By: DoublingDownOnRed
The moment you stepped over the threshold, the air changed.
It was subtle at first—a strange hum vibrating in the atmosphere, barely perceptible, like the low frequency of a distant radio station. The dilapidated mansion, though crumbling and abandoned, pulsed with a peculiar energy, one that sent a shiver through your bones. Every step you took seemed to disturb the very fabric of the space around you, the shadows shifting unnaturally, almost as if they were watching you.
Alastor followed close behind, his presence a constant reminder of the danger you were now neck-deep in. His cane tapped lightly against the floor, his posture relaxed, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. He was studying you, waiting—waiting for something to happen.
The hall you entered stretched on for what seemed like forever, its high ceiling shrouded in darkness. Massive paintings lined the walls, their frames cracked and decayed, the subjects within them distorted, as though someone had smeared the faces just enough to make them unsettling. The marble floor beneath you was cold, the stone cracked and chipped in places, but it still held a strange elegance, like a ghost of its former glory.
Your breath came in slow, measured intervals, but inside, your thoughts were racing. Alastor had said you had potential, something about fate bending to your will. It was absurd, impossible even, and yet... deep down, there was something. A tug in your gut that told you he wasn't lying. Something inside you had changed the moment you entered Hell, like a long-dormant part of you had awakened.
But who were you before this? Your memories were hazy now, blurred like the paintings on the walls. You remembered living a mundane life, somewhere on Earth, but it all felt so distant.
Until Hell.
Here, in this cursed place, you had become something else. You didn't know what yet, but whatever it was, it terrified and thrilled you all at once.
Alastor's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "Fascinating, isn't it?" he said, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. "This mansion used to belong to a very powerful entity—a demon who thought he could control fate itself." His eyes gleamed with amusement as he continued. "But he learned the hard way that fate cannot be controlled... unless you have the right tools."
You paused, glancing over your shoulder at him. "And what tools are those?"
Alastor's grin widened. "You're about to find out."
Suddenly, the air around you shifted again. The floor beneath your feet groaned, and the walls seemed to ripple, the shadows growing darker, denser. You took a cautious step forward, and then another, the weight of Alastor's words hanging heavy in your mind.
As you ventured deeper into the mansion, a strange sensation began to build in your chest—a tightening, like something was pulling at your very soul. Your breathing quickened, your pulse pounding in your ears, and you had to force yourself to stay calm, to focus. But the closer you got to the center of the mansion, the stronger the sensation became, until it was almost unbearable.
Then, you saw it.
At the end of the hall stood a door—massive and ornate, its wood dark and weathered, but still holding a strange allure. Symbols were carved into the surface, symbols you didn't recognize but that seemed to pulse with their own rhythm, like a heartbeat. You couldn't tear your eyes away from it. Something about it called to you, drew you in.
Alastor came up behind you, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Behind that door lies your destiny, my dear." His grin never faltered, but there was a sharpness in his eyes now, a hunger. "Everything you've ever wondered about yourself, about why you're here, will become clear the moment you step through."
Your hand trembled as you reached for the handle, but before you could touch it, the door swung open on its own with a deep, echoing creak.
The room beyond was vast, far larger than it had any right to be, given the mansion's decaying exterior. At its center stood a massive stone altar, ancient and worn, with thick, gnarled roots crawling up from the floor and wrapping around it like living things. On the altar sat a book—large, bound in dark leather, its cover etched with the same strange symbols you'd seen on the door. The air around it buzzed with energy, and you could feel the pull, that same sensation from earlier, growing stronger with every step you took toward it.
You moved without thinking, drawn to the book, your fingers twitching with the need to touch it. But the moment you got close enough to see the details on the cover, a sharp pain shot through your skull, and you stumbled back, gasping.
Flashes of images burst through your mind—memories, or visions, you couldn't tell. A life you didn't remember, a power you didn't know you had. It was overwhelming, too much, and you dropped to your knees, clutching your head as the pain intensified.
Through the haze of your thoughts, you heard Alastor's voice, distant but unmistakably pleased. "Ah, yes... there it is."
He knelt beside you, his grin still firmly in place, though his eyes were darker now, filled with something far more dangerous than amusement. "You're starting to feel it, aren't you? The power, the potential. It's been inside you all along, waiting to be unlocked."
You forced yourself to breathe through the pain, your hands shaking as you tried to make sense of the chaos in your mind. "What... what is this?"
Alastor's hand came to rest on your shoulder, and despite the coldness of his touch, it felt grounding, like an anchor pulling you back to reality. "This, my dear," he said softly, his voice almost gentle now, "is the truth."
He stood, pulling you to your feet with surprising ease. "You see, you were never just a soul damned to Hell. You were chosen. Chosen to hold a power that even the demons fear." He gestured to the book on the altar, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your skin crawl. "This book contains the secrets of fate itself—the power to control it, to bend it to your will."
For a moment, the room felt smaller, the walls closing in as Alastor's words echoed around you. The energy in the air crackled, a tangible force pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. You stared at the book, your heart pounding in your ears, but Alastor's gaze—piercing, manic—was even harder to ignore.
