The king of everything

Chapter Thirteen-The legend of the fallen

couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play. The demon wasn't just some random malevolent spirit haunting our dorm—it felt deliberate, purposeful, as though it had a mission. And after the terror of the past few days, I knew I couldn't just let it unfold without trying to understand what we were up against.

That's when I found the book.

It was buried in the corner of the university library, in a section no one ever visited, filled with old myths and local legends. The spine was worn and cracked, the pages yellowed with age, but something about it called to me. The title, "The Fallen Ones and Their Return," sent a chill through me as I opened it, and what I found inside shook me to my core.

The myth was old—centuries old—dating back to when the land our university now sat on was untouched wilderness. According to the story, there was once a powerful angel, one of the highest in heaven, but it grew prideful, believing it could challenge God's will. As punishment for its arrogance, it was cast down from the heavens, stripped of its wings, its power torn from it and hidden away in the earth.

But the fallen angel, now a demon, wasn't defeated. It vowed to return one day and reclaim its power, to rise again and bring destruction upon the world. The myth spoke of the demon's desperate need for human souls to regain its strength—specifically, the souls of the young. It was said that in order to break free from its weakened state, the demon needed to take three lives, and only then would it be able to seal its resurrection.

I felt my blood turn to ice as I read those words. Three kills. The demon needed to claim three young souls, and it was here, in our dorm, hunting us.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place—the shadows, the growing fear, the way it had started with me and slowly spread to the others. The demon wasn't just haunting us. It was choosing its victims.

And it had already taken one.

I found out later that evening, when the police arrived at the dorm. The halls were crowded with students, all murmuring in hushed voices, fear and disbelief hanging thick in the air. Sam and I were standing with a group near the entrance, trying to piece together what had happened, when one of the officers approached us, his expression grim.

"There's been an incident," he said, his voice low. "One of the students in your dorm... he didn't make it."

I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. Sam paled beside me, his eyes wide with horror.

"Who?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

The officer hesitated, glancing at his clipboard before answering. "His name was Marcus—Marcus Taylor."

Marcus. The quiet guy from the room down the hall. He was always polite, kept to himself most of the time. I had seen him just that morning in the common room, studying for an exam. And now he was dead.

The officer explained that they had found him in his room, the door locked from the inside. No signs of forced entry, no indications of foul play. But Marcus's face was twisted in a look of pure terror, his body cold and lifeless, as if something had drained the life from him.

"Heart failure," the officer said, though he didn't sound convinced. "But the doctors aren't sure what caused it. It's like his body just... gave out."

I felt my stomach churn. I knew exactly what had caused it. The demon had claimed its first victim.

That night, I couldn't sleep. My mind kept replaying the myth I had read, the way the demon needed three souls to seal its power. Marcus was the first, and that meant two more of us were next. I could feel the darkness closing in, and the worst part was, I didn't know who would be next. Any of us could be marked, and none of us would even know it until it was too late.

I sat in the common room long after everyone else had gone to bed, the book still clutched in my hands. My thoughts were a mess, a tangled web of fear and desperation. There had to be a way to stop it. There had to be something in the myth, some clue that would tell me how to break the demon's hold before it claimed another life.

And then I found it.

Buried in the final pages of the book was a passage about how the demon's power had been stripped in the first place. It wasn't just cast down by God—there had been a ritual, a way to bind its strength and prevent it from ever regaining what it had lost. The key to the ritual was something the demon feared above all: light. Not just any light, though. The myth spoke of a sacred flame, a symbol of purity, something that could banish the demon back to the darkness from which it came.

But the passage was vague. It didn't explain what the sacred flame was or how to find it. It only said that the flame had to be lit before the demon claimed its third victim, or else it would be too late.

My heart pounded in my chest as I closed the book, my mind racing. I didn't know what this "sacred flame" was, but I had to find it. If I didn't, the demon would finish what it had started, and more people—my friends—would die.

Sam came into the common room, rubbing his eyes. "Aaron? What are you still doing up, man?"

I looked at him, feeling the weight of what I had just learned. "We're running out of time, Sam," I said, my voice shaky. "That thing... it's not going to stop. It's already killed Marcus."

Sam froze, his face pale. "What are you talking about?"

I handed him the book, watching as his eyes skimmed over the words, his expression growing more horrified with every line.

"Three souls," I whispered. "It needs three souls, and Marcus was the first. If we don't stop it, two more of us are going to die."

Sam looked at me, fear etched into his features. "How do we stop it?"

I shook my head, the hopelessness of the situation settling in. "I don't know yet. But we need to find this 'sacred flame.' If we don't... who knows who's next?"