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Update: I have written that sam and others were saved in shield vehicle that's wrong.
Sam was alone in his dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from a single flickering candle that cast monstrous shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood that still clung to his clothes, despite his attempts to wash it away. His eyes—once bright with innocence—had grown hollow and vacant, windows to a soul being consumed from within.
His lips moved continuously, forming words that barely escaped as whispers.
"You killed her," he mumbled, rocking slightly back and forth. His nails dug crescents into his palms until tiny beads of crimson appeared. "You killed her... you killed her..."
A voice responded—not from the room, but from within the darkest recesses of his mind. It slithered through his thoughts like liquid shadow, both alien and increasingly familiar.
"No, Sam. We killed her." The voice was smooth as poisoned honey, yet burned like acid against his consciousness. "For greater power, we need sacrifices. This is merely the beginning of your ascension."
Sam clutched his head, fingernails scraping against his scalp. "I didn't want this. Not like this."
"Lies do not become you, my vessel." The voice grew colder, more assertive. "Do not forget our bargain. You wanted power. Power to let the world burn. Power to rule over the ashes of those who wronged you. I merely asked you to corrupt the World Tree, to open the gateway between realms."
Thunder rumbled outside, though the night sky remained clear and star-studded—a cosmic impossibility that Sam no longer questioned.
"You are my servant now, Sam. My chosen one among the mortals. Serve me well, and I will let you rule this pitiful world when we are done. Disappoint me..."
The temperature in the room plummeted suddenly. The candle's flame froze in place before shattering like glass, plunging the room into darkness absolute.
"I understand," Sam whispered into the void. "Master."
The darkness receded slightly, allowing a faint glow to return to the room—though no visible source could be identified. Sam lifted his trembling hand, palm facing upward. With intense concentration, a small flame sparked into existence, dancing weakly above his skin. It cast eerie shadows across his gaunt face, highlighting the dark hollows beneath his eyes and the unnatural pallor of his once-healthy complexion.
The voice—Mysfito of Hell—chuckled, a sound like grinding bones and tearing sinew. "See that, Sam? These are the rewards I give my faithful servants. But your fire is weak, pathetic. A child's parlor trick."
As if responding to the criticism, Sam's flame suddenly transformed. It grew darker, taking on a deep crimson hue with black edges that seemed to devour the light around it rather than emit it. The heat intensified until sweat beaded across Sam's forehead, yet his flesh remained unmarked by burns.
"This is the fire of Hell," Mysfito proclaimed with evident pride. "Forged in the crucible of eternal suffering and fueled by the damnation of countless souls. With my guidance, you will command legions with such flames."
From the depths of Sam's fractured mind emerged the image of his master—Mysfito of Hell. Even as a mere mental projection, his presence was overwhelming, like a black hole that threatened to consume everything around it.
Mysfito appeared as a towering figure wrapped in shadows that seemed alive, writhing and coiling around a vaguely humanoid form like sentient smoke. Where a face should be, only burning eyes existed—molten gold with vertical pupils that expanded and contracted with each word. Horns of obsidian curved gracefully from his temples, adorned with ancient runes that pulsed with unholy light. His skin, where visible through the living shadows, resembled cracked obsidian with veins of lava flowing beneath. A crown of twisted bone and black metal sat upon his head, each spike adorned with miniature screaming faces frozen in eternal agony.
"Your weak human mind cannot comprehend my true form," Mysfito's voice resonated through Sam's consciousness. "This mere approximation is all your sanity can bear. But know this—I have existed since before your ancestors crawled from primordial ooze. I have witnessed empires rise and fall, gods live and die. I have harvested the souls of kings and watched civilizations burn."
Wings of shadow unfurled behind him, spanning wider than the room itself, yet somehow contained within it—a spatial impossibility that made Sam's head ache when he tried to understand it.
"I am Mysfito, Lord of the Ninth Circle, Keeper of Forbidden Knowledge, Harvester of Damned Souls. And you, Sam, are my chosen instrument in this realm."
Sam nodded, still mesmerized by the hellfire dancing on his palm. His eyes reflected the unnatural flame, giving him a demonic appearance of his own. The corruption was spreading, changing him both inside and out.
"So what do I need to do now to rule over this place?" Sam asked, his voice growing stronger with newfound purpose. "I can't stand that kid's nonsense. We were tortured and killed like rats at that Lab, and he wants to let it go? To forgive?" He spat the word like poison.
Sam rose to his feet, pacing the small room like a caged predator. "Even after having such power and creatures at his disposal, he doesn't want to rule the world? Such an idiot!" His voice grew increasingly agitated, the hellfire in his palm swelling with his emotion. "Why don't I just go and kill him myself? Take what he refuses to use?"
Mysfito's presence expanded violently within Sam's mind, causing him to double over in pain. The shadows in the room elongated, reaching toward him with clawed fingers. The very air seemed to compress, making breathing difficult.
"SILENCE!" the demon lord roared, the room's temperature plummeting until frost formed on the windows and Sam's breath came out in visible clouds. "Just do as I say, impudent mortal. You are not strong enough to fight him yet. His connection to the World Tree gives him protections you cannot overcome with your limited power."
