The Devil's Bride
By Rapwizzy Debaron
Episode 81: Ember of the End
The sky wept fire.
Not rain. Not ash.
Fire.
It fell in slow, sorrowful flakes, drifting from the heavens as if the stars themselves were burning out.
Lucian, Seraphina, and the Harbinger emerged from the remnants of the Veiled Labyrinth into a world forever changed. Behind them, their allies gathered, silent. Awed. Fearful.
The First Flame was no longer hiding.
It was becoming.
"What's happening?" Seraphina asked, staring at the heavens.
The Harbinger didn't answer immediately. Her eyes glowed silver, her voice layered with echoes. "The Flame is shedding its form. What we faced before was only its cocoon."
Lucian's jaw clenched. "You mean we haven't seen its true self yet?"
"No," she said softly. "That... was just its mourning phase. Now comes its vengeance."
From the horizon, a tremor surged through the ground, splitting the earth like parchment. A scream—not of pain, but of rebirth—ripped through the sky.
Then they saw it.
A silhouette rising through the scorched clouds.
Massive. Shapeless. Pure essence.
The true form of the First Flame: not a monster, not a god—but a concept, alive and conscious, stretching across dimensions. Its core burned like a thousand collapsing suns. Its voice didn't speak—it overwrote reality.
> "I REMEMBER WHO I WAS."
> "I REMEMBER WHO BETRAYED ME."
> "I REMEMBER THE BRIDE."
Seraphina's knees buckled. The memories were not hers—but they forced their way into her anyway.
Visions of a world before the worlds.
Of a throne of fire.
Of a celestial rebellion.
Of a promise made between light and darkness… and broken.
Lucian caught her as she fell, gripping her hand tight. "What did it mean? The bride?"
Seraphina's voice cracked, horrified: "It was never just me. I—I was once the Flame's… consort. Before I was reborn."
The group reeled. Even the Moon Priests stepped back in stunned silence.
The Harbinger turned slowly. "Then this war… is personal."
Suddenly, the Flame's fire swept toward them—not as an attack, but as a memory flood.
Each warrior saw fragments of a forgotten past:
Gabriel, kneeling at the edge of a burning Eden.
The Last Seraphic Witch, singing lullabies to shadows.
The Chainbreaker, forging his own cuffs out of grief.
Lucian… standing atop a throne, whispering to someone hidden in smoke.
"Those memories are gifts," the Harbinger said. "The Flame is tempting you with truths. Don't break."
Lucian's head swam. "Why does it want us to remember?"
The Harbinger's expression darkened. "Because if we do, it wins."
A tear slid down Seraphina's face. "I loved it once… the First Flame. And I betrayed it."
Lucian grabbed her shoulders. "That was a past life. This is now. You're mine. Not its."
She nodded, trembling, but stronger with his touch.
Then, from the firestorm, a voice emerged—not the Flame's.
A child's voice.
"Mama…?"
Everyone froze.
A small figure stepped from the flame—glowing red, but with Seraphina's eyes.
"No…" Seraphina whispered. "This can't be."
Lucian stepped forward instinctively, shielding her. "What is this illusion?!"
But the Harbinger looked at the child, then at Seraphina. "Not illusion. Echo."
Seraphina collapsed, shaking. "I had a child… with the Flame…"
The Flame's laughter thundered.
> "AND NOW THE BLOOD OF BOTH SHALL DECIDE THE END."
The child raised his hand.
The fire answered.
Not in rage.
But in longing.
To be continued…
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