Erik took a deep breath, focusing on the lesson that Dominion had covered with him. He visualized the feeling or magic as it flowed into him, through his arm, into the sword. For a moment, nothing happened; just the weight of the blade in his hand. But then, slowly, he felt it, a warmth, a tingling sensation, as the energy moved, as it filled the blade.

Erik opened his eyes seeing the sword looking pale green, with a light hue of magic emanating. Irritated at the lack luster results, Erik contemplated Dominions lesson once again focusing on the concept.

“pulling in from the senses…”

With a sudden insight, Erik realized that he had been pulling the feeling of magic from the environment, utilizing the ambient magic which was combination of many types of magic; He closed his eyes and winced having realized such a simple mistake…

Erik reached imagined his core and let his mind float as it covered the core and found the connections to the Demonic core as the senses he has come to be aware of continued to grow. This elicited an intrigued comment from the resident demon

“Hello there.”

Erik winced, ignoring the voice and continued to focus. This time, instead of pulling on the feeling, he forced the feeling outwards channeling it through his arm that held the sword.

The once dull sword ignited in dark thick tendrils of flames licking along the steel, and Erik could feel the connection and opened his eyes grinning.

“Good,” Gretch grunted, his one eye gleaming.

“Dark… good. Dangerous.”

Erik nodded, not that he understood much of what the goblin said at surface level. He could use the demonic energy, but there was a cost… a risk. The demonic influence tainted everything it touched, and if he used too much, it would weaken the seals, bringing him closer to losing control.

The successful ignition of his sword warranted a halt in the training as Gretch insisted that he has graduated to more “advanced’” training. Having been led into a new training chamber, the air cold, the light dim, Dominion stood at the edge of the room, his face expressionless.

“Erik, it seems that you have advanced greatly from our last discussion. Hard work pays dividends it seems. Let’s give you some new challenges to ensure that our lessons continue to be impactful.”

Two large iron crates with sigils covering the outside were hauled into the large open training chamber. Cultists carefully unlocked the sigils with a quick magical wave of the hand, and then promptly ran back to where they had brought the Iron crates out of.

Two ghostly white specters emerged, twisted and emaciated human figures moved like shadows, their forms shifting and writhing passing through the very Iron crate that bound them moments earlier.

Erik’s sword ignited in dark flame, his heart pounding.

He could feel their presence, could sense the darkness within them, a cold, creeping sensation that seemed to seep into his very soul. These two felt different from the opponents he had faced before, as they carried their own death with them as ghastly beings.

The specters moved together, their attacks were swift and relentless, their forms blurring as they struck. Erik parried, his blade clashing against the ghostly limbs, but each strike seemed to take something from him; each touch of the specters’ cold essence draining his strength, his will.

The attacks were not just physical in nature… they were mental. Erik could feel it, the way the specters seemed to reach into his mind, to pull at his memories, his fears. Images flashed before his eyes; memories of his time on the ship, of the chains, of the darkness. He could feel the despair, the hopelessness, the sense of being trapped, of being powerless.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking, as he fought against the specters,

“I won’t… I won’t go back.” As Erik continued to defend against a fight that would likey end due to attrition of Erik’s Will to fight.

The specters were relentless, their attacks unending, and Erik could feel himself weakening, could feel his will faltering. The darkness was overwhelming, the cold seeping into his very core.

“Foolish human,” the demons voice hissed in his mind, filled with disdain.

“You let them in. You let them see your fear.”

Erik coughed, and stumbled backwards, his back up against the wall not having the ability to defend himself anymore.

“Enough” Rang out Dominion as the two specters were pulled back in a green plasma shimmering bubble that slammed the Specters back into the iron cages.

Erik slumped down against the wall, his vision blurring, looking up he saw Dominion walking towards him stopping within a few steps.

“Erik, you need to concentrate on pulling in energy from the area and pull it in towards your core. You need to gain some resilience to these mental attacks.”

Erik now catching his breath, closed his eyes and begain to feel for the latent magical energy in the room.

Behind Dominion, a green plume of magic erupted upwards and covered everything around the training chamber. Erik felt the connection to his senses as he had with the first lesson with Dominion, except this time he felt something different. A void… a presence within the void, a corruption entering his meridians.

“Eldritch…” The demon growled, his voice filled with hatred.

“This is no training. This is an execution...”

Erik’s heart pounded, fear surging through him as he opened his eyes seeing Dominion standing in front of him with an overwhelming presence. He could feel it, the way it seemed to pull at him, to reach into his core, to corrupt, to consume.

“Fight!” The Demon roared, his voice echoing in Erik’s mind.

“Fight, or DIE”

Dominions shot forward towards Erik, his hand pulsating with green plasma that was filled with corruptive Eldritch energy meant to infiltrate its prey’s body.

Erik’s demon-imbued hand shot out, the mouth on his palm opening wide, jagged teeth gleaming as it caught Dominions hand in a glasp, greedily drinking the eldritch magic.

