The gate behind Kairo closed without a sound.
Before him stretched a world painted in scarlet ash — a cathedral of ruin and reverence. The very air shimmered red, thick with embers drifting through the silence like slow, dying snowflakes. Towers stood cracked and leaning, pillars carved with writhing bodies frozen in agony. And from the ceiling — if there was one — bled a soft crimson light that pulsed with each of Kairo's footsteps.
This level of the Maw didn't feel dead.
It felt… worshipped.
His cursed sigil pulsed with unease.
Not in rejection.
Not in hunger.
In submission.
Kairo gritted his teeth and pressed on, the cursed blade strapped across his back now, its weight heavier here — not physically, but spiritually. Every step felt like it dragged memories from his bones.
At the center of this cathedral-world was an altar — massive and open, surrounded by curved walls shaped like blooming petals.
And on that altar knelt a figure.
She was still. Perfectly still. As if frozen in prayer.
Kairo slowed, his instincts tight.
She wore robes of flowing red silk, so deep in hue they seemed liquid. Her hair was dark crimson, cascading down her back in smooth, deliberate strands. Golden thorns curled around her arms, embedded in her skin, trailing delicate blood patterns down to her fingertips.
She wasn't bound.
She was adorned.
And then… she spoke.
> "You walk without reverence."
Her voice echoed like a chime in a blood-soaked temple — not harsh, but disappointed.
Kairo paused.
"…You're a Ranker," he said. "Like me."
The woman rose.
When she turned to face him, the air shifted.
Her eyes were gold — not glowing, but burning, like twin suns trapped in glass. Her beauty was not gentle. It was ritualistic. Every curve, every feature, every drop of blood on her lips looked… intentional.
> "I was like you," she said. "Before I learned that resisting the curse is like trying to silence a god."
Kairo stepped closer, careful. "And what did you do instead?"
She smiled.
> "I knelt."
---
The cursed sigil on Kairo's hand reacted instantly.
It flared — with desire.
He winced, clutching his wrist. The mark burned, as if her very presence stroked it to life.
She walked slowly, gracefully, until she stood a few feet away. Her scent was like hot incense — coppery and sweet, intoxicating.
> "You carry the curse raw," she said. "Unshaped. Wild. It fights you. It tests you."
> "But me?"
She raised a hand.
The air melted.
Ash gathered at her fingertips, curling like obedient smoke.
> "It listens."
Kairo narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head. "Names are for mortals. But if you need one… call me Ashveil. Crimson Vow. Voice of the Maw's pleasure."
He scoffed. "Voice of what?"
> "Of submission. Of truth. Of freedom without resistance."
She circled him now — not threatening. Tempting.
> "You've fought the curse. And you've won… so far. But at what cost?"
> "Don't you feel it? The loneliness? The hunger? The need to finally be understood?"
> "I understand you, Kairo."
He stiffened.
He hadn't said his name.
Ashveil smiled wider.
> "The Maw knows you. Therefore, I know you."
---
A faint heartbeat began to pulse through the chamber — not his.
The curse's.
Ashveil raised her arms, and her robes flowed like smoke. Beneath them, runes etched in blood glowed on her thighs, her abdomen, her chest. Each one was a sacrifice — carved willingly.
> "Every Ranker reaches a moment," she whispered, "where the climb stops being about escape…"
> "…and starts being about acceptance."
Kairo's jaw clenched. "That's not power. That's enslavement."
> "No." Her eyes gleamed. "It's transcendence."
She stepped closer — her body barely inches from his.
> "You could be more, Kairo. You could become something beautiful. Not feared… but worshipped."
Her hand reached toward his chest, fingers hovering just above the sigil.
> "Let me show you…"
The cursed mark surged — a pulse of euphoria and dread.
Kairo staggered back, panting.
His vision blurred.
He saw a flash — himself, standing atop a burning altar, crowned in chains, women bowing at his feet.
He shook his head, hard.
"No."
Ashveil paused — her expression unreadable.
> "Still clinging to the old gods. Still clutching your chains."
She exhaled, and the room darkened.
The red light turned violet. The ash stopped falling.
The heartbeat became a chorus.