The hellfire extinguished as Sam fell to his knees, gasping for breath. When he could finally breathe again, a dagger had materialized in his hand—a curved blade of metal so dark it seemed to be forged from congealed shadows. The hilt was wrapped in what appeared to be dried sinew, and a blood-red gem pulsed at its pommel like a beating heart. Runes similar to those on Mysfito's horns glowed along its edge, pulsing in rhythm with Sam's accelerated heartbeat.
The weapon exuded an ominous presence that filled the room with dread, as if it existed partially in another reality. It whispered wordlessly to Sam, promises of power and glory mingling with the screams of its previous victims.
"This is one of my prized treasures," Mysfito's voice softened to a seductive whisper. "The Souldrinker, forged in the depths of Hell's most forbidden forges, tempered with the blood of fallen gods. You just have to stab it into the heart of the World Tree after breaching its defenses. One strike is all it will take."
The dagger pulsed again, hungrier now, sensing its purpose was near. Sam could feel it trying to bond with him, to meld with his flesh and soul.
After several moments of nervous silence, Sam finally spoke, his voice barely audible. "Master, if this dagger is so powerful, and you are even more so... why don't you yourself just kill him and take over? Why use me as your instrument?"
A heavy silence filled the room before Mysfito answered. The shadows retreated slightly, coiling more tightly around the demon lord's form.
"There are things you don't understand, mortal. Cosmic laws that bind even beings such as myself. I have... restrictions." For the first time, Mysfito sounded almost reluctant to explain. "This realm has protections against direct intervention from entities like me. If I came personally, others would sense my presence immediately and come to stop me. The balance would be disturbed, and all our plans would be for naught."
Fear crept into Sam's expression as understanding dawned. "There are others like you? Other... demons or gods or whatever you are?"
"There are entities that maintain the cosmic balance," Mysfito admitted. "Guardians of different realms. Some you might call angels, others gods. Names matter little—power is all that truly counts."
Sensing Sam's hesitation, Mysfito's presence enveloped him like a shroud, simultaneously comforting and suffocating. The demon lord's form shifted, becoming more alluring, less terrifying—though no less dangerous.
"Don't worry," he purred, his voice now melodious and enticing. "They won't interfere with you. You are beneath their notice—a mere mortal. That's precisely why you are perfect for this task, why you will rule in my place when we succeed. The World Tree connects all realms—corrupt it, and reality itself becomes malleable. The barriers between worlds will weaken, allowing me to extend my influence without directly crossing over."
The dagger in Sam's hand grew warm, almost alive, as if eager to fulfill its purpose. It pulsed again, faster now, like an excited heartbeat.
"With the Tree corrupted, you would gain power beyond imagining, Sam. More than any human has ever possessed. You would be a god among insects, with me as your patron and advisor. Think of it—all those who hurt you, who laughed at your pain, who dismissed you as nothing... They would kneel before you. They would beg for mercy that you need never grant."
Sam's eyes glazed over as he visualized the scenario—himself on a throne of bones, former bullies and teachers groveling at his feet, the entire world trembling at his slightest whim.
"Remember our agreement, Sam," Mysfito continued, his form growing larger as Sam's resolve strengthened. "Remember what they did to you, how they laughed while you suffered. Remember the girl who rejected you, who now lies cold in the ground by your hand—our hand. Redemption is for the weak. Forgiveness is a lie told by those without the strength to claim vengeance. Power—true power—comes from embracing what you are meant to become."
Outside, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast, blotting out the stars. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in stark, strobe-like bursts that revealed Sam's transformation. Veins of darkness crawled beneath his skin like living tattoos, mapping the corruption spreading through his body.
"Tomorrow night, the cosmic alignment will be perfect," Mysfito instructed. "The barriers between realms will be at their thinnest. You will enter the sacred grove, find the physical manifestation of the World Tree, and plunge Souldrinker into its heart. The corruption will spread through its roots to every corner of reality."
Sam's expression hardened as memories of past torments flashed through his mind—the beatings, the humiliation, the laughter that haunted his dreams. He clutched the dagger tighter, his knuckles turning white as bone.
"Yes, master," he whispered, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "I'll do it. I'll corrupt the World Tree."
"Excellent, my chosen one," Mysfito purred, his form beginning to fade back into the recesses of Sam's mind. "Rest now. Gather your strength. Tomorrow, we change the fate of all realms."
As the demon lord's presence receded, Sam was left alone in his room once more. But he was no longer entirely human. The darkness had taken root too deeply within him, transforming him into something else—something between mortal and demon.
He studied the dagger with newfound appreciation, testing its edge with his thumb. A drop of his blood touched the blade, and it sizzled, absorbing the crimson offering hungrily. The runes glowed brighter in response.
"Tomorrow," Sam whispered to the empty room, "the world as they know it ends."
In the shadows of his mind, Mysfito's laughter echoed like distant thunder, as corruption continued to spread through Sam's already twisted soul—a cancer of darkness that would soon metastasize to engulf the World Tree, and with it, all of existence.