Lucian stumbled through the alley, the weight of the night bearing down on him. His mind was in chaos, his body still humming with the power that had erupted from within him. The city, usually indifferent to the struggles of its inhabitants, felt unnaturally silent tonight. It was as if everything had taken a collective breath, waiting for the next move in this dark game that was spiraling out of his control.
He paused, gripping the cold stone wall of the alley for support. The glow from his mark on his chest flickered again, its warmth spreading across his skin, radiating like an insistent pulse. His breath was shallow, his heart racing as he tried to keep himself steady, to block out the whispers that urged him to embrace his legacy.
"Lucian."
The voice came like a whisper on the wind, sharp, commanding, but laced with something else—an undeniable presence. He froze, every muscle in his body tensing at the familiar tone. Slowly, he turned around to see Seraphina standing a few feet away in the shadows, her form barely visible in the dim streetlights, but her eyes gleaming with an intensity that could pierce the soul.
His pulse quickened. Seraphina—the woman who had warned him, the woman who had been following him. But now, there was no escape. He was cornered, and he knew it.
"What do you want from me?" Lucian growled, his voice thick with both frustration and fear. "I don't know what's happening to me, but I can't control it."
Seraphina stepped forward, her figure fully illuminated now, her expression unreadable. She had watched him from a distance for weeks, sensing the awakening power inside him, understanding the danger that came with it. She had tried to be patient, but this was no longer a matter of mere observation. He was close to the edge, and the time for gentle words had passed.
"You don't have to face this alone," Seraphina said quietly, but there was an edge of finality to her words. "But you must resist. Resist the temptation to let the darkness inside you consume you."
Lucian shook his head, anger bubbling up inside him. "You don't understand. It's too strong. The whispers—they're always there. My own blood is calling to me, and I can't ignore it." His hands clenched at his sides, his fingers twitching as if they might shatter something again if he wasn't careful. "What am I supposed to do? Deny who I am?"
Seraphina's eyes softened for a brief moment, a flicker of empathy crossing her face. But it was fleeting, replaced quickly by a cold determination. "You have a choice, Lucian," she said, her voice growing firmer. "You can resist your power and control it, or you can let it destroy you. Let it twist you into something you were never meant to be. And if you let it—if you let it take you—then I will be forced to stop you."
Lucian's chest tightened at the weight of her words. He knew she meant it. She wasn't just some celestial agent sent to spy on him—she was a warrior, someone who would stop at nothing to protect the world from the dangers of his bloodline. And yet, her warning, though harsh, stung him. She wasn't offering him a way out, not really. She was giving him an ultimatum.
Seraphina's eyes bored into his, unyielding and sharp. "I've seen what happens to people like you, Lucian. I've seen how quickly they fall into darkness. I've seen entire cities burn because they couldn't resist the power that comes with their blood. You think you can control it now, but you're already slipping. And if you don't make a choice, you'll be lost to it."
Lucian's heart raced, his breathing shallow. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, his power fighting for release, fighting to break free from the confines of his body. He wanted to scream, to give in, to let go of the overwhelming pressure that had been building inside him. But Seraphina's warning echoed in his mind.
"You have to make a decision," she continued, her tone cold yet filled with a sense of urgency. "If you give in to your power now, there will be no coming back. You'll become nothing more than a puppet for Lilith. The destruction you will bring will be unimaginable. But if you resist... If you fight, there's still hope for you. You're not your mother. You're not a demon. You're human, Lucian. You can still choose."
Lucian's mind raced, the weight of her ultimatum pressing down on him like a vice. He could feel the power within him, a deep, primal force that wanted to consume him whole, to shape him into something he feared. But Seraphina's words, her warnings, also rang in his ears, a lifeline he wasn't sure he could grab onto.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze, time suspended in the balance. Seraphina waited, her eyes unwavering, her body tense, prepared for whatever his next move would be. She knew how fragile his will was. She knew that any hesitation, any moment of weakness, could lead to his fall.
Lucian stood there, caught between the past and the future, between the legacy of his blood and the choice he had to make. His breath came in ragged gasps, his mind a battlefield.
"I can't do it alone," he whispered, more to himself than to her.
Seraphina's gaze softened, just a fraction. "Then let me help you. But the choice is still yours, Lucian. Resist your power. Or let it consume you. It's your destiny to decide."