Dominions face twisted and recoiled, and Erik knew he had only a moment- a single chance. He lunged, his sword igniting in a dark flame, the blade slicing through Dominions torso, the dark energy burning away parts of Dominions clothes.

Dominion eyes gleamed with something dark and calculating.

Gretch the goblin trainer had fled, their shrieks of “Nope nope nope” echoing as they vanished into the darkness. Dominion waved his hands, and a series of cultists obediently formed a circle, a low chant escaping their lips, drawing energy from some unseen source. Erik’s gaze fixed on the tainted, putrid green glow gathering in Dominion’s hands. The sight of it sent a chill racing down his spine; a chill so deep even the demon inside him flinched.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The Demons voice roared in his mind, urgent, almost panicked. “You need to stop Dominion now!”

Erik felt a deep fear, something primal rising in him as he glanced toward the cultists then back again towards Dominion, seeing the tainted energy grow, dark and endless in Dominions hands. The cultists’ chants grew louder, the putrid green glow spreading across the floor like spilled ink, tendrils of the dark magic creeping toward him.

The Demons panic surged, the demon’s voice turning guttural, almost feral.

“Give. Me. Control. NOW!” the demon roared, and Erik could feel the raw terror in its demand; an emotion that felt foreign coming from such a being of power.

Erik hesitated for a heartbeat, and then, as the darkness approached, he let go.

The demons presence within Eriks core surged forward, taking control of Erik’s entire body with an intensity that felt like fire in Eriks his veins.

Erik’s vision wavered, the edges of his sight consumed by a swirling red haze. The demonic Magic surged through him like a flood breaking through a dam, igniting his core and burning through his meridians with unrelenting force. Every muscle in his body felt taut, overcharged, as though straining against the limits of mortal capacity.

He didn’t control his movements; he was the movement. A dark blur streaked across the chamber, faster than any eye could follow. The cultists, locked in their ritualistic chanting, didn’t have time to react. One moment, they stood in a semicircle, their voices rising in eerie harmony. The next, Erik was among them, his presence like a storm unleashed.

With a feral growl, Erik’s blade arced in a deadly sweep with crimson flames following in an arcing pattern. It wasn’t a sword stroke; it was devastation in motion. The steel tore through the air, carving a path of raw destruction. The lead cultist, mid-incantation, was cleaved in two, his words cut off in a wet gurgle. The force of the strike didn’t just end him; it shattered the ground beneath his feet, sending shards of stone flying in all directions.

The remaining cultists recoiled, their chants dissolving into disarray. Blood sprayed across the chamber walls, dark and thick, as Erik twisted, his blade singing through the air with relentless precision. He moved like a shadow, weaving between his enemies with impossible speed. Each step was a blur, each strike a flash of crimson fury.

One of the cultists, a robed figure wreathed in faint green light, managed to raise his hands and shout a hurried incantation. A barrier of shimmering green energy flared to life, crackling with eldritch power as it expanded outward to shield the others. Erik’s glowing crimson eyes locked onto it, unblinking.

With a roar that reverberated through the chamber, Erik thrust his hand forward, palm open. The demonic energy within him surged outward, crashing into the barrier like a tidal wave. The shield held for a fraction of a second before fracturing, the green light splintering like fragile glass. The cultist behind it screamed as Erik’s demonic magic pulsed through their very bodies followed by a descending blade, cutting through flesh and bone as though they were paper.

The remaining cultists turned to flee, their robes billowing as they stumbled toward the darkened exits. Erik moved again, his body a streak of shadow and flame. He caught the nearest one by the throat, lifting the man effortlessly into the air. The cultist struggled, clawing at Erik’s iron grip, but his strength was nothing against the overwhelming demonic power coursing through Erik’s veins.

Erik’s grip tightened, his demonic aura flaring brighter. The cultist’s body convulsed as tendrils of dark energy poured into him, eroding his form from the inside out causing black ichor and dark red blood to spill out of every orifice. With a sickening crunch, Erik threw the lifeless husk aside, turning his attention to the last of his prey.

The final cultist, a young acolyte trembling with fear, fell to his knees, his hands raised in surrender. His voice cracked as he begged for mercy, his words tumbling over each other in desperation. Erik stepped toward him, the ground beneath his feet cracking with each step as his aura pulsed dangerously.

But something stopped him. A flicker of clarity pierced through the haze of rage and bloodlust. For a moment, Erik’s crimson eyes dimmed, his body trembling as the demonic energy raged against him. He could feel his core pulsating, pushing him to finish the job, to destroy everything before him.

The chamber was a ruin. Blood pooled across the floor, the remnants of shattered stone and magical wards strewn everywhere. The acrid scent of burning flesh lingered in the air. Erik’s body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish as the demonic power finally began to ebb. He stood in the center of the carnage, the only sound his labored breathing.

The lone survivor scrambled to his feet and bolted into the shadows, his terrified footsteps echoing in the silence. Erik didn’t stop him. He didn’t need to. With a deep, ragged breath, Erik lowered his blade. His aura receded, though the air around him still crackled with residual energy.

