Breakthrough

Blood Compact

Levi

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Cold drops of water traced down my chin as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, fresh from a bath. My mind replayed the events over and over—I had a mission. I opened my right hand, and once again, the bright letters shimmered, forming the cryptic message on my palm:

"Turn light into darkness. Let thy devilry tinge the purest. When the shadow casts upon the source, thy time has ended."

I blinked, trying to absorb it, decipher it. How had this happened? My emotions spiraled between confusion, excitement, and fear. But fear dominated, gnawing at me relentlessly. Killian saw me take the stolen mission—his blue-black eyes had locked with mine. What if he reports me? What if he kills me himself? Even if I can’t die in the traditional sense, I can still be sent to the Fiery Pit. And I won’t let that happen.

I can't let that happen.

Brushing my damp hair back in frustration, I tried to convince myself. Missions only bind to those they’re meant for, and the coin wouldn’t have transferred unless it was destined for me.

This mission is mine.

I exhaled deeply, dressing in black pants, ankle boots, and a black shirt, leaving the top buttons undone. Even with this reassurance, my mind remained unsettled. I needed answers. But where would I find them?

Boots tapping against the cold stone floor, I walked down the hall, feeling an icy chill creep up my spine. Paranoia? Maybe. I turned into the narrow alley to the left. The bazaar stretched ahead—stand-in stalls, lime-green lanterns strung on wires, smoke from cooking food twisting in the air. The smell of booze, tobacco, and dirt permeated everything. This place, at least, felt alive in the Underworld's desolation.

Daemon children darted through the street, laughter mingling with the haggling voices of vendors. Despite the bustle, the poverty showed—thin, tired faces, calloused hands, worn clothes.

Then I heard it: an argument from a nearby stall.

An old man was dragged into the street by figures cloaked in black robes. Their faces hidden beneath hoods, they exuded menace.

“Please... I just needed the money,” the old man begged, trembling as one grabbed his collar. “I know I can’t pay the tax next month, so I… I had to do something.”

The man restraining him sneered. “And selling missions was your bright idea?”

I froze. Selling missions?

The figure growled, “How did you get your filthy hands on the silver coin? How did you breach the Quest Palace?”

“I didn’t steal it!” the old man cried. “Someone gave it to me. A man in a red cloak traded it for a knife. I swear!”

That was all the man needed to hear. With a single swing, the old man was impaled on the figure’s sword, his body vanishing into ash as he was sent to the Fiery Pit.

A boy emerged from the stall, fury and grief etched into his dirt-streaked face. “You killed him! That was my father! You’re sabotaging the missions, and the Devils will find out!”

One of the cloaked figures lunged, but the boy shattered a potion vial, vanishing in a cloud of smoke. Furious, the leader barked orders, and his men scattered, searching for the boy.

I had heard enough. They were sabotaging missions? Why? And why didn’t the Devils know?

Determined to find the boy, I ran, twisting through alleyways, heart racing. I didn’t stop until I collided with someone, catching myself on a pole to avoid falling.

Standing in the narrow street was Killian.

He wore a red cloak, its hood pulled back to reveal his face, the same face that haunted me since the dining hall. His dark, abyssal eyes locked onto mine, pulling me into a void of fear and intrigue.

“You’re the one who received the mission,” he said, his voice calm but unwavering.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He smirked, taking a step closer. “You owe me.”

“What?” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky.

“I gave you an item. You should pay for it.”

I frowned. “I was meant to have it.”

Killian chuckled darkly. “Didn’t you hear the commotion? Missions are being sabotaged. I gave you another way out.”

“What do you want?” I asked warily.

“Easy,” he said, voice smooth. “Grant me a wish after you complete the mission.”

“A wish?” I raised an eyebrow. “What am I, a genie?”

His smile turned cold. “Don’t joke, pretty boy. I don’t like jokes.”

With a sudden, forceful grip, he shoved me against the wall. His breath brushed my face, warm and terrifying. “I gave you the mission,” he whispered. “You owe me a wish.”

“And if I refuse?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ll tell them. And you’ll die.”

Terror flooded me. There was no way out. I had to agree. “Fine,” I whispered, defeated. “What’s your wish?”

“Not now,” he said, smirking. “After the mission.”

I shuddered, my voice trembling. “I, Levi, create this bond to grant Killian a single wish if I succeed.”

Golden seals appeared, glowing between us.

Before I could react, Killian crushed his lips against mine. Shock paralyzed me. His kiss was soft, yet sharp, and as his fangs pierced my lip, the seal burned brighter.

“Bite,” he commanded against my lips.

I bit down, tasting his blood as it seared down my throat. The blood compact was sealed. There was no escape now.

I belonged to the deal.

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