The moon hung low over the horizon, casting a pale glow on the untamed landscape that spread before Erik and his undead escort. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and the jungle beyond the fortress walls pulsed with the sounds of night—chirping insects, the distant growl of unseen creatures, and the rustling of leaves in the humid breeze. The tension of escape slowly eased, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighed heavily on Erik.

The robed knight moved with an eerie grace, leading Erik through dense underbrush and over uneven ground, his silent presence serving as both a guide and a reminder of the strange allegiance Erik had unwittingly forged. With each step, Erik's mind wandered, struggling to piece together a plan. He knew he couldn't trust the cultists, nor the soldiers who'd captured him. And he certainly couldn't rely entirely on N’zol, a demon with an agenda of its own. "Do you have a name?" Erik asked, his voice breaking the silence, more to alleviate the unnerving quiet than out of genuine curiosity.

The figure paused for a moment, as though considering the question. Its hollow, gravelly voice answered, "Thalion."

"Thalion, huh? Well, it's nice to know the name of my mysterious savior," Erik said with a hint of sarcasm. "Any chance you could tell me where we're going? Or is this a ‘trust me, you'll see’ kind of deal?"

Thalion did not respond immediately. Instead, he raised a gauntleted hand, pointing ahead to a narrow path that twisted through the jungle. "Safe place. Dominion. Protect my lord."

"Dominion?" Erik muttered, confusion crossing his face. He glanced at the shadowy figure. "You keep saying that. Is that your group? Your... people?"

Thalion merely nodded and gestured for Erik to keep moving. The vague answer was frustrating, but it was clear Thalion either couldn’t or wouldn’t elaborate. Erik sighed, deciding not to press further for now. He had more pressing matters—like staying alive and figuring out what exactly he was supposed to do next.

After what felt like hours of navigating through the jungle, they came upon a clearing. The moonlight illuminated an ancient, stone structure that appeared half-consumed by the surrounding forest. Vines crawled up its walls, and moss blanketed the crumbling stone. Despite its decay, Erik could sense an aura of power emanating from the place—an old, forgotten magic that hummed just beneath the surface. Thalion approached the entrance, a dark archway that seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth itself. He turned to Erik, his glowing eyes locking onto his. "Enter. Sanctuary awaits." Erik hesitated. He knew that trusting this strange figure might be his only choice, but stepping into the darkness of an ancient ruin with an undead knight as his only guide wasn't exactly reassuring. He glanced down at his hand, where the faint, twisted mouth of N’zol had formed, its presence a constant reminder of the burden he carried.

"You got any opinions on this, Valerie?" Erik asked, shaking his hand slightly. The demonic mouth smiled, its voice a raspy whisper “feed”. Erik, rolled his eyes and sighed. Thalion again positioned his master as the savior "Dominion. Old power. Serve. Enter now. Perish outside."

"Not exactly the vote of confidence I was hoping for," Erik muttered, rolling his eyes. But he knew the demon spoke the truth; he couldn't stay out here in the open, vulnerable and directionless. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Thalion. "Alright, lead the way."

The interior of the ruin was even darker than Erik had imagined. Thalion walked by a torch, and the end covered in wrappings burst into dark blue and purple light, the flickering flames casting long shadows on the stone walls as they descended down a narrow staircase. The air grew colder, and Erik could feel the weight of the earth pressing in on them. The walls were etched with ancient symbols—runes that glowed faintly as they passed, resonating with a magic that felt strangely familiar to Erik. After what seemed an eternity of descending, the stairs opened into a vast underground chamber. The room was filled with other robed figures, their heads bowed in silent prayer before an altar that stood at the center. A strange stone, glowing with an ethereal blue light, rested upon the altar, and the cultists seemed to draw power from its presence.

Thalion led Erik to the center of the chamber, where the cultists parted to make way for them. All eyes turned to Erik, their expressions hidden beneath the deep hoods of their robes. He could feel their gaze, the weight of expectation that seemed to press upon him, and it made his skin crawl. A figure stepped forward, taller than the others, his robes adorned with intricate patterns that suggested authority. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face marked by age and wisdom, his eyes sharp as they studied Erik.

"Welcome, Lord of Shadows," the elder said, his voice smooth but carrying a commanding undertone. "We are the Dominion, the keepers of ancient pacts. You have been chosen, bound to a power beyond comprehension. We are here to serve, to guide you in wielding the force that resides within." Erik swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "Look, I appreciate the... hospitality, but I'm not exactly sure what you expect from me. I didn’t ask for any of this."

