Stay With Me Afomia

Prologue

Prologue

The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves. The forest was silent, yet there was a presence—an unseen force lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting. Beneath the towering trees, where the moonlight barely touched the ground, something unnatural rested beneath the soil.

A forgotten grave.

Three years had passed since Afomia's life was stolen from her. Betrayed, murdered, and discarded like she was nothing, her body was left to decay beneath the weight of the earth. But her soul refused to move on. Bound by hatred, by a thirst for vengeance so deep it defied death itself, she lingered, trapped in an existence neither dead nor alive.

Time had no meaning in her prison. She could not see, could not feel—only rage remained. The only thing she could do was remember.

She remembered the hands that struck her, the whispers of those who conspired against her, the mocking laughter as she gasped for her final breath. She remembered the cold touch of the blade against her skin, the weight of betrayal pressing down on her chest. And then—darkness.

But hatred was a powerful thing. It could rot the soul, twist it into something unrecognizable. Or it could keep it alive, burning like an eternal flame.

Afomia chose the latter.

Her consciousness stirred when she felt movement—something, or someone, had disturbed her grave. The sensation was distant, but it was there. And then, for the first time in years, she heard a voice.

"Boss, I found this in the woods. It doesn't feel normal," said a man's voice. There was a pause, a breath of silence, before the voice continued. "It's... strange. Almost like it's alive."

Another voice, deeper and colder, responded. "Put it down."

A sudden shift, like a weight lifting off her soul. A presence near her—powerful, dark, ancient. Then, something pulled at the invisible chains that bound her. The pressure was suffocating, but it was also freeing.

Then came the first c***k.

A shattering sound echoed in the void of her prison, like glass breaking, like chains snapping. And then—light. A brilliant, blinding light that seared through the darkness.

Afomia gasped.

For the first time in three years, she felt air fill her lungs. Her body felt weightless, yet the anger that bound her was heavier than ever. The world around her was unfamiliar—tall bookshelves lined the walls, a massive throne-like chair sat in the center of the room, and across from her stood a man with piercing eyes and a knowing smirk.

"You're finally awake," he said. His voice was smooth, like silk woven with shadows. He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his power suffocating. "You're not supposed to be here, you know. Souls like you don't get second chances."

Afomia clenched her fists, her breathing uneven. "Who are you?"

"Zein," he introduced himself lazily, as if the name alone was enough. "The next heir to the throne of Hell."

She stiffened. The heir to Hell? A Grim Reaper? Then...

"You're the one who freed me," she whispered.

He smirked. "I wouldn't call it 'freeing.' More like... releasing you for a little fun."

Afomia's eyes darkened. "I don't have time for your games. I need to find them—the ones who killed me."

Zein tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh? Revenge, is it?" He leaned closer, his expression unreadable. "And what will you do once you find them? Beg for justice? Hope they feel remorse?"

"I'll kill them," she said without hesitation.

A silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. Then, Zein chuckled—a deep, dangerous sound.

"Interesting." He stepped back, his golden eyes gleaming. "I like you. Tell you what, how about we make a deal?"

Afomia hesitated. "A deal?"

Zein raised a hand, and in an instant, dark energy crackled around him. "I'll help you get your revenge. I'll find the people who betrayed you, give you the chance to end them with your own hands. But in return..." He extended his hand toward her, the smirk never leaving his lips.

"You belong to me."

Afomia's breath caught in her throat. She knew the weight of such a bargain, knew the dangers of binding herself to a Grim Reaper—especially one like him. But she also knew one thing for certain.

She would do anything for revenge.

Slowly, she reached out, her fingers hovering over his palm.

A whisper, barely audible, slipped through Zein's lips.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Afomia."

And with that, the deal was sealed.