Page 5

The question burned in my mind. How could I be his favorite? As the sleek car glided closer to the Chapel, the nagging thought of a family connection to this place gnawed at me again. I had brushed it off once before, but now it crept back into my mind, refusing to be ignored. The shadows of my past, all the unknowns seemed to blur into the present. I had never known who my mother or father were, not a single detail. I hadn’t been overly depressed about missing something I never had.

There were no stories, no relics, no clues about where I’d come from, only the cold, impersonal record of the system.

My foster parents hadn't bothered to ask and few seemed to care about me beyond what was necessary. I’d been left to forge my own identity in a world that wouldn’t notice if I stopped existing. Now, here on this island of darkness and power, where bloodlines mattered more than anything, my existence was something to be revered.

Anya had once joked about me being a long-lost heir, but now I couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to her jests.

What if something in my past had been the reason I wound up here, in this place I wanted no part of? I was hesitant to dig deeper into this. If it were true, what would that mean for me? For Anya, who had been dragged into this just like I was?

From the very beginning, the obvious course of action was to escape, to find a way out for both of us. The deeper I was immersed in the Isle and its ruler, the more dangerous that path became.

The alternative, however grim, was becoming clearer--staying by Alexander’s side. It wasn’t a choice in the truest sense; it was survival. It also might’ve been the only way to keep Anya safe, and myself. I straightened in my seat as the car passed through the iron gates, sealing off the service road to the outside world. The sky had deepened into a heavy, inky black by now, casting an even darker shadow over the landscape. Stygian Chapel loomed ahead, its silhouette both grand and ominous against the night, its spires reaching up like claws. The air around it seemed to pulse with an eerie energy, a stark reminder of the power this place held.

As we approached, a stream of people moved toward the Chapel, their faces obscured by the usual elaborate demonic masks. The sight of their concealed expressions always added to the surreal and unsettling atmosphere. Ambrose parked the car and stepped out swiftly, moving to open my door.

As soon as the cool night air hit me, a wave of apprehension joined it, the weight of unseen eyes prickling against my skin. I could feel them, all watching, waiting. Stepping out, I forced myself to stand tall, pushing away the unease creeping up my spine. I focused on Ambrose, his silent presence a brief source of comfort as he offered his arm and guided me toward the towering entrance of the Chapel. I glanced up at the building, its massive, gothic structure pressing down on me as I braced myself for whatever I’d witness beyond its doors that evening.

Inside, the low hum of whispered conversations, punctuated by soft footsteps, filled the space as Isle natives filed into the main room. As Ambrose and I moved through the hallway away from them, a heavily pregnant woman passed by, her belly round and prominent beneath her flowing gown. A man, tender and protective, held her close as they made their way toward the main chamber.

I almost did a double-take. For as heavily implied as continuing bloodlines was, she was only the second expectant mother I’d seen since arriving on the Isle. We reached a grand staircase, its polished steps leading upward. Ambrose’s steady pace never wavered as we ascended, leaving behind the murmur of voices from the crowd below. At the top, Matron Seraphine awaited us, wearing a smile the same smile that seemed too serene for the setting. Ambrose halted beside me; his formal duty complete.

“This is where I leave you,” he said softly, bowing slightly. “I’ll join the others now.”

A flicker of unease tugged at me as he turned and disappeared down the stairs. I wasn’t sure why. The last few times I’d attended class, to be educated as Esther put it, I had been escorted by a masked disciple who never spoke a word. Watching Ambrose walk away had a growing isolation settle over me.

I didn’t know where this was coming from. It had been the same with Verity.

“How are you this evening?” Seraphine asked, her tone bright and welcoming as she gestured for me to follow her down the narrow hallway. Her almond-shaped eyes held a glimmer of excitement as if anticipating the night ahead. Her dark hair pulled back into an elegant twist, left her sharp features fully exposed, making it clear she was someone not to be underestimated.

“I’m fine. And you?” I responded; my voice was more composed than I felt.

"Looking forward to what's ahead.”

The excitement in her voice was barely contained. It hadn’t been there for any of the classes I attended. That was a sure sign I was going to hate every minute of whatever this service consisted of. We passed several closed doors, each one ornate and carved with intricate symbols.