The elder nodded, as if he understood Erik’s confusion. "No one chooses their fate, Lord of Shadows. It is thrust upon them. You carry within you a demon of great power, and that power must be mastered, or it will consume you. The Dominion can teach you, help you control what lies within. In return, you will help fulfill the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Erik's brow furrowed. "What prophecy?"

The elder gestured to the glowing stone on the altar. "A prophecy as old as these stones. A vessel of darkness will rise, one who will challenge the balance of power, who will turn the tide against those who would see our world enslaved to their will. You, Erik Marlowe, are that vessel."

Erik felt a chill run down his spine. Prophecies, demons, ancient pacts—this was all more than he had ever bargained for. He had never wanted power, never wanted to be part of anything grand or world-changing. He had just wanted to be free of the shackles that society had placed on him.

"And if I say no?" Erik asked, his voice quiet but firm.

The elder's gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder. "Then you will die, and the power within you will die with you. The choice is yours, but know this—if you turn away now, you leave behind not only your own fate but the fate of countless others who depend on you."

Erik closed his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The demon within him stirred, a restless presence that seemed to sense his hesitation.

"Accept their offer," N’zol’s voice whispered in his mind, the tone uncharacteristically calm. "For now, we align. Learn their ways. Master the power. Only then can you hope to control anything."

Erik took a deep breath, opening his eyes to meet the elder's gaze. "Alright," he said, his voice steady. "I'll do it. But let’s get one thing straight—I’m not your lord. I’m just a guy trying to survive."

The elder smiled faintly, nodding. "Survival is the beginning, Erik. But in time, you may find that you are capable of far more."

The elder who greeted Erik continued, his voice steady and calm. “The Dominion has existed for centuries, long before the current rulers rose to power. We are the keepers of ancient knowledge, and we have served as advisors to many—kings, sorcerers, and even those who sought to rise above their mortal station. Our role is to preserve balance, to ensure that the power of darkness is not misused.” As the elder spoke, Erik couldn't help but notice how the other cultists reacted to him. They all kept their heads bowed, almost reverently, and yet there was a subtle distance between them, as if they feared or distrusted him. It was a disconcerting sight, and it made Erik's skin prickle with unease. There was something off about the Dominion—a sense of hidden agendas that made him wary.

More unnerving was the fact that the elder knew Erik's name without being told. Erik’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion rising. “How do you know my name?” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of distrust. The elder paused, meeting Erik’s gaze with an inscrutable expression. “We have our ways, Erik Marlowe. The threads of fate weave together all who play a part in this prophecy. We knew of your coming before you even set foot upon these lands.” Erik’s unease grew. The idea that these people knew so much about him while he was still in the dark about their true motives did not sit well with him. He couldn't help but feel as though he was being led into something far beyond his control, and it made him want to pull away, to run. But where would he go? He was trapped between a demon inside him and a cult that seemed intent on making him their "Lord of Shadows."

The elder turned to the altar and gestured to one of the robed figures standing nearby. The figure stepped forward, carrying a polished stone that glowed with a soft, pulsating blue light. The elder took the stone and approached Erik.

“You are weakened, Erik,” the elder said, his voice almost gentle. “You have been carrying a burden that even the strongest of mages would struggle to bear. Your core is hungry, is it not? You need to feed.”

Erik hesitated, unsure of what to say. The truth was, he felt the emptiness in his core gnawing at him, a deep hunger that refused to be ignored. It was as though his body was slowly consuming itself, and the demon’s presence only made it worse. He nodded reluctantly. The elder held the glowing stone up to Erik’s chest, and immediately, Erik felt a strange warmth spread through his body. The stone seemed to resonate with the very core of his being, and suddenly, his vision shifted. He could see the meridians within himself—channels of energy that wove through his body, but unlike a mage’s meridians, his were dark and twisted, expanded far beyond what was natural. The elder’s eyes narrowed as he observed Erik's meridians. “It is as I feared. Your core has been altered by the primal magic that was forced through it. The meridians, which should carry energy like a steady river, are now vast and empty, like a dried-up ocean bed. If you do not feed it, your body will devour itself, and the chains binding the demon will break.”

Erik swallowed hard, his stomach tightening at the elder’s words. “What happens if the chains break?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

The elder’s gaze darkened, and he spoke with a gravity that made Erik's blood run cold. “If the chains break, the demon will be released, and your body will no longer be your own. You will transform, your humanity stripped away until nothing remains but the demon’s will. You will become N’zol in full—a creature of darkness, with no hope of returning to who you once were.”

