and sounds. For a moment, there’s nothing, just silence, an oppressive, suffocating silence. But then, voices start to rise from the darkness, faint at first, then clearer, louder.

Megan’s voice cuts through the noise, cold and calculated.

“We agree then? If any of us see Haisley, we take her down. No hesitation.”

My heart pounds in my chest. Megan. She’s planning to kill me.

“She’s gotten too much attention from the demons,” another voice adds. “She’s a threat. We take her out, and we stand a better chance of winning.”

The voices swirl around me, overlapping, each one dripping with venom. Megan’s group, my group, has turned against me. They’re all planning to kill me if they find me. My pulse quickens, and a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.

But it doesn’t stop there. The ball shifts, the voices changing, morphing into new conversations, women from other groups, their voices dripping with the same malice.

“Haisley’s drawn all the demons’ attention, you heard Megan shouting,” someone spits. “She’s the biggest threat. If we see her, we don’t hesitate.”

“She’s too dangerous,” another voice says. “She has to die.”

My grip tightens around the ball as the realization sets in. Every woman in this maze wants me dead. Every single one. It’s not just Megan and her group, all of them have agreed that I’m the biggest threat, that I need to be eliminated.

The sounds swirl faster, more chaotic, and the hatred in their voices is palpable. My stomach twists into knots as their plans unfold before me. They’re not just playing the game anymore, they’re hunting me. I drop the ball, its surface now cold and lifeless as it clatters to the ground, the echoes haunting me.

They all want me dead.

For a moment, I’m frozen, my mind reeling with the weight of what I just heard. The maze has just become infinitely more dangerous. I’m not just solving puzzles or looking for clues anymore, I’m being hunted by every other woman in this twisted game.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I’ve been in dangerous situations before, but nothing like this. If I don’t find Zyraxiel first, they’ll tear me apart.

Gripping the bloody knife tighter, I start moving again, this time faster, more determined. The maze twists and turns around me, each corner filled with the potential for danger, but I have no choice.

I have to survive.

17 Hunted

I rush through the maze, heart pounding, the whispered voices of the other women trailing somewhere behind me like ghosts. The cold, oppressive air clings to me, and every step echoes ominously against the jagged stone walls. I can hear them, Megan, the others, all out there, plotting my death, hunting me like prey. My grip tightens around the bloody knife in my hand, my only lifeline in this twisted game.

I stop for a moment, catching my breath, and glance down at the blade. The blood smeared across the metal isn’t still anymore. It’s moving, swirling slowly, almost like it’s alive. It shifts toward one direction, as if it’s guiding me, like a compass made of death. I take a deep breath and force myself to move, following the direction the blood leads me in.

The maze grows darker the deeper I go, the stone walls becoming slick with something that looks like oil or tar. The air gets heavier, like the weight of the world is pressing down on me, making it harder to breathe. Shadows crawl along the edges of my vision, twisting into shapes that make my skin crawl. I feel like I’m descending into some kind of hell.

As I round a corner, a loud scratching sound freezes me in place. My heart lurches, recognizing the noise. It’s the same creature, the same thing that attacked before. My body tenses as I scan the area, my eyes straining in the gloom.

There it is.

At the far end of the passage, barely visible in the dim light, the creature moves, its jagged limbs scraping against the stone floor. It’s like smoke, twisting and shifting, never fully taking form. Its hollow, black eyes lock onto me, and I feel the air grow colder. A low, guttural growl rumbles from its throat as it starts moving toward me, faster now.

Panic surges through me, but I force it down. I can’t run back. If I do, I’ll put myself behind the others, giving them more of a chance to catch up. I have to fight. I grip the knife tighter, the blade still slick with blood, and brace myself.

The creature lunges, its form distorting, almost like it’s both solid and not at the same time. Its clawed hand swipes at me, and I dodge, feeling the cold air brush past my face as it misses by inches. I don’t have time to think, I just react.

I plunge the knife forward, aiming for the creature’s chest. The blade pierces its form, but instead of flesh, there’s resistance, like I’m stabbing through thick air. The creature lets out a high-pitched screech, its body shimmering, flickering like a hologram. For a second, I think it’s not real, but then its claws slice through my arm, and pain shoots up through me.