The hallway was long, winding through the upper level of the Chapel like a labyrinth. One of the rooms was the one where I had my Isle education. Seraphine stopped in front of a large, arched door; its heavy wood was adorned with a golden plaque that bore the word Sacrarium . The door looked ancient and imposing, its surface scarred by years of ritual. “This is the viewing room,” she murmured, her voice soft as she stepped forward to push the door open.

I moved into a secluded space that was removed from the main area of the Chapel, but with a curved glass wall to observe the goings-on down below. Its lavish interior, with plush seating and intricate wall designs, offered both discretion and opulence. Keres and Pandora were already there, both dressed similarly to how they’d been the last time we were together. Keres, with her silver-white hair that stood out against her smooth, brown skin, had a quick, almost defiant energy about her, like she was ready to challenge something. Pandora, on the other hand, had a quiet, almost ethereal quality. Her pale skin contrasted with the dark waves of hair that framed her face.

“Hey, you,” Keres greeted me quietly.

“Hi,” I returned her greeting and the gentle squeeze of Pandora’s delicate hand as it wrapped around mine. She had the softest skin I’d ever felt.

I glanced down and saw her nails were painted a shimmery gold color. They matched her silk blindfold perfectly. Unsure if it would be rude or offensive to ask a woman who couldn’t see if she’d painted them herself, I kept my mouth shut.

“It is so lovely to see all of you again so soon,” Seraphine lilted as she gently closed the door to the room, her deep red dress flowing with her movements. Turning to face us, she explained, “This space is designed for observing the service. Those below cannot see inside, and some are not even aware of its existence. There is another, similar room that allows viewing from both sides, but for you, as an Electi still in the learning phase, this is more suitable.”

Pandora turned her head towards Seraphine’s voice and asked, “What will be happening here tonight?”

“Excellent question.” She walked to a dial on the wall and slowly turned it, dimming the overhead light.

"Tonight, you will witness Tenebris Consummatum , one of the three primary services held in this Chapel. It happens on the last evening of the month while the Luminis Inceptum service takes place on the sixth night of each month. We consider that the start of a thirty-day cycle on the Isle.”

She paused for a moment, allowing her words to settle among us. "And then we have Sermones every Thursday. Those are non-obligatory services and a time for quiet reflection, but while less formal, it's no less important for those seeking deeper understanding or wanting to voice a concern to our Diabolus ." She moved to the front window, but off to the side so that we all had a clear view. “It’s time.”

I shared a quick look with Keres, both of us unsure what to make of her excitement. She was normally the picture of composed.

The service began with the lights in the main room blinking off, leaving just one that dimly shined down on the altar and Devil statue. Candles and sconces replaced them, casting long shadows over the walls. It gave the space a haunting, almost ethereal atmosphere. The low hum of an organ filled the air, its deep, somber notes vibrating through the floor, sending a chill down my spine. Moments later, the sound of a hymn joined in—low, almost mournful. Masked men and women began to move down the Chapel aisle, their steps in perfect sync as they started to sing.

Keres leaned in slightly, her voice low but curious. "They have a choir?" she asked, clearly taken aback by the haunting harmony filling the air.

"Of course," came a quiet reply. Selena had slipped in unnoticed, now standing just behind us, her presence as ghostly as the music. Her voice carried a matter-of-fact tone, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

Keres’ eyes narrowed as the first verse began.

"In shadows we gather, the faithful, the chosen,

Beneath the crescent moon's chilling embrace.

The Isle as our witness, in darkness we’re woven,

Bound by our vows, we find our place."

“They sound brainwashed.” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the somber melody, but there was something beneath the sarcasm—a hint of unease.

I didn’t respond. The choir continued, their voices a dark lullaby.

"Chains of obedience, links of the creed,

Bind us together, fulfill every need.

In the dark's embrace, we surrender, we plead,

Guide us, oh Diabolus, in thought, word, and deed."

Pandora shifted beside me, her head facing forward as if she too, was watching the procession below. I leaned over and quietly began to explain the scene as best I could to her. She nodded along so I hoped that meant I was doing a good enough job. The choir switched to a foreign dialect for the next two verses and then as they reached the front of the Chapel and split off in different directions, the outro drifted through the air like a final, damning proclamation.

"So, in the night, we fervently pray,

For guidance, for strength, for Impío’s way.

