The lifeless bodies of students lay in a row on the ground, their once-vibrant eyes now dull and devoid of life. The eerie stillness of the corridor was disturbed only by the occasional flicker of the dim lights above, casting elongated shadows over the gruesome scene. Emily Lockwood walked past the fallen students with a satisfied smile curling at her lips. The time of the eclipse had finally arrived, and with it, she had taken ultimate control over her prey. The feeling was exhilarating.
Her fingers trailed along the blood-splattered walls as she moved through the littered corridor. The scent of death and decay filled the air, intoxicating her senses as she let out a sinister chuckle. Her mind drifted back to the fateful bargain she had struck with the dead witches—the very beings who had granted her this unfathomable power.
Somewhere in the Dark Trench...
Abigail Lockwood's soul drifted aimlessly through the abyss of the Dark Trench, the wretched domain where forsaken souls were discarded, left to endure suffering beyond imagination. The place was a nightmare come to life—a vast, desolate realm where endless cries of agony filled the air, and monstrous abominations prowled in the eternal darkness.
Abigail had lost count of how long she had been trapped in this forsaken pit, but the memories of her betrayal remained fresh, stabbing through her mind like a relentless dagger. She could still feel the cold steel of the axe Emily had driven through her heart, severing it without the slightest hint of guilt. Emily had been like a younger sister to her, someone she had cared for more than she cared to admit. But in the end, Emily had repaid that love with a brutal and merciless betrayal.
The darkness around her stirred, and she became aware of the shifting shadows that encircled her. Abigail's breath hitched as she realized she was no longer alone.
A chorus of guttural whispers rose from the void, and then, as if drawn from the very depths of despair, monstrous figures materialized before her. They were horrifying creatures, their deathly pale, corpse-like faces twisted into grotesque sneers. Their skin was rotting, peeling away in places to reveal decayed flesh beneath, and their hollow black eyes gleamed with a hunger that sent a shiver down Abigail's spine.
The figures moved closer, their presence suffocating, until she found herself surrounded. Abigail tried to summon her power, but a sickening realization dawned upon her—she was dead, powerless, and at the mercy of these creatures.
Then, from the midst of the horrors, a chilling voice slithered through the dark. It was ancient, rasping, and filled with malice.
"Welcome to the Dark Trench, Abigail Lockwood. Your soul is condemned to an eternity of suffering, but you may yet choose: rot in the abyss, or strike a bargain with us."
Abigail's pulse pounded. A bargain? What could they possibly want from her? She had spent her entire life seeking power, climbing her way to the top, refusing to bow to anyone. The idea of serving these beings disgusted her.
"My time is valuable," the voice continued, growing impatient. "Make your choice, or be cast aside forever."
Abigail hesitated only for a moment before a cruel smile curled on her lips. She had not been called a selfish bitch for nothing. If there was even a chance of escaping this hell, she would take it.
"What's the bargain?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Laughter erupted from the creatures, a terrible, guttural cackle that echoed through the abyss. Their lips twisted into hideous grins, and their voices overlapped in a cacophony of malevolent glee.
"You are bold, child," the eerie voice sneered. "Very well. You are to retrieve the Phoenix Stone—the key to finding the Red Oak Tree. With it, the Guardians will be powerless to locate the Red Oak, and you will channel unlimited power. In return, you shall resurrect our lineage—the dead witches of the abyss—and bring us back to the world."
Abigail's breath hitched. The weight of their words crashed over her like a tidal wave. They wanted her to stop the Guardians from reaching the Red Oak? But why?
She narrowed her eyes. "If you're so powerful, why don't you get the Phoenix Stone yourselves?"
A terrible pain erupted through her body, causing her to double over as an inhuman shriek tore from her lips. It felt as if her very essence was being shredded apart. Blood seeped from her pores, her skin burning as the energy built inside her.
"You dare question us, you insignificant goddess?" the voice spat with venom. "You were nothing but a weak reincarnation, a girl defeated by mere human students. And now, you are dead."
The agony intensified, searing through her bones, her muscles convulsing uncontrollably. But through the pain, Abigail began to understand—this was not a choice. This was an order.
With one last ragged breath, she fell to her knees, her lips curling into a twisted grin.
"I accept," she whispered. "But I want revenge. I want to kill those who wronged me, and I'll offer their blood to you in return. I want power—power so strong that no one will ever stand against me."
The creatures let out a deafening shriek of approval. Dark energy erupted from the abyss, engulfing Abigail's form in a violent storm of shadows. The transformation was excruciating—her very being was reshaped into something unholy, something monstrous. Her flesh darkened, her nails elongated into razor-sharp claws, and her eyes turned a pitch-black void.
When the darkness subsided, Abigail stood taller, stronger, her body humming with dark energy. A cruel smile spread across her lips.
"I will bring you your blood sacrifices," she vowed. "And I will resurrect you all."
With that, she dissolved into a plume of black smoke, leaving the dead witches in eerie stillness.
(PRESENT)
Abigail sat in her dormitory, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror. In her grasp, she clutched a dagger, twirling it between her fingers as a wicked giggle slipped past her lips.
