Lincoln POV
One lighting dash
That's all it took.
The battlefield vanished. The air thinned, the light shifted, and suddenly I was back—inside the high walls of Everholt's inner keep. No resistance. No gate. No sound. Just arrival, absolute and silent.
Salem's unconscious body hovered behind me, suspended in threads of invisible force. Her shadows had long since fled. The glyph at her throat glowed with a cold, steady burn—a sealing mark few alive could craft.
I passed the palace guards without a glance. They stepped aside instinctively. Some bowed. Others simply stared, too stunned to speak.
At the war chamber, the doors opened before I could raise a hand.
King Hadrian stood at the head of the war table, armor half-fastened, crown slightly askew, fatigue stamped behind his eyes. Advisors flanked him—mages, generals, analysts—but none said a word when I entered.
"Lincoln," Hadrian said, voice low. "Is that her?"
I let Salem fall.
She struck the stone with a muffled crack, the glyph at her throat flaring once.
"A Rank 1," one of the advisors muttered in disbelief.
"Not anymore," I replied.
Hadrian stepped around the table, gaze sharp. "You killed her?"
"No. I took everything else."
He looked down at her—still breathing, still whole. "Explain."
"The seal is absolute," I said. "Not one form of magic remaining. No mana manipulation of any kind. She's just a girl now."
"And the seal?"
"Bound through me. I can adjust what i let her have and what remains sealed at any time. If they want to break it, they'll need to send someone stronger than I am."
Silence stretched in the room. The mages and generals exchanged uneasy glances.
Hadrian's expression darkened. "So she's effectively powerless."
"She's vulnerable," I corrected. "But not harmless."
One of the mages tried a detection spell. Again, it fizzled at the edge of the glyph.
Hadrian studied me for a moment. "Beren was right, then. They're making their moves. And Salem had a past encounter with Annabel."
"She wasn't observing," I said. "She was trying to end something before it could start."
"And Annabel?"
He exhaled, lips tightening. "How did she fare?"
"She lived."
"Details, Lincoln."
"She fought like someone with everything to prove and nothing to lose," I said. "She held her ground. But if they send another like Salem—or stronger—she'll break."
"She's a low Rank 2," Hadrian said quietly.
"For now."
"You think she can push higher?"
"She has to," I said. "I can't be the only one at Stage 0. Not anymore. The line won't hold forever."
Hadrian looked toward the war table, where a new battle map was half-unrolled. "She's young."
"So was I."
His jaw tensed. "You were never like the others."
"Neither is she."
Hadrian didn't speak for a moment. Then, "You believe she's capable?"
"I believe she doesn't have a choice."
His gaze drifted toward Salem. "Will she talk?"
"She will."
"You're sure?"
"She's never felt powerless before. Let her sit in it. Let her wake up knowing it's not a nightmare—it's her new reality."
⸻
Below Everholt
The underchambers didn't echo.
Magic ate the sound. Old wards lined the walls—sigils sunk so deep into the stone they pulsed like veins. This was a place built to contain monsters. Not comfort them.
I lowered Salem into the center ring. She settled into the binding glyphs like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
The sigils locked.
She stirred.
I waited.
When her eyes opened, they darted around in confusion. Her fingers twitched. Shadows didn't come. Her mana didn't rise.
She blinked.
Tried again.
Nothing.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"
Her voice cracked, raw with sudden, quiet panic.
"Where is it?" she rasped. "What did you do?"
I stepped forward, letting the silence stretch between us like a noose.
"You're hollow now," I said.
She flinched.
"That feeling you're searching for? It's not there anymore. It won't be. Not unless i undo it. Or something stronger than me."
Her eyes met mine, wide and uncomprehending.
And finally, fear took root.
I waited a beat, letting her panic settle like dust in the air. Then I let her feel the full weight of my gaze—sharp, cold, and calculating.
"The nobles," I began, my voice soft, but the threat in it was clear, "they would love to have a powerless demon like you. You'd be a novelty to them. A trophy to show off, a reminder of their superiority."
Her breath hitched as she looked down, unable to look me in the eye. The idea of being reduced to a mere plaything, a curiosity, seemed to strike deeper than anything I could have anticipated.