Gritting my teeth, I shove the knife deeper, twisting it. The creature shudders, its black eyes rolling back as its entire body begins to unravel. Smoke pours out from where the blade entered, and with one last guttural growl, it disintegrates into a cloud of black mist.

I step back, panting, the knife still gripped tightly in my hand. The creature is gone, reduced to nothing but smoke and shadow, but as the mist clears, something is left behind.

A clue.

Etched into the stone beneath where the creature fell, faintly glowing with an eerie red light, are words:

“Through the flame and the ash, find the light that leads to darkness. Only the unburned shall pass.”

I stare at the words, my pulse still racing. Flames? Ash? What the hell does that mean? The maze feels more like a nightmare now, every corner filled with horrors I can’t predict. The shadows cling to the walls like they’re alive, and the air smells of something burning, charred wood and smoke.

I push forward, the blood on the blade shifting again, guiding me deeper into the maze. The walls seem to close in on me the further I go, and I can feel the darkness thickening, like it’s pressing against my skin, threatening to swallow me whole. Every step feels like I’m descending into the bowels of hell itself.

But I have no choice. I have to survive this. I have to find Zyraxiel.

I glance back once more, making sure the creature is truly gone before I continue, my heart pounding, knowing that whatever comes next is going to be worse.

Much worse.

I round the corner cautiously, the maze twisting into darkness ahead, but what catches my eye isn’t a threat, it’s a box, half-hidden by a large stone. This one doesn’t seem to be part of my clues, though. I edge closer, opening it quickly. Inside, there’s a bottle of water, the condensation still clinging to the outside. The name on the inside label catches my eye. Megan.

Well, that’s too bad for her.

Any scrap of humanity I had left is gone, burned away by this twisted game. I grab the water, ignoring the guilt trying to creep in. There’s no room for that now, not when survival means becoming something darker. Megan would do the same to me, she already plans to. I twist the cap off and gulp down half of it, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat. I close the bottle, stuff it into my pocket, and move forward.

As I walk deeper into the maze, I stop suddenly. A large bush, its branches heavy with bright red berries, stands in my path. They look delicious, ripe and vibrant, their bright color almost calling me to pluck them. I reach out, fingers brushing the smooth surface of one, and then I stop cold.

The vines beneath the berries twist and curl, dark and gnarled, oozing thick, dark blood. It drips from the plant like sap, staining the ground beneath it. Well, I’m not eating them, I think grimly. But an idea forms in my mind, something cold and calculated.

I backtrack to Megan’s box, the one she’s probably hoping to find soon. Opening it, I carefully place the berries inside. I’ve no idea what these berries will do if she eats them, but I’m not waiting around to find out. If I can sabotage her without facing her head-on, I’ll do it. I don’t care anymore.

As I move further into the maze, a sudden scream pierces the silence. My body freezes, the sound sending a jolt of terror through me. It’s the kind of scream that curdles your blood, filled with raw, desperate pain. A woman’s voice, broken and pleading, echoes through the stone walls.

“Please! Stop! I don’t want to die, please!”

I can hear the terror in her voice, and something in me twists, but before I can react, another sound follows, a cold, cruel laugh.

Megan’s laugh.

I can’t see them, but I know what’s happening. She’s enjoying this, taking pleasure in someone’s suffering. The other woman begs for her life, and Megan laughs, reveling in the power she holds over her.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep moving. This game is bringing out the worst in everyone. Maybe it’s been designed that way. Whatever’s happening to that woman, I can’t help her. Not now. I can only help myself.

But as I continue through the maze, something changes. The air grows heavier and thicker, and suddenly, the walls begin to shift around me. At first, it’s subtle; the stone distorts, warping my vision. I blink, shaking my head, but it only gets worse. The walls stretch and twist, the ground shifting beneath my feet like liquid. My head spins, and a dull roar fills my ears. It feels like the maze itself is alive.

And then I hear it, my mother’s voice.

“Haisley.”

I freeze, my blood running cold. No. I know it’s not real. It can’t be real.