Lucian's world blurred, the weight of Seraphina's warning still pressing against him. He stood motionless in the alley, the air thick with tension. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as the echoes of her ultimatum lingered in his mind. Resist, she had said. Or let it consume you.
But before Lucian could gather his thoughts, a familiar, sinister voice slithered into his mind—low and soothing, yet impossibly cold.
Lucian...
The whisper coiled around him, slipping through the cracks of his consciousness like smoke. It was Lilith, his mother, and her voice seemed to drip with an intoxicating promise, a lure that was impossible to ignore.
Why fight it, my son? The words curled around his mind like a caress, yet they carried with them the weight of something darker, more dangerous. You were born for this. Born to rule. This power—it is your birthright.
Lucian's head snapped back, his eyes wide as the air around him shifted. The alley, the city, the very ground beneath his feet felt like it was dissolving. His vision wavered, the shadows lengthening unnaturally, pulling him into an entirely different realm.
The firestorm that had burned through his dreams before—the inferno that had threatened to consume everything—now exploded before his eyes. He was no longer in the alley but standing before a towering throne, forged from blackened, molten stone. The air shimmered with heat, and the world around him flickered in and out of reality.
Atop the throne, Lilith sat, her eyes glowing with an ancient, fiery light. She was no longer the maternal figure he had imagined—no longer the woman who whispered of his lineage in dark corners. Now, she radiated power and dominance, surrounded by an infernal aura that seemed to warp the very fabric of the world. Her smile was a chilling promise, full of pride and malice.
This is your legacy, she purred, her voice reverberating through his soul. This is where you belong. Your throne awaits, Lucian. The demons will bow to you. The world will burn in your name. All you have to do is claim it.
The throne before him pulsed with heat, the flames licking up around the edges, as though the very seat was alive, calling to him. Lucian felt the pull in his chest, an insistent tug that called to the deepest, darkest parts of his soul. It was a vision of power, of destiny—one that promised all the things he had never had: control, strength, vengeance.
He stumbled toward the throne, each step more difficult than the last. His feet dragged, the weight of the vision sinking deeper into his bones. He could feel the power building within him, a searing warmth that matched the fire of the throne, running through his veins like molten lava.
Do you feel it? Lilith's voice was now a seductive whisper in his ear. The fire inside you? It is yours to command. You were never meant to be weak. You were born to dominate.
His hand reached out, trembling with the effort. The moment his fingers brushed against the stone of the throne, the vision intensified, a flood of fire and fury crashing into him like a tidal wave. The mark on his chest flared to life, burning with heat, its light blinding. He could feel the power surging within him—wild, untamable.
For a moment, Lucian could almost hear the roar of an entire army kneeling before him. He could taste the power of ruling over it all—the subjugation of the world beneath his feet. He could see the demons swearing loyalty, the cities crumbling to ash in his wake. It was intoxicating, the kind of power that filled every inch of his being.
Embrace it, Lilith urged, her voice thick with dark temptation. You are the son of demons. You are the heir to this throne. You have nothing to fear.
But then, the image wavered, like a mirage dissolving in the heat. Lucian's vision blurred, and his hand hovered just inches from the throne. Something inside him—a flicker of resistance—pulled him back. The world around him began to fragment, the fiery throne shattering into countless embers, each one burning with a promise of destruction.
"No," Lucian gasped, his voice hoarse, his chest tightening in panic. He took a step back, shaking his head violently, trying to push the vision away. He wasn't sure if the flames were real or if they were just in his mind, but they burned like they were part of him.
In the distance, beyond the flames, he thought he saw something—Seraphina, her silhouette standing against the inferno. Her eyes locked with his, filled with a silent plea. Resist, Lucian, they seemed to say. Don't let her win.
The vision of the throne began to crumble, the fire fading into the darkness as the world around him returned to the alley. But the weight of it lingered, the pull of that power still strong, clawing at his very soul.
Lilith's voice echoed in his mind once more, distant but persistent.
You can't run from your destiny, Lucian. You are mine. You will always be mine.
Lucian staggered backward, his breath ragged, the image of the fiery throne still flickering in his mind's eye. His body trembled, the heat of the vision still licking at his skin.
He pressed his hand against his chest, where the mark pulsed, as if the throne's call was still alive within him, pushing him to give in.
What if I'm not strong enough to resist? Lucian thought desperately.
