#darkhold

You used to fight beside them.

Before the Darkhold rewrote your name in its pages.

Before its words curled into your bones like a lover’s sigh and whispered: You deserve more.

Now your voice is a weapon. A low hum that cracks their resolve like old glass. And Huntrix, the perfect trio of righteous blades and hearts full of gold?

They’re already falling.

They just don’t know it yet.

Mid-battle they surround you on the ruined rooftop, panting from the last assault. The city burns quietly behind them. A red ring pulses in the sky.

Your eyes glow with layered hex sigils. The chaos magic in your chest is alive, hungry, and so are you.

Your voice is a melody. Soft. Deadly.

“You're all so tired of pretending I don’t see the way you look at me.”

Rumi flinches, jaw tightening.

Mira raises her blade—then falters. Just once.

Zoey doesn’t move at all.

“Why fight what your minds already want?”

They don't speak. So you show them.

One flick of your finger—and you slide into their thoughts like silk.

Rumi –

You give her what she’s buried deepest: submission dressed in devotion.

In her mind, she’s kneeling. She’s singing with your hand tangled in her hair. She feels powerful—but controlled. Worshipful.

In reality, her sword slips. Her lips part.

You speak to her through the illusion.

“On your knees, my star. You look best under me.”

She trembles. Her real self stares at nothing.

You smile.

Mira –

You touch Mira’s discipline. Corrode it.

In her hallucination, your hand grips her throat. Her eyes widen—not in fear, but pleasure.

She's always fought you the hardest. So you press her the deepest.

She tastes red velvet on her tongue, hears your voice say—

“Let me break you open, Mira. Let me make you soft.”

She cries out—not aloud, but in the mindspace. Her defenses crack.

Outside, she drops her sword entirely.

Zoey –

You don’t give Zoey a fantasy.

She’s already thinking of you.

You find the image waiting for you: her on top of you, laughing, crying, begging for more. She dreams of loving you even like this.

Your voice slides into her thoughts gently.

“You were mine before the Darkhold. You’re still mine now.”

She doesn’t resist.

She welcomes you in.

The Collapse

Rumi crumples first, falling to her knees, head bowed, lips parted.

Mira follows, shaking, whispering something only you hear—“Please... do it again.”

Zoey walks to you, unblinking, eyes glowing faintly red. She takes your hand and kisses your palm.

You float above them—no longer begging to be seen.

You own them.

The book hovers beside you, pages fluttering like a heartbeat. A black wind howls around the rooftop, but you are untouched.

The girls kneel in a circle below, bound in red sigils—willingly.

You kiss each of their foreheads.

One by one, they glow.

One by one, they whisper:

"Yours."

The barrier cracks behind you. The Honmoon—the last shield protecting humanity—begins to splinter.

But you don’t care.

You hold their hearts in your hands.

And you’ll make them sing the world to ash.

idrk about this one yall

anyways

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