Erik clenched his jaw, the weight of his situation pressing down on him like a heavy stone. He had to find a way to keep the demon contained, to prevent himself from losing control entirely. “What do I need to do?” he asked, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. The elder handed the glowing stone to one of the other cultists, who stepped away. He then turned back to Erik, his eyes studying him carefully. “You need a restrictive device—something that can channel the energy of your core in a controlled manner. We have the knowledge to craft such a device, but it will take time. In the meantime, you must learn to feed your core, to draw magic from external sources. Only by feeding your core can you prevent it from consuming your own life force.”

“Feed on magic?” Erik echoed, frowning. “How am I supposed to do that? I’ve never been able to use magic.”

The elder gave a small, almost sympathetic smile. “You will learn, Erik. The Dominion will teach you. There are objects of power—artifacts, enchanted items—that can be used to sustain you. The stone you saw is one such object. It resonates with your core, allows you to absorb the energy within. In time, you will learn to do this without the need for such objects, to draw magic directly from the world around you.” Erik looked down at his hand, the faint outline of the demonic mouth still present. The hunger within him seemed to echo the elder’s words, as if N’zol itself agreed with the need to feed. The idea of drawing on magic, of consuming energy to sustain himself, felt alien and wrong, but he knew he had no choice.

“If I do this, if I feed and learn to control it, will it be enough?” Erik asked, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. The elder inclined his head. “It will be a beginning, Erik. You are on a path that few have walked, and the journey will not be easy. But with our guidance, you may yet find a way to master the power within you, to prevent the demon from consuming you.”

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The cultists around them began to chant softly, their voices weaving together in a haunting, melodic rhythm. The glowing stone on the altar pulsed in time with their chant, and Erik felt the pull of the magic within it, a steady thrum that resonated with his core. Erik took a deep breath, steeling himself. He had no other options. If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to remain himself—he would have to embrace the darkness within, to learn to feed and control the power that had been thrust upon him.

He looked up at the elder, his eyes filled with determination. “Then let’s begin.”

The elder nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Very well, Erik Marlowe. Let us see if you truly are the vessel that prophecy foretold.”

The elder gave Erik a solemn nod as if to affirm their unspoken agreement. He turned to the altar, raising his hands as he began to chant in an ancient, guttural language. The cultists around them joined in, their voices growing in intensity until the air seemed to hum with power. Erik felt an uneasy chill sweep through him, and before he could react, the stone walls of the chamber began to shift.

With a low, grinding rumble, the walls parted slightly, and from the gaps emerged chains—gleaming, barbed chains, etched with runes that glowed an ominous crimson. They slithered through the air like serpents, and Erik's eyes widened in shock as they shot toward him.

“Wait, what—?” Erik managed to say before the chains struck, piercing into his shoulders, arms, and legs, pinning him in place. Pain seared through him, and he let out a strangled cry, his body convulsing as the runes on the chains flared to life.

The elder watched, his eyes cold and calculating as he orchestrated the chains’ movement with the flick of his fingers. Erik gritted his teeth, struggling against the bonds, but they held him fast, the runes binding him to the very spot he stood in. He had been betrayed—again. The realization stung as much as the pain, and a growl of frustration escaped his lips.

Around him, the cultists began to chant louder, their voices a haunting melody that echoed off the stone walls. One by one, they began to disrobe, dropping their robes to the floor until they stood, naked and unabashed, their bodies bathed in the flickering torchlight. Erik blinked through the pain, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The cultists, now entirely bare, began to jump up and down in unison, their flabby bodies jiggling with every enthusiastic hop. The sight was surreal—like watching a group of overzealous toddlers having the world’s weirdest playtime.

Erik couldn't help but stare, his mouth slightly agape despite the agony radiating from his chained limbs. There were dramatic pauses in the cultists' movements, moments when they would stop mid-hop, their bodies hanging in the air for a split second before gravity took over, causing all manner of skin and body parts to flap and bounce with reckless abandon. “Is this... seriously happening?” Erik groaned, half in disbelief and half in pain. He glanced at Thalion, who stood stoically at the side, completely unfazed by the bizarre ritual. “Are they... is this part of the plan?” Erik asked, his voice strained as he fought the urge to laugh despite himself. The cultists’ movements grew more frenzied, their chanting reaching a fever pitch as they flailed about, their “personal business” swinging with an enthusiasm that seemed almost comical. One particularly enthusiastic cultist tripped over his own feet, landing with an awkward splat, only to scramble back up and resume his jumping with unbroken zeal. Erik squeezed his eyes shut, a mix of pain and sheer absurdity making his head spin. “Oh, for the love of—can we skip to the part where I don’t have to see all this?” he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, the pain in his body vanished, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread through him like a balm. Erik opened his eyes, gasping in surprise as he realized the elder was casting a healing spell, the chains retreating from his body as his wounds closed. Relief flooded through him, the agonizing pressure dissipating in an instant.