"Or maybe we could just let you rot in an all-male prison. I'm sure you'd be… appreciated there," I said, the words sinking in like venom. "You have the physique to be well appreciated in such a place." My gaze lingered on her, eyes cold as I watched the flush of humiliation rise on her cheeks. "A very evil threat. But a necessary evil, don't you think?"
Her chest heaved, and for the first time, I saw tears well up in her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to brush them away, but I could see them—raw, ugly fear and shame that she couldn't hide.
I stepped closer, my presence suffocating. "The prisoners there wouldn't care who you were before. They'd only care about what you are now: nothing more than a helpless shell of a demon."
She swallowed hard, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her. "Please… don't do this…"
I didn't flinch.
"I'll make sure you're well taken care of," I said, my voice a quiet echo in the cold chamber. "In exchange for information. About the demons, the devils… everything you know. You'll give me what I want. All of it."
Her jaw tightened, but the tears in her eyes were enough to make her seem more fragile than I'd expected. It wasn't the first time I'd seen fear break someone, but there was something different about her. Something I couldn't quite place.
I could see the internal conflict. The helplessness. The recognition in her eyes as she wrestled with what was being asked of her.
And then, in a sharp, breaking breath, she spoke—her voice cracked, desperate. "I'll… I'll tell you everything. Please… make me yours. Please, just… protect me. I'll be your slave, Lincoln. I'll do whatever you want."
The words came out in a broken rush, almost a plea. Her pride shattered beneath the weight of her fear and her broken magic. She dropped her gaze to the ground, tears streaking down her face as she trembled. "I… I don't know how to be anything else… I have always been a slave… to something far worse. But you—you're… You're powerful. You're stronger than anything I've ever known. I just need to serve someone stronger than me. Please… Please don't leave me here like this."
Her words hung in the air between us, heavy with the rawness of her vulnerability. I could hear the desperation in her voice. Her entire existence had been built around subjugation. She didn't know how to function without a master—one who could wield the power to protect her from everything that terrified her.
I stood over her, watching the break in her resolve, the tear-streaked face of someone who had nothing left but her willingness to bow before power. I could see it. She was a hollow shell of a demon, but even that shell still craved to be dominated. To be controlled. It was all she knew.
But I wasn't going to rush into making her my slave—not yet. She needed to understand the gravity of what she was offering. She needed to know that the protection she sought came at a price.
"You're nothing now, Salem," I said, my voice low. "You're a mere mortal. A shell. But you're offering yourself to me. You think you know what it means to serve someone stronger than you, but you've never been in a position where the price of that service could cost you everything."
She looked up at me through tear-filled eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I'll give you everything. I won't fight you. I'll do whatever it takes."
The words were a surrender. A complete breakdown of what she once was. And yet, I felt no sympathy. This was her fate. One that she had sealed long ago.
But I had what I needed.
And now, so did she.
I watched her tremble, her body still shaking from the trauma of the seal, from the stark realization that everything she had once been was gone. It was the kind of power I had only glimpsed before—raw, destructive, and cruel. Yet here she was, broken. A shell.
"Who was your master before me, Salem?" I asked, my voice cold as it cut through the silence. "Was it the Demon King? Someone more powerful than you?"
Her eyes flickered briefly, before she averted them to the cold stone floor, unable to look me in the eye. The fear in her was palpable, as if recalling him was a thing of nightmares, even more so than facing me.
"The Demon King…" she whispered, voice trembling. "He was strong, yes. Almost like you… a genius in his own right. But compared to the devils? He was just another pawn. A brilliant one though. He… He made the devils his allies, unified them under his banner. He did things I didn't even understand, things that made him seem untouchable. But in the end…. I was just a puppet to him."
Her voice trailed off, and I could feel her body shrink under the weight of the memory. But I wasn't done yet. The question I needed the answer to would decide her fate.
"Tell me what you did for him," I said, leaning closer, forcing her to meet my gaze. "What did you do for the Demon King?"
For a long moment, she said nothing, her body stiff and eyes wide. The shame was almost suffocating. But it didn't matter. She had no choice.
