“Ahem… I think you will find that I contributed greatly here.” Wye glanced at him and said,
“Yes. But I don’t want to kiss you.”
“Fair enough,” Bo muttered.
Wye didn’t hesitate after that, shrugging his shirt off completely and stepping back.
“Go on then, sweetheart,” he said, spreading his arms slightly.
“Let’s see what you can do.”
I swallowed, nodding once as I focused, my gaze locking onto the symbols etched across his skin. And then instinctively… I reached for it.
Not physically, not truly, but something in me connected with it, pulled at it, until the mark seemed to peel away from him. Until it rose into the air between us as a shifting, smoky construct of light and shadow.
It responded to me.
Moved with me… for me. And then, with a sharp pull, it tore open space itself, and the portal bloomed into existence.
Without hesitation, Wye’s hand found mine, grounding me as he stepped forward, drawing me with him as Bo followed close behind.
“Time to get the fuck out of here!” Wye declared, pulling us through, and instantly, the world twisted.
It fractured before being put back together again, seconds before we landed in a new place, and most definitely not the one I had in mind.
The air changed instantly, thicker, richer, charged with power that hummed beneath my skin as I slowly lifted my head. My breath caught at the sight before me.
The throne room stretched out in impossible scale, vast and carved from obsidian stone that gleamed like polished glass beneath a dim, ambient glow. The architecture, both brutal andbeautiful in equal measure, with its towering pillars that rose toward a ceiling lost in shadow. Their surfaces were etched with ancient markings that pulsed faintly with magic. Subtle touches of something softer threaded through the darkness, curling vine-like carvings that felt delicate, almost fae in nature. These were woven seamlessly into the harsher lines of the demonic design.
It was a place of power.
Of legacy. And at the center of it all…
There he sat.
A man who, without a shadow of doubt, was Wye’s father and ruler of the realm of Oblivion. And if Wye was power contained, then this man was power perfected.
Long black hair fell over broad shoulders, contrasting sharply against pale, flawless skin. His features were strikingly similar to Wye’s, yet sharper, older in a way that spoke not of age, but of experience.
Where Wye carried light, something celestial beneath the darkness, this man was the inverse of it. Like shadow wrapped in elegance. His presence was both commanding and effortless as he lounged upon his throne like a king who had never once doubted his place upon it.
His robes flowed around him, dark as night, yet threaded with faint, shifting patterns that caught the light like starlight woven into silk. This gave him an almost otherworldly presence that blurred the line between demon and something far older.
Guards stood on either side, unmoving, clad in gleaming silver armor that reflected the room like mirrors, their faces hidden, their presence silent.
And his gaze…
Locked onto us instantly.
“Well,” he drawled, a slow smile curving his mouth,
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I blinked, stunned, my gaze flicking to Wye.
“That’s your father?” Wye huffed quietly.
“Unfortunately.”
His father’s smile widened slightly.
