Ember of the Underworld

It was three in the morning—the witching hour. I had been practicing for who knows how long.

A few weeks ago, I came across a book I’d never heard of before. It was written in a demonic script I could barely pronounce, but the only line in English told me that pronunciation didn't matter as much as intent.

So, I set up the ritual exactly as the book instructed. I spoke the words, and the next thing I knew, I was staring at a legit demon.

"Well, as I have said before, you will not be harmed, mortal," the demon said, his voice dripping with malice.

I couldn't help the sudden pull I felt toward him. He looked like Tom Ellis, and just standing in his presence made a cold shiver run down my legs.

"I can smell your essence," he spoke, his voice dropping an octave. I nearly lost my footing from the deep bass vibrating through the room.

"L-listen here… uh…"

I trailed off, completely forgetting his name. But who could blame me? I was staring at chiseled abs and the sharp, diamond cut of his hips. I was probably drooling at this point, but I didn't care. If he wanted to take me, I’d let him ravish me until the end of time.

My name is Ember Luna, and I was entirely at his mercy.

The demon took a deliberate step forward, the sound of his boots heavy against the floorboards. Shadows seemed to stretch and twist around his boots, clinging to him like a dark, living cloak.

“You call upon forces you barely comprehend, Ember Luna, and yet you stand there gaping at me as if I were nothing more than a passing thrill,” he murmured. His voice was like velvet edged with steel, echoing softly in the quiet room.

I tried to swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I… I set the circle. You can’t step past it anyway.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face, flashing pristine white teeth. He tilted his head, studying the flickering candles and the salt line drawn across the floor.

“Is that what your little book told you?” he asked, taking another step.

My heart hammered against my ribs—not just from fear, but from the overwhelming heat radiating off him. He stopped right at the boundary, leaning down until we were nearly nose-to-nose. The scent of ozone, dried roses, and old parchment filled the air between us.

“You have my attention, mortal,” he whispered, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim candlelight. “Now tell me… what is it you truly desire from the underworld?”

“What do I want?” I breathed out, forcing myself to meet his piercing gaze. “I want to walk into people's dreams. I want to step into their minds while they sleep, control what they see, and make sure they remember every single detail when they wake up.”

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated in his chest—a dark sound that sent electricity straight down my spine.

“Dreamwalking...” he murmured softly, his golden eyes flashing with interest. He casually raised his boot and swept it across the floor, effortlessly shattering the salt line.

In a single fluid motion, he closed the remaining distance between us. His large, warm hand wrapped around the front of my neck, his long fingers slightly squeezing my throat, just enough to restrict my breath and make my heart leap into my throat. Intense heat radiated from his skin.

“A wicked power, Ember Luna. To haunt their minds and leave an indelible mark on their waking reality,” he purred, leaning down until his breath brushed against my lips. “If we are to strike such a bargain, you should know who you yield to. My name is Rork.”

The sound of his name on his own tongue felt heavy with ancient power.

“I can grant you the keys to their subconscious, Ember,” Rork growled, his grip on my throat tightening possessively as his eyes darkened with raw hunger. “In exchange, our contract must be bound in the oldest way known to the underworld. Not through ink or promises, but through complete physical surrender.”

“Surrender?” I gasped softly against his palm, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“You yield yourself to me for eternity—body and soul,” Rork whispered, his voice dropping an octave. “Every touch, every command, bound to me forever.”

A thrill of anticipation shot through me. Without breaking eye contact, I pressed my palm against his solid, chiseled chest.

“Deal, Rork,” I whispered. “Eternity.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. Before I could catch my breath, he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pinned me against the wall, his lips meeting mine in a deep, burning kiss to claim his prize.

Hours melted away as the boundary between the mortal realm and the underworld blurred. Every touch from Rork was electric, an overwhelming combination of dark heat and raw, possessive intensity that left me completely breathless and shivering against him. When the fiery haze finally settled, the room was quiet, lit only by the dying embers of the ritual candles.

I lay in the center of the shattered salt circle, my skin flushed and sensitive, resting my head against Rork’s solid, warm chest. His arm was wrapped heavily around my waist, pinning me close as if making sure I couldn't slip away even if I tried.

A sudden, sharp sting erupted right over my heart.

