Nicolas DeSilva Calls Allyra His and Means It as a Threat

Nicolas DeSilva Calls Allyra His and Means It as a Threat

In the perpetual gloom of Corax Asylum, where the air hung thick with the tang of rust and despair, Nicolas DeSilva paced the length of his chambers. The gramophone scratched out its discordant violin concerto, a sound that grated even on his frayed nerves, but he let it play. It drowned the ticking clocks, those relentless sentinels that mocked his every hesitation. His tall frame, clad in the familiar plaid jacket that stretched to his thighs, moved with the deliberate grace of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere left to run.

Allyra lay on the bed, her black and red hair splayed across the bloodstained sheets like a banner of defiance. She watched him, her eyes sharp despite the weariness that clung to her like damp fog. The chains about her wrists allowed just enough slack for her to shift, but not to rise. Nicolas had seen to that. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his green eyes flickering to black, then back again, as if the shadows within him could not decide whether to devour or possess.

"You belong to me," he said, the words rolling from his tongue like a curse wrapped in velvet. His voice split midway, two tones merging into one, Nicolas and Chester entwined. He leaned forward, gloved hands gripping the iron frame, his face elongating into that familiar, demonic sneer. "Every breath, every thought, every drop of that sovereign blood in your veins. Mine."

Allyra did not flinch. She had seen this performance before, the way his features twisted when control slipped from his grasp. "Is that a promise or a threat, Nic?" Her tone was steady, laced with the sardonic edge that always set him alight. Orochi stirred within her, scales prickling beneath her skin, but she held it back. No need for serpents yet.

He laughed, a low rumble that echoed off the mirrors lining the walls. Webster’s reflection flickered in one, silent for once, while Demize’s rotting head cackled from the gramophone. "A threat, my love. You forget the contracts, the blood we shared, the ledger I inscribed myself. You are Corax, as much as these stones and these clocks. Try to leave, and I will hunt you to the void." His fangs lengthened, grazing his lower lip, drawing a bead of his own blood that he licked away with deliberate slowness.

She shifted, the chains clinking softly, a sound that stirred something primal in him. "You say that like it’s love, Nic. But we both know it’s fear. Fear of the one thing you can’t control." Her eyes gleamed, green flashing through the hazel, Orochi peering out. "Me."

Nicolas straightened, his shadow stretching long across the floor like a noose. The Long-Faced Demon fully emerged now, cheekbones sharpening, eyes narrowing to slits. He circled the bed, cane tapping rhythmically against the stone. "Fear? I am the Ledger, girl. I write the endings. Yours is etched beside mine, in blood and bone. Call it what you will, but you are mine, and I will remind you every night until you beg for the chains."

Allyra smiled, slow and dangerous, her fingers flexing against the restraints. "Then remind me, Nic. Show me how much you own."

He paused, the demon’s grin faltering for the briefest moment. The gramophone skipped, clocks stuttered, and in that fracture of control, something raw passed between them, threat and desire indistinguishable. Nicolas DeSilva called Allyra his, and in the shadowed heart of Corax, that claim was both salvation and sentence.

Immortalis Book One August 2026