Scipio felt the mark on his arm burning. It was excruciating. He fell to the floor of his room writhing in pain as he grabbed his wrist. The seal of his contract with Malliphina was burning up, as the mark had erupted into blue flames, and just as suddenly went out. He slowly got to his feet, as he heard crashing noises coming from the lower floor, he stumbled over to the railing to see his house staff looting his home, carrying off whatever they could carry. But there was naught he could do to prevent them, as his own soldiers sensing the end, had already taken off with his gold. Holding his wrist, he walked back into his room to the frame with the demonic script surrounding the frame that was the size of a wide doorway. He looked into the reflective surface, his face displaying his desperation. “Bethuselom! Save me!”
The reflective surface shimmered as it was replaced by an ethereal, dark grey mist. It coalesced into a human shape, and in that formless face, two patches of pure darkness glared back at him. ‘YOU FAILED US!’
The voice screamed in his mind. Scipio grabbed his head, screaming as blood leaked from his nose, eyes and ear. His voice was barely a strained choke as he begged the presence in the mirror. “Please! I’m sorry!”
‘You failed us, and now my daughter is no more. There is a price that is owed!’
He closed his eyes and leaned against the scrying mirror to steady himself. When he opened his eyes, the room reflecting back at him was different. The furnishings were the wrong way around. He looked over his shoulder, and the room he was in looked like an unfinished painting of his own room that had water thrown on it. As panic set in he started pressing on the reflective surface. He looked around the edges of the frame, but that too was fading. Through the space, he could still see his room. The dark-haired Halder boy entered. Knowing that this boy was his enemy, in his desperation, he banged on the surface, opening his mouth to scream. In this place, there was no sound. He banged again and again, but his hope faded as the boy cast one last glance at the mirror before disappearing out of view.
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In the silence, his breathing became frantic. And then he felt a chill through him, as a dark mist began enveloping him. The chill turned to ice, and then the ice turned to searing pain. Convulsively his head tilted back as he opened his mouth to scream. The dark mist poured into his mouth, he couldn’t breathe, and spots appeared in his vision. A single tear rolled down his cheek as darkness closed around his vision. Down he sank into darkness and despair. At this stage, he would have welcomed the embrace of death, but death never came. He was trapped within his own mind as Bethuselom consumed him and took his body from him. He cried out into the darkness, but all was silent.
The room had gone dark, as the sun had set. The scrying mirror began to resonate, as ripples rolled back and forth across its reflective surface, and then from within, Bethuselom emerged. He paused, and took in a deep breath through his nose. The air was thick with life.
He had to act quickly, as he knew this corrupt body would not contain him long. He had a month to make arrangements for his new plan before his essence would be forced to return to the demonic plane. But, a month should suffice. His plan here failed, so this time he would go farther afield. His other project had bared no fruit either. Harolf, he only had to remove his brother and he failed at even that. He had fled his father and took to the seas heading east. Bethuselom decided he would meet him on the other continent, far away from those cursed Gods. Far away from that damned Chosen boy. From there he would begin again…