Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

(Marked by the Devil's Touch — Volume 1 Finale)

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The sky cracked open with a sound that split the world.

Thunder rolled over the Devil's domain like a war cry, the clouds churning in furious shades of crimson and black. Lightning slashed across the heavens, illuminating the towering gates of the Shadow Fortress—once a place of dread, now a final battlefield.

Liana stood at the heart of it all.

No longer the trembling girl from the alley of no return. No longer a mortal lost in the Devil's mansion. She stood in a black-and-silver cloak that shimmered like moonlight on a blade, her fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger forged in the Vault of Echoes—a weapon made for one purpose:

To kill what could not die.

Her eyes burned with purpose. Her blood simmered with the weight of truth. She was no longer just chosen.

She was a reckoning.

Behind her stood the united forces of the Infernal Circle—Lucivar's most trusted lords, demons of old and flame, spirits bound by oath and darkness. But beside her, there was no one.

Lucivar had not returned.

And the silence of his absence was louder than the screams of the storm.

---

Three hours earlier.

Lucivar stood in the garden of falling stars—the highest peak in his realm, where souls once whispered and where time held its breath.

He watched the horizon, his jaw clenched.

"She's ready," Nyx said behind him.

"I know."

"She's stronger than we predicted. Stronger than she knows."

Lucivar didn't respond.

Nyx stepped forward, her heels crunching across the crystal ground. "Why aren't you with her?"

"Because if I go to her now…" he said slowly, "I won't let her go."

Nyx folded her arms. "And that's a bad thing?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Because to win this war… she must let go of me."

---

In the fortress, the gates trembled.

The shadows that spilled into the outer walls were not Tharos himself—but they were born of his essence. Creatures made of grief and void, wailing with the voices of the lost.

They climbed the walls like nightmares and tore through the outer wards like rot through flesh.

Liana didn't flinch.

With a silent nod, she raised her arm—and the archers released hell.

Arrows dipped in soulfire rained down on the invaders, piercing the void-born creatures until they screamed into nothing. The ground burned in runic fire. The towers ignited with demon wards. The Devil's kingdom, once silent, had awakened with fury.

But it wouldn't be enough.

Not without him.

She turned to the western gate, where a new tremor had begun—one that didn't echo like magic.

But footsteps.

A figure emerged from the smoke.

Not a demon. Not Tharos. But—

"Lucivar."

He walked straight through the fire. His coat whipped behind him, his sword—Eclipsion—drawn and alive in his hand. His eyes locked onto Liana's, and for a second, time folded.

He walked to her, no words. Only heat. Only war between them and around them.

And then, suddenly—

He kissed her.

In front of his legions. In front of death. In front of the crumbling wall of his kingdom.

And she kissed him back.

When they pulled away, Liana whispered, "You're late."

Lucivar grinned. "I'm the Devil. I arrive when it hurts the most."

---

The inner gate cracked open.

The true enemy had arrived.

A figure draped in bone-colored robes, with a face hidden beneath a mask of glass and sorrow. Tharos.

His voice trembled like a thousand screams. "You would stand against me… for her?"

Lucivar stepped forward. "No."

He turned.

"She will stand against you. And I will burn the world behind her."

Liana raised her blade.

"Let's end this."

---

The battle that followed was chaos made flesh.

Tharos unleashed his shadows, twisting the bodies of the dead into serpents and banshees. The fortress walls exploded in curses. The sky cracked again as the demon legions clashed with the void-born. Screams filled the air. Fire devoured towers.

Liana danced through the destruction.

She moved like storm and silence, her blade slicing through creatures that wore the faces of her fears. Each shadow that lunged at her came with a voice—mocking, echoing doubts from her past.

"You were always too weak."

"You are just a human."

"He only chose you to die in his place."

She answered with fire.

Each cut was a denial. Each strike, a truth reclaimed.

Lucivar fought beside her for a time, until Tharos turned his eyes on him.

"You're no king," Tharos spat. "You were made to fail."

Lucivar laughed. "I was made to fall. But I never stayed down."

And then Tharos struck.

His magic collided with Lucivar's chest like a black star. The Devil flew through the air and slammed into the obsidian steps of his own throne.

He didn't rise.

"Lucivar!" Liana screamed.

She turned—and Tharos was already upon her.

He struck with a blade made of death—a sword carved from stolen time.

She blocked it by instinct, barely deflecting the weight of the strike. Her arm screamed in pain. Blood welled on her palm.

"Your soul is too thin," Tharos hissed. "You are not meant for this world."

