The glamorous mansion of Nyxveil hid a secret beneath its opulent façade—a place untouched by light for millennia, a prison where the air itself seemed to carry the memories of the dead.
This was no ordinary dungeon; it was surrounded by countless magic spells to forbid someone from inside.
Edwin wrinkled his nose, the stench of decay and ancient stone assaulting his senses. He had cast the highest level of invisibility spell to follow Zaphery, determined to uncover the truth about Dain's fate. As he trailed behind, he couldn't help but marvel at the man before him.
*Locking his own son in this hellhole...* Edwin thought, his gaze fixed on Zaphery's unreadable expression. *This man is either a monster or a saint. Maybe both.*
The dungeon was a labyrinth of despair. The flickering candlelight barely pierced the oppressive darkness, casting restless shadows on the worn cobblestone floor.
Torches lined the walls, their flames guttering as if disturbed by an unseen presence. The air was thick with silence—a suffocating, waiting silence.
Edwin's eyes darted to the guards stationed along the walls, their iron armor blending seamlessly with the stone. They stood like statues, their presence a grim reminder of the prison's impenetrability.
Zaphery stopped before a massive, ornate door. It was unlike anything else in the dungeon—a gothic masterpiece of dark, weathered wood and intricate iron detailing.
At its center was a circular emblem, its engravings pulsing faintly with an ominous glow. Mist seeped from beneath the door, curling like ghostly fingers toward the corridor.
The guards bowed their heads and placed their hands on the door. It opened with a low groan, revealing a chamber that made Edwin's blood run cold.
The room was a nightmare brought to life.
The walls were carved with eldritch patterns—serpentine designs and ancient runes that pulsed with crimson light. At the center was a raised platform, its surface engraved with arcane symbols that glowed faintly, as if thirsting for the blood that now pooled in their grooves.
Streams of molten lava flowed through cracks in the ground, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Suspended around the platform were twenty elves, their pastel green hair matted with blood. They hung limply, their arms bound by red iron chains that glowed with sinister energy. Their blood dripped steadily onto the magic circle below, feeding the ritual with their life force.
At the highest point of the chamber, sprawled across an ornate stone altar, was a man with long silver hair. His body was a canvas of wounds, his blood mingling with that of the elves. Where the two met, dark energy crackled to life, writhing like living tendrils.
Edwin's breath caught in his throat. *This is the infamous Dead Hope Prison, which is supposed to confine some of the most dangerous criminals of Wymhold,* he realized, his mind racing. *But why are elves here? Is Zaphery involved in dark magic like Foxy doubted?*
Before he could process the scene, the sound of iron shackles moving drew his attention. The silver-haired man stirred, his body trembling as he pushed himself upright. He spat blood and let out a bitter laugh.
"Running here like a rat to consume dark energy," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How pathetic."
Edwin's eyes widened. The voice was unmistakable. It was Zaphery—but not the composed, enigmatic man he had been following.
This was the Zaphery he remembered from sixteen years ago: arrogant, hot-tempered, and utterly unyielding.
The man brushed his hair aside, revealing a face that was a mirror image of the Zaphery Edwin knew.
Bright green eyes, sharp features, and that crooked, defiant smile. Edwin's mind reeled. *How is this possible? Two Zaphery?*
"Did you finally get a taste of divine power, Sylvester?" the chained man taunted.
Edwin's heart skipped a beat. *Sylvester? The Demon Commander?* His thoughts raced as the figure before him began to change. Dark energy swirled around the chamber, coalescing into a towering figure with magenta eyes and an aura of overwhelming power.
The transformation was complete in moments.
Sylvester is a vision of dark, hypnotic beauty—both mesmerizing and menacing: high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and an aquiline nose that lend him an air of aristocratic menace. His pale, almost luminescent skin shimmers like moonlight on black water, untouched by time yet carrying an eerie, unnatural sheen.