“Haisley,” the voice whispers again, closer this time. The walls stretch higher, the shadows deepening until I can barely see. I stumble forward, but everything feels off-kilter, like the world is turning against me. My mother’s voice surrounds me, soft, pleading. “Why didn’t you help me?”

The walls start closing in, the shadows thickening, pressing against me like a weight. My breathing quickens, panic bubbling up in my chest. It’s not her. It’s the maze. It’s trying to break me.

“You left me,” her voice says, full of accusation and sorrow. “You let him kill me.”

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head violently, trying to push the memories away. The walls feel like they’re squeezing in on me, suffocating me. I can see flashes of that night, blood, screams, the shadow of my father’s figure. The nightmare I’ve spent years trying to forget, forcing its way back into my mind.

I stumble, falling to my knees, the knife slipping from my grip. I can hear the sound of my mother screaming, the brutal, sickening crunch of bones breaking, and my vision blurs with tears. I can’t breathe, the walls are too close, too tight.

This is all in your head. I repeat the words over and over, but the screams, the images, they’re so real. I can feel the blood, smell it. I gasp, clawing at the ground as the shadows close in, threatening to smother me.

“Get out of my head!” I scream into the darkness.

Suddenly, the shadows ripple, pulling back slightly. For a brief moment, the crushing pressure on my chest lightens. I take a shuddering breath, my hands trembling as I pick up the knife again. The maze is trying to break me, to pull me under with my own fears and memories.

But I won’t let it.

I push myself to my feet, still shaking, my mother’s voice echoing faintly in the distance. I know it’ll come back, and the next time it does, it might be worse. But for now, I move forward, clutching the knife like a lifeline.

I can’t afford to lose myself. Not yet.

18 Still fighting

Haisley POV

The maze grows darker and colder with every step I take. The stench of blood and decay hangs in the air like a cloud, choking me. Each corner I round feels like it could lead to another nightmare, but I force myself to move forward. The screams of that woman, Megan’s laughter, they still echo in my ears, but I can’t afford to let it distract me now.

Suddenly, the path opens into a wide cavernous space, and I’m forced to stop. My breath catches in my throat as I see what lies ahead.

A bridge, if you can even call it that. It’s made of loosely bound ropes and thin coal planks, swaying ominously over a pit of churning blood. Below, I can see skeletal hands clawing their way up from the pit, their bony fingers scraping at the air. The blood isn’t just red, it’s thick and dark, bubbling as if it’s alive. It’s full of the remnants of people who were probably just like me.

I swallow hard. If I fall in, those things will drag me down into that pit, tear me apart. I have no choice, I have to cross.

I approach the bridge cautiously, my pulse pounding in my ears. I step onto the first plank, gripping the rope tightly as it shifts beneath me. The coal cracks under my weight, and the bridge sways dangerously. My heart races, but I force myself forward. I have to stay focused. I can’t hesitate. One wrong step, and it’s over.

Then, as I move onto the next plank, the bridge jerks violently.

I freeze. The ropes groan, and the planks beneath me creak, but it’s not the wind. My eyes widen as I glance back, Megan. She’s standing at the start of the bridge, her hands wrapped around the ropes, pulling hard with a wicked grin plastered across her face.

“Oh, Haisley,” she calls out mockingly, her voice echoing through the cavern, “you didn’t think I’d just let you cross, did you?”

My blood runs cold. Megan laughs, yanking the ropes again, harder this time. The entire bridge swings wildly beneath me, and I grip the handrail tighter, barely managing to keep my footing.

“Let’s see how well you balance when I do this!” she snarls, giving the ropes another vicious pull.

The bridge lurches, and I stumble, dropping to my hands and knees to stop myself from falling. Below me, the blood pit churns, the skeletal hands rising higher, their bony fingers scraping at the bottom of the planks. If I fall, those hands will drag me under, tear me apart.

“Megan, stop!” I scream, my voice shaking with panic.

But she only laughs. “Why should I? You think you’re better than us? With your little demon protector, always getting all the attention. You don’t deserve to win this, Haisley. I do.”