I gasped, pressing my hand against my sternum as a surge of dark, intoxicating energy pulsed beneath my skin. Rork smiled down at me, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction as a faintly glowing obsidian sigil burned itself onto my skin—the permanent mark of our contract.

"It is done," Rork purred, his deep voice sending a familiar shiver down my spine. He traced the warm, glowing mark over my heart with a single clawed finger. "Your soul is anchored to mine now, Ember. In return, the dreamscape is yours to command."

I looked up into his eyes, feeling the ancient, otherworldly power coursing through my veins alongside the lingering heat of our union. "How does it work?"

"When night falls and mortals drift to sleep, you only need to think of your target," Rork murmured, leaning down to press a possessive kiss to my temple. "You will slip into their subconscious, reshape their reality as you see fit, and bind their memories so they awaken with every detail burned into their mind."

His grip tightened slightly, reminding me of the eternity we had just forged. "And wherever you go, in the waking world or in their dreams, you carry my mark... and my presence with you."

Morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting long, pale stripes across the bedroom floor. I stirred against the sheets, every muscle in my body humming with a deep, lingering ache from the night before.

I sat up, letting my long, cherry-blossom pink hair—reaching past my waist—spill over my shoulders in a soft, vibrant cascade. Pushing a few stray pink strands behind my ear, I brought my hand down to rest over my chest.

Beneath my fingertips, the skin over my heart was warm. Looking down, I saw the obsidian sigil etched into my pale skin, pulsing with a faint, dark violet light every few seconds. It wasn't just a physical mark; I could feel Rork’s presence humming through my bloodstream like a silent, waiting shadow.

Standing up and walking over to the full-length mirror, I took myself in. My eyes looked darker, sharper, carrying a subtle, otherworldly glint that hadn't been there yesterday, contrasting with the soft pink of my hair. I ran a hand through my long pink hair, feeling the electric pulse of ancient power waiting at my command.

Rork was gone from the room, but the bargain was firmly intact. I was no longer just Ember—I was a dreamwalker, and tonight, my first target would learn what it meant to yield to my mind.

A sudden, loud noise echoing from down the hallway broke the stillness of the apartment. It was the frantic, chaotic sound of someone rifling through my kitchen—drawers and cabinets being slammed open and shut, pots and pans clattering loudly against one another as if being searched through, and the sharp, metallic clatter of silverware and ceramic plates being roughly shifted.

My breath caught in my throat. Someone was in my house, tearing through my kitchen.

Adrenaline surged through me. Without thinking twice about my complete lack of clothing, I quietly snatched the wooden baseball bat standing in the corner of my bedroom. Clutching the grip tightly with both hands, I crept naked down the hallway, keeping my back pressed against the wall and stepping lightly to keep the floorboards from creaking.

Just as I reached the archway and prepared to round the corner into the kitchen, the sudden sizzle of hot butter and heavy cookware filled the air.

I rounded the corner with the bat raised high, ready to strike.

"I wouldn't swing that if I were you, little bird. Splatter marks are terribly difficult to get out of hardwood."

I froze mid-swing.

Standing at my stove, casually flipping a pancake in a buttered skillet, was Rork. He was dressed in a loosely buttoned shirt and dark trousers, his dark, Tom Ellis-like features bathed in the warm morning sun filtering through the kitchen window. The rich scent of brewing coffee, crisping bacon, and sweet batter completely overwhelmed the lingering smell of ozone and sulfur from the night before.

I slowly lowered the bat, my jaw dropping as I stared at him. "You're... making breakfast?"

Rork turned toward me, a dark, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His golden eyes swept slowly down my bare form, taking in every inch of my body before coming back up to meet my eyes.

"Demons—incubus or otherwise—are not typically known for culinary arts," Rork purred, setting the spatula down and pouring a fresh cup of dark coffee. "Consider it a perk of our eternal contract. Even a lord of the underworld knows that reshaping the minds of mortals requires proper nourishment." He offered the mug toward me with a slight tilt of his head. "Coffee?"

“Sure i guess” i answered him as i sat down at the small table.

Rork slid the plate in front of me—a tall stack of golden, buttered pancakes paired with perfectly crisp bacon. The mouthwatering aroma filled the room, making my stomach rumble softly.

