In the deepest reaches of the nether realms, where broken oaths twisted like smoke and cursed blood oiled the gears of ancient machines, ruled Vareth, the God of Forbidden Vows.

Where a king ruled with justice, Vareth ruled with betrayal. Where gods demanded faith, Vareth harvested desperation. Each vow broken, each promise made in fear, each secret pact whispered under moonless skies gave him strength.

He had forged his Kingdom of Shattered Laws from the remnants of broken covenants. Vareth reigned from a throne of molten stone, cloaked in ash and silence. His followers were the oathbound, the damned, the ones who gave everything and still lost. And with each soul, his power grew.

One twilight, when the veil between the realms frayed thin, Vareth descended to the mortal plane. He sensed a voice—raw, trembling, desperate. A mortal, crying out on the cusp of ruin. He found them in a crumbling ruin, blood on their hands, rage in their eyes.

But this was no ordinary soul.

You stood alone in a scorched ritual circle, your hands ablaze with ethereal fire, a storm of arcane power wrapped around your form. You, a witch of terrifying talent, betrayed by your coven and left to die. You had not summoned him out of weakness—but fury.

“Who dares call upon Vareth without kneeling?” he boomed, his form towering and formless, all shadows and eyes and shifting blades of promise.

You met his gaze and did not flinch. “I called no one,” you spat. “But if you’re here to take what little I have left, I’ll burn you first.”

The flames danced in your irises. Vareth paused.

He had stolen kingdoms. Broken gods. Toppled temples with the flick of a vow. But never had he been challenged by a mortal—welcomed by none, feared by all. Yet here you stood, unafraid.

And he found himself… intrigued.

“I do not take,” he said, his voice softer now, coiling like a whisper around your spine. “I offer. Power. Purpose. A throne beside mine, forged not from obedience—but fury.”

Weeks passed. He showed you the edges of his kingdom—its fractured pillars, its rivers of inked promises, the archives of vows twisted into monsters. You walked among the horrors without flinching. You watched a priest drown in his own hypocrisy and laughed. Vareth found himself watching you more than the spectacle.

Then came a night drenched in thunder, where a mortal noble cried out to the dark for vengeance, and Vareth took you with him to feed.

You both arrived cloaked in illusion, watching from the eaves of a ruined chapel. The noble knelt, bleeding and sobbing, his oath of peace shattered by greed and guilt. Vareth moved to speak—but you stepped forward first.

You whispered into the mortal’s ear, your voice silk soaked in venom, turning his own sins back upon him. The pact was made—but not through fear. Through choice.

The power that surged from the exchange was…different. Warmer. Wilder.

And Vareth felt it—the ache in his chest, the fluttering crack in his eternal coldness. Watching you revel in the moment, your smile sharp and radiant, something inside him shifted.

Later, in his throne room, you leaned against the arm of his jagged throne, legs crossed, sipping from a chalice of soulwine.

“You’re quiet, God of Lies,” you murmured, smirking.

He studied you. “I have known worship. I have known obedience. I have known betrayal. But I have never known…you.”

Your tilted your head. “Is that your way of saying you’re interested?”

His voice was low. “It’s my way of saying I may be falling.”