The late hours of the night settled over the bar like a familiar, heavy blanket. The once-bustling establishment had quieted, the last few patrons nursing their drinks before heading out into the cool night. Lucian wiped down the counter with a damp cloth, his movements automatic, his mind still reeling from the haunting vision of the throne, Lilith's whispered promises echoing like a maddening song in the back of his mind.
His fingers trembled as they slid across the polished wood, the mark on his chest still burning faintly beneath his shirt. It felt like it was alive, pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat, as though it was urging him to act—to embrace the dark power that was now a part of him. But each thought of doing so only made his chest tighten with a surge of fear. No, he told himself. I can't let this consume me.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Jenna, one of his coworkers, watching him from the other end of the bar. She was a young woman in her twenties, bright and quick-witted, with a friendly smile that made her well-liked among the regulars. She had always been easy to talk to—someone who made the lonely nights at the bar feel less like a prison. But tonight, her usual cheerfulness was replaced by something else: a concerned, almost wary look as she observed him.
Lucian straightened up, suddenly aware of the weight of her gaze. He forced a smile, though it felt stiff on his lips, the unease in his chest growing. The flashes of the fiery throne still haunted him, threatening to drag him back into that abyss of temptation.
"You okay, Lucian?" Jenna's voice broke through his swirling thoughts, her tone casual but laced with something sharper beneath. "You've been acting... off lately."
He met her gaze, his smile faltering. Off. It was an understatement. He had barely been able to hold himself together since the night of the nightmare, and the power growing inside him only made it worse. His mind felt like it was at war with itself—torn between the fear of losing control and the pull of the power that whispered of his true nature.
"I'm fine," Lucian said, his voice rougher than he intended. He quickly looked away, focusing on the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. "Just tired. You know, long shift."
Jenna didn't buy it. She took a few steps closer, leaning over the bar, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she studied him. "Lucian," she said, her voice softer now but carrying a note of concern, "you've been distant. I've seen the way you've been handling the regulars lately. It's like you're on edge... like you're ready to snap."
He forced himself to relax, but the tightness in his chest refused to ease. Snap. The word echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but think of the times when he had almost lost control. The way objects had shattered around him without warning, the way his emotions seemed to distort reality itself.
"I'm just stressed, Jenna," he said, his voice steadier now, though the lie tasted bitter in his mouth. "It's nothing."
Jenna didn't seem convinced, her eyes scanning him as if trying to read between the lines. She'd known him long enough to see through his walls, and tonight, she seemed more attuned to the unease that hung around him like a cloud.
"You know," she continued, her voice hesitant, "you've been talking in your sleep lately. Well, more like... whispering. Not making any sense. It freaked me out a little."
Lucian's blood ran cold. His breath hitched for a moment before he steadied himself, trying to mask the shock that gripped him. His nights had been filled with nightmares—visions of fire, of Lilith, of the throne. But he hadn't known that he was speaking aloud. The realization made his skin crawl, the idea of his darkest thoughts slipping out in his sleep, betraying him.
"Maybe you're just hearing things," Lucian said quickly, forcing a chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't talk in my sleep."
Jenna raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I don't know, Lucian. It wasn't just a one-time thing. It's been happening for the past few nights. It's like you're... calling out to someone. It's like you're fighting something."
Lucian's stomach twisted. She didn't know what she was saying—she couldn't possibly understand. He needed to get away from this conversation, from the growing suspicion in her eyes. He felt cornered, the walls closing in on him as if the very air in the bar was closing in, suffocating him.
"Jenna, it's nothing," Lucian said, his voice low, trying to keep the desperation from creeping in. "I'm fine. Really. Just a bit on edge. I'll get over it."
Jenna hesitated for a moment, studying him closely, but ultimately seemed to relent. She gave him a half-hearted smile, though there was still concern in her eyes. "Alright, but if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. I'm just worried about you, Lucian. You've been acting... strange."
Lucian forced another smile, nodding quickly. "Thanks, Jenna. I appreciate it."
But as she walked away to attend to a table, Lucian couldn't shake the feeling that she was onto something. He could see it in her eyes: the unease, the suspicion. She wasn't just worried about his state of mind; she was worried about something more—something darker that had begun to emerge in him.
As she moved further away, Lucian stood frozen behind the bar, his mind racing. How much did she know?
