I slammed into one of the standing stones, the impact driving the air from my lungs. Pain blossomed across my back and ribs, sharp enough to make my vision blur momentarily. I struggled to my feet, using the stone for support as I tried to catch my breath.

Across the circle, Sean was picking himself up, blood streaming from a fresh cut along his hairline. Cassiel had landed in a crouch, his wings flared for balance, but even he looked shaken by the display of raw power.

Asmodeus stood at the center of the ritual circle, the Heart pulsing in sync with the golden sigils beneath his feet. His wounds were already healing, black blood retracting back into closing flesh. His perfect suit was ruined, torn and burned in several places, but his confidence remained intact.

“You cannot stop what has been set in motion,” he said, voice resonating with unnatural harmonics that made my teeth vibrate. “The seal breaks tonight. The First Nephilim rises. And this world ends.”

The fight dragged on, becoming a brutal war of attrition.

We attacked in waves, two engaging while the third recovered, then rotating.

Slowly, incrementally, we managed to wear Asmodeus down.

His movements became fractionally slower, his counterattacks less precise.

Black blood stained what remained of his suit from a dozen minor wounds.

But we were losing faster than he was. Blood slicked our bodies, exhaustion dragging at our limbs.

Sean's lip was split, blood streaming down his chin.

My ribs ached where Asmodeus had landed a direct hit, each breath sending sharp pain through my chest. Cassiel's breathing was heavy, his wings visibly singed from the dark energy crackling through the air.

Asmodeus dodged another strike from Cassiel and laughed, the sound empty of genuine amusement. “You think you can stop this?” His voice was silk laced with mockery.

He turned his golden gaze on me, something almost like pity crossing his perfect features. “You don't even know what you are, boy. You're a walking tragedy waiting to happen.”

“Shut up,” Sean snarled, lunging forward with renewed fury. Asmodeus backhanded him casually, sending him sprawling across the stone circle. “Don't listen to him, Cade,” Cassiel warned, struggling back to his feet. “He's trying to distract you.”

But Asmodeus's words had hooked into something deep inside me, tugging at threads of memory that threatened to unravel the fragile wall protecting me from the truth.

Asmodeus lunged suddenly, his claws aimed for my throat—but in that moment, the world shifted. A voice whispered in my mind, dark and familiar and ancient.

Let go.

The mark on my chest burned like a hot coal pressed to my skin.

My vision flooded with crimson, a red haze that transformed the world around me.

My blood turned electric, power surging through every vein, every cell.

I didn't fight it. For once, I surrendered to the darkness that had always lingered at the edges of my consciousness.

I let go.

And power erupted.

The moment I released control, embracing the mark's power instead of fighting it, everything changed.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching like taffy.

My senses sharpened to painful clarity—I could hear Asmodeus's heart beating, smell the sulfur in his blood, see the minute shifts in his expression as he registered the change in me.

For the first time, Asmodeus faltered, uncertainty flashing across his perfect features.

I moved faster than I ever had before, my body responding to commands I didn't consciously give.

The Heavenly Lash became an extension of my will, striking with precision that shouldn't have been possible.

The whip wrapped around Asmodeus's ankle, and with strength that wasn't entirely my own, I yanked him off balance.

He crashed to the ground, his perfect composure shattered.

Before he could recover, I was on him, moving with a speed and fluidity that didn't feel human.

Each strike was calculated, deadly, fueled by something beyond my control.

My vision pulsed red with each heartbeat, the mark on my chest burning so hot I thought it might incinerate me from within.

“What are you doing?” Asmodeus hissed, blocking a flurry of attacks that would have overwhelmed any lesser being. “You'll destroy yourself.”

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The power rushing through me was intoxicating, terrible and beautiful at once. It felt right in a way that terrified some distant, still-rational part of my mind. This was what I was meant for. This was what the mark had been preparing me for all along.