I try to move forward, crawling across the planks as the bridge sways uncontrollably under Megan’s assault. Each jerk sends me sliding closer to the edge. My fingers scrape against the rough rope as I cling for dear life, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Maybe I’ll let the pit have you,” Megan taunts. “It’d be fun to watch those hands pull you down, piece by piece.”

The pit seems to respond to her words, the blood bubbling more violently as if it’s hungry for me. The skeletal hands reach higher, scraping the planks beneath me with hollow, desperate sounds. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and panic grips my chest.

I have no choice. I have to do something, now.

Without thinking, I grip the knife tighter in my hand and slash at the ropes holding the bridge together. The coal planks groan as they shift beneath me, and the rope jerks, but it’s not enough. I need to cut more.

Megan’s laughter turns to a snarl as she realizes what I’m doing. “You won’t make it, Haisley!” she shrieks, yanking harder on the ropes. The bridge sways violently again, throwing me off balance, and I feel my feet slip from the plank.

But I manage to grab the rope handrail just in time, holding on with all my strength as my legs dangle over the pit. Below me, the blood churns and the skeletal hands reach up, clawing at my trainers, grazing the soles. The feeling of their cold fingers sends a shock of terror through me, but I grit my teeth and pull myself up, slashing at the last rope holding the bridge together.

With a sickening snap, the ropes give way.

The bridge collapses.

Megan lets out a scream as the entire structure gives beneath her. She grabs at the ropes, but it’s too late, the planks crack and tumble into the blood pit below, and Megan is thrown backward onto the edge of the cavern, barely managing to save herself from falling in.

I watch as the skeletal hands rise higher, but they don’t reach me. They reach for the broken pieces of the bridge, and in a horrifying instant, the hands grab onto Megan’s ankles, pulling her toward the edge.

She screams, her hands scrambling for purchase on the stone floor. “No! Haisley, help me!” Her voice is full of desperation now, all her earlier bravado gone. The hands drag her closer to the pit, their bony fingers digging into her legs, pulling her toward the bubbling blood.

I don’t move. I can’t. I keep my foot wedged on the last solid coal plank, holding onto the rope, watching as Megan is slowly pulled closer to the edge, her screams echoing through the maze.

“Please! Haisley, please!” she begs, tears streaming down her face.

But there’s nothing I can do. And deep down, I know she wouldn’t help me if the roles were reversed.

The hands pull her into the pit, and her screams are cut off abruptly as the blood swallows her whole. The pit bubbles violently for a moment, and then… silence.

I stand there, shaking, the knife still gripped tightly in my hand. The pit is calm again, the surface smooth, as if nothing had ever happened.

I climb carefully off the last plank and onto solid ground, my heart pounding in my chest. The blood pit remains behind me, still and quiet, but I know it’s far from harmless.

I survived. But barely.

I take a deep breath and force myself to keep moving. The maze is far from over, and whatever comes next, I need to be ready for it.

I stand there for a moment, still trembling from the fight with Megan. My chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, my heart still hammering in my ears. The pit behind me is unusuallyquiet now, as if it never swallowed Megan whole, as if the blood itself was content with what it had taken.

I’m about to turn when I catch movement in the corner of my eye. The bridge, the one I destroyed, it’s mending itself. The ropes begin to rethread, the coal planks rising from the depths of the blood pit and reforming in mid-air, creaking as they return to their previous positions. My mouth goes dry as I watch the bridge rebuild itself, as if it’s alive, like this maze is playing with me, laughing at my desperate attempts to survive.

I can’t stay here.

Without another thought, I turn and run, the darkness of the maze swallowing me whole. The twisting corridors seem endless, the walls closing in around me with each frantic step. My legs burn, and my body is screaming at me to stop, to rest. But I can’t. Not yet. There’s no telling who or what is still after me.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I stumble forward, pushing myself to keep moving. But my body is wearing down, exhaustion wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. My feet drag on the uneven ground, my arms heavy at my sides. Every step feels like I’m wading through quicksand. I know I need to rest, but I can’t afford to. Not when so many others want me dead.

