Page 112 of Haunted Crowns
Beside it waited the obsidian dagger. A blade for sacrifice. For submission.
Raphael moved with practiced ease, steady hands, unwavering confidence. This would work. Tonight, he would break the fire of Eris Dragov. He lifted the dagger, torchlight catching the steel. Then he sliced his palm. Dark crimson welled, sinking like ink into the book’s blank pages. The book shuddered. Pages trembled, alive with sudden breath.
The sacrifice was accepted.
Black ink bled across the parchment as the letters carved themselves into place. The Obedience Seal had revealed itself. Raphael inhaled and spoke in a voice carved from command:
“Tenebrae vetustae, surgite. Animam hanc ligate. Voluntatem confringite.”
(Ancient darkness, rise. Bind this soul. Shatter her will.)
The chamber convulsed. A guttural shudder moved through the stone, as if the walls had drawn breath. The air grew heavy, suffocating. The torches erupted, flames twisting into clawedshapes that reached for the ceiling. Something entered, and it was hungry.
Eris stared, eyes wide, horror blooming.
Raphael did not falter. He rolled up his sleeve, veins pulsing with unnatural energy. One hand held the living book. The other, bleeding, offered his magic. The darkness responded. It thickened, coiled, then took form.
A limb surged into being—fingers jagged, cracking with force. Then wrist. Forearm. A twisted appendage made of pure abyss. It pulsed. It loomed. The more magic Raphael fed it, the stronger it grew.
Eris trembled.
This wasn’t spellwork. This was something never meant to wake.
Raphael’s voice rose, thunderous. “Dominium aeternum. Nullum refugium. Nulla resistentia.”
(Eternal dominion. No refuge. No resistance.)
The altar shook. The chamber groaned, stone rebelling under sacred violence. The phantom limb surged and pressed inward, seeping toward Eris like rot. Chains rattled. Iron bit deep, but she did not cower, even with no escape.
Her breath steadied, sharp, slow, like a blade drawn clean. “I will not make this easy for you.”
Raphael’s lips curled, amused. She was chained, cornered—and still, she dared. His grip tightened around the spell.
The phantom arm flexed, fingers twisting, reaching. It hovered before her, studying its prey. It pulsed, tasting resistance.
Then he thrust it forward. A roar split the chamber. The torches snuffed in one violent flicker. The phantom hand struck, consuming. Eris screamed as it plunged into her. Pain tore through her, hollowing her out. She clawed inward, her will striking back. She would not be shackled. She would not break.
Raphael snarled through the storm, sweat streaking his brow. His hand trembled. "Stop resisting, foolish girl. You cannot stop this."
But she did not stop. Tears streaked her face, defiant.
The phantom arm convulsed, seizing. It could not hold her.
Power clashed with will. A monster with the girl who would not kneel.
Raphael’s eyes widened. This was wrong. The spell was not settling. It was breaking. Pressure surged, heavy and suffocating. A crescendo of chaos. Light and dark collided. Then the chamber ruptured.
A shriek tore through the air, not from Eris, but from the spell. The phantom hand warped. Then, instead of binding, it tore through her chest, vengeful and precise, before it shattered. This time Eris cried out, raw and fractured. Her body dropped, chains snapping her arms taut. She trembled, drained. The force inside her burned, wild and unstable.
Amid the ruins the spell left behind, a memory flickered. A soft, half-forgotten piano chord. Fingers brushing hers beneath a hedge. A laugh. A whisper.
"Come find me."Stephan’s voice, faint in the dark."You were always the wild one."
Then the darkness shattered everything and swallowed her whole.
Raphael staggered, knees buckling. He caught the altar, breath ragged, skin damp with sweat.
Silence fell as the wind died. Even the flames flickered, as if fire itself had recoiled.
