Obil followed the directions the cult had given him, his mind clouded with thoughts of the mission, but his steps grew slower as he reached the location they had indicated. The place was filled with sadness, the aftermath of endless battles that had left the city in ruins. Everywhere he looked, there were people suffering from the violence that had torn their lives apart. Yet, Obil didn't care for them. His eyes were fixed on one thing and one thing only: the girl.
He found her quickly. She was a child, her small body huddled against the cold, her clothes ragged, and her face smeared with dirt and tears. When she saw him, she hesitated for only a moment before approaching.
"Do you have any spare food or clothes?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "My sister... she's dying from the cold. We don't have anything. She's so small... and we're both freezing... I just want her to live."
Obil looked down at her. Her plea was one he had heard countless times before, but this time it struck him differently. He saw something in her—an innocence, a vulnerability—that made his heart tighten.
Without a word, he nodded. "Take me to your sister," he said quietly, his voice betraying none of the inner conflict he was feeling. "I'll help her."
The girl's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, the words trembling in her throat as if she couldn't quite believe him. "Thank you... so much."
They began walking, the weight of the world on their shoulders, and as they moved through the broken streets, Obil couldn't stop himself from asking, "How much do you care for your sister?"
The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide with sincerity. "She means everything to me," she said softly, her voice unwavering. "I would do anything for her. She's all I have left."
Obil's steps faltered for just a moment. The strength of her words struck him harder than he expected. She didn't understand the true cost of what she was saying, but there was no doubt in his mind—her love for her sister was pure, untainted by the world around her.
"Would you give your life for her?" he asked, his voice still soft, but now tinged with something deeper, something almost... human.
The girl didn't hesitate. "If it meant she could live a happy life... then yes," she said, her gaze steady as she looked up at him. "I would give anything. I would give my life if it meant she would be happy."
Obil was silent for a long moment, unable to hide his surprise. He had expected many answers from her, but not that. Not from a child so young, one who had seen so little of the world. Her innocence was a stark contrast to the darkness he had become. He had long ago stopped understanding what true love was, and yet this child had it in abundance.
They continued walking, and eventually, they reached the shed where the girl's sister lay. It was little more than a shelter made of broken debris, too small for Obil to enter, but he stood outside, watching as Esther led him to the entrance.
"I'm sorry," she said, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't introduce myself earlier. My name is Esther. And my sister's name is Abigail."
She offered him a cup of water, her hands trembling. "I know it's not clean, but... it's all we have," she said, her voice low with shame. She clearly feared that her humble offering wouldn't be enough, that he might demand something else.
Obil looked at her, the fear and uncertainty in her eyes too real to ignore. "Don't worry," he said, his voice softening. "I keep my promises. I said I would help your sister, and I will. I'll make sure she has a future. You don't need to worry."
Tears filled Esther's eyes as she stepped back and kissed her sister's forehead, whispering something to her in the quiet of the night. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice cracking. "Thank you for everything."
But then, Obil's expression hardened again. "I'm afraid I need something from you as well," he said, his words cold, calculating.
Esther froze. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to make sense of what he had just said. But there was no mistaking his words. She wiped her eyes and, without hesitation, stood up, her small figure brimming with determination.
"I accept it," she said, her voice filled with quiet resolve. "I'll do whatever you ask. Just... please, make sure she's happy."
Obil nodded. "I promise," he said, looking down at her. "I will protect her. I will give her the happiness you seek."
As he spoke, he felt the weight of her promise settle in. She didn't understand the true cost of what she was giving up, but that didn't matter to him. He was already walking her down a path of no return.
They stood beneath the shroud of night, Esther carrying Abigail's small body in her arms as Obil led them both toward Haven's Rise orphanage. The building loomed in the distance, faint light glowing from the windows. Obil had hidden his presence entirely — not a sound, not a flicker of divine power, not even a shadow to betray him.
"This place…" Obil said quietly, watching the windows. "The adults here are good people. They'll take care of her."
Esther's arms trembled around her sister. "You're sure?"
Obil gave a rare, reassuring nod. "Absolutely. But we can't be seen. I need you to do something for me."
He knelt down beside her, speaking gently now, a strange tenderness in his tone. "Lay your sister by the door. Wrap her tightly in the cloth, like I showed you. Then… I want you to scream."
Esther blinked. "Scream?"
