The devil's trigger

🌔 Chapter 1: The Arrival of Iblis

The night was not ordinary.

It was heavy.

A thick fog swallowed the world outside, pressing against the prison walls as if something unseen was trying to get in… or perhaps, waiting to be let out.

Inside the cold stone cell, a man knelt before a cracked mirror.

Chains hung loosely from his wrists, clinking softly each time his trembling hands came together in prayer. His lips moved rapidly, whispering words that were never meant to be spoken by human tongues.

The air shifted.

At first, it was subtle—a distortion, like heat rising from fire.

Then the mirror darkened.

Blackness spread across its surface like ink drowning water… until—

Two red eyes opened within it.

Watching.

Waiting.

The man didn’t stop.

If anything, his voice grew stronger.

Desperate.

A shape emerged.

Not fully seen… not fully understood.

Smoke, darker than night, slipped out from the mirror and gathered into a form that bent the air around it. The temperature dropped. The chains froze against his skin.

And then—

It knelt.

One knee touching the stone floor.

Not out of respect.

But out of amusement.

“What is it… that you seek?”

The voice was calm.

Too calm.

It didn’t echo. It didn’t rise.

It simply existed—inside the man’s head, inside the walls… inside everything.

The man slowly lifted his head, his eyes wild but shining with greed.

“A book,” he said. “One that no human could ever write.”

His shaking hands pointed toward the mirror.

“A book that carries your mark… your presence.”

His voice cracked, but he forced the words out.

“When page 666 is read… by any soul—”

He smiled.

“—you will obey them.”

Silence followed.

A long, suffocating silence.

Then—

A soft chuckle.

“And what,” the figure asked gently, tilting its unseen head, “do I receive… in return?”

The man froze.

His smile faded.

His breath hitched.

For the first time that night—

He realized his mistake.

“I…”

His voice failed him.

He hadn’t thought that far.

He hadn’t prepared.

The red eyes narrowed.

And then—

It smiled.

In a single motion, the figure rose and closed the distance between them.

A hand—if it could be called that—grabbed the man by his throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air.

His feet dangled, kicking uselessly.

“I will grant your request,” it whispered.

“Master.”

The word dripped with mockery.

Before the man could scream—

He was thrown.

His body crashed through the glass window behind him.

Shards exploded into the night, slicing through flesh as he fell. The fog swallowed his broken body before it even touched the ground.

Silence returned.

Back inside the cell…

The mirror stood still.

Unbroken.

Unchanged.

But something was different.

Because now—

It was no longer empty.