The whispers in his mind returned with renewed intensity, cutting through the silence like a blade. You cannot hide from them, Lucian. Not from her. Not from anyone. You are not human. You never were.
His hands gripped the edge of the bar tightly, the burn of the mark on his chest flaring up again. Jenna's suspicions were only the beginning. It wouldn't be long before others noticed—before everything he had carefully hidden began to unravel.
Lucian walked the darkened streets, the cool night air offering little relief against the heat still simmering inside him. The mark on his chest seemed to pulse, as if alive, beating in rhythm with his heart, a constant reminder of the power that stirred within him—a power he could neither escape nor ignore.
The confrontation with Seraphina earlier that evening played in his mind like a broken record, each word echoing in his head. Resist your destiny, Lucian. Resist the power that calls to you or it will consume you.
But no matter how much he tried to block it out, the truth remained: the power felt right. Every fiber of his being ached for it. The firestorm that had raged in his visions, the throne that called to him, it all felt like a promise—his destiny. He was born for this. Born to rule. The whispers of Lilith, his mother, had only strengthened that belief. You are a king, Lucian. Embrace your inheritance.
It wasn't just temptation. It was an undeniable pull.
The longer Lucian resisted, the more it consumed him—an itch beneath his skin, a gnawing hunger that nothing could satiate. Each time he thought he could forget, that he could ignore it, the mark flared again, sharper this time. A reminder that no matter what Seraphina said, he was different. He wasn't just human. He wasn't just some bartender.
He was something else. And the world he had known, the small, quiet existence he had lived, no longer seemed like enough.
Lucian's thoughts drifted back to Seraphina's pleading eyes, her soft, desperate voice urging him to fight, to turn away from the darkness inside him. She had warned him, had begged him to reject the power. But the more he remembered her words, the more distant and irrelevant they seemed.
He didn't need her warnings. He didn't need anyone.
The tension that had clouded his every step began to dissipate, replaced by a newfound clarity—a clarity that came with the realization that the power he had once feared was the very thing that could set him free. The fire in his veins, the flames that danced in his chest, were a gift, not a curse.
In his mind's eye, the fiery throne flashed again—its molten surface gleaming, waiting for him. Lilith's voice was soft and coaxing. Take your place, Lucian. The throne is yours. You can rule, if you only embrace your true self.
True self. The words felt like an awakening. His entire life had been a lie, a shadow of what he could truly become. Seraphina, the Order, all of them—they were only trying to hold him back. To keep him from reaching his potential.
He stood at the edge of the city, staring into the darkness, the world around him a blur of half-formed shapes. His thoughts were clear, his purpose clear. He would not be a puppet, a pawn in someone else's game. He would not be dictated to by their rules, their limitations.
Without thinking, Lucian reached for the mark on his chest, feeling its heat, its presence. The power that coursed through him wasn't just a threat—it was an opportunity. An opportunity to reshape his destiny, to claim what was rightfully his.
Seraphina's words echoed again, but this time, they felt like a faint murmur against the roar of his own desire. Resist...
But Lucian was past resistance.
His eyes blazed as he clenched his fist. The pull of the throne, of the power, was too strong to ignore. He wouldn't run from it anymore. This is who I am.
The shadows around him seemed to shift, as if responding to his decision. The air crackled with energy, and Lucian could feel the atmosphere change—the world itself bending around his will. He felt his own power rise within him, stretching out like wings of flame.
He was ready. Ready to take control of his destiny, to leave behind the life of a bartender and embrace the lineage that had been waiting for him all along.
No more hesitation. No more doubt.
A deep, almost primal urge surged through him, and with a single breath, Lucian let go of the last remnants of his resistance.
The throne is mine.
As the words rang out in his mind, the world around him darkened, the air thickening with anticipation. The whispers of Lilith, the pull of the power, filled him entirely now. He could feel the shift within him, a profound change, as if something ancient and unstoppable was awakening.
Lucian closed his eyes, the weight of the decision settling over him like a cloak of fire. This was the moment. No more warnings. No more turning back.
As the final remnants of doubt dissolved, Lucian felt a surge of power, burning through him, igniting every part of his being. His body hummed with the force of it, every cell alive with energy. The city around him seemed to fade, the noise of the world distant, as if he were standing on the edge of an abyss—no longer tethered to the man he once was.
And then, in the deepest part of his soul, he heard it again. The voice of his mother.
You are mine, Lucian. Come to me.