The night air carried a crisp chill, a stark contrast to the warm glow of the city sprawled below the canyon. From this height, the orange haze of Whittier's streetlights blurred the skyline, distant yet ever-present. The sound of racing engines howled through the canyon roads, reckless drivers pushing their limits on the winding paths below. But up here, away from the roads, beneath the dense canopy of trees, the world felt different—isolated.
Marisol sat stiffly on a fallen log, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, though the cold wasn't what made her shiver. Eri stood beside her, posture composed, while Mephisto leaned against a tree, completely at ease, his arms crossed over his chest as if he owned the night itself.
She was trapped between them, both literally and figuratively.
Marisol licked her lips, her voice barely above a whisper. "What… is wrong with me?"
Mephisto smirked. "Nothing, little seed. Its what you are meant too become."
Eri shot him a sharp look before crouching slightly to meet Marisol's eye level. Her voice was soft like butter, and almost maternal. "You're different. Special. You were meant to become something greater."
Marisol clenched her fists. "Then tell me. Stop talking in circles."
Mephisto chuckled under his breath, but it lacked amusement. "Shes a Feisty one, just like you."
"You think this world is all there is?" Eri ignored him, her voice was quiet. Yet it carried weight, a certainty that made Marisol hesitate. "There's another place—hidden beneath the cracks of reality. A place where time doesn't move forward, where the lost and the forgotten drift like ghosts in a current they can't escape."
She took a step closer, her red eyes gleaming in the dim moonlight. "That's the Otherworld. It isn't heaven, and it isn't hell. It's something worse—a place where things that should have died still exist, trapped between what was and what could have been."
Eri gestured toward the darkness beyond the trees. "And at the heart of it all stands the Doom Tree—the only thing powerful enough to anchor the lost and oppressed. It doesn't just exist, Marisol. It decides. It chooses what remains, what fades, what grows. Without it, the Otherworld would collapse into nothingness. Without it…" She let the sentence trail off, but her meaning was clear.
She let the words sink in before speaking again, studying her expression closely for any signs of rejection. "And you, Marisol… You are meant to be its Proxy. Its voice. Its will. The last and only one."
Marisol blinked, her expression twisting somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.
"What—am I supposed to just accept that? Like some chosen one in a bad anime?"
"The Doom Tree has been protecting you your whole life," she said evenly ignoring her retort. "Dont you find it strange you're still alive after all your accidents. Most Dark Seeds never make it out of diapers."
The words curled around Marisol's mind like creeping vines. "Dark… Seeds?"
Eri nodded. "You aren't the first. There have been others—hundreds, maybe thousands."
Marisol swallowed hard. "And… where are they now?"
Mephisto grinned, tilting his head. "At this point in time... Dead."
The words practically punching her in the gut.
Eri exhaled, glaring at him again before turning back to Marisol. "Time is a picky mistress, and the dark seeds are its vice."
Marisol's confused by her statement, lept to her next question. "And you? What are you?"
Mephisto's grin stretched wider as he pushed away from the tree. "An Enforcer of the Core. One of its finest, I might add."
Eri's expression didn't change, but there was something in her eyes— a flicker of something unspoken. "The Core is gone," she said curtly. "I serve the Doom Tree."
Mephisto gave a lazy shrug. "For everyone besides Eri it's the Same thing, different branding."
Marisol's breath caught in her throat. "So… you're both Enforcers?"
Eri met her gaze, her red eyes unwavering. "I was chosen to serve the Doom Tree. It's different."
Mephisto scoffed. "Sure. Different."
The way he said it made Marisol's skin crawl.
She turned back to Eri. "Then what am I supposed to do?" Her voice wavered slightly. "If I'm not like you, if I'm not an Enforcer, then… what am I?"
Eri's gaze softened, but her voice remained firm. "You're the next Proxy of the Doom Tree."
A quiet, suffocating silence filled the space between them.
Eri took a step closer. "The only one."
Marisol's stomach dropped.
"There has never been more than one," Eri continued. "There is only ever one. The others… they wither. They die."
The weight of the truth pressed against her ribs like a vice.
She wasn't just different.
She was alone.
Mephisto hummed thoughtfully. "It's a shame, really. So many seedlings, all for nothing. But don't worry—" his grin sharpened, "you can't afford to fail, right?"
Marisol's breath turned shallow.
She couldn't fail. She wouldn't get another chance.
Eri watched her carefully, her expression unreadable. "I'll teach you how to survive."
A sudden rustle in the brush made Marisol flinch.
Eri turned her head slightly, her posture still relaxed, but Mephisto's eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"Hold that thought."
Mephisto pushed off the tree, his tone suddenly hungry. His head snapped toward the distant sound of voices, and in an instant, Marisol felt her skin crawl.
Someone else was here.
And they were too late to leave.
Laughter, half-muted by the canyon's vastness, bounced off the trees. Five teenagers. Three girls, two boys, no older than high schoolers. They moved with the confidence of people who believed they were alone.
One of the girls nudged the boy beside her. "Told you this would be better than the bonfire."