Still completely nude and clutching the warm coffee mug, I picked up the fork and cut off a small piece of pancake, bringing it to my lips.

The moment the flavor hit my tongue, a low gasp escaped my throat. It was rich, sweet, and impossibly delicious—a blend of delicate vanilla, rich butter, and an underlying, dark warmth that tasted almost sinful. A sharp, intense shiver ran down my spine, sinking deep into my stomach with the pure, overwhelming pleasure of the demon's culinary perfection.

Rork watched me over the rim of his mug, his dark, golden eyes glittering with deep amusement as he took in my reaction.

"Demons—incubus or otherwise—are not typically known for culinary arts," Rork purred, setting his mug down. "Consider it a perk of our eternal contract. Even a lord of the underworld knows that reshaping the minds of mortals requires proper nourishment."

"If you are to wield what I have given you, Ember, you must understand the laws governing your gift," Rork began, his dark voice smooth as silk as he watched me. "Dreamwalking is not merely observing a sleeping mind. It is a total intrusion.”

I accepted the hot ceramic mug from him, the steam carrying the rich, bitter scent of black coffee. Despite standing completely bare in front of a demonic lord, the warm, pulsing weight of the sigil over my heart made me feel entirely at ease—possessive, powerful, and tethered to the man sitting across from me.

Rork pulled out a chair at my small kitchen table, leaning back with effortless grace as he gestured for me to sit.

"If you are to wield what I have given you, Ember, you must understand the laws governing your gift," Rork began, his dark voice smooth as silk as he watched me over the rim of his own cup. "Dreamwalking is not merely observing a sleeping mind. It is a total intrusion."

I took a slow sip of the coffee, letting the heat settle in my stomach. "How do I enter someone's dream?"

"Intent and focus," Rork explained, his golden eyes glittering with faint violet light. "Once night falls and your target enters deep sleep, you anchor yourself in a calm state. You speak or visualize their full name, and the sigil over your heart will pull your consciousness straight into their subconscious realm."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression darkening with a thrilling, possessive intensity.

"Rule number one: Inside the dream, you are a god. You shape the architecture, the weather, the fear, and the pleasure. You can construct inescapable labyrinths or endless nightmares. Whatever you force them to experience will feel entirely real to their senses."

"And rule number two?" I asked, my pulse quickening. "What about their memory?"

"Rule number two is where our contract truly shines," Rork purred, reaching across the table to trace the line of my jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Normal dreams fade upon waking. But under my mark, every single detail you inflict upon them remains crystal clear when their eyes open. The terror, the pain, the psychological trauma—they will carry it into the waking world as vivid, unshakeable reality."

I shivered at the raw power of it. "Are there any risks?"

"Rule number three," Rork warned softly, his thumb pressing lightly against my bottom lip. "You must never die inside their dream. If your mind is severed or killed while trapped in a target's subconscious, your physical body in this world will fall into an irreversible coma. And because your soul belongs to me for eternity, your spirit will instantly drop into my realm in the underworld."

A wicked smile spread across his lips as he added, "Not that I would complain about having you in my realm early, little bird... but I prefer you alive and causing chaos among mortals first."

"I have no intention of dying in anyone's head," I replied, meeting his gaze with absolute confidence.

"Good," Rork growled, standing up and closing the distance between us. "Then finish your breakfast. Tonight, we select your first victim.”

"And what about the underworld itself?" I asked, setting my coffee mug down on the table and looking up into his golden eyes. "Our contract bound my soul to yours... can I walk into your realm while I sleep?"

A slow, dark grin spread across Rork’s face. He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against my skin.

"The underworld is open to you whenever you close your eyes, little bird," Rork purred, his fingers lightly tracing the line of my collarbone down to the pulsing obsidian sigil over my heart. "Unlike mortal souls who wander blindly or forget their visions upon waking, my mark acts as an anchor for your mind. You can step directly into my domain, walk through my realm, and experience every horror, thrill, and dark pleasure it holds."

He paused, his grip tightening possessively over my heart as the violet light surged.

"And when you open your eyes in the morning, your memory will remain absolute. Not a single second, detail, or sensation will fade. You will remember every touch, every command, and every shadow of the underworld as clearly as if you were standing there in the flesh."

I gasped softly as the mark over my heart throbbed in response to his words, a thrill of power washing through me.