ain lashed the crooked rooftops of Eastbridge, a forgotten town that clung to the shadow of a darker truth. Beneath its cobbled streets and weathered churches thrived a secret society—the Ashen Veil—whose members fed demons with blood and devotion. Years ago, they had taken his mother. Now, Lucas Thorne was ready to make them bleed.
The ancient tome quivered beneath his trembling fingers. Bound in scorched leather and marked in languages no longer spoken by men, it pulsed with something more than magic—resentment, perhaps.
"I summon thee, Malgros, He Who Devours Fire. Come forth and claim my body, for vengeance is my offering," Lucas whispered, blood trailing from the knife in his palm.
The candle flames twisted violently as a void opened in the basement's air, hissing with laughter. A shape emerged—all flame, shadow, and teeth.
"You seek vengeance," Malgros hissed, his voice like burning coal. "And offer yourself as vessel?"
Lucas didn't flinch. "Take me. Help me kill them. All of them."
Malgros laughed, then surged forward.
Fire swallowed Lucas whole.