And Ashveil's body began to shift — her spine elongating, her fingers sharpening, her face growing too perfect, too symmetrical.
She wasn't transforming into a beast.
She was becoming a symbol.
The ideal Ranker.
One who belonged.
---
"You refuse peace," she whispered. "So you must be purified."
Kairo raised the cursed blade, stance low.
"You're not peace."
"You're decay."
---
The air screamed.
Ashveil lunged — not as a blur, but as a song. Every movement of her body left glowing sigils in the air. Her fingers became blades. Her voice became chains. The chamber turned into a shrine of suffering and pleasure.
And Kairo was in the middle of it.
---
The shrine howled.
Kairo spun just in time — Ashveil's strike sliced through air where his neck had been seconds ago. Her fingers had transformed into curved crimson blades, her limbs elongated and elegant, moving like silk and razors entwined.
She wasn't fast.
She was inevitable.
Ashveil moved like a prophecy — every motion preordained, every blow calculated, like the Maw had written her into its song long before Kairo ever stepped into it.
He ducked another swipe and countered with a sharp slash of the cursed blade. Her body twisted, dodging with unnatural grace, and her smile widened.
> "You fight beautifully," she said, voice echoing in layers.
> "But your resistance is so tiring to watch."
---
The chamber pulsed.
A ring of sigils ignited in the air, burning red with divine energy. Ashveil raised one hand — and the sigils rotated, each representing a word, a law, a vow.
> "I am the Maw's disciple," she intoned. "I bleed willingly. I kneel gladly. I suffer lovingly."
> "And you, Kairo, will join me. Whether on your knees…"
> "…or in pieces."
The sigils unleashed.
They flew at him like blades, but they didn't cut flesh — they cut will.
Each one slammed into Kairo's chest, arms, shoulders — and with every impact, a memory burst in his mind:
His first kill.
The first girl he couldn't save.
The night he was cursed.
The moment he realized he was alone.
Each memory burned.
Each one whispered:
> Kneel.
Kairo roared.
He raised his left hand — the cursed sigil flared blinding white for an instant — and the memories froze.
Not erased.
But held at bay.
---
Ashveil watched with fascination.
> "Even your pain fights back. How… precious."
She moved again — blindingly fast this time. The shrine cracked beneath her steps. She leapt, mid-air, a rain of sigils falling from her body like petals.
Kairo rolled forward, his blade flashing up — a perfect vertical strike that severed two of the floating vow-sigils midair.
The result?
They exploded.
A wave of concussive force blasted outward, hurling Kairo back. He skidded across the shrine floor, ribs cracking against the stone. Blood spilled from his lip.
Ashveil landed lightly, approaching slowly, her robe dissolving into shadow. Her body now pulsed with living ink — tattoos crawling over her like vines.
> "Every Ranker gives in eventually," she said, almost gently.
> "We all come here. We all choose."
Kairo wiped the blood from his mouth, rising.
"Then I'll be the first to say no."
He charged.
---
The cursed blade sang as it clashed against her arm-blades. Sparks of red and black lit the shrine. Kairo ducked low, swept her legs — she jumped, flipped midair, landed behind him.
He twisted — narrowly blocked a strike meant for his spine.
Her speed was terrifying.
But speed wasn't dominance.
And Kairo had something she didn't:
Doubt.
---
Mid-clash, he began speaking.
"I've seen what you are," he growled. "You're not free."
She parried a strike.
"I am liberated," she hissed.
"You're hollow," he countered.
Their blades met again, energy crackling between them. Ashveil's eyes flickered — for a second, her expression shifted.
Pain.
Kairo pushed harder.
"You gave up your choices. Your name. Your soul. The curse didn't grant you strength…"
He headbutted her, staggering her backward.
"…it just dressed your chains in gold."
---
She screamed — not in pain, but fury.
The shrine shattered.
Pillars collapsed as Ashveil unleashed her full power. Her body glowed with crimson fire, markings burning from her skin like living scripture.
She became wrath incarnate.
Kairo braced — but the sigil on his palm didn't just burn.
It opened.
Shadow spilled forth in a spiral — encircling him, lifting him, wrapping his arms, his chest, his spine.
The curse was activating — not consuming, but aligning.