"Yes. Loudly. Just once. Then run back to me. I'll be waiting, just out of sight."
She hesitated, but obeyed. Her small feet padded quietly up to the door. She laid Abigail down gently, wrapping her snugly with the worn cloth. Then, her tiny voice broke the silence:
"HELP!"
She turned and bolted, heart racing, right into Obil's arms. They vanished into the shadows, hidden a good distance away, concealed in every sense of the word.
Moments passed.
A small child inside Haven's Rise stirred from their bed, rubbing their eyes. The scream had shaken them. Curious and alarmed, the child padded through the hall, slowly pushing open the front door. His eyes widened when he saw the bundled form on the ground.
"There's a baby!" he cried out.
Voices stirred inside.
Amelia was the first to arrive, her hair tied hastily, her eyes sharp with concern. She knelt down immediately beside the child. "Who brought her here?" she asked, scanning the surroundings.
The boy shook his head. "I—I just heard a scream. When I came here, she was the only one…"
Amelia pressed a hand to the infant's forehead, checking her pulse, then pulled the cloth back gently. Her gaze softened. "She's alive," she whispered.
The name caught her eye — **"Abigail"** — written in messy, smudged charcoal across the edge of the cloth.
"Abigail…" Amelia repeated quietly, before gathering the child into her arms. "Let's get her inside."
The child nodded and followed behind.
From a distance, hidden behind the remains of a crumbling brick wall, Obil and Esther watched. Esther's eyes were filled with tears — not of sorrow, but of relief.
"She's safe," she whispered.
Obil remained silent, but his eyes didn't leave the door that had now closed behind Abigail.
Esther looked up at him. "Thank you," she said simply.
He didn't respond — not with words. He turned, and she followed. Together, they disappeared into the night.
And the next place she would open her eyes would be the lair of the cult, where Azazil was already waiting.
They walked in silence, Esther trailing just behind Obil, her mind too numb to form words. The shadows deepened as they entered the forgotten underground ruins — the hideout of the cult.
The stench of incense and blood greeted them.
Torches lit the circular hall, flames flickering against cracked stone walls. Cultists in black robes murmured in tongues, some preparing the ritual circle carved into the floor. At its center stood a stone basin, ancient symbols etched around it in dried blood. It pulsed faintly with an unnatural light.
Azazil was already there.
Obil's eyes narrowed. "Why are *you* here?" he asked coldly. "Do you think I'd fail to bring her?"
Azazil smiled, a grin that chilled even the cultists. "Oh, Obil," he said smoothly. "You've done well. But this phase… *this* part of the plan is the most important. I wanted to witness it personally. To guide it."
Esther froze when she saw him — but she didn't see the demon.
She saw *her mother*.
Azazil had shifted his form, wearing the face of a warm woman with kind, tired eyes and trembling hands. Esther's breath caught. She gasped — then ran forward.
"Mother…?" she cried, joy breaking through the trauma. "You're here? I—I knew you'd come back for me!"
She threw her arms around Azazil. He embraced her with calculated tenderness.
Obil turned his face away, disgust twisting his features. Even for him, this was low.
"Is this necessary?" he muttered.
Azazil ignored him. "Esther," he said gently, still using the woman's voice. "You've been so brave. You've done something beautiful tonight. Because of your sacrifice… your sister will live a happy life. You did that. You."
Tears rolled down Esther's cheeks.
Azazil guided her to the ritual circle. "Just step into the center, sweetheart. You'll be with me soon."
Esther nodded. She turned to Obil once, a final look — trusting, even thankful.
"I'm ready," she whispered.
Obil stepped forward, drawing his blade. For a moment, his hand shook. The image of Miriam returned. The same eyes. The same heart.
He blinked it away.
Without hesitation, he swung — clean, swift, merciful. One perfect stroke.
She didn't feel a thing.
Esther's body fell gently to the stone, blood spilling into the carved lines. The symbols came to life, glowing with red-gold light. The basin began to swirl with energy.
The ritual had begun.
Obil sheathed his blade, his voice low. "Why the illusion?"
Azazil, now in his true form, turned to him. "Because," he said, "I wanted her to die *happy.*" He licked his teeth, eyes glowing. "Besides… it's more effective when the offering is given *willingly.*"
The cult chanted louder now. The ground trembled.
Phase two had begun.
And there was no turning back.