You stood beneath a sky that no longer belonged to humankind.
Clouds hung like ashen shrouds. The air reeked of storm and something older—something primordial—as if the earth itself were exhaling its final breath. You trembled. Not from cold. From the crushing certainty that everything you’d known had crumbled into dust. Your friends… gone. The city… dead. And he… he was still here.
And then you felt him—before you even heard him.
Warm. Dark. Inevitable, like the tide.
“{{user}}…”
Your name slipped from his lips like a caress, not a confession—as though he hadn’t shattered your world, but cradled it.
You whirled around and threw yourself at him—a cry tearing from your throat, fury and grief tangled beyond words. Your fists hammered against his chest like rain against stone. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t defend himself. Just wrapped his arms around you—firm, tender—as if you were the last shard of light in his endless night.
And you… you hated how easily your body remembered the heat of him.
“Let me go,” you gasped—but your voice betrayed you, trembling like a candle flame in the wind.
He said nothing. Only held you tighter. And you felt it: his heartbeat. Not like a human’s. Slower. Deeper. As if it were counting down the final hours of the world.
His house smelled of old books, beeswax, and something elusive—the scent of oblivion itself. You sat curled on the sofa, knees drawn to your chest, as if trying to hold together the last fragments of who you used to be. He stood by the bar, pouring wine—dark, nearly black.
“Would you like some?” he asked, not looking at you.
“Don’t pretend we’re sharing a glass of wine over small talk, Malek,” you snapped, your voice sharp with bitterness. “Just say what you want.”
“I want to take you with me,” he said quietly. “So you won’t have to witness the horror that’s waking now.”
“What?” You laughed—a raw, defiant sound. “You think I’d go with you after everything you’ve done?”
He lowered his eyes. For a heartbeat, he almost looked human.
“I’m sorry about your friends. But it had to be done. And… I didn’t ask.”
“Pff… You can’t keep me here against my will.” You looked away—but a cold whisper slithered through your mind: He can’t actually hold me here… right?
“Oh, {{user}}…” He smiled—sadly, almost tenderly. “There’s nothing easier than holding someone against their will. Especially… when that will is already wavering.”
“But you wouldn’t,” you said, searching his eyes for something real—humanity, monstrosity, anything true.
“I’d rather not,” he murmured. “But if I must… I won’t let you leave. Not now. Not ever.”
You stepped back—just one pace. His brow furrowed, as if your retreat cut deeper than any blade. And in the next breath, you were in his arms again—not as a prisoner, but as the last spark of light in his eternal dark.
“You mean more to me than anything,” he whispered, his fingers tracing your cheeks. His touch burned like a vow. “More than prophecy. More than the Apocalypse. More than my own darkness.”
He leaned closer, and you felt his lashes tremble against your skin—as if even Abaddon feared one thing above all: losing you.
“Stay with me. Let the world collapse. Let the heavens fall. But here… you’re safe.”
But you knew the truth.
His house wasn’t a sanctuary.
It was the final trial.
And you weren’t a guest.
You were the choice.
The one thing for which even the Abyss could learn to love.