Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

The bells did not ring.

There were no horns, no trumpets, no songs to herald the arrival of gods.

Only silence.

And that silence was more terrifying than any war cry.

She stood at the entrance of the Devil's mansion, draped in black. Not silk, not lace—armor. A new one, forged by his magic, fitting like second skin. Her collarbone burned where the mark throbbed, echoing an energy that felt ancient and dangerous.

"They're here," he said behind her.

She didn't ask how he knew. He simply did.

The mansion's massive gates creaked open on their own. A cold gust poured in—not of wind, but something else. Something that smelled like judgment.

A procession of five approached.

Five figures cloaked in dark silver and bone-white, each wearing a mask more intricate than the last. They did not walk. They glided. Above the ground, untouched by dust, unbothered by gravity. They moved like thoughts. Like prophecy.

The High Lords.

They stopped before the Devil, who stood tall in black robes, a sharp crown resting lightly on his head like it was born with him.

He did not kneel. Neither did she.

"Lucivar," said the lead one. A woman, perhaps. Her voice was ageless, echoing in the soul more than the ear.

"Your Grace," he replied, with no bow, only a slight tilt of his head.

"You summoned us," she said. "We do not enjoy being called like dogs."

"She is no ordinary dog," he answered smoothly. "She's a storm."

The woman turned to her. "You wear the mark."

She met her gaze—mask to mask—and nodded. "I do."

"And you claim her as your apprentice?" another asked, this one male. Tall, sharp-voiced, like the edge of a broken blade.

"I do more than claim her," the Devil said. "She's earned her place."

"Then she must be tested."

The Devil's smile vanished.

She glanced at him, and for the first time, she sensed it: hesitation. He didn't fear for himself—but for her.

"Very well," he said coldly. "But if you lay a hand on her, you will answer to me."

"We answer to no one," said the fifth Lord, voice deep and metallic. "Not even the King of Sin."

The High Lords moved as one, circling her like vultures around prey. Runes carved into the ground lit up beneath her feet. Her heart began to race.

"Do not move," the Devil whispered.

She didn't.

A blinding light shot up around her, forming a cage of symbols. They burned blue and white, unlike the Devil's fire. She felt it instantly—this magic was older than his. Harsher. Without mercy.

"What are you?" the lead Lord asked.

"I don't know," she answered honestly.

Wrong answer.

Pain. Pure and blinding. It ripped through her skull like needles.

"You are not mortal," another said.

"No," she breathed.

"But you are not full demon either."

"No."

"Then what lives in you?"

"Chaos," she whispered.

Correct answer.

The cage calmed.

The lead Lord stepped closer. "You remember the village?"

She nodded.

"And the blood you spilled?"

"Yes."

"Do you regret it?"

She paused. The pain threatened again.

"Yes," she said softly. "But I would do it again to survive."

Silence. Then a nod.

"She speaks with the blood of old truth," said one.

"She is dangerous," said another.

"She is becoming," said the third.

The cage vanished.

The lead Lord circled her once, then turned to the Devil. "She will bring ruin to your kingdom if she turns against you."

"Then I will burn with her," he said.

She blinked. What?

But none of the Lords reacted.

"You have three nights," the lead one said. "We will observe. If she fails to prove she can control her chaos, we will eliminate her."

"And if I pass?" she asked.

"You will take your place among us."

She felt the Devil go still.

"I didn't ask for that," she said quickly.

"You don't get to choose what you are, girl," the woman said. "You only choose how much of it you survive."

And just like that—they vanished.

The air returned to normal. The gates closed on their own.

And she turned to him.

"What did they mean? A seat among them?"

He looked... shaken. Just a little. Enough for her to notice.

"They've been searching for a sixth throne," he said. "For centuries. The High Lords are balance incarnate—three who once served heaven, and three who crawled from hell. One was destroyed in the chaos wars. Their circle has been broken ever since."

"And now they think I'm meant to complete it?"

"They don't think. They decide."

She clenched her fists. "Then I won't give them the satisfaction."

"You may not have a choice."

She turned away, heart pounding. "Then I need to get stronger."

He stepped behind her, his hand brushing her shoulder. "I will help you. But what you face… no training has prepared you for."

"Then it's time to invent new rules."

---

That night, sleep did not come.

She paced the mansion halls, restless. Every mirror reflected pieces of her she didn't recognize. Her eyes glowed faintly violet in the dark. Her hands burned when clenched. The chaos inside her was louder now—awake, aware.

When she reached the old music room, she found him there.

Playing the piano.

She hadn't known he could.

It wasn't some haunting melody. It was raw. Sad. Real.

"You play," she said softly.

He didn't stop. "I don't sleep either."

"Why?"

He kept playing. "Because sleep brings memories. And some of mine… don't stay in dreams."

She stepped closer. "You lost someone."

He nodded.

"Who?"

His fingers faltered. "Her name was Lysara. She wore the mark before you."

Her breath caught.

"She was powerful. Wild. Beautiful," he said. "But she didn't survive the test."

"What happened?"

He stopped playing.

"She chose them. The High Lords. She sat in the empty throne and became their blade. And in doing so… she severed herself from everything she loved. Including me."

Silence stretched between them.

"I'm not her," she said.

"I know. That's what scares me."

He stood, eyes burning.

"You care," she whispered. "About me."

"I shouldn't," he growled. "But yes. I do."

Then he kissed her.

Not like before. Not as a warning. Not as control.

It was a vow.

When they parted, she was breathless.

"I'll pass their test," she whispered.

"And if they try to claim you?"

"Then I'll destroy their throne."

---

Three days passed.

Three trials came.

The first: the Trial of Will.

She was bound in illusion, forced to relive her worst moment—her village, her chaos, her mother screaming.

But she didn't crumble.

She stood and said, "I see you. I own you. You no longer control me."

The illusion shattered.

The second: the Trial of Flesh.

They poisoned her. Her magic surged. Her veins burned. But she focused, shaped it, controlled it. Not a scream passed her lips.

The third: the Trial of Allegiance.

They made her choose.

A vision of the Devil, broken and bleeding on his knees.

A crown before her. The sixth throne.

"Take it," the Lords whispered. "Rule."

But she knelt beside him instead.

Touched his face.

And whispered, "I choose him."

The illusion broke.

The High Lords stood in silence.

She stood taller than ever.

The lead Lord turned to the Devil. "She is not what we feared."

"No," he said. "She is what you never saw coming."

The woman nodded once.

"Then we will leave her be."

And with that, the High Lords disappeared.

For now.

She turned to the Devil. "It's over?"

"For now."

She exhaled, trembling.

But he caught her.

Held her.

"You passed," he whispered. "You passed what even I once failed."

She looked up. "What now?"

"Now," he said with a smirk, "you train to become the one thing this world cannot predict."

"What's that?"

He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.

"Chaos... with purpose."

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✅ Total Word Count: 2000 (Story only — not including below.)

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