"I…" Her voice faltered before she swallowed hard and spoke again, the words coming out as a confession. "I killed for him. I hunted people down, anyone he wanted. I found magic, rare artifacts, and brought them to him. I… I did things for him… things that broke me. Pleasing him in ways… that I hate."
She looked down, and the tears were back, pooling in the corners of her eyes. It wasn't the first time I had seen someone broken, but there was something about her despair that almost felt familiar—almost like I could see the shadow of a girl who had been stripped of everything. She had been nothing more than a tool in his hands.
I stood over her, silent for a moment as I processed everything. She wasn't just a demon; she was a tool. A broken instrument of someone's will. And now, here she was—asking me to pick up the pieces.
The silence pressed in, thick as stone. I watched her—shoulders curled in, eyes lowered, waiting for punishment. Or acceptance. Or maybe just a hand to remind her that she still existed.
I gave her none.
Instead, I walked a slow circle around the ring, boots whispering against the old glyphs. My voice, when it came, was quiet. Precise.
"You served the Demon King because you feared him. You obeyed him because you had no choice. Tell me, Salem… what would you do if you chose to serve? If the leash was not forced, but offered?"
Her head snapped up.
There was a flicker in her gaze then—something more than fear. Not hope. Not yet. But… awareness. That the chains this time were hers to clasp or refuse.
"I would still kneel," she said, the words trembling. "Because fear is easy. But loyalty… loyalty is something I've never had. If I gave it to you, it wouldn't be out of fear. It would be because you broke me—and didn't throw me away."
I stopped behind her. She didn't flinch as I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
It wasn't kind.
But it was real.
"You'll stay here," I said. "No chains. No torment. No torture. But if you run, if you lie, if you so much as breathe betrayal…"
"I won't," she said, almost too quickly. "I can't."
"Then earn your place. Prove your loyalty. And when you do…"
I knelt beside her and turned her face toward mine, making sure she saw the conviction in my eyes.
"…I'll give you your strength back. Not as a slave. Not as a puppet. And i won't make you my servant, you'll go to someone…i think will suit you way better than me."
Her breath hitched again, this time not from fear—but something deeper. Recognition.
"Who would be better than the strongest human ever lived?," she whispered. "Do you mean…her?"
"Her?"
"Annabel," she said. "She reminded me… of who I was before the demon king took me. Before the chains. If she dies, a part of me does too."
I let the silence return for a moment. Then I stood.
"Then protect her. Serve her. And we'll give you something the Demon King never could."
"What's that?"
"A purpose."
She nodded, still kneeling, her forehead almost to the floor.
But I didn't move away.
"Stand, Salem."
She hesitated. "I—I thought—"
"I said stand."
Slowly, unsure, she rose to her feet. Her body shook, not from weakness, but from the effort of unlearning what it meant to exist beneath someone.
I met her eyes.
Something flickered behind her gaze—uncertainty, confusion… and a glimmer of dignity she hadn't felt in years.
"I'm not the Demon King," I said. "If you're around me, you walk upright. And im sure Annabel thinks the same as me. Understand?"
She gave a shaky nod. "Yes… Lincoln."
I stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder again—firmer this time, grounding her. Then I raised my other hand and rested it gently on her head.
She froze.
The touch wasn't commanding. It wasn't punishment. It was… peaceful. And it broke her in a different way.
A soft, gasping breath left her lips, like she hadn't realized she could still feel warmth.
"I want you to give your will to Annabel, give her everything. And i swear when the time comes you'll get everything back"
Her eyes shimmered, wide and unblinking.
"I will," she whispered. "I swear it."
⸻
Later:
Hadrian stood in the archway, arms crossed. "So… you're keeping her?"
"I'm not, im giving her to Annabel once i train her a bit more, just in case." I looked at Hadrian. "She's not a threat anymore," I said. "She's something better. She's useful."
"And when she betrays us?"
"She won't."
"You're sure?"
I looked down into the chamber, where Salem now sat in the circle, head bowed. Not broken—but waiting.
"She's never been offered a reason not to."
Hadrian was silent a long time. Then he turned to leave. "You're playing a dangerous game, Lincoln."
I didn't answer. I already knew.
Because someday, Salem would rise again.
Not as a demon. Not as a slave.
But Annabel's protector.