But it is his eyes that truly haunt—deep, glowing magenta orbs pulsing with an inner light, half-lidded in a mix of calm arrogance and barely restrained hunger. When he locks his gaze on someone, it feels like he is peeling away their soul, exposing raw truth beneath their pretense.
His dark, tousled waves cascade past his shoulders, streaked with faint traces of crimson and violet that seem to shift with his movements, as if infused with dark energy. His tall, lean frame is draped in a fitted magenta coat that flows like liquid shadow, frayed edges shimmering with crimson threads.
Beneath it, his bare chest is laced with dark, living tendrils—pulsing veins of molten red energy that coil around him like both armor and curse.
Edwin's fists clenched. *So the entire time, the man I thought was Zaphery was Sylvister in disguise. But how? And why?*
"Even after all these years, your attitude hasn't changed, Zaphery Vael Nyxveil," Sylvister said, his voice calm yet dripping with malice.
Zaphery's eyes blazed with hatred. "You're weaker than before, Sylvister. I can feel it. Who's been giving you trouble? A divine power user? Daniel Nordwyn? His son, EZEKIAN?"
Edwin's gaze hardened as he studied Sylvester, his mind racing. *But since when has Sylvister been impersonating Zaphery? And how did he even escape the Underworld? No matter how powerful a demon is, someone from the outside would have had to unseal the door for him. Even then, he'd be weaker than he was in hell. What's his game?*
Sylvester's voice cut through Edwin's thoughts, cold and mocking. "Now I understand why it was so easy to lure your son into demonic arts."
Zaphery's eyes widened, his face paling as Sylvester continued. "With that hot temper and those uncontrolled emotions—just like his father—it's no wonder he fell into my traps so easily."
Zaphery trembled with rage, his voice a low growl. "How dare you! HOW DARE A DEMON LIKE YOU MESS WITH MY SON?"
Sylvester chuckled, the sound dripping with malice. He turned, descending the stairs with an air of casual cruelty. "Should I give you a glimpse of your son's current state? Hmm, you deserve that much."
With a flick of his finger, a mirror-like image materialized in the air. The scene it revealed was grim: a dark, wooden room illuminated by the faint glow of a few candles. Dain sat chained to a chair, his body battered and bloodied. His pained groans echoed through the chamber, each one a dagger to Zaphery's heart.
Judging by the dark skin of Dain, it was obvious to Zaphery that it was a reaction of Dain using demonic power.
Zaphery's legs nearly gave out. "No… There's no way my son would fall for a demon's temptation. A Nyxveil would never—"
"Deny it all you want," Sylvester interrupted, his tone almost playful. "But the truth is right before your eyes."
Zaphery's rage boiled over. "Leave him, you bastard!"
Sylvester shrugged, feigning indifference. "I was going to leave him, even if you hadn't asked. It's a little sad, really. I personally trained him, you know. Your son was far too talented for his age. But alas… this is the end for him."
Edwin's eyes narrowed as he watched Sylvester carefully. *He's intentionally avoiding talking about Foxy. Why? What is he hiding?* Edwin's suspicion grew. *Selentia took Dain down, but Sylvester's acting like it was all his doing.*
Zaphery's voice thundered through the chamber, raw and desperate. "LEAVE MY SON, SYLVESTER! I SWEAR I'LL TEAR YOU APART WITH MY BARE HANDS!"
Sylvester smirked, clearly enjoying Zaphery's anguish. "How cute. You really do love your children, don't you?"
Before Sylvester could continue, a loud *thud* echoed from the mirror. The door to the dark room in the image burst open, and a figure stepped inside. The candles flickered, casting light on her face.
"So, I was right," Selentia's voice rang out, calm yet laced with danger. "They *are* planning to get rid of you."
Edwin's breath hitched. *Foxy? What is she doing there?*
Sylvester's smirk faltered, his magenta eyes narrowing as he stared at the image. For the first time, a flicker of unease crossed his face.
"Fuck."