Eoghan did not look at young woman immediately. His green eyes were still fixed on the room in front of him, as if turning away from it might let it slip out of reality again. But it did not disappear. The air continued to press down on his skin like a second, suffocating layer. His thoughts were too loud in his head now, demanding shape, demanding sound.
He finally spoke, his voice low and strained.
__Eoghan: "What is this, Shanane?"
The question hung in the air like a sharp edge. It was not accusatory, not yet, but it trembled with something close to it. Confusion, dread, betrayal trying to form a name.
The young woman said nothing. She stood at the center of the room, her hands curled tightly at her sides, her gaze fixed on the floor like she could not bear to look at him.
The huntsman took a step forward, slow and cautious, like the ground might shift beneath him if he moved too fast. He gestured toward the circle on the ground, toward the ancient marks carved into the stone, the symbols that made his skin crawl just looking at them.
__Eoghan: "What does all of this mean?"
Still, he got no answer. What could she possibly say?
__Eoghan: "You knew this was here. Why didn't you say anything?" his voice hardened.
She looked at him then, and something in her face made him hesitate. There was no defiance in her eyes, no challenge. Only exhaustion. A weariness so deep it looked carved into her bones. But it was not enough. Not with everything he was standing in.
__Eoghan: "Why did you hide this from me?"
Her lips opened slightly, but she said nothing.
He took another step toward her, unable to stop himself now. His voice dropped lower, quieter, and when he spoke again it carried something heavy, something raw.
__Eoghan: "Were you involved in your grandmother's death?"
The question landed like a blow in the room.
It was not meant to wound. It was not meant to accuse. But it had to be asked. Because nothing made sense anymore. Not the fire. Not the house. Not the way she had stared at this room like it was familiar. Like it was a part of her.
And he needed to know what he was standing in. He needed to know who he was standing beside.
But the chamber trembled before he got his answers, setting the ancient stones vibrating beneath their feet. The air shuddered, making the symbols etched into the floor hum with old energy. Dust drifted downward in slow spirals, as if the room had momentarily regained its breath and then screamed again, rumbling like thunder in a silent world.
Shanane and Eoghan stared at each other in horror.
She pressed her hand to the cold stone, her fingers trembling so badly she could barely support herself. The huntsman stumbled forward, his eyes locked on the ground where small cracks began to form between the runes.
Then came the sound,a distant crash of wings, harsh and urgent.
They both looked up as a voice rose around them, a swirl of frantic caws, impossible in this underground chamber. The sound grew louder without source, echoing from the walls, twisting into every crevice until it felt like the entire world was falling apart.
Shanane brushed a hand across her face and she found her lips trembling with fear. She hadn't collapsed, but she might soon. She remained upright only through sheer force of will but her spirit shivered with a terror she had never known before.
Eoghan took a hesitant step forward, as though drawn toward the fractures. He tried to speak, but panic strangled his words.
Then, abruptly, the air ripped apart.
The floor cleaved down the center of the circle, opening like a wound. A dark void yawned before them, filled with smoke that billowed upward, black and viscous. The heat roared to life, searing their lungs, burning their skin even through layers of clothing.
As the heat intensified, the whispering began, soft at first, like breath in the dark. But then it layered, multiplied, until it became a chant: half in a tongue neither spoke, half in broken echoes of their own voices calling their names. The words wound and slithered through the heat, pushing against their skulls, invading their bones.
Her ears rang. She stumbled backward, eyes squeezed shut. When she forced them open again, the creature emerged.
It lurched upward from the rift in the floor, first as a flicker of movement, then as a full, horrific silhouette. Its form was night fractured into shape. Limbs longer than human arms, bent at unnatural angles. Bone-white talons, claws that cracked against the stone as it stepped forward. Its head was too large, too misshapen, with eyes like burning coal deep in its skull, and skin stretched tight over muscle that pulsed like living shadow.
Shanane fell to one knee. She didn't collapse, but her body refused to stand. Fear and recognition warred in her chest.
Eoghan remained frozen in place, eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. His mind raced, trying to make sense of something that had no sense. Monster. Demon. Myth made flesh in a way that defied logic and reason. All he could do was watch, paralyzed, his training, his science, nothing prepared him for this.
The creature surveyed them, its head tilting, as if judging. Its hiss rattled the parchment on the desk, stirred the stale herbs, and quenched the candles with flickers of darkness. The smoke shifted in the room as if it obeyed the creature's will, curling upward in fractal patterns of terror.
Shanane managed a whisper.
__Shanane: "It's him…Atheramond..."
The word escaped on a breath that felt too small to hold her fear.
Eoghan heard it, but he didn't understand. The reality of the moment broke through his paralysis: this was not imagination. This was not hallucination. This was real. Ugly. Terrifying. He took a step backward, but his boots slipped on the smooth, heat-baked stone.