Just as I think I can’t take another step, something clatters to the floor ahead of me. I freeze, my heart pounding. Carefully, I approach the small box lying in the middle of the path. It’s simple, unadorned, and yet it feels ominous. I crouch down and open it, my breath catching as I see what’s inside.

An alarm. Small, but loud enough to be useful. A note lies tucked beneath it, scrawled in jagged handwriting.

“Sleep. The alarm will sound if people get too close to you.”

I swallow hard, my fingers brushing the edges of the box. Sleep? I can’t afford to. Even with an alarm. My instincts scream at me to keep going, to keep running. I’m not safe, no matter how much the alarm might promise otherwise.

I shove the box into my pack, standing up again. I can’t stop. Not yet.

But as I push forward, my body protesting every movement, I round another corner and slam directly into someone else. The impact knocks me back a few steps, and I gasp, my hand instantly gripping the knife.

I recognize her immediately.

Sasha. The other woman under Zyraxiel. The last time I saw her was during one of the games, and just like me, she’s still alive. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the same recognition flicker across her face. There’s no kindness in her eyes, just cold calculation.

“Zyraxiel’s little favorite,” she sneers, her voice dripping with contempt.

Before I can react, she lunges at me, a blade flashing in her hand. I barely manage to dodge, the knife grazing my arm, sending a sharp sting of pain shooting up my side. I stumble back, my heart racing, but she’s on me in an instant, her face twisted in anger.

“You think you’re going to win this?” she spits, slashing at me again. “You’re nothing, Haisley. Nothing but a pawn.”

Her words send a jolt of fury through me, but I’m too tired, my body slow to react. She lands another hit, her blade catching my shoulder, and I cry out, blood soaking through my sleeve. I swing my knife, catching her across the cheek, but it’s not enough to slow her down.

Sasha snarls, her teeth bared like an animal. She slams me against the wall, the force knocking the wind from my lungs. For a moment, I see stars, my vision blurring, but I can’t stop, I won’t stop. I grip my knife tighter and shove her off me with all the strength I can muster.

We both stumble back, panting, bloodied, but neither of us backing down. The exhaustion in my body is suffocating, but I know if I let her win, it’s over. I have to end this now.

Sasha charges at me again, her blade aimed for my throat. I barely dodge, the tip grazing my skin. I slam my elbow into her ribs, knocking her off balance, and for a split second, I see the opening. With a surge of adrenaline, I bring my knife down, sinking the blade into her side.

She gasps, her eyes wide in shock, but I don’t stop. I twist the knife and pull it free, Sasha collapsing to her knees. Blood pours from the wound, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clutches her side, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You—” she chokes out, but she doesn’t finish. Her eyes glaze over, and she slumps to the ground.

For a moment, I just stand there, breathing hard, blood dripping from my wounds. I feel like I’m going to collapse, but I can’t let myself. Not yet. Sasha’s body lies still at my feet, and I realize how close I came to dying.

I wipe the blood from my face, my hand trembling. I glance down at the alarm in my pack, and for the first time, I consider it. Maybe it’s time to rest.

But not yet.

I turn and push forward, deeper into the maze. After a few moments, I give in. Curling up in the corner, I wrap my arms around my legs, and let my head fall and sleep take me.

19 Possessed

Haisley

The alarm blares in my ears, jolting me awake. My heart pounds as I rub my eyes, trying to steady myself and figure out where I am. It takes me a moment to remember, the maze, the endless running, the fight with Sasha. I’m still in this nightmare.

I hear the sound of footsteps, hurried and deliberate. Two women round the corner, their eyes locking on me. My body tenses, adrenaline surging through me as I turn to run, but then I freeze.

Something is moving in the shadows ahead of me. Something dark.

The creature that emerges from the gloom is unlike anything I’ve seen before. Its body is shrouded in what looks like rippling, black smoke, swirling and twisting around it like a living cloak. Its eyes—if you can call them that, are two glowing red slits, and its limbs are long, thin, and impossibly twisted, as if every joint is bent backward. Its fingers, sharp and gnarled, scrape along the stone as it inches closer, dragging its deformed body with an eerie silence. Its mouth is a jagged black hole, dripping with an oily substance that sizzles when it hits the ground.