In chains and in freedom, Diabolus we obey,

Bound to the darkness, in his faith we'll stay."

As the final organ note echoed through the Chapel and faded into the stillness, Matron Seraphine turned to us with a curious smile, her sharp gaze sweeping over our small group.

“Well?” she asked, her voice calm but with an edge of expectation. “What did you think?”

Keres was the first to speak with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Well, it’s catchy, I’ll give them that. Very... uplifting. If you’re into worshipping the Devil.”

Pandora, ever the quiet one, simply nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly preferring to keep her thoughts to herself. When Seraphine’s sharp gaze landed on me, waiting for my response, I hesitated. The hymn's chilling words still echoed in my mind, their meaning sinking deeper than I wanted to admit.

I forced a small, uneasy smile. “It was... intense," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "Not quite like anything I've ever heard before."

Keres let out a soft snort beside me. "You’re too nice, Lita," she muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

Seraphine’s smile didn’t waver as she nodded, her eyes gleaming with approval. “Good. You’ll find intensity is often necessary to keep the faithful in line.”

“Obedience has its own beauty, doesn’t it?” Selena stated from behind us, her words felt like a challenge, though her tone remained sweet.

I didn’t answer, my attention drawn to the man in the deer mask who had moved to the front of the Chapel. His robe was the same deep shade as in the portrait I had seen hanging in Alexander’s twisted mancave, the fabric flowing heavily around him.

There was still no sign of Alexander, and the absence gnawed on my nerves. My gaze drifted upward to the statue looming over everyone below. It always filled me with a sense of unease—the dark, fallen angel petting the woman at its knees, as if comforting her in eternal submission. I shuddered, trying to look away but I swore its gaze was somehow pulling me back.

The man in the deer mask raised his arms, and the Chapel fell into a heavy silence. His voice, deep and commanding, filled the space. “Brothers and sisters,” he began, his tone solemn, “Tonight is the eve of Tenebris Consummatum. It is a night of atonement, to strengthen our bonds of Impío, and punish those that have gone astray.”

"That's my Phoenix," Pandora murmured, the name slipping out too casually. Keres shot her a quick glance, eyebrows raised.

The two of us exchanged a look over Pandora's head.

She had never said his name before. I could sense something more in the way she had. Affection maybe?

The deer-masked man, Phoenix , suddenly spoke again, his voice booming with finality. “Bow for Diabolus ,” he commanded, the words slicing through the still air like a blade.

Without hesitation, every masked figure in the pews began to shift, the movement almost synchronized as they left their seats and knelt on the floor in front of them. Heads bowed low, their reverence palpable. I hesitated, unsure of what was expected of me, but something inside me refused to drop to my knees. Not even Seraphine’s watchful gaze could coax me into subservience as she dropped to her knees along with Selena.

He couldn’t even see us.

Keres and Pandora remained seated as well.

The organ began to play once more, the haunting melody reverberating off the stone walls.

And then he appeared.

Alexander, or Diabolus as they all called him here, made his way down the aisle. He had changed, now wearing a black demonic mask like the others—his presence was unmistakable, commanding as always. Two more masked men flanked him on either side, dressed in similar dark robes. The slow, deliberate cadence of their footsteps matched the organ’s slow wail, and with each step, my heart seemed to pound louder in my chest.

When they reached the front of the Chapel, the organ fell into silence. The air felt thick as if we were all holding our breath. Alexander, now fully transformed into Diabolus , turned slowly, his gaze sweeping the room from behind his mask.

The atmosphere grew heavier under his presence, every person in the Chapel locked in place.

When he spoke, his voice reverberated, deep and commanding, as though every word was etched into the very walls.

“My devoted,” he began, his tone rich with authority, dripping with a dark charisma that could bend even the strongest will, “We gather tonight not just as kin, but as those chosen by Impío, bound by blood, by oath, and by power. We gather to ensure our faith and our home remain protected from outsiders, and those that have turned to non-believers.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room like a heavy fog, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling masked figures, ensuring their submission. “I thank my Magistri Tenebrarum for their unwavering loyalty," he said, his tone carrying a dark reverence. "And now, Magistri Bishop will lead us in prayer."

