Descendants: End of Days

Demina

Demina sat in her coffin, tracing the patterns of a gold chalice, when a heavy pounding echoed from her door. Gliding, almost flying, to the black wood, she opened up to find Harry Hook standing before her. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks tear-stained, his body language signaling desparation. And in his outstretched hand, he held her medallion.
"Hand it over if you wish to take my offer" she reminded him while she held out a hand. Without so much as the slightest hesitation, Harry handed her the necklace. She took it, inspecting it, until she appeared satisfied and pocketed it.

"You remember the deal, yes?" Demina asked while leading Harry inside. "Or did a buildup of liquor inhibit your memory?"
"I remember, lass" Harry snapped. "Strength, speed, dominion, thirst, three nights. Succeed, all goes back to normal."
"And need I remind you if you should fail?" Demina questioned.
Harry looked lost. Demina laughed a little, an unholy spark in her eyes.
"Should you fail, pirate, I will be set free to unleash my wrath upon this world, and all who inhabit it."
"Oh" Harry remembered. "Fun."
"It's funny" Demina struck a conversation. "Most who enter here and encounter me are afraid. But in you, pirate, I sense hope. Tell me, how far have you fallen that you consult the forces of darkness for hope?"
"Far enough to try this nonsense" Harry answered, "but not far enough to let you destroy this place."
"Ah, the champion of L'île Perdue" Demina recalled from their last meeting. "Such a noble cause for someone as low as you."
Harry glared. "Let's get on with this."

Demina picked up the chalice she'd been playing with, then dragged a nail across her wrist, letting the blood flow into the chalice. Harry watched, disgusted and somehow curious.
"When you succumb to this thirst, you will set me free" she reiterated as the chalice filled. "I will have my chance to unleash my wrath on this world, and I will call upon you to serve me. If you drink this, you are setting yourself up to become my pawn in this game, and all the world hangs in the balance."
As she finished talking, her wrist healed, and the chalice was about ¾ of the way full with blood. She held it out to him.
"I look forward to disappointing you, lass" Harry responded as he took the chalice.
"Drink" she told him. Harry looked into the cup, staring at his reflection in the dark liquid. It smelled metallic, and his empty stomach churned at the thought of drinking it. Nonetheless, he put the chalice to his lips, and began to drink.

Even expired rum didn't taste quite as caustic and revolting as the blood that made its way through his lips, and he found himself gagging multiple times as he drank. When he'd finally let the last drop slide down his tongue, he threw the chalice aside, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He felt woozy and disoriented, and soon had to brace himself on the side of the wall.
"Now what…?" Harry asked as he dropped to his knees. He clutched his stomach, his eyes going wide as he felt the blood taking effect. It felt like poison in his veins. It ached, and burned, and there was no way to stop it.
"Now?" Demina asked rhetorically. "Now, you die."
As soon as she said it, Harry fell onto his side, unable to form words or even syllables as his vision blurred. Blood dripped from his lips, down his chin, as he gasped one final breath, and then went still on the floor. Demina looked at the body of the defeated pirate, and grinned. She then picked him up and took him outside, deciding to leave him in that red jacket. After all, it was officially all he had left of the life he loved.