The cultists, however, continued their strange dance, their bodies glistening with sweat as they bounced with increasing fervor. The ground beneath Erik’s feet began to glow, a circle of runes blazing to life around him. The air grew thick with energy, a palpable force that seemed to vibrate through his bones. And then, with a final, collective leap, the cultists froze mid-air. Their bodies went still, their eyes rolled back, and one by one, they crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The energy they had been summoning converged above the altar, swirling in a vortex of light and shadow. The elder, his face devoid of emotion, raised his hands, guiding the energy into a single point—a stone that rested on the altar. The stone pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly glow, a swirling mix of colors that seemed to defy reality. It was a philosopher’s stone, a nexus of concentrated magic, created from the very life force of the cultists who now lay dead around them.

Erik’s heart sank as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He looked around at the bodies, his stomach churning. “They... they sacrificed themselves. This is what I agreed to?” he whispered, the weight of what had happened pressing down on him. The elder turned to Erik, his expression unreadable. “This stone contains the essence of the cultists—their primal energy. Your core, Erik, can only be sustained by such energy. The most potent form is found in the cores of those who willingly give their lives for a higher purpose. This is what you must feed on.”

Erik felt his knees weaken, a sickening dread pooling in his stomach. “Feed on... their essence?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. Before he could react, his hand moved of its own accord. The twisted mouth of N’zol formed on his palm, its eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. The demon’s hand shot out, snatching the stone from the elder’s grasp. Erik tried to pull back, but the demon’s will overpowered him.

The mouth opened wide, and with a single, greedy gulp, it swallowed the stone whole. Erik felt a rush of energy flood through him, the raw, primal power filling the void within his core. The sensation was overwhelming—both exhilarating and terrifying—and he gasped as the power surged through his meridians, expanding to fill every part of him.

The elder watched, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Now, Erik Marlowe, you have fed. This is the path you have chosen. The power within you is vast, but it comes at a cost. To sustain yourself, you must continue to feed, to draw upon the essence of others. Only then can you hope to keep the demon within you in check.”

Erik looked around, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief. The bodies of the cultists lay still, their lifeless forms a stark reminder of the price that had been paid. He had thought he was simply seeking a way to survive, but now he realized the true cost of that survival—others’ lives, willingly given or not. His hand, now free of the demonic mouth, hung at his side, trembling slightly. Erik swallowed hard, his throat dry. “What have I done?” he whispered, the weight of his actions settling over him like a shroud. The elder stepped forward, placing a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “You have taken the first step, Erik. You have embraced the power within you. Now, you must learn to control it, to harness it for a greater purpose.”

The elder’s hand remained on Erik’s shoulder, a gentle pressure meant to ground him in this new reality, but it did little to stop the turmoil rising within. Erik’s gaze drifted over the lifeless bodies of the cultists, their blank expressions staring into nothingness. His heart pounded, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him like a physical force. The realization of what he had done—of what he had become—began to tear at the carefully constructed walls he had erected in his mind to stay calm, to cope, to survive.

The walls that had kept him strong through years of being the outsider, of being looked down upon, of trying to prove his worth in a world that demanded magic he didn’t possess—those walls were crumbling now, and Erik felt an overwhelming wave of panic and grief wash over him. He took a step back, his knees threatening to buckle. He could feel the primal energy surging through his body, reshaping him, molding him into something new. The changes were undeniable—his body, once lean and hardened from a life of physical labor and training, had transformed into something beyond human. His muscles were defined, honed to the physique of a world-class warrior, his senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. He could feel every breath of air, every vibration in the ground, every heartbeat around him.

But it came at a cost. Erik knew that this power was not his own—it was stolen, borrowed from those who had sacrificed themselves. He could feel the weight of their lives within him, their essence fueling his every movement, every heartbeat. It was as if he were a vessel, filled to the brim with the energy of the dead, and the burden of it threatened to crush him. His vision blurred as tears welled up, and he clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. “What have I done?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt—survivor’s guilt. He had lived, while others had died to give him this power. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

Erik’s mind was a storm, memories flashing before his eyes—his father’s cold gaze, the sneers of his peers, the feeling of helplessness that had haunted him all his life. He had always wanted to be strong, to prove himself, but not like this. Not at the cost of others’ lives. He had wanted freedom, but now he felt more trapped than ever, bound by the power within him and the expectations of those around him.

“You cannot carry this burden alone, Erik,” a voice echoed in his mind—N’zol, the demon that now shared his soul. The demon’s tone was sharp, almost sneering, as if mocking Erik's weakness. “You are overwhelmed. Of course you are. A mere human trying to shoulder the weight of something beyond your understanding.”

