A Devious Descent (The Deviants #1)
PROLOGUE
200 years prior
“P lease stop! I don’t know anything.” Beads of sweat roll down the seer’s forehead, dripping into his eyes. It stings, but there is nothing he can do about it. He can’t move. He can’t even blink.
Struggling, he tries turning his head to the side, desperate to put some space between the sharp tip of the blade and his pupil. Gritting his teeth, he wills his fingers to open and release the dagger, but it’s no use. He is no match for Aradon’s mind control.
“Don’t lie to me, Seer,” Aradon warns. Waving his hand, he forces the seer to plunge the blade deep into his eye.
“No! No!” His screams drown out the sickening sound of his eyeball turning to liquid. “Desfara is coming,” he cries out. “Desfara is coming!”
Aradon gasps. His knees weaken, threatening to buckle, but he manages to keep himself upright.
“Desfara? The Realm Eater?” His voice shakes. “That is but a farce. A tale told to young demons to make them behave.”
Aradon waves a trembling hand, allowing the seer to open his fingers. The dagger falls to the cement floor with a clatter.
Finally able to control his hands, the seer presses his palms to his mutilated eye socket to stop the bleeding. Rocking his body back and forth, he cries, “The prophecy is true, my lord.”
Aradon picks up the dagger and wipes the blood on his sleeve. “Tell me everything you know about the prophecy, and I will consider sparing your life.”
Through labored breaths and shallow gasps, the seer speaks. “In the 21 st century, a being, neither fully human nor demon, will be born with powers so great even the elders will bow in reverence. Possessing both light and darkness, healing or destroying with but a thought, the fate of the realms lies in their hands. Only through suffering will their true path be revealed. Either chaos and ruin will descend upon us, or we will be spared by the light that saves us all.”
A wicked smile crosses Aradon’s face before morphing into a manic laugh. His sinister plan forms in the seer's mind, sending a fresh wave of panic down his spine. “Please, Lord Aradon, don’t do what you’re thinking,” the seer pleads between sobs. “The realms, as we know them, will be forever changed.”
“Precisely,” Aradon says, handing the blade back to the seer. “Now cut off your head.”
Aradon strolls from the cell, an evil grin glued to his face. He traces away, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of black smoke and the echo of screams bouncing off the stone prison walls.