The demon advanced. Each movement was deliberate. It didn't rush. It did not hesitate. It walked like a king through the ruins of a dead world.
The whispers rose in intensity as it passed the broken seal in the floor. They filled the circle, pressing against the reality of the chamber like a tide pushing against a dam. They used words neither recognized but felt deep in their flesh, luring, coaxing,a primal chant that made their blood pulse with fear.
Shanane reached a shaky hand toward Eoghan, ignoring the heat that curled around her skin. Her eyes begged him to do something, anything, but he could not think of what. He just watched as the creature stepped out of the circle.
Its head snapped toward them, and the heat in the room consolidated, centered on their bodies. The demon inhaled so loud it seemed the air in their lungs reversed. The temperature rose again, forcing her to pull her arms closer, to draw the huntsman nearer.
He shrank against the wall, pressed his back into cold stone, and lifted his hand helplessly, as if to shield them both but the demon did not smile or laugh. It simply observed.
An eternity passed. Then it tilted its head, and the whispers fell silent as though someone had pulled a curtain across the sky.
A breath of silence stretched until it snapped, louder than any sound. The creature Atheramond lifted its head, and its eyes, smoldering red and infinite, fixed upon Shanane and Eoghan. Its long, broken limbs straightened as if waking from slumber. The temperature dropped as its presence filled the room, crushing the air with a weight that made both of them gasp.
Then its voice came.
It emerged not in words but in vibrations, tones that shook the stone beneath their feet and rattled their bones. When its words finally reached their ears, they echoed like thunder trapped in a coffin.
__Atheramond: "Child of flesh and fire."
It intoned, each word thick with ancient malice.
__Atheramond: "You stand in the chamber of your ancestors, touching the bones of a pact written in blood and despair."
It paused, and the stone floor groaned.
__Atheramond: "Your grandmother, in her grief, offered blood in exchange for survival, but you, stubborn and torn, chose defiance."
Shanane pressed her palms flat against the cold stone, trying to steady her labored breath. Eoghan reached for her, but she shook her head, unable to break eye contact with the demon. Its voice enveloped them, rising and falling like ripples on deep water.
__Atheramond: "Your veins bear the debt she could not pay herself. She promised her child and all her lineage to me, and I accepted. I am the Lord of the Underground and the Curse-Bearer, one among the kings of my world. I wear damnation as a crown, and my voice births storms in the shadows."
Its voice deepened, the earth themselves seeming to tremble under the weight of each syllable.
__Atheramond: "By igniting those pages, by unmaking the circle, you defied the architecture of damnation my Mistress built. You struck at the foundations of a pact older than your bloodline, and you dared to believe you could undo what was sown in darkness."
Her jaw clenched; her knuckles bled as she held her hand to the stone. Heat and cold warred beneath her skin. The demon's words carved wounds into her mind.
__Atheramond: "I have been patient."
It continued, its tone now shifting from thunder to blade-edge whisper.
__Atheramond: "I have tasted your fear, felt your hesitation, let you think you might escape. But your time is finished. You are hard-headed, foolish, believing that fire could sever chains forged in agony."
Her teeth ground together. She tried to form a question, some plea, but the words died in her throat.
Eoghan stepped forward, though only his feet moved. His voice shook.
__Eoghan: "You… you can't do this. She didn't…"
Atheramond's head snapped to face him. Its eyes glowed brighter, and the whispers flooded back, hundreds of voices in the room, chanting a name he did not know. He ignored the huntsman who was unworthy of his time and tuned toward the young woman again .
__Atheramond: "Answer me, child. You will serve, or you will perish. That is the bargain. Give yourself to me now, face my judgment and declare your allegiance or watch as every living thing you love becomes dust beneath my curse."
The young woman swallowed. She felt the weight of the room shift, the stone biting at her knees. Every instinct told her to run, to turn away from the voice that twisted reality with every word. But she could not look away. Not now. Not yet. Even if she wanted, she couldn't. Her body was paralyzed, glued to the ground. Her legs would just refuse to obey her.
__Atheramond: "Deliver your vow here, where blood called to blood. Kneel before your debt and offer your soul willingly. Reverence your mark and pray that I choose mercy over the devouring you deserve. You belong to me. All your descendants belong to me. And no fire, no denial, no coward's bargain will keep me from what is owed."
The temperature plunged and climbed in the same heartbeat, the air trembling with the unsteady pulse of its threat. Its gaze held her, absolute and merciless.
She felt her mind splintering, one shard caught in terror, another burning with defiance.
__Atheramond: "Kneel." Its voice rang out, final and absolute.
She closed her eyes and felt the cold of the stone beneath her knees, the heat of guilt crawling up her spine, and the weight of an inheritance she never chose.
Outside, the night pressed against the walls as if it was waiting. Waiting to see if darkness would finally reign over the world till its end or if the light would come back with the sunshines.
__Atheramond: "Swear now or be swept away."