It recognized the moment.
It wanted him to respond.
---
Ashveil lunged — a final, divine execution.
And Kairo moved to meet her — not as prey, but as predator.
His blade struck hers midair — and in that instant, both sigils clashed.
The chamber froze.
And they both dropped into memory-space — an illusion between worlds.
---
They stood in a field of ash, with a sky made of screams.
Kairo looked around — and saw Ashveil's past.
A child, beaten.
A lover, betrayed.
A mentor, murdered by the curse.
He saw the moment she was offered the sigil.
> "Kneel," the Maw had whispered.
And she had.
---
Ashveil was there beside him, breathing heavily.
"You see now," she whispered. "Why I said yes."
Kairo looked her in the eyes.
"I see your pain."
He stepped closer.
"I see your strength."
He raised the blade to her throat.
"And I still say no."
---
The illusion shattered.
They were back in the shrine.
And Ashveil was on her knees — trembling.
Not from fear.
But from something else.
From being seen.
---
She looked up at him — and for the first time, the voice of the Maw fell silent.
No whispers. No orders. No seduction.
Just stillness.
And her voice, small and cracked:
> "Then climb, Kairo.
And make it matter."
---
Ashveil remained on her knees.
Kairo stood over her, breath still ragged from the clash, his body screaming for rest… and something deeper. Not hunger. Not victory.
Resolution.
The sigil on his palm glowed faintly now — no longer flaring, no longer screaming to consume her. It pulsed… softly. Like a heartbeat resting after war.
Ashveil raised her head. The crimson flames coating her body had dulled, returning her skin to its human form. Her blades were gone. The runes on her arms flickered like dying embers.
> "You didn't destroy me," she said quietly.
Kairo lowered his blade. "I didn't need to."
Ashveil let out a breath — not relief. Something heavier. Regret wrapped in reverence.
> "That makes you stronger than I ever was."
---
They stood in the broken shrine, surrounded by glowing ash. The walls trembled as if exhausted. Even the Maw seemed to pause.
Kairo looked at the fractured altar where she once knelt.
He stepped closer.
The moment his foot touched the stone steps leading to the altar…
visions flooded him.
Women in robes, heads bowed, bodies scarred in devotion.
Men with gold crowns melted into their skulls, screaming silently.
Rankers falling to their knees in ecstasy — and vanishing in light.
And then, one image held:
Ashveil — younger, unscarred, beautiful in a human way.
She stood in front of the altar, tears streaming down her cheeks.
And she whispered:
> "Make me forget."
---
Kairo snapped back to the present.
Ashveil had stood again — weaker now, but still proud.
She approached him, every step a question.
> "The curse chose you," she said.
> "You could take this level. Rule it. Bind me to your will. Make me a servant, a voice, a weapon."
She knelt again — not like before.
Not in worship.
But in surrender.
> "Do it," she said.
> "Take your place."
---
Kairo stepped past her.
He looked out at the shrine — at the blood-carved walls, the stained-glass ceiling showing nothing but agony in light.
He lifted his cursed hand.
The shrine recognized him.
But he said:
"No."
---
The sigil pulsed once — and released the level.
The world cracked.
Ashveil gasped as the red light dimmed — not violently, but softly, like a candle's final breath.
The shrine faded.
Stone peeled away.
And in its place…
A bridge of obsidian light appeared ahead — leading to the next gate.
Ashveil remained where she was.
Kairo turned to her one last time.
> "You don't have to kneel anymore."
> "You can climb."
She didn't smile.
But her eyes glowed gold one last time.
> "I remember my name again."
---
Kairo stepped onto the bridge.
Behind him, Ashveil knelt not in devotion, but in mourning — for herself, and the pieces she gave away.
The Maw shifted.
It did not rage.
It did not scream.
It watched.
And Kairo walked forward, cursed… but unchained.
---
As he crossed the bridge, something whispered in his mind — not the curse.
A memory.
From before the Maw.
A fragment of a voice — female, familiar, frightened.
> "Don't let them change who you are…"
He paused.
Looked down at his hand.
The sigil pulsed.
---
He tightened his grip on the cursed blade.
"Not yet," he whispered.
And stepped into the next gate.
---