"Yeah, yeah," the boy muttered, grinning. "Until we get caught."
Another girl—her hoodie drawn tight over her face—rolled her eyes. "Nobody comes up here this late. Except, like… weirdos."
"Or ghosts," one of the others chimed in.
They laughed—carefree, unaware. They never saw the shadows shifting just beyond the trees.
Marisol's pulse quickened.
Mephisto exhaled slowly, as if savoring the scent of something unseen. His teeth gleamed in the dark.
"Perfect timing."
Marisol barely had time to process before he was moving.
She didn't see him run. She didn't even see him close the distance. One second he was next to her. The next—
A scream.
The tallest boy in the group barely had time to react before Mephisto was on him. His hand clamped down over the kid's mouth, muffling the panicked cries as his head jerked to the side—exposing his neck.
"No—" Marisol started forward.
Eri grabbed her wrist. Hard.
"Let him."
It happened in an instant.
Mephisto's teeth sank in.
The boy convulsed. His body arched, every muscle locking into a painful spasm. His veins pulsed black. The sound that left his throat was not human—not a scream, not a cry—a sound of something being rewritten, remade.
The other teens bolted.
One girl fell, scrambling back on her hands before catching sight of the thing her friend was becoming. Her breath hitched in horror before she turned and ran, her sobs echoing down the canyon.
The boy collapsed, trembling violently. His breath came in sharp, desperate gasps.
Then—stillness.
Marisol's fingers dug into her arms. Her legs trembled beneath her. This wasn't happening.
The boy lifted his head.
His pupils were red.
Slowly, he turned to Mephisto. And then—he smiled.
"…Master?"
Marisol shook.
Mephisto wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his smile lazy, satisfied. "Go," he said, his voice laced with command. "Find your friends. Gather intel. If you indulge, don't make a mess."
The boy nodded, almost too eagerly, his movements sharper than before, too precise, too controlled.
Then—he turned toward the darkness, ready to run.
Marisol felt it before she understood it—the sick certainty of what Mephisto meant.
He's going to kill them.
Her breath hitched.
No.
Her chest seized, panic hitting her like a hammer to the ribs.
She snapped her mind and thoughts sporadic, before she even realized the ground lurched.
A sound like splitting earth cracked through the air as black roots erupted from the ground. They coiled around the boy's legs, thick and gnarled, pulsing with a shadowy, unnatural life.
He barely had time to gasp before they yanked him down, slamming him into the dirt.
His hands clawed at the vines, but they were relentless, curling tighter around his torso, pressing against his limbs, pinning him completely.
Mephisto's eyes lit up.
"Well, well, well," he exhaled, stepping forward like a man watching a masterpiece unfold. "There it is again."
Marisol wasn't listening.
She couldn't.
Her hands clutched at her chest, a sharp, unbearable vice seizing her lungs. Her ribs felt like they were caving in, her breath coming in shallow, fractured gasps.
It hurts—it hurts it hurts it hurts—
Her vision swam, her knees buckling—
Then—
A hand.
Fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist.
The grip was firm, grounding. Cool, but not cold.
"Breathe,"Marisol barely registered Eri's voice "Breathe, Marisol."
She couldn't. She—
"Let him go."
Eri's voice was calm. Steady. But her fingers tightened just enough to be felt through the storm in Marisol's chest.
"You're at your limit," Eri murmured, her red eyes meeting Marisol's. "You have to let go."
Marisol gasped, her entire body trembling, her heart a jackhammer in her ribs.
Mephisto smirked, still watching Marisol like she was something fascinating.
"Relax," Eri said softly.
Marisol's fingers dug at the shirt against her chest. Her body screamed to keep holding on, but she—
She had no more strength left.
She exhaled.
The roots withered.
They crumbled, dissolving into blackened mist, retreating back into the shadows.
The boy rose, slowly—unbothered. He didn't even look at Marisol.
Instead, he turned to his master.
His expression was unreadable, but the hesitation in his crimson eyes was unmistakable.
He was asking.
Mephisto lifted a hand, almost leisurely, and gave a single nod.
And just like that, the boy ran, disappearing into the night.
Marisol stood there, legs shaking, breath unsteady, body drained.
Mephisto exhaled, his grin still stretched across his face.
"Now that," he mused, almost affectionately, "is progress."
Marisol turned away, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat. Her arms were covered in goosebumps, her chest aching with the pressure of everything she had just witnessed.
This was wrong.
But she said nothing.
Because it was too late.
Eri finally let go of her wrist. Her voice was low. Measured. Final.
"This isn't the place for that."
Mephisto raised an eyebrow at her. "The deed's done."
Mephisto's gaze slid back to Marisol, his expression unreadable for the first time. "That," he said simply, "is the gift the core bestowed on me."
Eri finally looked at Marisol again, her voice low.
"And this… is what the tree stands for."
Marisol felt it then— that dark, cold familiarity.
She could still hear the sound of running footsteps in the canyon. Distant. Fading.
She could still see the red glow in that boy's eyes.
She could still feel the weight of Eri's stare, waiting for her to accept it.
This is what it means to survive.
And for now—she believed her.