"Now I'm convinced: you are entirely and completely insane!"
Nimue fumed from within the ring, her voice vibrating with barely veiled terror rather than actual anger. Ever since their return to Earth, emerging precisely where they had surfaced from the Serpent Hole, the specter had done nothing but rant—a never-ending litany of reproaches mixed with worry.
"First the Horsemen, then Uriel, and now Lord Samael?! Do you have such a strong death wish that you're willing to ignore who you're speaking to and how?!"
Aisling, already irritable from exhaustion and the recent events, rolled her eyes.
"I have absolutely no idea who he is, and even if I did, I don't see why I should treat him with respect after the way he lured us to him…"
The lie was obvious, of course. She knew exactly who Samael was. She had read and reread his name in ancient texts in the Twilight Realm, accounts filled with dire warnings and terrifying exploits. His name carried a weight that few could ignore. But right now, she didn't care. Anger pulsed through her veins like a drug, distorting her perception of reality, making every challenge, every act of defiance, feel strangely justified.
"If not respect, then at least fear!" Nimue snapped insistently. "And common sense, for pity's sake! Samael is a Demon Prince, the ruler of the Red Court, in the fortress of Black Stone, at the very heart of the Dark Kingdom! He was even considered a serious threat to the Dark Prince himself! And worse still… now you're making a deal with him?!"
Aisling's response erupted with sharp brutality.
"Nimue… Everything I come across, everything that still breathes in this place, EVERYTHING has the potential to torture me, tear me apart, cut me to pieces, eat me alive, spit me out, and start over. Everything. Even those who pretend to help me. And you know what? I am exhausted. Exhausted."
Her voice rose with burning intensity, each word hammered out with palpable rage.
"I am tired of bowing to beings who have never seen my kind as anything more than a parasite or a distraction. Who, at best, watched our annihilation without flinching, and at worst, actively participated in it—with a smile on their faces. They want to kill me? Let them try. The Seed sent the oldest and most powerful of the Nephilim flying into a wall when he tried to take it. So either you follow me and stay quiet, or you go haunt someone else!"
The silence that followed was heavy. Nimue said nothing more.
The harshness of Aisling's words echoed back at her, like a blow struck against something already fragile. Aisling felt guilt tighten around her chest, warping the fleeting satisfaction she had felt in lashing out.
She stopped, closing her eyes briefly. Too far. Once again.
"Nim… I'm sorry…" She shook her head, the bitter taste of her own words still lingering on her tongue. "That's not what I meant, I… Ugh… Forget it."
She kept climbing in silence, her boots softly hammering the blackened ground. The crater stretched around her, jagged and scarred, marked by bubbling lakes of lava far below. The sulfurous fumes of the burning air stung her nostrils, but she forced herself to focus. She strained her ears, hoping to catch the familiar echoes of an argument between War and Uriel—since they seemed incapable of spending more than a few minutes together without clashing in a storm of accusations and grievances.
But there was nothing. Just the oppressive silence, punctuated only by the distant sound of bubbles bursting on the surface of the lava lakes. Where were they? Aisling frowned, stopping to scan the area. The earth was still warm, glowing red in places, bearing the marks of War's last transformation. She was sure this was the place. So why…
Suddenly, a deep rumbling echoed through the crater—a heavy, menacing sound, as if rising from its very depths. Aisling froze, every sense on high alert. The Fire Elemental? No… The sound was too steady, too rhythmic.
Her gaze slid toward the massive chain still plunging into the lava lake below, its molten metal reflecting fiery crimson light. The Collar. How was she supposed to retrieve that? The question hit her like a slap. One thing at a time. Find War and Uriel first, then figure out how to free the Elemental.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, but the sound intensified, growing closer, hammering the air with a steady, ominous rhythm. She leaned slightly over the edge of the crater, searching for the source of the noise. Three winged figures suddenly shot out from the depths, soaring into the sky with incredible power and speed.
Angels.
Their wings gleamed in the glow of the lava, their armor shimmering like a constellation of steel. Aisling instinctively stepped back, a choked gasp catching in her throat. Her boot slipped on the brittle rock, and she tumbled backward, landing hard on the scorched ground.
The angels looped through the sky, hovering briefly above her before diving again. This time, they were coming straight for her. Their weapons glowed with engraved runes, and their gazes—piercing even from a distance—cut like blades.
There was no diplomacy in their movements. They weren't here to talk.
Aisling scrambled to her feet, her legs already in motion. She ran, her boots pounding against the unstable ground, but the heavy, rhythmic beating of wings closed in fast, tolling like a funeral bell above her head. She couldn't stay here.
Her instincts screamed at her to move away from the fortress, hoping these celestial warriors were only guarding this specific place. She veered sharply, rushing down the crater's slope, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts.
"We found her!" a deep, imperious voice thundered above her. "Catch her!"
The words sent a wave of terror exploding through her mind, forcing her legs to push forward despite the exhaustion. But she already knew—she wouldn't escape them. Then, a sharp sound tore through the air behind her. A pressure, as if something had been released.