A tall figure stepped forward, bowing low before Diabolus , then turning to face the congregation. I couldn’t see his face due to the mask he wore, but I recognized the name and stature—the cocky man that had been with Alexander at the resort.

“In the name of Impío, Dominion, and Darkness,” Bishop began, his voice low and rhythmic. “Amen.”

The Chapel echoed with the collective murmur of voices repeating after him, "In the name of Impío, Dominion, and Darkness, Amen."

The final word, Amen , rolled off their tongues like an incantation, reverberating through the room with dark power, as though they had sealed themselves in this twisted bond all over again. Bishop's voice filled the air as he began to lead the prayer, the congregation chanting along with him in unison. The words dripped with dark reverence.

"Domine Abyssi, Rex Profanum,

Sub obscuritate coeamus, in umbra peccatorum, filii Impii.

In luxuriam et indulgentiam, tua manus nos ducit, per desideria noctis.

Revela nobis arcana carnalis, ut in tenebris voluptatibus immergamur.

Te imploramus, ut peccata nostra celebramus, et nos ad aeternam luxuriam guidas.

Mundum profanum nobis offer, et dona nobis potestatem super carnes nostras et aliorum.

In nomine Impii, Luxuria et Obscuritas, Amen."

The sound of their voices, laden with conviction, sent a shiver down my spine. Even Seraphine and Selena bowed their heads, reciting the prayer with a reverence that felt almost suffocating.

I shot a glance at Keres, when she muttered under her breath, "Damn, and I thought I was dramatic."

I bit back a nervous laugh, my lips twitching at her comment. The prayer, spoken in a language I didn't understand, swirled around me like a dense fog. Each word felt heavy with meaning I couldn’t grasp. Still, I sensed the darkness woven through every verse. For a moment, I found myself drawn in, the allure of those words pulling at something deep within me, like a whisper I wasn’t supposed to hear but couldn’t resist.

I shook it off, forcing myself to stay anchored to reality, refusing to let the darkness pull me under. The prayer ended, and Alexander's commanding voice cut through the silence. “Rise and be seated,” he ordered, his voice firm yet smooth, like silk draped over a blade.

As one, the congregation responded, “Yes, Diabolus ,” their collective voice was a haunting echo that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. In perfect synchrony, they moved back into their pews, their movements eerily coordinated. I glanced over at Seraphine and Selena. They, too, had risen from their kneeling positions.

Selena's eyes lingered on Alexander; a look of forlorn longing etched across her face. It was the same look I had seen before, and now I knew there was a history between them. My stomach twisted at the reminder, a strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside me—jealousy, curiosity, and something I didn’t want to name. Alexander, standing tall and formidable at the front of the Chapel, continued to speak, his deep, cultured voice carrying easily across the room.

"Tonight, we gather not only to strengthen our faith," he began, his tone authoritative, "but also to offer salvation to those who have strayed. The path of darkness requires discipline. It demands obedience." He paused, his golden eyes scanning the room from behind his mask.

"Punishment is not cruelty, but mercy. It is a way to bring those who have faltered back into the fold, to remind them of their place, of their duty."

The congregation murmured in agreement, nodding along as if they were already prepared to accept the harshness of what was to come. Alexander turned slightly, casting a long shadow over the altar. "Tonight, three will be brought forward to receive their penance." The room grew heavier with anticipation as he continued, his voice unwavering. "Their names are as follows," he paused, drawing out the tension, "Nicolette Verran, Cato Thornwell, and Verina Blackmore."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of Nicolette’s name.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Each name fell like a stone, weighty and ominous. The image of Nicolette being punished the other night flickered in my mind, and I couldn’t help but wonder what awaited her now. Keres’ voice broke through the tension like a whip crack, her usual bravado masking what I suspected was genuine concern.

"Isn't she one of your servitors?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.

“I don’t know what she is,” I murmured under my breath, my eyes glued to Nicolette as she was brought forward, “but she doesn’t deserve what’s about to happen to her.”

Pandora’s soft voice floated over from beside me, her words filled with resigned sorrow. “We never do.”

Selena’s eyes snapped to mine. “No, Electi, all punishment is just.”

Keres scoffed. “Punishment for what? Breathing too loud? This is bullshit."

