Sarina’s world had never felt so cold, so distant, as it did now. The weight of Azrathis’s chains wrapped around her soul, suffocating her every thought, every movement. She felt it in the pit of her being—a deep, relentless pressure that sapped her strength, twisted her will. The darkness of the Spire faded into a blur, replaced by an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
Her body moved on its own, her legs obeying the silent command of the demon queen. Every step she took, every twitch of her fingers, felt like a betrayal of herself. She wanted to scream, to cry out, to break free of the invisible grip that held her, but her voice was caught in her throat, silenced by the magic now coursing through her veins.
"I see the chains suit you well, my little hero," Azrathis’s voice slithered into her mind, soft and venomous. Sarina couldn’t see her, but she could feel the queen’s presence—hovering over her like a shadow, always watching, always in control.
The throne room was behind her now. She had been commanded to leave, to rejoin the world outside the Spire and fulfill her new role as the demon queen’s puppet. Her once bright, proud armor now felt heavy, like lead, weighing her down with each step. The air outside the Spire’s walls, once fresh with the winds of the mountains, now felt thick and stifling, filled with the scent of dark magic.
Sarina’s mind was in turmoil, fighting against the magic that bound her. She couldn’t stop herself from moving, but she could think, she could rage within the prison of her own body. This isn’t real, she told herself. I’ll find a way out. I will break free. But the chains around her wrists hummed with energy, as if mocking her defiance.
As she descended the Spire’s stone steps, the rebel camp came into view. Her comrades—those who had followed her, believed in her—stood waiting anxiously, their faces pale with hope and fear. They had expected her to return victorious, to have slain the demon queen and brought an end to this nightmare. But what they saw now was something far more sinister.
Lira, her closest friend and second-in-command, was the first to approach, her brow furrowed with concern. "Sarina? What happened? Did you—" She cut herself off, noticing the eerie stillness in Sarina’s eyes.
Sarina’s mouth opened to respond, but the words that came out were not her own. "It is done," she heard herself say, her voice cold and unfamiliar. "Azrathis is no more."
A murmur of disbelief spread through the camp, and Sarina’s heart twisted. They believed her, just as they always had. But this was a lie—a lie spun by Azrathis, using her voice, her face. She wanted to scream, to warn them that the danger had not passed, that she had failed. But her lips remained still, her will crushed under the weight of the demon queen’s magic.
"That’s... that’s incredible," Lira said, her expression softening with relief. She placed a hand on Sarina’s shoulder, not noticing the slight flinch that followed. "I knew you could do it."
Sarina felt sick. She had let them down, and now she was the weapon that would destroy everything they had fought for. She had to find a way to break free. But how could she, when even her own body betrayed her?
"Rest now, Sarina," Lira said kindly, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ve done enough. We can handle things from here."
The chains tightened, and Sarina felt herself smile—a dark, hollow smile that wasn’t hers. "Thank you," she replied, her voice still not her own. "But there is more work to be done."
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That night, Sarina lay in her tent, staring up at the dark fabric of the ceiling, her mind a storm of despair and fury. The camp was quiet, the sounds of her comrades’ soft breathing and the crackle of distant fires filling the silence. But in her mind, there was no peace. Azrathis’s presence lingered like a suffocating fog, always just out of sight, always reminding her of the power she wielded over her.
Sleep didn’t come easily—not that it could. Every time Sarina felt her mind drift toward rest, the chains would tug, tightening around her consciousness, pulling her back to reality. There was no escaping them, not even in her dreams.
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You’ll never be free of me, Azrathis’s voice echoed in her thoughts, taunting her. You belong to me now, Sarina. You will do as I command, and you will learn to embrace your new purpose.
Sarina clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms until they drew blood. She didn’t care about the pain. She wanted to feel something, anything, that wasn’t the demon queen’s control. I will fight you, she thought back, even though she knew Azrathis could hear her. I will find a way out of this, no matter what it takes.
Azrathis laughed, the sound a low, mocking chuckle. You can try, little hero. But you will fail, just as you did when you tried to kill me. You are mine now, and nothing can change that.
Sarina bit her lip, drawing more blood, but it was the only way she could stop herself from screaming. She wouldn’t give Azrathis the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not yet.
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The next few days passed in a haze. Sarina carried out her tasks mechanically, leading the remnants of the rebellion with the same authority she had before. But every decision she made, every command she gave, was tainted by the knowledge that she wasn’t truly in control. The chains pulled tighter with every passing hour, until they were a constant, suffocating presence in her mind.
Her comrades noticed the change, though none of them could pinpoint what was wrong. They assumed the battle with Azrathis had taken its toll on her, that she was still recovering from the ordeal. And Sarina let them believe it. It was easier than trying to explain the truth—a truth that would destroy everything they had fought for.
But Lira, ever perceptive, wasn’t so easily convinced. One evening, as the two of them sat by the campfire, Lira spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. "Sarina, something’s not right. You’re... different."
Sarina froze, the chains tightening around her thoughts. She forced a smile, though it felt like a mask. "I’m fine, Lira. Just tired."
Lira frowned, her eyes searching Sarina’s face for something—anything—that would explain the change in her. "It’s more than that. You haven’t been yourself since you came back. I’ve known you for years, and I can tell when something’s wrong."
Sarina’s heart ached. Lira had always been the one to see through her, to understand her even when she tried to hide her feelings. But now, there was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, to make Lira understand the truth. Azrathis’s hold on her was too strong.
"I just need time," Sarina said, her voice barely a whisper. "Everything will be fine."
But even as the words left her lips, she knew they were a lie. There was no more time. Azrathis’s control was growing stronger every day, and soon, there would be nothing left of Sarina to fight against it.
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That night, the chains grew tighter. Sarina woke with a start, her heart pounding, her mind screaming in agony as the magic pulled her deeper into its grasp. She gasped for air, her body trembling as the demon queen’s presence surged through her.
It’s time, Sarina, Azrathis’s voice coiled around her thoughts, squeezing them like a vice. Time to show them who you really are.
Sarina tried to resist, tried to push back against the overwhelming force that held her, but it was no use. The chains tightened, their magic digging deeper into her soul, until she couldn’t fight anymore. She was a puppet, and Azrathis was pulling the strings.
Her body moved on its own, rising from her bedroll and stepping out of the tent. The camp was quiet, the moon casting a pale glow over the sleeping forms of her comrades. They had no idea what was coming.
Azrathis’s laughter echoed in her mind as Sarina drew her sword, her fingers gripping the hilt with a strength that wasn’t her own. She could feel the demon queen’s glee, her anticipation of what was to come.
Kill them, Azrathis commanded, her voice a whisper of death. Show them the true power of my magic.
Sarina’s heart raced, her mind screaming in defiance, but her body obeyed. She took a step toward the nearest tent, her sword raised, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. She could see Lira’s sleeping form through the flap of the tent, completely unaware of the danger.
No... Sarina’s mind screamed, but the chains tightened, silencing her protests. Her feet moved forward, her sword poised to strike.
Just as she was about to take another step, a sudden burst of light filled the air, blinding her. Sarina stumbled back, her sword falling from her grip as the chains around her mind loosened for just a moment.
"Not yet, my little puppet," Azrathis whispered, her voice filled with amusement. "But soon."
And then the light was gone, leaving Sarina gasping for breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The chains were still there, still holding her, but for the first time, they felt... weaker. She didn’t know what had caused the light, but it had given her a glimpse of hope—a tiny spark in the darkness.
She would hold on to that hope, no matter how small it was. Because as long as she had hope, she still had a chance to break free.