A moment later, a heavy net unfurled above her, crashing down onto her legs and sending her sprawling to the ground with brutal force.
Her hands and forearms scraped against the rough terrain, skin splitting open in burning cuts. A strangled groan of pain escaped her lips as she clenched her teeth. Twisted beneath the weight of the net, she managed to roll onto her back, eyes lifting toward the sky.
The angels were descending at full speed, their unyielding faces illuminated by the glow of the lava lakes. A blistering sense of injustice surged within her, hotter than the wounds searing her arms. She had never stood a chance. The bitter taste of defeat was familiar now, lingering in her mouth for days.
Her gaze dropped to her left hand. The ring. Nimue.
She might not be able to save herself, but she could at least give the little specter a chance. Without hesitation, she slipped the ring off her finger and concealed it in the burning sand and ashes beside her.
"Get out of here… Save yourself."
She had barely finished speaking before rough hands seized her, yanking her up with no concern for gentleness. They flipped her over like she was nothing more than a rag doll. The three angels stood around her, their hardened expressions and battle-ready postures unrelenting.
They bore the same features as Uriel and the angels of Nimrach—towering figures, sun-kissed skin stark against their brilliant white hair, eyes glowing with cold, celestial light.
Two of them grabbed her arms, pinning her down with such strength that a muffled cry of pain escaped her lips. They forced her onto her knees—a grating position that pulled at her injuries. The one who appeared to be their leader stepped forward, his presence suffocating. He studied her with a mixture of disdain and amusement.
"Not as defiant as I remember," he remarked, his tone edged with cruel satisfaction.
"She's just a little female," one of the angels stated coldly—a warrior with sharp, unyielding features, gripping Aisling's arm tightly.
She tilted her head slightly, examining her with a nearly clinical contempt.
"Young. I doubt she's even fully grown…"
"And it survived this long?"
Another of them—a broad, imposing man with an icy gaze—arched a brow, smirking mockingly. The warrior let out a condescending sigh, her lips curling into a faint, derisive smile.
"Vermin is hard to kill."
Aisling felt her muscles tense. Her nails dug into her palms as she struggled to hold back a response, her jaw clenched so tightly that the pain itself kept her from speaking. At that moment, following Nimue's advice didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.
First Kingdom, my ass.
There was nothing ethereal or noble about these angels. In that precise moment, she saw no difference between them and the demons she had encountered. The arrogance, the self-importance, the absolute certainty that they stood above all beings they deemed inferior… It was all the same.
The squad leader, taller and broader than the others, stepped toward her at a slow, deliberate pace. His boots crunched against the scorched earth, each step landing with the weight of a hammer blow. He stopped before her, towering over her with an unshakable presence. His piercing gaze dropped to her collar, and without hesitation, he gripped it and yanked it down, exposing the skin of her chest.
His eyes gleamed with triumph.
"Our intel was correct. She has the Seed."
Aisling felt her breath hitch for an instant, as if her body, despite herself, fully grasped the gravity of the situation before her mind could. But she forced her breathing to slow, to steady. Her jaw clenched tighter, and she lifted her gaze to meet his, her dark eyes burning with defiance.
Let them try.
The second angel, the one gripping her arm with merciless strength, let out a hostile hiss. His hold tightened, fingers pressing so hard it felt like he meant to crush her bones.
"Let's cut it out of her and be done with it."
A flicker of panic surged in her chest, but she crushed it before it could take root.
No. No fear. Not in front of them.
She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her waver. Instead, she glared at them with smoldering hatred, her contempt sharper than any blade. They were strong, armed, and disciplined—but she had survived worse. A cold fire burned inside her, fueled by anger and disdain.
The angels, however, seemed unfazed by her silent resistance.
The leader pulled an intricately crafted dagger from his side. He stepped closer to Aisling, his expression cold, methodical. Without a hint of hesitation, he grasped her chin with a powerful hand and wrenched her head to the side, exposing her throat and the base of her neck.
The blade glided slowly, seeking the precise angle to pierce her skin and reach the Seed.
Aisling felt the icy point of the steel brush against her flesh, her breath catching in her throat. She knew what was coming next—
And yet, she couldn't suppress a mocking smile.
A surge of energy erupted from her sternum, violent and uncontrolled. An invisible force slammed into the leader with devastating brutality, hurling him backward. He was sent flying through the air, crashing to the ground several meters away in an explosion of ash and dust.
The man holding Aisling immediately let go of her, rushing toward his superior. She barely had time to recover before the female angel seized her violently by the hair. The brutal yank wrenched a cry of pain from Aisling, forcing her head back so she had no choice but to meet her attacker's gaze. The angel's face was sharp and austere, filled with contempt. Her eyes gleamed with an icy light, and her lips curled into a grimace of fury.
"Despicable insect, what have you done?!"
Despite the pain and fear, Aisling drew strength from the well of courage born from her anger. Her eyes blazed with fierce determination. She didn't answer. Instead, she once again allowed herself a defiant smile.
The leader pushed himself up, staggering slightly, his dust-covered wings flaring briefly before folding back in place. He shook his head, growling in frustration.
