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Chapter One Raven: Raven Roth.
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Angela Roth, with her youthful innocence and naivety, embarked down the dimly lit aisle, the flickering candles casting eerie shadows that danced around her. Her heart raced in her chest, a tumultuous mix of excitement and fear coursing through her veins as she took each step towards her fateful destination.
Love, true love. The elusive dream of true love had lured her here, promising fulfillment beyond her wildest dreams in exchange for her devotion.
Surrounding her were figures draped in black cloaks, their faces shrouded in darkness beneath their hoods. Their very presence sent shivers down her spine, accentuating the eerie atmosphere that enveloped her. These silent, ominous figures guided her forward with an unsettling unity, each step taking her closer to her uncertain destiny.
At the front of the chapel, a massive stone podium loomed like an ancient altar, its surface etched with a downward-pointing pentagram, its symbolism lost on the young and naive Angela. Overhead, a murder of ravens circled in a haunting display, their ominous caws echoing through the darkening sky, setting the stage for the ritual's unfolding.
Overhead, ominous ravens circled the darkening sky, their caws adding an unsettling soundtrack to the unfolding ritual. The leader of the cloaked congregation, the figure at the center of this cryptic ceremony, reached out and gently clasped Angela's hand as though she were a fragile, precious treasure. With a surreal sense of vulnerability, Angela was led toward the foreboding stone pedestal.
The chanting of the cloaked figures began, filling the chapel with eerie vibrations that resonated within her very soul. The leader, a silhouette amidst the shadows, produced a gleaming blade, its glint ominous in the dim light. With a swift, practiced motion, he sliced Angela's palm, unleashing a searing pain that made her gasp. Her virginal blood flowed, a crimson offering to the pentagram beneath her, and she felt a mounting dread as the ancient symbol began to glow with an unnatural fire.
As the ominous chants came to an abrupt halt, the fire dimmed and gave way to a swirling cloud of thick, suffocating smoke. From within this haze emerged a tall, imposing figure, his presence commanding and otherworldly. Angela's heart raced anew as she beheld him—a striking man with flowing, almost ethereal blond locks that billowed like a golden waterfall in the chapel's draft. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of gold, bore into her with a seductive allure, and a sly, enigmatic smirk curled his lips as he extended his hand, inviting her to join him in the unknown.
Still trembling with nervousness but no longer paralyzed by fear, Angela accepted his hand with a mixture of apprehension and desire. With a touch that was both gentle and electrifying, he helped her onto the stone pedestal, his warmth enveloping her like a protective shroud. She felt a strange, paradoxical blend of desire and security in his presence, an intoxicating mix that heightened her vulnerability.
With deliberate sensuality, he removed her slip, and Angela lay on the warm stone, her hair splaying out like a raven's wings, framing her face in a halo of darkness. He leaned over her, and she surrendered to the anticipation, closing her eyes and waiting for the love and ecstasy he had promised.
But when she dared to open her eyes, a guttural, horrific scream of terror escaped her lips, tearing through the heavy silence of the chapel.
The once handsome, captivating man had metamorphosed into the grotesque manifestation of the monster he truly was. His body expanded grotesquely, his skin transformed into a hellish shade of red, and his teeth elongated into menacing fangs. A pair of additional eyes emerged beneath growing horns on his head, each one mirroring the horrors of the abyss.
His malevolent laughter, a sound that would haunt her nightmares for eternity, reverberated through the chapel as he held her down with inhuman strength, ruthlessly implanting his seed within her. As he finished, he stood up, and just as mysteriously as he had appeared, he vanished into a cloud of acrid smoke, leaving Angela in a state of shock and disbelief, her world forever shattered.
Terrified and unable to fully comprehend the unfathomable horror she had just endured, Angela fled the accursed church, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her insides burned with an indescribable torment, and blood trickled down her thigh, a cruel reminder of her nightmarish ordeal. Unbeknownst to her, she now bore the sinister offspring of the demon, Trigon—a horrifying legacy of her ill-fated and unholy encounter in the chapel of shadows.
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Huddled in the cold, damp embrace of a dark alley, Angela's body shivered from the frigid night air. Hunger gnawed at her insides, but it was the relentless discomfort of her swollen abdomen that drew most of her attention. She laid her hand over the prominent bulge, wincing as the powerful movements of the creature inside her made her flinch. She let out a shaky, exhausted sigh, her breath forming frosty clouds in the chilly darkness.
Desperation and despair gripped her, making her feel as though she were suffocating beneath the weight of her predicament. She couldn't bear to continue living with this abomination growing within her, a constant reminder of the nightmarish ritual she had been a part of.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, their salty trails cutting through the dirt and grime that clung to her face. In her trembling hand, she clutched a bottle of sleeping pills she had stolen from a nearby pharmacy earlier in the evening. She had contemplated this desperate act, the idea of ending her torment for days now. With her resolve teetering on the edge, she brought the bottle to her lips.
But before she could tilt her head back and release herself from this wretched existence, an unexpected blinding light seared through the darkness of the alley. Startled, she dropped the bottle, its contents spilling onto the cold pavement, and she took a hesitant step back.
From within the radiant illumination emerged a figure draped in flowing white robes, a stark contrast to the dismal surroundings. The brilliance of the light made it difficult for Angela to discern any features of the mysterious visitor.
"Fear not, my dear child." The cloaked figure spoke with a soothing, melodic voice that cut through the despair that had become Angela's constant companion. He extended a hand toward her, palm up, as though offering solace and salvation. "I am but a messenger from a realm between realms. I am here to take you and your unborn child to a place where you will be safe—a place called Azarath."
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