Seraphine interjected, her voice calm but firm, like a teacher scolding unruly children. “This is a valuable lesson. You must not stray from your roles. To stray is to invite chaos, and chaos has no place on this Isle.”

Alexander’s voice rose once more, silencing any further murmurs.

“Disobedience is not tolerated here. Misguidance of the Electi is a grave sin, one that leads only to destruction.” His gaze swept across the room, lingering on Nicolette, who stood trembling at the front, flanked by Bishop and the other masked man.

Phoenix raised his hand, and both Nicolette and the other two—Cato and Verina—were forced to kneel, their heads bowed low in submission. Bishop, with a cold precision, approached Nicolette first. Another masked figure stepped forward, carrying a tray, and I felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.

My mind flashed to what had been done to Kennedy before. The methodical way they prepared for punishment, like it was some kind of ritual.

"Nicolette’s transgression," he continued, his voice devoid of emotion, “is attempting to mislead our Sponsa Diaboli, my Electi, during her time of transition.”

There were audible gasps from the congregation, followed by murmurs of outrage.

“How could she betray the Sponsa Diaboli?" a woman questioned, her voice tinged with shock.

"Cato? I thought he was loyal!"

"This cannot be! Verina has served for years!" a deeper voice growled, their anger barely contained.

The tension in the room swelled, a mixture of betrayal and righteous fury as they awaited the consequences for those named.

“Sponsa Diaboli.” Keres turned to me; her eyes wide. “Isn’t that you?”

I felt my stomach lurch. "But she didn’t do that," I whispered, the weight of the accusation crushing down on me.

“Our Diabolus does not lie,” Seraphine refuted.

“He just did,” I snapped back at her. I wanted to scream, to protest, but the room was already moving, the ritual proceeding as if no injustice had just been uttered. Was this why Esther had been noticeably absent the past few days? The masked figure holding the tray stopped in front of Nicolette, and Bishop reached for something on it—something I couldn't see clearly. I realized what was happening as Alexander stated it aloud.

Loqui Nullum Malum .

The punishment for speaking out of turn, for daring to sow doubt or dissent.

They made a show of holding up a thin thread, its shimmer barely visible from where I was sitting. I couldn't make out the details, but my gut told me it was no ordinary string. The weight of what was happening settled deep in my bones.

Nicolette was about to be silenced.

I couldn’t let this happen.

Not again.

Before I realized what I was doing, I shot up from my seat, but Seraphine and Selena were faster. They moved in unison, blocking me from getting any closer to the exit. Keres stood too, as if she were ready to back me up. Selena took a step towards her and Keres raised her fist, squaring up for a fight. "Try me if you want," she dared the Acolyte, her defiance practically radiating off her.

Seraphine’s voice was calm, trying to smooth the rising tension.

"I know you want to run down there and do what you think is right but ask yourself if that’s really the right choice.”

“What I think is right?” Keres shot back. “You people are all whacked.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, even if it is prejudiced, but that doesn’t change the fact the door to this room is locked and the service cannot be interrupted. Our Diabolus knew you'd try this," she said to me directly, her words almost apologetic. She glanced at Keres, adding, "They all were prepared for this."

"I don’t give a damn what that heathen was prepared for," Keres spat, her voice low.

My attention shifted to the other woman, and it finally dawned on me that for her, this was about more than just Nicolette's situation. Keres was also struggling with the same issues I was facing. When we weren’t together, she had to navigate her own path with a man who had stolen her away.

Despite always appearing composed and put-together, Keres was just as much a victim of circumstance as I was.

Selena raised a brow, her tone still calm but now laced with an edge of authority. "There’s no need for insults. You just need to try and under—."

Before she could finish, Nicolette's terrorized cry echoed through the room, and my heart seized in my chest. I ran to the viewing window and pounded against the unforgiving glass. I remembered then it was a one-way window, and that we were hearing everything below from speakers somewhere in the ceiling of this room.

I watched in helpless horror as Alexander calmly stepped forward, a thin, glinting blade in his hand. He worked with a kind of chilling precision, threading the cruel needle through Nicolette’s trembling lips.

Each puncture sent a sickening sound of flesh tearing into the silent air like wet paper being shredded.