"Emily, my love," she cooed mockingly. "You're going to stay in that mirror forever. I sealed you in with a spell, but don't worry—I'll kill your parents for you. Isn't that a beautiful gift?"
From inside the mirror, Emily pounded against the glass, her eyes wide with terror. Abigail merely smirked and turned her attention to the elegant luggage beside her.
With deliberate care, she unboxed it and pulled out an old, delicate portrait. The painting depicted Lamia, Hadrain, their two children, and Catherine—an image of a perfect, happy family.
Abigail's smile widened into something sadistic.
"The slaughterhouse should give me an award for this," she mused. "Tonight, I will erase everything that reminds me of Lamia Alexandria—starting with his entire family."
Emily's breath caught in her throat. A chill of terror coursed through her veins. She had remained silent for too long.
Lamia was in danger. And there was nothing he could do to save his family—because, unknown to everyone, Lamia was battling for his life in the Dark Trench, a victim of the Death Spell.
Meanwhile...
Slyvia groaned as she slowly pushed herself up, her body trembling from exhaustion. She reached out, placing her palms against the rough, damp wall beside her, using it as a guide while she cautiously moved forward. Her breath came out in soft, ragged puffs, her limbs sore from the long ordeal. Each step was uncertain, and without her staff, the darkness around her felt even more suffocating.
She swallowed hard, her fingers skimming over the uneven surface of the wall. Every inch of it felt like a jagged mystery, but it was the only thing keeping her from stumbling into the unknown. Her thoughts spiraled as she continued blindly, the pain in her legs and the throbbing pulse in her head serving as reminders of how vulnerable she was in this moment.
But vulnerability was something she had sworn never to embrace again.
After the shocking revelation about her family's past and the message about the oak tree, Slyvia knew she couldn't afford to remain weak. The world she had been thrown into wasn't one for the fragile. Determined, she had buried herself in the study of powerful spells, forcing herself to learn magic from grimoires—especially the ones left behind by her father. Hours had been sacrificed, her days split between learning witchcraft and academic studies, leaving her little time to connect with people. Yet, now, as she wandered alone, that knowledge was her only weapon.
Still, her biggest challenge remained: finding the Phoenix Stone, the key to the legendary oak tree. Without it, she had no way of completing her quest. The problem? She had no idea where to start.
Her thoughts twisted into knots, searching for an answer. Then, it struck her.
Why hadn't Ezekiel been affected by the death spell?
Her brows furrowed as she pieced together the puzzle in her mind.
Ezekiel Sawyer wasn't an ordinary person anymore. He had been chosen—a guardian of the oak tree, selected through a process she didn't understand. But it was clear now. The oak tree's power had preserved him.
But if that was true… then what about Lamia?
Lamia was strong—stronger than most. A demigod. His presence alone commanded power. So why had things turned out the way they did? Something wasn't adding up.
Slyvia was so lost in thought that she barely noticed when her foot caught on something uneven. Before she could react, her head slammed into a solid object with a sickening crack.
Pain exploded behind her eyes. She hissed sharply, her fingers clutching at her throbbing forehead.
"Fuck it," she spat, her voice raw with frustration. "How the hell am I supposed to stop this if I can't even see where I'm going?"
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but a voice suddenly cut through the chaos.
"Slyvia! There you are! I've been searching all over for you."
Her breath hitched. That voice—soft, familiar, and filled with relief.
"Harlan…"
Slyvia turned her head slightly, and a ghost of a smile flickered across her face. The warmth of familiarity, the comfort of knowing she wasn't completely alone—it was enough to ease her for a moment.
"I was worried that you had been taken by Ares and that witch," Harlan continued, stepping closer.
The moment his name was mentioned, Slyvia's body stiffened.
Her vision.
The memory of Ares' attack on Ezekiel rushed back with sharp clarity, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The sense of comfort she felt a second ago vanished, replaced by suspicion.
"Harlan…" Her voice was measured now, cold. "How did Ares know where to find us?"
She watched him closely, though she couldn't see his face. "The place I chose was hidden by my spell. He couldn't have gotten there by luck."
A knot of dread curled in her stomach. It couldn't be him, could it?
Harlan was a friend—someone she trusted. He wouldn't betray her. Would he?
But the evidence was clear.
The spell she had cast wasn't something easy to crack. For Ares to have found them so quickly… it could only mean one thing. Someone had told him.
And Harlan was the only possibility.
She clenched her fists, her breath coming in shaky exhales.
Harlan remained silent, his expression unreadable in the darkness. Then, at last, he spoke.
"Yes."
The single word hit her like a dagger to the chest.
Slyvia felt the blood drain from her face.
"I used you, Slyvia," Harlan admitted, his voice laced with something that sounded like regret. "I made a pact with Ares."
A cold chill spread through her veins.
Harlan took a step forward. "But trust me—you'll be safe."
Safe?
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs. No.
No, no, no.
Her body tensed as a shadow moved behind her. A terrible presence loomed over her. The air turned frigid, suffocating.
She didn't have time to react.
NOTE
So from now the deep romantic and character development will officially resume so stay tuned for more horrors to come.