I’m surrounded.

Panic claws at me as I look between the two women and the creature. There’s no way out. The air feels thick and heavy, suffocating, and for a moment, my legs refuse to move.

Then, in a blur, the creature lunges at me.

I react on instinct, ducking to the side just as its claws swipe through the space where my head was a second ago. I kick out, sending the creature stumbling, its distorted limbs flailing as it crashes into one of the women. She screams, but the sound is cut off as the creature clutches her with its long, spindly arms.

For a second, everything goes still. The woman stands frozen, her face contorted in fear as the creature’s black smoke wraps around her, sinking into her skin. Her body jerks violently, her limbs twitching as if being pulled by invisible strings.

Then the transformation begins.

Her eyes roll back, and she lets out a blood-curdling scream, but it’s not her voice—it’s something dark, guttural, like a demon crawling out of hell itself. The black smoke seeps into her mouth, her nose, her ears, and her body convulses. She shakes uncontrollably, her back arching at an unnatural angle, her fingers clawing at her own face.

“Help me!” the other woman shouts, panic in her voice as she rushes forward, but I’m already moving, knife in hand.

I slash at her, and the blade cuts through her side, sending her stumbling back. We fight, a blur of chaos and blood, but I’m faster, stronger. I don’t give her a chance to recover, driving the knife into her chest and twisting. Her body goes limp, collapsing in a heap at my feet.

I turn back to the possessed woman just in time to see her body begin to bend and crack in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Her arms twist at impossible angles, her legs buckling and bending backward, bones breaking with sickening snaps. Her head jerks violently to the side, the crack of her neck breaking echoes through the air, but she doesn’t fall.

She laughs.

The sound is low, raspy, like a demon’s whisper. The woman’s voice is gone, this is something else entirely. Her body moves in sharp, unnatural jerks, her limbs contorting as she crawls toward me on all fours. Her eyes, once human, are now black pits of darkness, oozing the same oily substance as the creature that possessed her.

“Haisley,” the voice hisses, deep and mocking. “You can’t escape.”

The thing that was once a woman screeches, her body bending backward at a terrifying angle as she lunges toward me, her hands clawing at the ground. Her bones crack with every movement, and her neck is twisted so far to the side that her face is upside down, a grotesque grin splitting her lips.

I backpedal, my heart racing, but she’s fast, faster than anything human. Her twisted form scuttles across the ground, her limbs bending like a spider’s, and her black, tar-like fingers swipe at my legs, trying to pull me down.

I slash at her with the knife, but she doesn’t slow down. She lets out a guttural laugh, a sound that crawls under my skin, as her body bends and contorts in ways no human should ever move.

“You’re mine,” she growls, her voice layered with something dark, something evil. She jerks forward, her hand grasping at my ankle, and her touch burns. I cry out, pulling away as her nails rake across my skin, leaving searing pain in their wake.

I slam my boot into her face, the force sending her sprawling backward. She screeches, her body twisting unnaturally as she skitters back onto all fours, but I don’t wait. I lunge forward, driving the knife deep into her chest.

The possessed woman freezes, her body convulsing violently, black smoke pouring from the wound. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, and the demon’s voice screeches, filling the air with a sound that makes my skin crawl.

Her body jerks one last time, then collapses to the ground, twitching, the black smoke dissipating into the air.

I stand there, breathing hard, my chest heaving as I watch the twisted form slowly go still. The sound of her screeching fades, leaving only the echo of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I stare at her body, unsure if it’s truly over.

There’s barely time to think, no space to breathe, before my instincts scream at me to run. Without hesitation, I turn and sprint through the maze, my heart pounding in my chest. My legs burn with every step, exhaustion threatening to pull me under, but fear drives me forward.

I don’t know how long I run before I’m forced to stop, chest heaving, lungs screaming for air. But the moment I stop, my eyes widen in horror.

A wall of fire rises up before me, stretching high into the sky, flickering with a heat so intense I can feel it searing my skin from several feet away. The flames crackle and roar, their orange-red tongues licking hungrily at the air, dancing in the darkness like they’re alive.

Wasn’t the last clue about fire?

