Fae-gantor and the demon fish.

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I'd never been in a pool of shadows before, even though they were a common prank in the Pit. Being submerged in one, even with my own darkness shrouding me, wasn't as funny as I'd heard it was in Hell. Wave after wave pressed me under—not water, but memories. Or rather, a memory.

 Or rather, a memory

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In an eerie landscape of flesh, blood, fire, and shadow stood a version of myself—hellblood, both me and not me—shaking with rage. I observed it as though watching a film. I was much younger then, barely grown, just beginning to understand my powers. Darkness pooled around my hands and face—the only parts of me able to summon it at the time.

Soul dust swirled through the air, a phantom of my fury, desperate for release. A broken body lay before me, its blood staining the ground black. Anger surged, a tempest within me, both devastating and empowering.

Burning, seething rage shook my small frame.
"That'll do, my little Fiendling," Marailo said, his voice as smooth as spider silk. "That will do."

My chest heaved, the energy around me rippling, as if I were a magnet pulling it in ravenously. But I couldn't stop—not until I was free from the curse. Crimson soul dust swirled faster, forming a force strong enough to knock Marailo off his feet. My dark hair veiled my face, but my eyes shone black from behind it.

"Enough!" Marailo bellowed.

He raised his hand as he clambered to his feet, using his staff for support. The yellow stone atop it glowed, and the collar around my neck sank icy tendrils into my nervous system, not asking but commanding me to calm down. It slowed my heart rate, regulated my breathing, and made it clear: I would not harm Marailo, my master.

I fought the collar's magic with everything in me until it forced me to my knees. I gasped, clawing at it with darkness-gloved hands, but I had spent too much energy on killing his victim. It was useless.

"Yield," the collar seemed to say. "Yield, or I'll kill you."

I yielded. Fighting the collar drained me, and I blacked out in the blood of my master's enemy—the same blood I had forced from his body. Ironically, that had been easier than resisting Marailo's magic.

When I woke—

"No," I whispered to myself, pulling away from the memory. "No, it's not real."

What happened next I couldn't—wouldn't—bear to watch. But the pool insisted it was real, whispering: That monster crawled into your bed and—

"Shut up," I snapped. "You think you know darkness?"

I couldn't move, suspended as if bound by invisible chains, prey awaiting dismemberment. But my darkness was forever unbound.

I commanded it to cloak my mind, pushing the pool's intrusion away. Instantly, I was ripped from the memory just as a misshapen creature let itself into my chamber where, in my past, I had lain unconscious.

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