Varnyx's lair was hidden behind the Bone Pit—accessed through a tunnel guarded by cloaked demons whose eyes glowed red with suspicion. Kael and Lilith were led through narrow stone halls lit only by flickering lanterns filled with soulfire. The air stank of burnt ozone and blood magic.
At the end of the passage, they entered a chamber carved into the rock itself. Runes pulsed along the walls. Masks of fallen demon lords hung above an obsidian table where Varnyx sat—tall, cloaked in shadows, with a reptilian tail twitching behind his chair.
He gestured lazily. "Sit."
Kael remained standing. Lilith leaned against a column, arms folded.
"You fought well," Varnyx said, voice like cracked granite. "Fast. Efficient. The flames you used—they weren't typical hellfire."
Kael didn't answer.
Varnyx tilted his head. "Half-blood then? Or something more?"
Still no answer.
Varnyx chuckled. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But secrets come with a price."
He tapped a claw against the table. "I can get you through the Coil gate. Forged sigils. Illusion tags. Even scent masking. But it costs."
Lilith tossed a bag of soulglass onto the table.
"That's a down payment," she said. "You'll get more after."
Varnyx opened the bag, examined the shards, then nodded. "Deal."
He stood and moved to a locked cabinet in the wall, opened it with a series of arcane gestures, and retrieved two small, coin-shaped items. One glowed with a golden sigil, the other pulsed like a beating heart.
"These will last six hours. That's all the magic can hold before the wards detect the forgery. Once you're inside the Crimson Coil, you're on your own."
Kael took one. The sigil flared and sank into his palm. Lilith did the same.
"Word of warning," Varnyx said as they turned to leave. "The Coil eats people like you alive. You're not walking into a city. You're walking into a war."
Kael paused at the door.
"That's exactly why we're going."
---
The gate to the Crimson Coil loomed ahead, covered in writhing runes that hissed as anyone passed. Warded guards stood on either side, twisted demons with eyes like mirrors, watching every soul that dared approach.
Kael and Lilith moved in line, their forged sigils pulsing beneath their gloves.
When they reached the checkpoint, a warden stepped forward. His voice was monotone, hollow. "Name. House. Intent."
Kael responded smoothly. "Kael. House Dreg'mor. Seeking passage for reconnaissance."
The warden nodded, placed a clawed hand over Kael's chest. The sigil reacted, flaring briefly.
"Verified."
He turned to Lilith. "You?"
"Lira. House Seraphain. Escort detail."
Again, the sigil flared.
"Verified."
The warded gates cracked open, the air pulsing with dark magic—and just like that, they stepped into the Crimson Coil.
---
If the Outer Scars were chaos and filth, the Crimson Coil was madness made elegant. Tall gothic spires pierced the sky. The streets were paved with glass infused with ancient blood, reflecting the horrors above and below. Floating bridges connected towers suspended by chained magic.
Demonic nobles moved in strange, arcane processions—carried by enslaved constructs or shadow mounts. Everything shimmered with a deadly kind of beauty, where death hid beneath politeness and deals were made with a whisper and a knife.
Kael and Lilith walked with purpose, avoiding eye contact. Their goal: the abandoned war temple buried beneath the old arena district.
They crossed a bone-bridge, entered a plaza where statues of forgotten generals stood cracked and vandalized. Street performers juggled fire and pain. A merchant offered cursed tattoos in exchange for memories.
"This city is alive," Kael muttered. "Like it's watching us."
"It is," Lilith replied. "This whole place is a hive of spies and sentient walls. Keep moving."
They passed into the lower district where nobles refused to walk. Here, the air thickened. The ruins began to appear—once-proud structures now reduced to rubble and ash, haunted by whispers and phantom lights.
Finally, they stood before it: the Temple of Ashmourne.
It looked more like a mausoleum than a place of worship—its entrance sealed by a gate of black crystal and six burning torches. Each flame a different color—each representing a layer of the Infernal Pact.
Kael unrolled the scroll again. The map marked this place clearly, with an old sigil at the bottom: Here lies the Heart, where ruin first bled.
Lilith examined the gate. "The seal's still active. Strong. This thing was built to hold something in—not keep people out."
Kael raised a hand and focused. His soulflame flickered, and the markings on the gate shimmered in response.
"It's reacting to me."
"Of course it is," Lilith muttered. "You're the only idiot trying to touch a cursed relic vault."
He didn't stop. Instead, he poured more power into the flame, feeding the symbols. One by one, the torches began to shift colors—bleeding from infernal red to a pale white.
The gate cracked. Not open—but weakened.
Lilith tensed. "Kael. We've got company."
From the shadows, three hooded figures approached—moving like smoke, blades in hand.
"Cultists," she hissed. "Guardians of the old relic. Of course they'd be here."
Kael turned, his eyes glowing. "Let's greet them properly."
---
The cultists moved fast, inhumanly fast. The first launched a cursed dagger straight at Kael's throat. He ducked, swept his leg under the attacker, and unleashed a pulse of flame that ignited their robes.
Lilith vanished in a blur of movement, reappearing behind the second cultist. Her blade slit his throat in silence before he even turned.
The third cast a hex, summoning shadow tendrils from the air.
Kael stepped forward, took the hit—and absorbed the dark magic into his left arm.
The cultist froze. "What are you—"
Kael's eyes flared. "Learning."
He launched the stolen energy back, blasting the cultist into the gate.
Silence fell.
Lilith wiped her blade clean. "Three more seconds and they would've sounded an alarm."
"They didn't."
Kael turned back to the gate. All six flames were white now. The crystal groaned.
Then shattered.
Beyond it lay darkness—and the faint pulse of something ancient.