Semua Bab Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire : Bab 71 - Bab 80

Jacquiem had always believed in absolutes, light and darkness, good and evil, the divine and the damned. But here, in the heart of the demon realm, wrapped in the scent of obsidian and fire, those absolutes began to blur.He sat on the edge of the lavish bed, golden sheets clinging to his sweat-damp skin. His fingers trembled around the silver rosary still tied around his wrist, a remnant of his old self. It used to anchor him. Now it burned.Valcoz watched him in silence from the other side of the chamber, lounging lazily on a throne of midnight stone, bare chest glistening beneath the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The demon prince’s expression was unreadable, a study in patient hunger and gentle curiosity."You're still wearing it," Valcoz said, nodding toward the rosary. His voice was smoother than wine, richer than sin.Jacquiem didn’t answer immediately. His throat was dry, not from thirst but from war within. He should have cast it away.

As the priest raised his staff high, a brilliant pillar of light descended upon Valcoz. The magic flared, twisting into celestial chains that wrapped around his limbs and wings. Valcoz fell to one knee, snarling as the divine light scorched his skin."Chains forged from the prayers of the faithful," the priest declared coldly, stepping forward. "You will never touch another soul again, demon."Jacquiem burst through the fallen archway, breathless, eyes wide. "Stop!" he shouted, placing himself between the priest and the restrained prince. His armor clattered, but he stood tall.The priest’s expression darkened. "Step aside, Sir Jacquiem. The Goddess Aizelia does not tolerate traitors."Jacquiem’s fists clenched. "I am no traitor. He’s not the monster you make him out to be."The priest laughed bitterly. "You speak as though your heart has overtaken your mind. Don’t you understand, boy? You were never meant to win against him. You were bai

Valcoz's Perspective The chains glowed dimly in the underground chamber, pulsing with the last remnants of the priest’s holy spell. Valcoz’s body was suspended midair, limbs pulled apart, flesh marked with scripture not meant for his kind. Yet his eyes were open. Watching. Breathing. Alive. But most dangerously, aware. Jacquiem knelt just beyond the threshold of the binding circle, robes in disarray, his shoulders trembling as he fought a war within himself far more devastating than the one they’d just survived. The other priests had left, shaken by how the ritual had nearly collapsed. Only the High Priest remained, watching Jacquiem from afar. “Why isn’t the purification holding?” the High Priest asked, voice sharp with unease. “He should be writhing. Screaming. Burning.” Jacquiem’s lips parted, but no words came out. Because he wasn’t sure. Becaus

Jacquiem stepped back, his breath catching in his throat as the truth slowly carved itself into the silence. Valcoz looked up at him, confused, vulnerable, his eyes no longer glowing, his body no longer pulsing with dark energy. No horns. No claws. No eternal fire gnawing under his skin. Just a man. One that bled red and breathed with difficulty, like he hadn’t been carved by infernos but by mortal hands. “I don’t feel it anymore,” Valcoz murmured. His voice was raw, disoriented. “The hunger. The voices. The tether to the realm... it’s gone.” Jacquiem fell to his knees beside him. The remnants of his divinity had been silent since that night, the moment he poured everything into saving Valcoz. Now, when he tried to reach for the light, there was only silence. Emptiness. A soft echo where the divine once sang. He smiled faintly. Bitter. Beautiful. “That’s because I gave it all up.” Valcoz’s brows furrowed. “Wh

Smoke clawed at the sky, thick and suffocating. The village was chaos incarnate, flames devouring wooden homes, villagers screaming, running in every direction, terror carved into every face. I stumbled through the wreckage, clutching my satchel tight. My breaths came fast, shallow. The acrid stench of burning flesh mixed with the cries of panic. “Everyone, move! Get as far as you can from the center!” a voice thundered over the roar. Golden eyes, bright and fierce, cut through the smoke. It was a man, armored yet bloodied, shouting orders as he slashed through beasts with his sword. His voice was strong despite the carnage. “Hear me! To the river! Move! Don’t stop!” Villagers scrambled, their feet pounding the dirt, children wailing. One old woman tripped and cried out. The armored man darted to her side, lifting her effortlessly. “Don’t look back. Keep moving!” he urged, pressing onward throu