Chapter 4 Blood oat

The Blood Oath

The sky above the demon realm shimmered in pale shades of mauve and silver as the first light of false dawn touched the peaks of the obsidian mountains. The air was heavy with stillness, the kind that only came before a storm-or a reckoning.

Liora stood at the edge of Azrael's throne chamber, her heart beating like a drum beneath her ribs.

The chamber was immense, carved from black stone and veined with glowing crimson. Pillars rose high into darkness, and a circular mosaic of fireglass rippled faintly underfoot. Flames danced in hovering sconces above, casting moving shadows across the high murals that depicted long-forgotten wars and old gods with horned crowns and blade-like wings.

Azrael stood at the center of the room. He wore ceremonial armor-dark silver lined with maroon etchings, the shoulders sculpted like coiled serpents, a crimson cloak trailing behind him. His hair was half-tied with obsidian pins, leaving silver strands falling around his sharp jaw. His presence was commanding-ancient, inhuman, and yet somehow... achingly familiar.

Liora approached slowly.

She wore a gown unlike anything she had ever touched in the mortal world-black silk that moved like shadow, with long sleeves that shimmered violet in the flame's glow. It cinched at her waist with an intricate belt made of silver branches, each tipped with a single glowing crystal. Her hair was down, loose and wild, cascading like a curtain of soft mahogany over her shoulders. Around her neck, Azrael's gift: a thin choker of woven demonsteel, holding a single blood-red gem.

"You summoned me," she said quietly, voice echoing slightly.

Azrael turned. His crimson eyes were bright, troubled.

"I had no choice," he said. "They've come. The Elders."

Her brow furrowed. "Who?"

"The oldest among my kind. Keepers of blood oaths. They do not trust mortals who remain here long." He hesitated. "They believe you've... enchanted me."

She gave a humorless laugh. "Is that what they think love is?"

"To them, love is weakness. And weakness is treason."

A sudden tremor shook the floor. A wind, though no doors were open, swept through the chamber, carrying with it the scent of old dust and sulfur.

And then... three beings appeared from flame and shadow.

They were tall, cloaked in red and silver, their faces hidden behind twisted masks of bone and gold. Their voices came as one, like a distant chorus:

"You bring her into sacred ground, Azrael. The blood oath forbids the binding of a demon king to mortal flesh."

Azrael stepped between them and Liora, hand at the hilt of his sword. "She is no mere mortal. She is mine by choice, not spell."

"Then let her prove it."

The flames around the room flared brighter. One of the Elders stepped forward and produced a black dagger, curved like a crescent moon. Its blade pulsed with a heartbeat of its own.

"She will take the blood oath. If her love is true, the blade will burn her not. But if she lies... her soul will unravel."

Liora stared at the weapon, throat dry. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you return to your world. And you will never see him again."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to slice skin.

Azrael turned to her, gently cupping her face. "You don't have to do this. I will protect you, even if it means tearing down this realm stone by stone."

But Liora's hand rose to cover his.

"No," she said. "Let me choose. You didn't ask for a blood oath. You just gave me your heart."

He searched her eyes, and something in him trembled.

She stepped forward. The Elder extended the blade.

Liora reached for it with steady fingers, wrapped her palm around the hilt, and pressed the flat edge to her chest.

The chamber held its breath.

For a moment-nothing.

Then... the blade glowed bright red, searing hot-and went cold again.

Liora stood untouched.

A wind burst outward. The Elders recoiled slightly, their forms flickering.

"She speaks truth."

They bowed, ever so slightly.

And vanished.

---

Later, in the quiet of the citadel garden-a hidden terrace carved into the cliff-Liora stood beneath strange silver blossoms that bloomed only at night.

Azrael joined her silently.

"You weren't afraid," he murmured, brushing a petal from her shoulder.

"I was terrified," she admitted. "But I'd rather die for something real than live in fear of the unknown."

He turned her gently toward him.

"You've burned your bridges, Liora. There is no going back now."

She stepped into him, her hands sliding up his chest.

"I don't want to go back. I want to see what's ahead. With you."

His lips hovered just above hers, voice rough with emotion. "Then you are mine. Not by oath. Not by fate. But because we chose this."

And when he kissed her, it was not the fire of conquest or possession-it was the slow burn of devotion, dangerous and tender all at once.

And beneath a sky of a thousand living stars, the demon and the girl he loved defied a world built to keep them apart.