The night was cold, a biting wind sweeping through the ruins of Saint Isaac High School as Johnny stood at the center of the darkened, crumbling hall. The room was illuminated only by the flickering light of the candles he had arranged in a perfect circle. His hands trembled as he held the black diary, staring down at the instructions etched in blood-red ink. The ritual was clear, but so were the warnings. The same warnings Shellie had ignored. The same warnings that led to her death.
He clenched the diary tight, his knuckles whitening.
"This is the only way," he muttered, trying to convince himself. "The only way I can bring her back."
A part of him wanted to flee, but he couldn't. Not now. Not after everything. He thought of Shellie, her laugh, her mischievous smile. It was maddening to think that she had been taken by her own hand because of some cursed ritual. He was willing to die too, to see her again, to undo the wrongs. But deep down, he knew the stakes were far higher.
With a heavy breath, Johnny knelt in the center of the circle, lighting the last candle as the flame sputtered into existence. He placed the diary before him, open to the page where the demonic symbol of Valkorath gleamed in the candlelight. His fingers traced the edge of the symbol, a sickening chill running down his spine. He began to chant the ancient words from the page, his voice shaking as each syllable left his lips.
In shadows deep, where light must fade,
By blood and soul, this pact is made.
Oh Valkorath, from realms unseen,
I call you forth, with eyes unclean.
By flesh of mortal, torn and bled,
Across the void, by whispers led.
In darkness black, where spirits cry,
I beckon you from skies that die.
Valkorath, the ancient, hear my plea,
From Vidynn's gates, come forth to me.
Upon this circle, bound and still,
I sacrifice my heart, my will.
Behold, the door is cast aside,
With these words, the worlds collide.
By fear and flame, by curse and breath,
Come forth, O Lord of Holy Death.
Valkorath, arise from night's abyss,
I offer all, my soul, for this.
By fire, by blood, by endless pain,
In your name, I'm never slain.
As the final word was spoken, a gust of wind blew through the hall, snuffing out every candle except one. Johnny's heart pounded. He could feel the air thicken with something... malevolent. A dark fog seeped from the corners of the room, curling around him like a serpent, and the portal opened before him, a gaping maw of darkness. From its depths, a shadowed figure emerged.
Valkorath.
The Holy Satan was more terrifying in this form than Johnny could have imagined. His face, obscured by dark horns and veiled eyes, exuded a strange, unearthly glow. His presence commanded fear. He towered over Johnny, his voice reverberating through the room, cold and deep.
"You have called me again, mortal. Are you prepared to surrender your soul?" Valkorath asked, his voice echoing with both ancient wisdom and cruelty.
Johnny's throat tightened. His mind screamed at him to stop, to run, to flee from the abyss. But he didn't. He looked into the godly demon's eyes and nodded. "Yes," Johnny whispered. "Take my life. Let me see my sister. She performed this ritual… and I know I'll end up like her, but I don't care. I'm ready to die, just like she did."
Valkorath tilted his head, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Your sister, Shellie… she did not die because the ritual failed, Johnny." His words slithered through the air, sending shivers down Johnny's spine.
"What do you mean?" Johnny's voice faltered. "She… she slit her throat the same way my father was killed. She did it to call you, to sacrifice—"
"She chose to die," Valkorath interrupted, his voice sharp. "She wasn't taken by the ritual. She took her own life because she couldn't bear the consequences of her actions. She failed, and you will not die because you have nothing left. I am not here to take your life. That is not my purpose."
Johnny stared at the demon, his confusion mounting. "Then why did you take her? Why won't you take me? What's the point of all this?"
The Holy Satan laughed, a low, menacing chuckle that filled the empty hall with an oppressive weight. "Because, mortal, I am bound by rules. I am a Holy Satan, not a mere destroyer. You seek death because you think you have nothing left, but that is not how this works. I cannot grant you death when you have not asked for life."
Johnny's frustration boiled over. The hopelessness he had been suppressing surged to the surface, and in a moment of blind rage, he lunged at Valkorath. His fist swung through the air, aiming for the demon's face. "You son of a—"
But as his hand neared Valkorath, the air around them seemed to ripple. The room twisted, the dark fog growing thicker, more oppressive. His fist never made contact. Instead, the ritual was shattered. The circle of protection crumbled beneath him, and the portal to Vidynn, the dark dimension from which Valkorath had emerged, snapped shut with a thunderous roar.
The room went eerily silent.
Johnny stumbled back, panting, his heart hammering in his chest. He had broken the ritual. He had failed.
Valkorath stood there, unmoving. But something was different. The Holy Satan was no longer bound by the circle, no longer constrained by the ancient rites Johnny had performed. Valkorath was free.
"You… fool," Valkorath growled, his voice seething with both fury and satisfaction. "You have released me from the ritual, and now you will pay the price."
Before Johnny could react, Valkorath reached out and touched his forehead, a searing pain shooting through his skull. Johnny screamed, clutching his head as his vision blurred. The demon's dark power flooded into him, taking hold of his mind, his body. Johnny could feel the essence of Valkorath worming its way into his soul, reading his every thought, his every memory.
Valkorath's voice filled his mind, cold and uncaring. "You seek to die, to join your sister, but your pain is too valuable to waste. I see your anguish, your suffering. And I will accept your soul, not for death, but for something far greater."
Johnny's body convulsed as the demonic power surged through him, but he couldn't fight it. He was too weak, too broken. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath as Valkorath continued to speak.
"Your soul is mine now, Johnny Stillburg. But I will not fulfill your wish. You are nothing but a pawn in my grand design."
With those words, Johnny felt his very essence being torn from his body. The pain was unimaginable, as if every part of him was being ripped apart. And then, just as quickly as it began, the pain stopped. He collapsed to the floor, his body lifeless, his soul hovering above.
Valkorath stood over him, now fully in control. "One wish remains, but it is not yours. It is mine. I wish to return to Vidynn, and now, thanks to your foolishness, I shall."
In an instant, Valkorath's form shifted. He began to fade, dissolving into the air as the dark portal to Vidynn reappeared. Johnny's soul, once tethered to his body, was now left behind, abandoned. Valkorath's laughter echoed through the room as he stepped through the portal, vanishing into the darkness.
The portal closed with a deafening silence, leaving only Johnny's cold, dead body on the floor.
But it wasn't over.
The air around the corpse began to ripple, a dark mist coiling around the lifeless form. Johnny's body twitched, then convulsed violently. His eyes snapped open, glowing with a sickening red hue. His soul had been torn from him, but he was not gone. He had become something else.
A sinister force had taken root in him, and with it, a new identity.
Johnny Stillburg was no more.
Sinister Rogue had been born.
His twisted form rose from the floor, his face contorted in agony and rage. The memories of his father's murder, of Shellie's death, of Valkorath's deceit—everything had twisted into a monstrous hatred. His once calm demeanor was shattered, replaced by a mind consumed with vengeance and madness.
And now, free from the chains of mortality, Sinister Rogue was ready to unleash his fury upon the world.
The candles in the room flickered out, one by one, as Rogue turned toward the door. His mind was no longer filled with grief or sorrow. It was filled with rage. A thirst for revenge, not just against Valkorath, but against the world that had taken everything from him.
He stepped into the shadows, his eyes burning with a sinister glow.
A mortal had died, but an evil had been born.
Now, what would Rogue do next? The world was about to find out.