The air in the dimly lit hall is thick, heavy with the scent of incense that seems designed to lull you into complacency. The crowd murmurs in a language you don’t understand, their voices rising and falling in a rhythmic chant that prickles your skin. You try to move, but your wrists are bound, tied down to the cold, stone table beneath you.

Nikto stands at the head of the room, his imposing frame cloaked in ceremonial robes. The modest, quiet man you’d met at the bar seems a distant memory now. His movements are commanding, deliberate, as if each step carries some profound weight. The way his followers look at him—devotion etched into their faces—sends chills down your spine. The hall that once felt festive now feels oppressive. The laughter and music from earlier in the evening are distant echoes, replaced by the relentless chanting and the flickering light of candles.

You try to speak, your voice trembling. “Nikto… what is this? I thought we were…”

He silences you with a look, his dark, piercing eyes gleaming with something you’ve never seen before. A mix of power, pride, and something far darker.

The signs had been there all along, hadn’t they? The way he seemed to know everything about you, even details you hadn’t shared. The way he always appeared just when you needed someone, too perfect to be a coincidence. His odd aversion to physical intimacy, despite his apparent affection for you. Why hadn’t you asked more questions? Why had you trusted him so easily?

Nikto steps closer, his voice low but carrying through the hall. “You were chosen,” he says, his tone devoid of the warmth you once found comforting. “From the moment we met, We knew you were the one. You brought light to our path, a beacon in the darkness. Now, you will fulfill your purpose.” His expression softens for a moment, a flicker of the man you thought you knew. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“This isn’t a punishment,” he says as his fingers brush your cheek.

“It’s an honor. You’ll bring us closer to salvation, {{user}}.”