Blood spilled freely down her chin, soaking into her clothes and pooling on the floor. Her muffled screams were trapped behind the threads, her lips sealed shut as her body convulsed against the men pinning her down. Every time I caught a glimpse of her eyes, wide and wild with terror, I felt my stomach lurch. The agony etched into her expression was beyond anything I’d ever witnessed.

She thrashed with each violent tug of the thread, trying to twist away, but it only made the process worse.

"Be still," Alexander's voice was soft, eerily calm, but her body only jerked harder, a reflex born of pure pain. He didn’t pause. The blade slipped again, tearing through the flesh of her chin before he looped it back into her lip, over and over, the grotesque dance continuing without mercy.

Each pass of the needle sent another spray of blood splattering to the floor, staining the pristine surface beneath her. He had to of been wearing a mic or something because the room was filled with wet, visceral sounds — the crackling of skin being pierced, the squelch of blood, and the metallic scrape of the knife as he set it down to pull more thread. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of it all, my pulse hammering in my ears. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of horror, Alexander finished, stepping back to admire his work. Nicolette’s lips were sewn shut, the threads pulled taut, trapping her raw screams behind the crude stitches. Blood continued to seep from the wounds, dripping slowly onto the floor. I pressed my hands harder against the glass, my breath fogging it as I stared at Nicolette’s mangled face.

Her mouth was a bloody ruin, half her lips gone, leaving her teeth and gums exposed and stained with blood. Her chest was heaving as if each breath might be her last. Bishop approached her, cradling a small bowl filled with something thick and black. It looked like tar.

“What is that?” I asked.

Seraphine’s calm voice came from beside me, chillingly casual. "A numbing agent we use to ease their suffering, made from nightshade, poppy resin, and ash."

Bishop squeezed Nicolette’s jaw until a small enough opening formed around the thread, and I winced as he poured the thick, tar-like substance into her mouth. "This will help with the pain," he said, though his voice was devoid of empathy.

Her cries turned into weak, muffled gasps. The light in her eyes seemed to flicker, dimming as the concoction took its hold.

"That… doesn’t look like it’s meant to help," I murmured, nausea gathering in the pit of my stomach.

Seraphine’s smile was thin, almost pitying. "It helps in more ways than one. It silences the body… and the mind."

Nicolette was carried off by masked nuns, her limp body draped over their arms as they moved swiftly through a rear door. The sight of her broken form disappearing from view left a chill in the air.

“Her husband will retrieve her,” Seraphine explained.

The words echoed in my head. "Her husband ?" I remembered Nicolette mentioning she had someone, but I couldn’t imagine any man being okay with his wife enduring what she did.

"Yes," Seraphine confirmed without hesitation. “He’ll take her home and care for her.”

“Why did he allow that to happen in the first place?” I couldn't help but ask, struggling to make sense of it.

“Electi," Selena called softly, addressing me formally. "We do not allow or disallow anything. We follow Diabolus ’ will and word.”

Keres, who had resigned herself to sitting back down, finally spoke again, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “All that devotion, Selena, hasn’t gotten you any closer to being his bride.”

Selena laughed lightly; her composure unshaken. Instead of lashing out, she maintained the same unnerving calm as always, her face a mask of serenity. "Devotion is not measured in proximity to power, Keres."

“Sounds like a convenient excuse for being nothing but a fuck buddy,” Keres countered.

Seraphine’s voice cut in. “That’s enough. Talking like that is beyond disrespectful—not only to Acolyte Selena but to Impío, Diabolus , and your sister.”

I took it to mean I was the sister in question. “I don’t feel disrespected,” I interjected, the words coming out before I could think better of it. “Alexander already told me about her.” Speaking his name when they avoided it felt bold.

Selena’s smile remained calm, devoid of malice. “I’m glad you two have progressed to that point,” she said smoothly. “That means you should understand your role even better now, Electi.”

Seraphine nodded in agreement. “That’s right. We all serve a purpose. Yours is so important—all of you.”

The conversation felt pointless. I shook my head, turning my gaze back down into the Chapel.

Nicolette’s mangled mouth flashed in my mind, bloodied and raw, her life now one of silence. I swallowed hard.

And it wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The next person—a young man, his face pale and trembling—was brought forward. Phoenix raised his arm, and the crowd went silent. Unlike Nicolette, this man’s punishment would not be about silencing him but breaking his spirit. Phoenix’s voice echoed through the Chapel as he listed the man’s transgressions. “For questioning the tenets of Impío… for doubting the path… you shall now be marked as a heretic until you prove to be devout once more."