Edging forward cautiously, I scan the area around me, looking for any sign of an escape, any path that isn’t blocked by the inferno. But there’s nothing. Just fire. I start to turn back, hoping there’s another way, but my heart drops as I see flames spring up behind me too.

I’m trapped.

The heat presses in from all sides, suffocating, making it hard to breathe. Sweat drips down my face, and panic claws at my throat. I try to remember the clue, the twisted words it had used—something about only the unburned making it through.

Did I miss something? Did I overlook a box that could help me? My mind spins with the possibilities, but the flames are closing in too fast. There’s no time to go back, no time to think.

I open my mouth to scream for help, but the sound dies in my throat. No one will help me. They’ll only laugh, mock me, watch as I burn alive.

I’m on my own. The only way out of this is me.

Frantic, I try everything to get past the fire. I throw dirt at it, I try to find a way to slip through the flames, but the moment I get too close, the heat singes my skin, forcing me back. The fire is alive, hungry, feeding off my fear.

I pace, heart pounding, eyes darting around for something, anything, that can help me. But nothing works. I can feel the flames creeping closer, the heat unbearable, and I’m out of options. My mind goes blank, and I drop to my knees, the hopelessness settling in.

Then, something falls from the sky, landing with a soft thud on the ground in front of me.

My head snaps up, and I see a box, plain and unmarked. I grab it without hesitation, pulling it open with shaking hands. Inside, there’s a strange item. It’s not what I expected, not some easy answer like water or an extinguisher. Instead, it’s something far darker.

I pull it out slowly, revealing a twisted, blackened chain, its links jagged and sharp, covered in what looks like tar or thick oil. It pulses in my hand, like it’s alive. Along with it, there’s a small note, the words written in red ink.

“You wanted help, didn’t you? Use this. Xarnathor.”

Xarnathor? I don’t have time to wonder why a demon that wasn’t mine would send this. I can feel the fire closing in, ready to consume me. I clutch the chain tighter, its coldness biting into my skin, and instantly, a wave of unnatural cold floods my body, so cold it steals the breath from my lungs.

My body freezes, every muscle locking up. The fire inches closer, but I can’t feel it anymore. The intense heat is blocked out by the icy grip of the chain. I move slowly, my joints stiff, each step heavy as if I’m wading through frozen air, but the fire doesn’t touch me. The flames seem to recoil, as if repelled by the dark energy that radiates from the chain.

I step forward, the cold seeping deeper into my bones with every movement. My breath comes out in frosty puffs, and I feel like I’m walking in a different world, one where fire and heat can’t reach me.

But it’s more than that.

As I hold the chain, I feel something sinister pressing against my mind, like a dark whisper curling in the corners of my thoughts. It’s telling me to give in, to let the cold take over completely, to lose myself in it. The longer I hold the chain, the more it feels like it’s sinking into me, rooting itself in my body, trying to claim me.

I grit my teeth and push forward, the fire parting before me like a curtain. My fingers are numb, my skin pale and frozen, but the fire can’t touch me while I’m holding this. I move through the flames, every step an effort, my body screaming at me to stop, to rest, but I can’t stop now. Not when I’m this close.

When I finally step out of the fire, the chain loses its grip, and I collapse to the ground, gasping for breath. My hands tremble as I release the chain, and it slithers away, disappearing into the shadows as if it was never there.

I’m through. I made it.

But something inside me feels different, like the cold never really left.

20 His Warmth

Haisley

I stumble forward, my body still cold and stiff from the chain. The icy grip from that cursed item hasn’t left me; it’s buried deep in my bones now. No matter how hard I try to move, every muscle feels frozen, locked into a painful stiffness that makes each step a struggle. My breath fogs the air, and my skin feels like ice.

The walls of the maze shift around me, guiding me toward something…something final. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.

Ahead, a doorway looms, shrouded in shadow, and I know, this is it. My final challenge.

I step through the archway and enter a vast, circular room. The floor is smooth, almost reflective, and the walls…they’re lined with mirrors. Not ordinary mirrors, though. These mirrors are twisted, rippling like water, their surfaces distorted. The dim light flickers, casting long shadows that make the room feel claustrophobic despite its size.

