Hellseer

Hellseher: Blood and Scale

In this age, humanity worships only one thing as if it were divine: money.

They hunt it, hoard it, trade their conscience to increase it—again and again. Cities grow larger while human hearts shrink. And in the cracks of those withered souls, strange things take root: resentment, greed, lust—twisting into unseen creatures that cling to the backs of men in suits, slowly draining their life away.

At the heart of this city, a secret order stands—humans with powers beyond logic: the Hellseher, the Seers. They hunt astral creatures, sever parasites, cleanse humans of spiritual rot invisible to the naked eye.

But among them, only Enver Eraly is different.

He doesn't destroy these entities.

He purifies them.

A ritual known as Purificazione.

All the darkness, rot, rage, and fear—he absorbs them into his veins. They say Enver carries thousands of cursed voices inside him, pleading to be freed—but never escaping. He devours them instead.

---

One afternoon, the silence of a moss-covered house—guarded by ancient runes—was shattered by the roar of ten luxury cars.

Trunks opened, revealing crates upon crates of fresh jasmine flowers, their sweet scent sharp and almost choking.

In the midst of the heat and pollen, Marva—a bony youth with sunken cheeks—lifted each box, arranging the petals in a wide circle around the house. His fingers were swollen from thorns, but his mouth kept murmuring curses under his breath.

On the porch, Enver sat slouched, one leg over the other, a dying cigarette resting between pale lips. Half-lidded eyes followed Marva's struggle with quiet amusement.

> "Why did you stop?"

The voice was flat—yet loud enough to slap across Marva's eardrums.

Marva turned, sweat dripping from his jawline.

> "M-Master… please… let me drink… I'm—I'm about to—"

> "Drink later. When your work is done."

Colder than the smoke curling from his lips. Marva lowered his head, crushed an empty box in his hand, and continued laying the sacred jasmine circle—an invisible prison. Once complete, any astral entity drawn out would be trapped inside, awaiting judgment.

Every petal that fell out of place, Marva picked up again—even as blood soaked his hands. Occasionally, he glanced at his master, only to be met with eyes like black holes—consuming every ounce of his quiet rebellion.

> "I'd be done faster if he wasn't just sitting there staring at me…"

Too soft for normal ears.

> "I heard that."

The voice was suddenly right behind him.

Marva jumped. His breath hitched.

Enver now stood inches away, whispering at the edge of his hearing.

> "Thinking of running again? Try it. Ask your legs: have they ever carried you farther than the front gate?"

Marva swallowed hard. His chest heaved.

He remembered all the escape attempts—each one ending in him being shredded by vengeful spirits beyond the rune circle.

Enver never helped.

Sometimes he laughed.

Then he patched Marva up… only to throw him back out again.

> "M-Master… just a sip… I'm begging you…"

Enver tilted his head, examining him like a stray dog by the roadside.

> "Finish your task. Then drink. I won't bury your corpse if you die here. Let the astrals devour your rotting body."

Chilling. Precise.

Then he turned and walked away, lighting another cigarette, leaving Marva shaking in tears—still building the holy circle.

---

Hours later, the jasmine ring was complete. Perfect. Dense. Inescapable.

Marva, eyes bloodshot, staggered into the kitchen. He grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge and drank greedily, not even checking the glowing runes on the label.

Within seconds, his stomach clenched. His throat burned. His face turned blue. Legs trembling, he collapsed onto the floor.

Enver appeared at the doorway, his eyes calm. He nudged Marva with his boot.

> "Still breathing. Good. That was just a breath-purging tonic. Not deadly.

Consider it punishment for being greedy."

He left Marva on the floor, choking on his own spit.

---

In a dimly lit study, candles flickered.

Enver sat on an old chair, staring at a worn photo in a cracked silver frame.

A woman with obsidian-black hair leaned against his chest in the picture—her features too soft, too surreal for a city like this. Stars—long dead—still sparkled in her eyes.

> "Huria... where are you now?" he whispered.

His voice cracked—something no servant had ever heard. The voice of a man who had once loved.

His hand trembled, squeezing the photo until the glass fractured.

---

Some time ago...

High in the mountains, the sky bled black fog. Winds howled like beasts.

Enver stood by his car, breath misting in the freezing air. Five astral entities—floating, laughing orbs of black mist—circled him like vultures.

He chanted fast. Spell-bullets tore through one orb, exploding its laughter into ink rain. But the others engulfed his car and pulled him skyward.

Inside the laughter bubble, his lungs screamed. His vision darkened.

Then—two sapphire eyes cut through the fog.

A Blue Dragon descended, as if answering a duel.

They clashed atop the cliffs—Enver, fragile man, against a crystal-scaled beast of the heavens. His blood stained the rocks. His hand shook as he pointed a pistol engraved with runes.

The final spell rode his breath.

The barrel cracked open into a red thread—his own vein—binding the dragon's wings, anchoring it to the filthy earth.

The dragon roared—its gaze full of wisdom… and pity.

Then, in a flash of red, it transformed.

Scales melted into skin. A naked woman stood before him—beauty that scorched through every defense Enver ever built.

> "Take a scale," the dragon-woman whispered. "But there will be a price."

Enver held his breath.

She reached up, face trembling, and whispered against his ear.

> "You'll marry me.

Or that scale is nothing more than a useless stone."

Mountain winds carried Enver's bitter laugh.

His fate, now bound by dragon scale… and a wedding vow more binding than any chain.

---

And so the night fell again—along with the secrets of a Hellseher burdened by thousands of cursed voices...

All to pay a debt—

To love,

To a dragon,

To a city that never truly sleeps.