Erik’s body started to feel heavy, as if all the weight of the world were attached to each joint pulling him down into a deep sleep. Except Erik’s mind was reeling with anger and rage, and he could taste the blood running down into his mouth from his nose. The sudden use of such a tremendous amount of demonic power left him in a delirious state half-awake and in pain.

Inside Erik’s mind, the demon’s voice echoed, guttural and furious.

“I was too late. They completed enough of their spell to bind my demonic magic.”

Dominion started to walk towards the gruesome scene, unbothered by the visage of that terror that Erik had unleashed, speaking calmly his green aura expanding significantly.

“You seem to be at a loss? Where is your demon now?”

Erik panting looked up at Dominon, a scowl forming as he responded

“I trusted you. I believe in the balance you offered. You’re a liar”

Dominion continued to walk toward Erik, only a few paces away.

“This is why everything has unfolded so effortlessly. If you could grasp the difference between perspective and perception, perhaps it would be me lying on the floor behind you. But you? You are merely a thread in the tapestry of the Great One’s design. Consider it an honor to serve as the Harbinger of their will. Surrender your core- resistance is no longer an option.”

Rage overtook Erik’s expression- a searing fury born of betrayal, the senseless loss of life, and the bitter realization that he had been nothing more than a pawn.

The demon’s voice returned, sharp and resolute.

“There is another way- one that requires a pact. A demonic contract, binding us in a shared purpose. It will unlock the constraints on your current core, breaking the chains that limit your potential. In exchange, new bindings will be forged…ones that align you with the strength of my kind. This is no curse, but a redefinition of power. Refuse, and you and I will fall here like countless others or likely worse and be relegated to a fate far worse. Accept, and you will rise with the might of the demonic race coursing through you.”

Erik’s pulse thundered in his ears, the rhythm of his heart pounding like war drums as the demon’s words echoed through his mind. A pact, a demonic contract. The offer was stark, absolute, and impossible to ignore. The weight of it pressed against him, cutting through his exhaustion like a blade.

“A pact?” Erik growled through gritted teeth, his body trembling from the strain.

“You want me to trust you with something like that…now?”

The demon’s voice hissed back, sharp and unyielding.

“Do you think this is a negotiation? Dominion’s power grows with every breath you waste. You have moments, at best, before you’re nothing but an offering on his altar. Do you want to win, or do you want to die?”

Another wave of darkness radiated from Dominion, his aura of pure menace suffocating the chamber. Erik could feel it- his enemy’s strength was building, consuming the air around them like a black hole. There was no time to think, no room for hesitation. If Erik refused the pact, there would be no more struggle. No survival. No Erik. Only another corpse lying on the ground.

“And what happens after?” Erik demanded, his voice raw.

“What’s the catch?”

The demon laughed, a low, bitter sound.

“Oh, there is always a price. The bindings of your core will be replaced with new ones. You will not be free, but you will be aligned with my kind. You will wield power far beyond your comprehension- but it will be shaped by the pact we make.”

Erik’s breath came in short gasps as Dominion’s oppressive energy pressed harder, sending cracks through the stone beneath his feet.

“And if I say no?”

“Then we die,” the demon said flatly.

“And not a noble death. You will rise again… As all Eldritch beings do… but as a mindless, twisted thing under “The Great One” apparently. Is that what you want? To lose yourself completely?”

Erik clenched his fists, his heartbeat pounding like a hammer. He didn’t trust the demon. But he didn’t need to trust it. He needed to survive. The weight of the decision crushed down on him, a cold, suffocating pressure.

A red notification flared in his vision, jagged characters dancing and shifting, reshaping themselves into words he could read. The crimson letters burned into his vision:

“What is this?” Erik could barely raise his hand in an attempt to touch the crimson words, but they simply passed right through his hands as if they were made of smoke and reconstituted back into the letters they were.

“Demonic Pact Available: Accept Demonic Pact from Demon Prince of the Black Abyss?”

The demon’s voice grew quieter but more insistent, a venomous whisper in Erik’s mind.

“This is your only chance. Dominion is coming, and you’re out of time. Say the word, and I will give you the strength to shatter him.”

Erik stared into the abyss of the notification, his chest heaving as he felt Dominion’s power closing in. There was no middle path, no escape, no salvation. Either he would become a mindless vessel, twisted into an abomination of eldritch horror, or he would wield a force that had terrorized humanity for a millennia; a power Erik had never sought, a curse that had been thrust upon him.

He had to descend into darkness, then let it be by his own will. If he had to become monstrous, let it be with purpose. Let it be with the power to fight back, to strike fear into the things that would control him, even if that power could one day consume him in turn. He would carve his story into the shadows, wielding the terror as his own.

With a ragged breath, Erik gave in, his acceptance silent but absolute. His head dropping down, letting out the faintest of whispers,

“Yes.”