Page 111 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

I should be repulsed by the very thought of what we’re becoming—what I’m becoming. Nainai and my mother had tried to warn me…

But instead, I find myself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, even as I can already feel the burn.

The truth sits heavy on my chest—like a weight pressing down on me, suffocating me—and yet, I am complicit. I am a willing prisoner of my own desires.

I despise how I find myself giving in without a fight. The obedient daughter I was molded to be by my culture… has twisted into something darker—an obedient bondservant.

I hate how every desperate shove against him only pulls me closer. Even as countless naive souls flock to his altar, blindly worshiping in his twisted cult, their ignorance fueling his dark power.

Tonight, I stand in the very place where he first called to me. The chapel ruins still smolder, the scent of burning wood and ash thick in the air. Around us, a new wave of cultists gathers—his blind, willing thralls.

Solareth’s smile cuts through the crowd, cold and cruel, watching me like a king surveying his dominion.

In the numb haze, something inside me shatters. I snatch a knife from the closest cultist’s trembling hand and press the cold steel against their throat.

“I’m done with this, Solareth,” I say, my voice strange and hollow, even to myself. “If you were truly powerful, why the need to bind me with your spells? You’re nothing but a monster.”

I barely recognize the defiance in my words. But I cling to it, desperate to believe this all can still be wrong… even if my pussy flutters at his glare.

“ Monster ,” he repeats, a soft chuckle following the word as he steps forward, the people around us parting like the red sea.

“You think I’m a monster? I’m your savior.

You are the one who has the power to stop this, to stop the destruction.

Without you, this world will burn. And it will be your fault. ”

His words strike deep no matter how many times he’s twisted it and used it against me.

“All I wanted was your love, angelica,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You continue to fight but your body’s already chosen. You’ve already let me inside. I see it in your eyes. You know I’m right.”

I feel my chest tighten, my breath hitching.

I think of the people he’s killed, the destruction he’s caused, the cities he’s torn apart in the name of resurrecting his brethren. But the worst part of it all is that I’m not disgusted. I don’t scream at the thought of his violence, his cruelty. Instead, I feel guilt, deep and suffocating.

“You wanted to stop me, didn’t you?” he murmurs, before forcing my hand to slice the cultist throat, blood spraying him like rain.

“But you can’t. Every time you fight, you cause more destruction.

Every moment you push against me, you are enslaving more lives to the chaos.

I need you, angelica. You are the one who can save them.

You are the one who can stop the carnage. ”

I’m not responsible for what he’s done. I can’t control what he is. How could I possibly be the one to stop anything? He speaks of love, but his version is something twisted, a dark echo of what love should be—ultimate possession.

He lifts his hand and cradles my face, his blood coated thumb caressing my cheek like the soft lover he is not.

Save what little humanity you still have left, Mayang. Your mother sacrificed herself to escape this. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain!

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “Just give yourself to me, it will all stop. All the pain, all the guilt—I’ll make it disappear. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

My hand still grips the knife. His words slip under my skin, twisting around my insides, burrowing deep into my heart.

As if seeing something change in me, Solareth changes his own verbal tactics.

“It’s not your fault, angelica. You think you’re responsible for what’s happened. But you’re not. The only one to blame is me. And you’re the only one who can stop me. You are my salvation.”

I close my eyes, fighting back tears, but they come anyway, slipping down my cheeks in spite of myself.

“You don’t have to carry the weight anymore,” he says, his voice more insistent now, more urgent. “Give yourself to me, and the world will be reborn. And I will be with you, little flame. Always.”

His words are a suffocating blanket, wrapping me tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe without him .

I want to scream, to tear away from him, but instead, I bring the bloodsoaked knife up to my own throat.