Hubertus did just that—he consumed his own heart. To his surprise, it was… tasty. Nothing like the metallic tang of blood he’d imagined. Instead, it was sweet, with a hint of cinnamon, its warmth spreading through him like a dark elixir.

As he swallowed the last morsel, his mouth stained blood-red, he turned toward the demon. The creature’s crimson eyes bore into him, unblinking, as if studying his very soul.

Then it hit.

A searing, unrelenting pain pierced through him, coursing from his core to the edges of his being. Hubertus collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest, gasping as his vision blurred. His body gave out—but his mind did not.

He was dead.

Yet… aware.

It was an impossible sensation, a state of being that defied logic. His body lay lifeless, but his thoughts raced, vivid and sharp. It was as if he were caught in some kind of Schrödinger’s cat scenario—alive and dead at the same time.

The demon loomed over him, its tusks glinting in the faint graveyard light. “The transmorphosis has begun,” it rumbled, its voice low and ominous.

With ease, the demon lifted Hubertus’ limp body and placed it in the open grave—the one bearing his name. The cold earth embraced him as the demon began to bury him. Hubertus wanted to protest, but his voice was gone. His awareness lingered, trapped in the dark void of his mind.

Something changed.

The whispers began.

They were faint at first, like the rustling of dry leaves, but they grew louder, darker. His consumed heart seemed to echo in his thoughts, its voice both seductive and cruel.

Take more, it whispered. More hearts. More power.

A dark and twisted thought took shape, unbidden. What if he could consume more than one heart? What if he devoured the hearts of other demons? Would that make him stronger? Invincible?

No, Hubertus thought, shaking the whispers away. This isn’t me. This isn’t what I want.

But the hunger gnawed at him, relentless and insidious. It clawed at the edges of his sanity, urging him toward the abyss.

He gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of his willpower. He remembered Carl’s warning—the cost of consuming a Flaming Heart was not just physical. It was a battle for control. The heart would try to claim him, twist him into something unrecognizable.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“No,” Hubertus growled, his awareness sharpening as he pushed back against the whispers. He steeled his being, anchoring himself in the remnants of his humanity, refusing to lose himself to the darkness.

As the last clump of dirt fell onto the grave, the demon paused, its gaze fixed on the disturbed earth. A flicker of recognition crossed its face, and it let out a guttural laugh.

“Good,” it said, its voice reverberating through the silence. “He fights.”

Buried in his own grave, Hubertus lost all sense of time. Days and nights came and went, though he could not see them—he only felt their passing, like faint echoes rippling through the void. His fight against the whispers had become a battle for his very essence.

They clawed at his mind, relentless and mocking. You are no longer human. Embrace it. Take what you want. Be what you were always meant to be.

But Hubertus resisted, clinging to what scraps of his humanity remained. Yet, somewhere in the corners of his mind, a seed of doubt took root. Was this all part of the plan?

Carl’s words echoed in his memory, layered with suspicion. Had this been the goal all along? To strip him of his humanity, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but a sinister, hollow shell?

He wanted to believe Carl wasn’t capable of such manipulation. But the Abyss was not a place for trust.

As the whispers faded, replaced by an unnerving silence, Hubertus felt something shift within him. The void where his heart had once been no longer ached. Instead, it pulsed with an unfamiliar energy, a dark and intoxicating power.

He was stronger. He could feel it. His demon form—though unseen in the suffocating darkness—felt heavier, denser, as though shadows themselves clung to him.

Hubertus flexed his fingers, and the faint thought passed through his mind: I could rip a heart out of my own if I wanted to. The realization chilled him. This newfound strength came at a cost, though he wasn’t sure what price he’d paid.

When the grave cracked open, the light of the Abyss filtered down, its eerie green glow piercing the shadows that had become his world. The demon of the Order stood above him, towering and imposing, his crimson eyes studying Hubertus intently.

“What do you say, Hubertus?” the demon rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. “Do you think you can handle being in the Order now?”

Hubertus climbed out of the grave, his movements slow but deliberate. The weight of the dirt fell from his shoulders, and with it, the remnants of his former self.

He turned to the demon, his voice steady but colder than before. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The demon grinned, his tusks glinting in the green light. “Yes, but what you were before isn’t. You’ve changed, haven’t you? I can see it in your eyes. The power. The hunger.”

Hubertus clenched his fists, forcing the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. “I’ll admit, I feel… different. Stronger. But the price—”

“The price is inconsequential,” the demon interrupted, his tone dismissive. “What matters is that you’ve passed the trial. You are no longer Hubertus van Schnecken, human. You are Hubertus, demon of the Abyss, member of the Order of Flames.”

Hubertus’ gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. He had come this far—there was no turning back now. The power he felt was intoxicating, but it carried a weight he couldn’t yet name.

“What’s next?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

The demon’s grin widened. “Now, you prove it.”