The ruins were eerily silent, save for the faint crackling of the black bead's dark energy that hung in the air like a storm waiting to burst. Eris lay prone before the altar, his body still, but not at rest. His face was smeared with the ash of his earlier burns, blood staining his clothes, yet his chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. His limbs were cold and unresponsive, as if the life had been drained from him.
But inside, things were different.
The bead's malevolent energy still coursed through him, forcing its way through his veins like fire—burning, twisting, corrupting. Its dark magic clawed at his insides, reshaping his essence. His body jerked in unconscious spasms, his fingers twitching as though trying to escape the torment of the energy that gripped him.
Then, suddenly, a shift.
A faint reddish glow began to pulse from the base of his neck, soft at first, like the first rays of dawn creeping through the dark. The glow, dim but undeniable, grew in intensity, and with it came a strange, unfamiliar force that pushed back against the dark magic. It wasn't a violent clash, but a subtle resistance, as though another power was awakening within him—something that was his, something ancient and pure.
Eris' body stiffened, an involuntary reaction to the growing power within him. His unconscious mind, trapped in the chaos of the dark energy and the force rising inside him, couldn't comprehend what was happening. He didn't know that the glow from his neck was his Crest beginning to take form, or that the magic coursing through him now was lunar in nature, drawn from the very heart of the moon.
A soft pulse echoed through his body, and the crest began to take shape.
It wasn't a simple mark, nor an ordinary symbol. It was a twisting serpent, devouring its own tail in a perfect circle, its body coiling around a lunar symbol that glowed with a soft, otherworldly radiance. The serpent's eyes, gleaming like rubies, burned with a fierce crimson light—a light that pulsed in rhythm with the glowing Crest on his neck, casting shadows across his bloodied skin.
The magic began to surge—an unrelenting tide of lunar power now fighting back against the bead's dark hold.
In the depths of Eris' unconsciousness, he could feel it, though he was far from fully aware. The bead's dark magic recoiled, seeming to shrink away from the powerful surge of energy emanating from his crest. The beads of darkness crackled, writhing in his veins like serpents in their own right, fighting the purity of the lunar magic. A battle, silent and unseen, was taking place within his very body.
The bead's energy, twisted and tainted, sought to overwhelm the fresh, unfamiliar lunar magic, but it was met with fierce resistance. The Crest, pulsing with bright red light, surged with more power, pushing back against the invader in a struggle that raged between light and dark.
As the Crest fought for dominance, the dark energy of the bead writhed, its power attempting to twist and corrupt. For a moment, it seemed as though the lunar magic would break free entirely, casting the dark energy aside. The black bead throbbed angrily, its power lashing out as if trying to entangle the boy's very soul. But the Crest would not be undone.
A battle raged between them, the dark and the light, the serpent of the Crest and the spiraling shadows of the bead. Each force struggled to claim control, but neither could quite overpower the other.
The altar, sensing the turmoil, began to hum softly, as if resonating with the struggle. The very air around them seemed to grow colder, the shadows deepening and thickening, while the pulsing light from the Crest continued to grow brighter.
The pulse of the Crest grew erratic as Eris' body quaked in the throes of the battle. His breath came in short, strangled gasps, even though his eyes remained closed, trapped in the grip of unconsciousness. His heartbeat raced, the sound in his ears deafening as the dark energy and the lunar power clashed, battling for supremacy. The room seemed to vibrate with the violence of the struggle, and the black bead pulsed against the boy's neck with an unholy force.
It was impossible to say who would win.
The lunar Crest began to hum louder, pushing back the bead's influence as its power surged. But the bead, though faltering, would not yield easily. Its dark energy surged again, forcing the Crest into a temporary stillness, a momentary stasis, where neither side seemed to hold dominion.
The light of the Crest flickered and dimmed, but it remained present, the glow like the waning light of a dying star—bright, but weakening, caught between two powers. The bead, too, seemed to pull back for a moment, its influence not quite gone, but no longer the dominant force.
As the energy in the room began to settle, the light from Eris' Crest faded and the dark energy from the bead softened, both sides retreating into an uneasy balance.
But neither had fully won.
Eris' body lay still once more, unconscious, battered, and broken—but the battle was far from over. His Crest flickered weakly, like the final breath of a candle just before it goes out. The bead's energy swirled beneath his skin, thrumming with a dark pulse. The two forces now existed in a strange equilibrium, each unwilling to relinquish control, each waiting for the other to falter.
But what neither force realized was that something else had changed. The boy's body, now marked by the Crest, was no longer the same. The power within him had been awakened, but it was still fragmented—still locked in a battle between light and dark.
Eris had not yet woken, but the conflict within him would soon shape his fate. The dark magic and the lunar power would never truly coexist in peace. And when he awoke, he would find that the battle inside him had only just begun.
For now, the room was quiet, save for the faint crackling of the altar's energy and the deep, rhythmic pulse of the black bead that had begun to settle beneath his skin. The uneasy truce would hold, but it wouldn't last forever.
And when Eris finally awoke, the war for his soul would be waiting.