Sean and Cassiel joined the assault, their attacks synchronized with mine as if we shared a single mind. Sean drove his silver blades into Asmodeus's side while the demon was distracted by my onslaught. Cassiel's angel blade pierced the demon's shoulder, pinning him momentarily to the stone floor.

Asmodeus roared, his perfect facade crumbling further to reveal scales and horns beneath the human skin. His eyes blazed with hellfire, no longer bothering to maintain their golden hue. With a surge of demonic strength, he threw Cassiel aside and kicked Sean across the ritual circle.

But I didn't relent. Couldn't relent. The mark's power had me firmly in its grip now, driving me forward even as my body screamed with exhaustion. I struck again and again, the Heavenly Lash burning brighter with each contact, leaving smoking furrows across Asmodeus's increasingly inhuman form.

For the first time, genuine fear crossed the demon prince's face. He tried to retreat, to regroup, but I gave him no quarter. The Lash wrapped around his throat, celestial fire burning the demonic flesh beneath. He clawed at it, black blood pouring from his injuries.

“This won't save you,” he gasped, voice distorted by pain and fury. “Even if you kill me, the ritual has begun. The Heart responds to blood. Any blood.”

I didn't care. In that moment, consumed by the mark's power and my own rage, I wanted nothing more than to watch him die. To make him pay for Hawk, for all the others who had suffered because of his schemes.

With a final, desperate lunge, I drove my silver blade through Asmodeus's chest. The air crackled with power, my mark flaring like an inferno beneath my shirt. The pain was exquisite, transcendent, a burning that consumed without destroying.

Asmodeus's eyes widened, not with pain but with a terrible recognition. “Finally,” he whispered, blood bubbling between perfect teeth. His hand shot out, grasping my wrist with surprising strength. “She'll be so pleased.”

Then his body collapsed, black blood pooling across the ritual sigils on the floor. The golden lines absorbed it eagerly, as if they had been designed specifically for this moment. The Heart, still exposed in its open box, began to pulse faster, brighter, responding to the demon prince's death.

The red haze receded from my vision, the mark's power withdrawing like a tide. I staggered back, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in my ribs, the cuts and bruises covering my body. My legs threatened to give out, muscles trembling from exertion beyond human limits.

Sean exhaled a ragged breath of exhaustion and relief, one hand pressed to his bleeding side. “Is it over?” he asked, voice rough.

But Cassiel's eyes had widened in horror. “No,” he breathed, watching as Asmodeus's blood seeped into the sigils, completing patterns that had been dormant until now. The ritual absorbed it, each line lighting up in sequence as the blood touched it.

“Get back!” Cassiel shouted, already moving toward us. “Get away from the circle!”

Too late, I understood. This had never been about stopping Asmodeus. This had been about using him. Using us. The ritual didn't care whose blood activated it—only that the blood contained power. And what could be more powerful than the death of a demon prince?

I staggered back, the mark on my chest suddenly cold, a sharp contrast to the burning heat of moments before. My vision swam, darkness closing in at the edges. I realized with dawning horror that my actions had played directly into some larger plan.

The air split open at the center of the ritual circle, a fissure of darkness tearing through the space where Asmodeus had fallen.

The Heart pulsed once, twice, then shattered, fragments of otherworldly matter flying outward like shrapnel.

A wave of power erupted from the breach, knocking us all backward with concussive force.

I slammed into stone again, my already injured ribs cracking further under the impact. The world spun, consciousness threatening to flee. Through dimming vision, I saw the darkness at the center of the ritual grow, expand, take form.

Something was coming through. Something ancient and terrible and patient. The First Nephilim, the being that angels and demons alike had conspired to keep imprisoned.

And then, from within the ritual circle, a deep, resonant voice whispered—words that seemed to bypass my ears and speak directly to my soul, to the mark that had always connected me to forces beyond my understanding.

“I am free.”

The darkness solidified, taking form—a man of impossible beauty and terrible power, his eyes holding the wisdom and cruelty of eons. He looked directly at me, recognition in his ageless gaze.

“Hello, child,” he said, voice like velvet over steel.