The hooded figure stood motionless, his helm unyielding. Jagged obsidian plates drank the light, leaving only a void shaped like a man. Beneath the tattered cloak, faint angles of armor glinted, sharp and uninviting.
It was Raven.
The soldiers froze, hands tightening on weapons. Tension rippled through the chamber. Joren, broad-shouldered and grizzled, raised a hand and barked, "False alarm. Stand down."
The command sliced through the unease, but no one relaxed. Raven's presence pressed against the room, heavy and suffocating. His silence was a weight, a force that smothered sound and thought alike.
Belial stepped forward, his lean frame cutting through the stillness. He craned his neck to meet the towering figure, a smirk curling his lips. "You miss me, big guy?"
No words answered. Only a fast motion.
Darkness surged, a cold tide swallowing the space between them. The world dimmed, edges blurring into shadow. Belial's vision blackened as armored hands pressed against him. One gauntlet clamped his shoulder, the other gripped his arm. The metal trembled, as if testing his existence, confirming his pulse.
"You're alive," Raven said, his voice a low rumble, like stone grinding against steel.
Belial's grin widened, sharp and defiant. "Of course I am. When have I ever looked like I was about to die?"
The lie burned on his tongue. Memories flooded his mind: blades tearing flesh, lungs choking on blood, stages littered with monstrous corpses. He had danced on the edge of death countless times, one thread from the abyss.
That thread held because of the figure before him. Raven, the silent shield, the unyielding giant who never let him fall.
Belial exhaled, shadows peeling back from his vision. His smirk softened as he looked up at Raven. "How have the months been without me?"
Silence answered.
Raven stood still, helm tilted downward, its obsidian face a blank void.
Belial's grin faltered. He had hoped, against reason, for change. A word, a crack in the fortress of silence. But Raven was Raven.
A faint sound broke the quiet, a whisper too soft to catch. Before Belial could lean closer, commotion erupted outside.
Boots pounded stone. Voices rose, sharp and urgent. A low rumble grew, the sound of hundreds gathering.
Belial turned. Through the shattered crystalline walls, he glimpsed movement. Shadows converged, shapes filing in with armor and ragged clothing. Refugees, soldiers, survivors of the Stage, their faces etched with exhaustion and defiance.
Xin, Toren and Lira approached at their head.
a figure with silver hair came from behind them
shun
The only person who hadn't betrayed him nor enslaved him, if he was in the same situation would he have done the same?
Toren, the tall second slaver, spoke with quiet authority. "We're ready to move."
His sharp eyes swept the group, then locked on Belial. "Lead us. Take us to the second Act."
Belial chuckled, shaking his head, his grin laced with mockery. "Not happening. Find your own way."
He turned to leave, but Xin's voice cut through his retreat.
"Nero. Please."
The word stopped him cold.
Xin stepped forward, pale but resolute. "Help me guide them. The soldiers. The refugees. All of them. Lead us to the next Act. Show us how to prepare."
Silence fell, heavy and glum.
The ether contract tightened around Belial's chest, invisible chains coiling, forcing obedience. His smile strained, teeth clenching beneath it.
"Sure, Xin," he said, voice smooth as glass. "I'll do just that."
Xin's expression flickered, unease shadowing his features. He sensed the wrongness in Belial's tone, the too-easy compliance. But the contract bound them both. He had no choice but to accept.
Belial tilted his head, Violet eyes glinting in the half-light. His grin held, but behind it, a storm churned.
The ether contract was a universal law, unbreakable without consequence. It shackled him to the task of leading. But Belial knew the Stage's hidden machinery, its twisting paths, its trials that shattered souls. He knew where survival became regret.
He would guide them. The law left no choice.
But contracts could bend.
If Xin pushed too far, if the chains pressed too tight, only one outcome remained.
One of them would die.
Belial lowered his gaze, hiding the flicker of malice in his eyes.
Xin thought he had an ally. Toren thought he had a tool.
Neither understood the truth.
A demon chained was still a demon.
And every chain could be broken in blood.
The chamber grew still, the moment of unspoken truths pressing against the walls. Raven loomed behind Belial, a silent sentinel, his presence a reminder of the past they shared. The giant had seen Belial at his lowest, had pulled him from the brink when the Stage's horrors threatened to consume him. Yet even Raven, for all his strength, could not break the contract's hold.
Belial's thoughts churned, a storm of memories and plans. The Stage was no mere battlefield. It was a machine, a cruel theater where every act tested the limits of flesh and will. He had walked its paths before, seen its traps spring shut, watched survivors crumble under its weight. The second Act would be no kinder. If anything, it would be worse.
Xin stood before him, young and earnest, his determination a fragile shield against the Stage's reality. Belial almost pitied him. Almost.
"You don't know what you're asking," Belial said, his voice low, the grin gone. "The second Act isn't a destination. It's a crucible."
Xin's jaw tightened, but he didn't waver. "I know it's dangerous. That's why we need you."
Belial laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. "Need me? You think I'm your savior? I'm no hero. I'm the one who survives."
Toren stepped forward, his presence calm but unyielding. "We don't need a hero. We need a guide. Someone who knows the Stage's rules."
Belial's eyes narrowed, studying Toren. The slaver was no fool. His calm masked a sharp mind, one that saw through Belial's bravado. But even Toren didn't grasp the full truth. The Stage's rules were not meant to be followed. They were meant to be broken, twisted, turned against the machine itself.
"Rules," Belial said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You think the Stage cares about rules? It's a game, Toren. And the only way to win is to cheat."
Toren's expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened. "Then teach us how to cheat."
Belial's grin returned, sharper now, edged with something dangerous. "Careful what you ask for."
The crowd outside grew louder, their voices a chaotic mix of fear and resolve. Belial glanced through the crystalline walls, watching the survivors gather. They were a ragged lot, their armor dented, their clothes torn. Some carried weapons, others clung to makeshift tools. All bore the marks of the Stage's cruelty.
He turned back to Xin and Toren, his mind racing. The contract bound him, but it didn't dictate how he would lead. He could guide them to the second Act, yes, but the path he chose, the lessons he taught, those were his to shape. And shape them he would.
"Alright," he said, his voice steady now, the grin fading into something colder. "I'll lead you. But don't expect me to hold your hand. The Stage doesn't forgive mistakes."
Xin nodded, relief flickering across his face. Toren remained impassive, but his eyes never left Belial.
Raven shifted behind him, a subtle movement that drew Belial's attention. The giant's helm tilted slightly, as if studying him. Belial met the void where Raven's face should be, searching for some sign, some hint of what the man was thinking. But the helm gave nothing away.
"Let's move," Belial said, turning toward the crowd.
The survivors parted as he stepped forward, their eyes fixed on him. Fear, hope, desperation, all mingled in their gazes. They saw him as their guide, their chance at survival. They didn't see the chains that bound him, the storm that raged behind his Violet eyes.
Belial walked through the broken crystalline walls, Raven at his side, Xin and Toren trailing behind. The crowd followed, their footsteps echoing like a heartbeat. The Stage loomed ahead, its paths hidden in shadow, its trials waiting to claim them.
He would lead them, as the contract demanded. But he would do it his way.
The Stage was a machine, and Belial was its master. He knew its gears, its traps, its lies. He would guide this ragged band to the second Act, but he would not let them forget the truth.
Survival came at a cost.
And if Xin or Toren pushed him too far, that cost would be paid in blood.