"Leave it, soldier. It wasn't her. She wouldn't be capable of that. The Seed has its own defenses."
He took a heavy step toward Aisling, then grabbed her left hand without the slightest care, his fingers clamping around her wrist like a vice. Before she could struggle, he dragged the dagger across her arm, carving a deep gash into her flesh.
A searing pain exploded through her, cold fire racing under her skin, forcing a sharp scream from her throat. Blood welled up instantly, dark red and glistening under the light of the crater.
The leader observed the wound for a moment, then smiled with sinister satisfaction.
"That's what I thought…" he murmured, his voice filled with grim certainty.
Since the attack on the encampment, Aisling had been painfully aware of her own vulnerability. She was far from invincible. The Seed seemed far more interested in preserving its own existence than truly protecting its host. Still, she had hoped to keep her captors unaware of this weakness for a little longer.
"Should we carve her up piece by piece?" one of the angels suddenly suggested, his voice so devoid of emotion that it sent a chill down Aisling's spine.
"No… We'll wait for Archangel Raguel's return. It's up to him to decide her fate. Take her."
Aisling felt two pairs of powerful arms slip beneath her shoulders, gripping her firmly. In an instant, she was yanked off the ground, her body jerked roughly as the angels carried her with effortless strength.
The wind whistled in her ears as they took flight, propelling her high above the crater and its bubbling lakes of lava.
Her stomach clenched into a tight knot of instinctive terror, but she refused to show even the slightest weakness. Gritting her teeth, she stole a quick glance downward, trying to spot the place where she had hidden the ring. Her eyes swept over the ashes and sand, but already the distance blurred everything into an indistinct haze.
A small relief settled in her chest—Nimue was safe.
As for War and Uriel… wherever they were, she would have to fend for herself without them.
Flying was both a terrifying and surreal experience. Aisling's hands were growing numb from the angels' iron grip, and the wind lashed at her face, whipping stray strands of hair into her eyes. Her heartbeat quickened as a troubling thought crossed her mind—
What would happen if they decided to drop her? The molten lava below left no doubt as to how that would end.
She shut her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath to quell the rising panic. No, they won't do that. Not before bringing me to their Archangel, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra.
Opening her eyes again, she fixed her gaze on the fortress ahead. Her anger, despair, and fear wove together into something steely and cold. Whatever awaited her there, it didn't matter.
This was exactly where she needed to be.
Every step Aisling took through the corridors of black stone seemed to drag her deeper into a vast furnace, where the suffocating heat weighed down each breath. The air, thick with the acrid and nauseating stench of sulfur, burned her throat and stung her eyes. The walls bore the scars of recent conflict—deep gashes, smoldering impact marks, and streaks of dried blood, some blackened, some still a vivid red, scattered along the hallways.
The two angels gripping her arms were nearly dragging her forward, their own steps heavy and sluggish under the oppressive heat. She noticed that most of the angels they passed seemed to struggle in these conditions—their skin slick with sweat, their tense movements betraying growing discomfort or impatience.
The corridors buzzed with a strange urgency. Everywhere, angels were hauling away the bodies of fallen demons, their grotesque forms dragged unceremoniously to the hanging bridges. There, the corpses were dumped into the lava lakes below, vanishing with a sinister sizzle. The stench of burning flesh mingled with the sulfur, making the air even more unbearable.
Most of the angels she passed cast her looks of pure disdain. Their hatred for demons seemed to extend just as easily to a human like her—insignificant, unworthy of their regard. Yet, now and then, Aisling caught different expressions: eyes filled with exhaustion and, strangely, something that almost resembled pity. These particular angels, often clad in dented armor or stripped of their weapons, seemed uneasy seeing her treated this way.
After several long minutes of this grueling march, the two angels led her deeper into the fortress, where the heat grew nearly unbearable. The stench rising from below was sickening—a foul mix of sweat, blood, and despair. They brought her into a vast underground chamber, converted into a network of dungeons. All around, cages of black metal filled the space, some suspended from chains, others resting on the ground. Inside, countless creatures languished—twisted beasts, snarling demons, and monstrous beings glaring with hate and fury.
The angelic jailers carried out their duties with cold brutality, occasionally striking the bars of the cages with their spears—sometimes to silence the prisoners, other times simply to revel in the sound of their cries.
Aisling was led to a small, cramped cage. Before throwing her in, the angels forced her to stop. With casual cruelty, they began tearing her clothes from her body, their hands roaming over her skin in a humiliating search for hidden objects. She struggled instinctively, but their iron grip rendered any resistance useless.
When they were satisfied she carried nothing of interest, they left her naked, exposed to the scorching air and their scornful stares. They didn't even allow her the dignity of covering her breasts or sex. Then, without ceremony, they shoved her into a cage so narrow she couldn't even stand.
The shock of humiliation, the pain of her wounds, and the sheer horror of her situation threatened to shatter her resolve. But Aisling clenched her teeth.
Not now. Not here.
She clung desperately to her purpose, forcing back the crushing weight of despair. If she had to endure this degradation to reach the Elemental and complete her mission, then so be it.
She would do it.
To unleash the Fire.