He took a step closer, his grin widening in a way that was no longer playful. It was sharp, unsettling, and his eyes—one of them, you noticed, had grown just slightly larger than the other, bulging with manic glee as he peered at you. "Don't you understand?" His voice had taken on a higher pitch, the excitement seeping into every word. "This is your destiny! Right here, right now! All you have to do is take it!"
You could feel the weight of his presence, the sheer force of his will bearing down on you. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his grin, once charming in its twisted way, now felt predatory. "You were never just another soul," he hissed, his voice vibrating with a dark kind of giddiness. "You were made for this!"
His eyes flicked toward the book again, and his voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "They never saw it coming, you know. None of them did. The fools who thought they could keep you small, keep you tame." He barked out a sharp laugh, his body trembling with excitement. "But not anymore. Now, you have the chance to become something so much more!"
You blinked, stepping back slightly, the pressure of his words crashing down on you. But Alastor wouldn't let you slip away that easily.
His grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, his frustration bubbling to the surface. His fingers clenched into tight fists, and you saw it—the flicker of something dark, something dangerous, crossing his face. His shadow lengthened, distorted, and then, without warning, the antlers appeared. They sprouted from his head, twisting upward like gnarled branches, casting strange, jagged shadows on the walls.
"Take it!" he snapped, his voice ringing out like a gunshot in the cold, dead air. His eyes were wide now, one larger than the other, glowing with barely contained madness. His patience had thinned, the façade of calm unraveling before your eyes. "What are you waiting for?" he growled, his voice dripping with venom. "It's right there! Take it!"
You flinched, your pulse racing as his outburst shook the room. His antlers scraped the ceiling, and the static in the air grew louder, buzzing in your ears, making it impossible to think clearly. The book seemed to pulse with energy, a sinister heartbeat that synced with your own, pulling you toward it. But the overwhelming presence of Alastor, his manic energy filling the room, made it hard to move.
He stepped closer, towering over you, his grin now a twisted, grotesque mockery of the charm he had once displayed. "Do you think I've gone through all this trouble just for you to hesitate?" he snarled, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. His red eyes bore into you, unblinking, the madness dancing just beneath the surface. "I brought you here because you're the key, the one who can change everything! So take it!"
Your heart pounded, your palms slick with sweat as you looked from him to the book. The pressure, the weight of it all, was crushing. You could feel the power radiating from the altar, its pull stronger now, almost irresistible. And yet...
"Don't make me force you," Alastor whispered, leaning in close, his breath hot against your ear. The threat was laced with anticipation, a thrill that made your skin prickle. "Because I will."
The room was spinning. The static in the air, Alastor's frantic energy, the weight of the book's presence—it all bore down on you, making it impossible to breathe. You felt trapped, cornered, like prey in the grip of a predator.
But beneath it all, there was a whisper, faint but undeniable. A part of you that wanted to reach out, that needed to see what would happen if you took the book.
Alastor's patience had run out. His hands shot forward, gripping your arms with surprising strength, his eyes wide and wild as he shook you, his grin a jagged, monstrous thing. "Do you want to be nothing forever? Do you want to remain weak, forgotten, while the rest of Hell moves on without you?" His voice was a high-pitched snarl now, his antlers casting eerie shadows across his face. "Or do you want to be everything?"
You stared into his eyes, your chest tight with fear and uncertainty. But beneath that fear, something stirred. A spark, a flicker of defiance. Maybe it was the madness in his eyes, or the way the book seemed to call to you, but in that moment, something inside you shifted.
Without another word, you reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against the cold, leather cover of the book.
Alastor's grip on your arms tightened, his manic grin splitting wider as he watched, his breath coming in short, excited bursts. "That's it..." he whispered, his voice trembling with anticipation. "Take it. Accept your fate."
The moment your hand fully touched the book, the world around you exploded in a burst of light and sound. The air crackled with raw energy, a violent surge of power that knocked the breath from your lungs. The book pulsed beneath your hand, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you felt the weight of eternity pressing down on you.
And then, everything went still.
The room fell silent, the static gone, the oppressive energy dissipating in an instant. You stood there, your hand still on the book, your chest heaving as you struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
Alastor stood before you, his manic energy seemingly calmed, his antlers slowly retracting. But the hunger in his eyes remained. "There," he whispered, his voice low and reverent. "Now... now you understand."
The power coursed through you, alive and electric, and you could feel it—the shift, the change inside you. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. You had crossed a line, one that you couldn't uncross, and now...
Now, there was no turning back.
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Next chapter preview:
You turned to Alastor, who stood beside you, his expression filled with pride. "This is where it begins," he said softly, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "This is where we reshape Hell itself."
You took a step forward, the power still pulsing through you, and as you did, the ground beneath your feet responded. The cracks in the earth shifted, the air around you vibrating with energy. You could feel it—the power to control, to change.
Alastor's voice was soft, almost reverent. "Now, what will you create?"