“Help me?” Erik spat back, his mental voice filled with bitterness. “You want to help me? You, a demon who wants nothing more than to break free and take over my body?”

“Obviously!” N’zol's laugh was cold, condescending. “But let’s not pretend you’re in any position to refuse me. You think you can handle this alone? You’re barely holding on. I can feel you unraveling, human. Your mind is cracking like fragile glass. I have no intention of letting us both shatter.”

Erik was silent for a moment, his mind reeling. He hated the demon—hated what it represented, the darkness that now lived within him. But he could feel himself unraveling, the barriers he had built to protect himself from the trauma of his childhood crumbling away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He needed something—anything—to help him hold on.

“What are you suggesting?” Erik asked, his voice shaky.

“A contract,” N’zol replied, his voice like a blade slicing through the storm of Erik's thoughts. “I will erect barriers in your mind—stronger barriers that will keep the memories, the pain, the guilt at bay. But such a service will not come for free. You must give me something in return.”

“What do you want?” Erik demanded, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew.

“One of your eyes,” N’zol said, his tone almost casual, yet laced with an edge of demand. “Give me one of your eyes, and I will be able to see through it. I will provide you with guidance, clarity, and in times of desperate need, I will lend you my strength. You will be able to use demonic energy instead of primal energy, slowing the drain on your core. But heed me: every time you use my power, you weaken the seal around your core. The risk is yours to take.”

Erik hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He was already bound to this demon, already sharing his soul. What was one more piece of himself? If it meant survival—if it meant keeping himself from breaking apart—then perhaps it was worth the cost.

“What if I refuse?” Erik asked.

“Then you will crumble, human,” N’zol said, his tone dripping with disdain. “You will fall apart, and I will be lost as well. You have power now, but you are too ignorant to wield it. You must learn to control it. You must learn to feed without relying on the lives of others. There is a path forward, but only if you have the courage to take it.”

Erik took a deep breath, his heart pounding. He didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to give up another piece of himself to this demon. But the thought of losing himself, of being consumed by the power within him, was far more terrifying.

“Fine,” Erik said, his voice steady. “Take it.”

He felt a searing pain in his right eye, a blinding flash of light as the demon reached into him, taking what it had asked for. Erik clenched his teeth, his body tensing as the pain radiated through his skull. He felt the world around him shift, his vision narrowing, darkening on one side.

And then it was over. The pain receded, and Erik opened his remaining eye, blinking against the sudden brightness. He could feel N’zol’s presence more strongly now, a connection that went deeper than before. The demon’s voice echoed in his mind, smooth but with an edge of superiority.

“It is done, Erik. You have given me sight, and in return, I have given you strength. The barriers are in place. You will not break—but do not mistake this for charity. You still belong to me.”

Erik looked around, his vision now split—one side seeing the world as it was, the other seeing it through the demon’s eyes. It was disorienting, but there was a strange clarity to it, a sense of focus that hadn’t been there before.

The elder watched as Erik stood there, his body trembling from the ordeal. He could see the change in the young man—the way his posture straightened, the way his remaining eye glowed with a new intensity. The contract had been made, and the demon was now more deeply entwined with Erik than ever before.

The elder stepped forward, his voice calm and measured. “You have taken the first step, Erik Marlowe. You have accepted the power within you, and you have made a pact to control it. But know this: the path ahead will be difficult. The primal energy within you is potent, but it is not sustainable. You must learn to draw upon the elemental energy of the world around you—energy that is abundant, that will not drain you.” Erik looked at the elder, his expression weary but determined. “Elemental energy?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The elder nodded. “Yes. The energy of Infernia, Aqualis, Terravon, and Tempestra. It is the foundation of all magic, the source from which all life draws strength. You must learn to harness it, to feed your core without relying on the lives of others. It will take time, and you will need teachers—masters of each element who can guide you.”

Erik swallowed, the weight of the task ahead settling over him. He had thought that gaining power would be the end of his struggle, but now he realized it was only the beginning. He had to learn, to grow, to master the forces within him if he ever hoped to find true freedom.

“Where do I begin?” Erik asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The elder smiled faintly, a hint of approval in his eyes. “We will take you to the first master. You must learn patience, Erik, and humility. You have the strength of a warrior, but now you must learn the ways of a child—to sense, to feel, to understand the elements.” Erik nodded, determination in his gaze. He had made his choice, and now he would see it through. He would learn to control the power within him, to master the demon and the primal energy that threatened to consume him. And perhaps, one day, he would find a way to free himself from the darkness that had taken hold of his soul.

But for now, he would take it one step at a time.