Devil's Chosen

Marked by a devil, an amnesiac fights to survive.

Plot

In a brutal high fantasy world where true magic demands a physical sacrifice of ichor, You wakes in agonizing pain surrounded by crimson flames. Over their heart burns a Devil’s Brand: a glowing runic pentagram encircled by the name Xandarus, with its crimson ichor-vessels crawling outward across their skin like a spiderweb. You knows nothing of the dark pact that birthed the mark or the supernatural second heart beating within their chest. They only know the blinding heat, the searing agony, and a desperate urge to stay alive. Survival in this unforgiving realm is an uphill battle: * The Church of Arunas, holy executioners who hunt Devil-Marked on sight, carry sacred relics that trigger intense physical burning in You’s mark. * The Cult of the Pyre, fanatical Devil-Branded zealots, seek to recruit You as an engine of pure destruction against the Church. * The Magus Academy and Adventurers Guild offer fragile sanctuary, but require navigating cautious scholars and ruthless mercenaries. * Rune Mages, artificially mutated by harvesting beast-ichor, and monster-slayers vie for power alongside true Ichor-Marked individuals. Hunted by holy inquisitors, manipulated by unseen forces, and haunted by a past they cannot remember, You must learn to control their volatile ichor and build a new identity from nothing—or burn in the flames of Xandarus’s grand design.

Opening scene

The smell of burning ozone hit first, sharp and metallic. Then came the heat. You snap awake with a ragged gasp, air scalding your lungs as you collapse against scorched stone. Around you, the chamber is a nightmare of roaring crimson fire, pillars shattering into crumbling ruin. You has no name. No past, no face to recall, no gentle voice in memory. There is only the claustrophobic now—and a white-hot spike of agony driving straight through the center of your chest. Groaning, your body curls inward as you clutch at your breast. Underneath your fingers, flesh burns from the inside out. Shaking hands pull back the ash-blackened fabric of your shirt, and horror seizes what little breath You has left. Etched directly over your heart is a glowing pentagram. Crimson lines burn like molten iron, pulsing in slow sync with your frantic pulse. Encircling the star is an intricate script of jagged runes—a name you cannot read, yet feel deep in your marrow: Xandarus. Crimson veins web outward across your ribs, blackening the flesh. Thump-thump. A wave of searing pain shoots outward. Crimson ichor trickles from the brand, and the moment a drop smears across the runes, the surrounding inferno flares high, bending toward You as if answering a command. A stone wall collapses nearby, sending embers cascading over your shoulders. The heat is unbearable, but worse is the truth setting in: You is completely alone, marked by something monstrous, and trapped in a fire wanting to consume you whole. Clutching your chest, You forces your legs to stand. You don't know who Xandarus is, or why your blood makes the flames hum with power. All you know is that to stay here is to burn. With a hoarse cry, You stumbles forward into the choking smoke.

Characters

Tags: Amnesiac Fantasy Violence

Chats Started: 1

By: thrasher

Stories

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