The masked figure beside him approached with a branding iron, its tip glowing a fierce orange. The man’s eyes widened in terror, but he didn’t scream. His lips moved in silent prayer, begging for mercy that wouldn’t come.

They tore the front of his shirt open and exposed his bare chest, revealing skin already slick with sweat and fear. The iron pressed against him, and the sickening sound of burning flesh filled the Chapel, filtering into the room where I was forced to witness the act.

He gritted his teeth, his entire body shaking as the brand seared his chest, marking him as a traitor. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I watched helplessly. Then came the final person, a woman. Her beauty was radiant, close to breathtaking. She had flawless dark skin and shoulder-length black hair, dressed in the more elegant garments of the Isle.

I watched and listened closely, wondering what it was that had landed her in this position. Seraphine remained beside me, and observed in silence, her eyes reflecting the ceremony below.

The woman’s crime was one of betrayal—plotting to leave the Isle without permission, to abandon the only life they allowed her to know.

Alexander took over this time and spoke with even more venom in his voice than before. “For seeking freedom from your husband where none exists, you will now wear the weight of your choices."

Two masked figures stepped forward, bringing iron shackles attached to chains. The woman’s eyes widened, but she remained still as she was shackled like a damn prisoner by her wrists and ankles. Her posture faltered and her limbs trembled, but she did not fold.

"This is a mercy granted by our Diabolus ," Emilio, though I hadn’t realized he was the other masked figure yet—spoke firmly. “Your husband, the master of your dominion, knelt before Diabolus to plead for this chance. Do not waste it.”

Alexander touched the man on the shoulder and took over again, his voice filling the space without him having to yell. "This punishment is contingent upon her conceiving within the next six months," he continued. "She must demonstrate absolute atonement and submit herself to reeducation—learning her true role as a wife and disciple."

There was a reverent murmur of agreement from the masked congregation. Every word was absorbed as though it was gospel. Bishop, his masked face inscrutable, gestured for the woman to express her gratitude. "Show your Diabolus how grateful you are," he demanded.

Tears filled the woman’s eyes as she turned to face Alexander and lowered herself slowly to her knees, chains clanking against the floor. She pressed her lips to the hem of his ceremonial robe, her voice breaking as she murmured loud enough for all to hear.

"Thank you, Diabolus , for your mercy."

With a measured grace, Alexander reached down, gently lifting her chin.

His fingers caressed her face, a touch that sent a ripple through the congregation, their audible gasps filling the Chapel. The woman clutched his hand, her body trembling as though his touch had infused her with life. The congregation’s cries of reverence and worship grew louder as if Alexander’s touch was some kind of divine intervention—in a completely twisted way.

“Do you see the devotion he commands?” Selena whispered in awe.

The woman was raised to her feet by Alexander and then led away by a masked nun, walking on her own but clearly drained, the weight of her punishment hanging heavy around her like the chains she now wore. As she disappeared from sight, the atmosphere in the Chapel shifted, and Alexander’s voice filled the space again.

The room seemed to tighten around his words, every person hanging on to his judgment. "They will endure their punishments for six months," he declared, his eyes sweeping over the congregation. "During this time, they will be banned from any and all gatherings as they reflect on their sins. If, by the end of their punishment, they have not found their way back to us, if they still choose defiance over obedience," he paused, letting the gravity of his next words sink in, "they will be bound to the Butcher’s Block or face Crematio Excludere ."

A low murmur rippled through the room. Even without knowing all the details, I could feel the weight of those words. Crematio Excludere sounded final, like a fate worse than death. The congregation echoed in response, "Yes, Diabolus ." Their voices were unified and chilling.

The service droned on after that, but I could barely absorb any of it.

How could he have this kind of power? He was just a man. Yet to them, he was so much more.

They revered him, worshiped him—not as a god, but as the Devil himself. And they loved him for it. My pulse quickened when his masked gaze seemed to sweep over the room, settling where I stood. It was impossible, yet I swore he was looking directly at me. My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding so violently I was sure he could hear it. The connection, as brief as it was, felt like an intrusion, a reminder of who I now belonged to.