She gritted her teeth.

"Then I'll make a new one."

She lunged.

Their blades clashed in flares of white and black. Lightning wrapped around them. The battle vanished into silence as the world narrowed to two souls colliding at the center of fate.

And in that moment—when her blade finally plunged into the core of Tharos' chest—

He smiled.

And whispered, "Too late."

---

The scream came not from Tharos—but from Lucivar.

It wasn't a scream of pain.

It was of tearing.

A rift ripped through the center of the throne hall. Not physical, but spiritual. A wound in the Devil's realm, spilling light not of this world.

A seal—broken.

Liana turned just in time to see Lucivar fall to his knees, blood gushing from his mouth. His veins glowed gold.

Not infernal.

Celestial.

Nyx screamed from across the battlefield, "Get him OUT OF THERE—"

But it was too late.

The curse Tharos had left behind—the final contingency—had triggered.

Lucivar was being unmade.

Piece by piece.

---

Liana ran.

Fell beside him.

Grabbed his face. "No. No no no. You're not leaving me."

Lucivar touched her cheek.

"I broke… my rules," he whispered.

"You promised me you wouldn't die."

"I never promised I'd stay…"

His eyes rolled back.

The mark on her collarbone—his touch—burned out like ash on the wind.

---

Time stopped.

The fortress walls were silent.

The shadows fell still.

Liana rose slowly, the dagger still in her hand. Her blood-stained cloak fluttered behind her like torn wings.

The enemy was gone.

But so was the Devil.

---

Hours passed. Or maybe days. The sky above the ruined throne room was clear for the first time in centuries.

Liana stood before the empty throne.

Lucivar's throne.

She looked at the seat of darkness—and sat down.

The hall trembled.

The realm whispered.

A mortal had claimed the Devil's throne.

---

In the depths of the shattered Vault, a voice stirred.

It did not belong to Lucivar.

It belonged to something older.

Something that had been waiting.

---

The silence inside the throne room thickened, like mourning wrapped in smoke. Every soldier, every spirit in the ruined court, turned toward Liana. No one dared speak.

No one dared breathe.

The weight of her grief was volcanic—quiet, hot, and waiting to erupt.

Then the throne pulsed beneath her palms.

She flinched. Not out of fear—but recognition.

Lucivar's throne was alive. Not in flesh, but bound to blood and soul. And now… it responded to her.

A ripple traveled across the hall. Wards flared back to life. Torches reignited. The symbols etched into the walls—the ones that only answered to Lucivar—shifted color, from scarlet to a deep obsidian blue.

Liana's fingers curled tighter around the armrest. Her voice echoed, soft but lethal.

"Bring me the Book of Chains."

Nyx hesitated.

"Now," Liana said again, with no stammer, no doubt.

The general bowed and vanished into the Vault chambers.

Liana remained still, breathing through the ache in her chest. She didn't wipe her tears. She let them stain. She let the pain stay visible.

A mortal sitting upon the Devil's Throne.

It wasn't rebellion.

It was transformation.

---

In the chambers beneath, something stirred.

Chains slithered across ancient stone. A whisper passed through the ashes. The Vault of Forgotten Names, sealed for centuries, cracked open with the scent of smoke and prophecy.

The Book of Chains had never allowed itself to be touched by anyone except Lucivar.

Until now.

The massive tome rose into the air and followed Nyx up the stairs like a beast reborn.

---

By dusk, the battlefield had gone still.

The surviving soldiers tended to the wounded, the banners of fire dimmed, and the outer walls stood scorched but intact.

Liana stood before the gates, her hair wild from war, blood and soot across her arms.

She held the Book of Chains in one hand, and in the other—Lucivar's sword: Eclipsion.

With both, she walked the burning path back to the Shadow Garden, where Lucivar once stared at stars.

There, she knelt.

And placed the blade into the earth.

Not as surrender.

But as a promise.

---

A new sigil carved itself into the sky.

Not Lucivar's.

Hers.

Two wings crossed over a broken crown—marked in silver flame.

The demons looked up in silence.

Some knelt.

Some wept.

Nyx watched with narrowed eyes. "She's changing everything."

Azar, the oldest fire-keeper, whispered, "No… she's restoring what came before even Lucivar."

---

And in the deepest part of the realm, where time ran backward and reality bled like ink, something ancient smiled.

A voice unseen murmured:

"The mortal has claimed the throne. And soon, she will find the truth."

The darkness chuckled.

"Let her come. Let her try. The Devil's Fall is only the beginning."

End of Volume 1: Awakening & Mystery

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