Chapter 2: The Devil’s Chains

The world didn’t stop for her mistake—

It burned.

She thought the ancient ruin was just a myth. A broken temple buried in dust and silence. The villagers feared it, called it cursed, begged her not to go near it. But she was stubborn—reckless—and didn’t believe in fairy tales or forbidden legends. Warnings were nothing but old tales to her ears.

So, she stepped onto the altar.

She whispered the strange inscription for fun.

And something beneath the earth—something furious—awoke.

Now, she knelt in a place not meant for mortals. A grand throne room built from shadow and bone. Black stone pillars twisted toward a ceiling lost in smoke, and the air crackled with heat, as if the ground itself breathed fire. Her wrists were shackled by glowing red chains that pulsed with dark magic. Her pride was bruised, but not broken.

Before her, the devil sat—beautiful, terrible, otherworldly.

He lounged on a throne of obsidian and fire, shirtless, long dark hair flowing like liquid night. Crimson eyes bore into her, filled with hatred—and curiosity. Shadows coiled around him like living snakes. His very presence made the air grow heavy, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked, voice sharp and ancient, echoing through the hall like a curse.

She looked up, bloody lip twitching into a smirk. “Yeah,” she said. “I woke up a shirtless demon with anger issues.”

The silence was deadly.

Then, without warning, she was hurled backward by a wave of invisible force. Her back hit the cold stone wall with a thud, and stars danced in her eyes. Pain laced her spine, but even as she groaned, she laughed.

“Touched a nerve, huh?” she rasped.

The devil rose. His footsteps echoed like thunder as he walked toward her. He crouched beside her, his face a mask of wrath and something darker.

“You mock me,” he growled. “You dare to speak so casually to your master?”

“I don’t kneel for monsters,” she snapped, glaring at him. “Especially the ones who throw tantrums.”

His eyes flared. “You released me. That makes you mine.”

“Then take me,” she hissed. “Kill me. I’d rather die than serve you.”

But instead of rage, he smiled. Slow. Cruel.

“No,” he whispered. “Death would be a gift. And I’m not feeling generous.”

He stood again, gaze burning holes into her soul. “You’ll live—and every breath will remind you that your freedom is gone. You are nothing here. Nothing but my prisoner.”

She clenched her fists, teeth grinding—but she didn’t cry. She didn’t beg.

And something about that made him pause.

His expression shifted. Just a flicker—was it surprise? Confusion?

Then it vanished.

“You’ll break soon enough,” he said coldly. “They all do.”

---

Far away, a pair of green glowing eyes watched them through a dark mirror.

The villain grinned. “She did it,” he whispered. “She actually woke the beast. Now let’s see how long she lasts.”

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