I stare into the nearest mirror and gasp. The reflection looking back at me, it’s me, but it’s wrong. My skin is gaunt, my eyes sunken, and my mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. This version of me looks sick, broken, consumed by darkness. Her eyes lock onto mine, filled with accusation and hatred.

Suddenly, the reflection speaks.

“You don’t deserve to be here, Haisley. You think you’re better than the others? You’re just as weak, just as selfish.”

My breath hitches. I want to turn away, but I can’t. The reflection steps out of the mirror, a grotesque, twisted version of me, her voice filled with venom.

“You failed your mother. You’ve failed everyone. You think surviving makes you strong? It just makes you desperate.”

I take a step back, my body trembling, not just from the cold, but from the weight of her words. I try to move, but my limbs feel sluggish, frozen. Before I can react, the reflection lunges at me, her hands outstretched, fingers like claws.

I barely dodge, the cold still gripping me, making my movements slow and clumsy. She slashes at me, her nails grazing my arm, and I cry out as pain shoots through my body.

“You’re weak,” she hisses, circling me like a predator. “You’ve always been weak.”

I grit my teeth, forcing my frozen limbs to move. I swing the knife, and it slices through her side, but it’s not enough. She keeps coming, her eyes wild with anger, her voice a constant stream of taunts.

“Why didn’t you save your mother, Haisley? Why didn’t you stop him?”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I falter. Memories flood my mind, memories I’ve buried deep, memories of my mother, her death, the helplessness I felt as a child.

But I can’t afford to freeze now. Not again.

With a surge of anger, I lash out, driving the knife deep into the reflection’s chest. She lets out a horrible screech, her body convulsing before dissolving into black smoke. I’m left standing there, panting, my heart racing.

But the mirrors don’t stop. Another reflection steps out, this one even darker, more grotesque. Her eyes are hollow, her body twisted, and she laughs, a cold, mocking sound.

“You think killing me will change anything? You’re no better than the rest of them. You killed to survive, just like they did. You’re no different.”

I swing at her, but she’s faster, dodging my attack and slamming into me, sending me sprawling to the floor. The cold from the chain still grips my body, making it hard to move, but I force myself to stand, gripping the knife with white-knuckled hands.

The reflection comes at me again, and this time I manage to plunge the knife into her throat. She gurgles, black ooze spilling from her mouth as she collapses, her body disintegrating into smoke just like the last.

But then, the final reflection steps out.

She’s different. This one isn’t twisted or grotesque, she looks like me, but darker. Her eyes are cold, soulless, and her lips curl into a cruel smile.

“You think you’ve won?” she whispers. “You think Zyraxiel cares about you? You’re just another pawn in his game.”

Her words cut deep, and for a moment, I hesitate. She steps closer, her voice low and sinister.

“He doesn’t love you. He’ll use you and toss you aside, just like the others.”

I want to scream at her, to tell her she’s wrong, but the doubt creeps in, sinking its claws into my mind. She’s right. I don’t know what Zyraxiel really wants.

But I can’t let that stop me. I can’t let her win.

With a cry, I rush at her, slamming the knife into her chest. She lets out a guttural scream, her body convulsing violently as the black smoke pours from the wound.

The mirrors around me shatter.

I collapse to the ground, my body trembling from the cold, my limbs too heavy to move. The sound of glass breaking echoes in my ears, but everything feels distant. My vision blurs, and I feel myself slipping, fading into the darkness.

Suddenly, warmth floods through me.

Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and I know instantly who it is. Zyraxiel. His heat seeps into my frozen skin, chasing away the cold that’s been gripping me for so long. His chest presses against mine, and I feel his warmth radiating through me, steadying my frantic heart.

“Haisley,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here.”

I lean into him, too weak to speak, too exhausted to move. His arms tighten around me, cradling me against him as if I’m something precious. I don’t know how long we sit like that, his warmth the only thing keeping me from collapsing completely.

“You did it,” he murmurs softly, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s over now. Rest.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself relax. Wrapped in his warmth, I close my eyes and finally allow the exhaustion to take me.