The Devil's Prelude

The air was thick with tension, a suffocating pressure that seemed to settle on the chest of the small, dimly lit room.

Lucas was trembling, his hands slick with sweat as he clutched at the cold stone floor beneath him. His eyes darted from his parents––kneeling in front of him, their hands raised as if in prayer, blood pooling at their feet––and then to the gleaming, red diamond in his father's hand.

The symbol, gleaming in the faint light, seemed to pulse, sending a jolt of unease through his chest.

"Lucas," his mother's voice cracked, barely audible over the low in the air. Her eyes were wide with an emotion Lucas couldn't understand––desperation, perhaps, or fear.

"We're doing this for you. You'll understand soon."

But Lucas didn't understand. He was eight years old, and the world didn't make sense anymore. His parents, usually so warm and comforting, looked like strangers now, their faces drawn with a mixture of pain and resolve.

The room felt different––darker, as though something was creeping in from the corners, something that wasn't supposed to be there.

"Mom, Dad... what's happening?" Lucas's voice trembled, his words thin as he forced them through clenched teeth. He wanted to run, to escape, but his feet were glued to the ground, his body betraying him, locked in place as though the room itself was holding him there.

His father's grip tightened on the diamond, the red glow from it cutting through the shadows. "It's time, Lucas. You need to be strong. We need to make the Sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Lucas's breath caught in his throat. "Wjay, do you mean? Sacrifice? What's happening to you?" His heart pounded wildly as the chill in the air wrapped around him like a tightening coil.

But his father didn't answer. Instead, the two of them exchanged a glance, and Lucas could see the unspoken words between them, words he couldn't understand. Then, his mother's eyes turned toward him again, desperation clear in her expression.

"You have to understand, Lucas," she whispered, her voice breaking. "This is the only way. For you to... to live." her hand trembled as it reached out toward him, and he flinched back instinctively, confusion and fear swelling in his chest.

Before he could process what was happening, a low rumble vibrated through the floor, and the air became thick and dense with an energy that made Lucas's skin prickle. The walls seemed to shift, shadows moving unnaturally, flickering like flames in the dark.

His mother let out a choking gasp; her face twisted in pain as she lifted her hand and pressed it to her chest. "We must do this... or he'll take you."

"Who? Who will take me? Who?!" Lucas could barely hear his own words, drowned out by the sound of something that wasn't quite human. It was like a voice in the air, twisting around him, a dark presence that seemed to crawl up his spine.

A shadow flickered in the corner of the room so the fact that Lucas could barely comprehend it. He turned to look, but there was nothing there––only a cold, oppressive stillness.

"Lucas! Don't look away," his mother pleaded, her voice frantic now. "You have to––"

The diamond in his father's hand blazed brighter, and Lucas felt the heat radiating from it. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing in until he could barely breathe. Then, the world around him seemed to tremble. His parents began chanting words Lucas couldn't understand, their voices growing louder with each pressing sound. They were no longer just words––they were commands, ancient and powerful like the earth itself had started to move under their feet.

"Mom! Dad! Stop! Please!" Lucas cried out, but his voice was drowned in the overwhelming hum of energy that filled the room.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him cracked, the floor splintering as if it were made of glass. From the center of the room, a circle of light began to form, dark and swirling, like a vortex pulling at his very soul. His parents' chanting reached a fever pitch, and the shadows in the room seemed to come alive, stretching and twisting in ways that weren't possible.

And then, it appeared.

A figure, tall and thin, cloaked in black, its face obscured by shadows, but its eyes—its eyes burned a bright, cruel red. The air crackled with static as if the figure was pulling the very energy from the room, bending it to its will.

"Lucas…" The voice was a low growl, something ancient, something that shook the air around him. "You are the one… the one chosen."

A sudden, sharp pain exploded in Lucas's forehead. He cried out, but his voice was lost in the growing cacophony. His body jerked, his skin searing with the heat of something—something not of this world. His hands reached for his forehead instinctively, but the pain intensified, blinding him. The diamond, now embedded in his skin, was burning like fire, tearing at him from the inside out.

His parents, no longer looking at him, continued their chant as if nothing had changed, their voices rising and falling in eerie harmony.

The red diamond pulsed with a life of its own, and Lucas's body was overtaken by the most terrifying music he had ever heard.

Its strings screamed with a sound so raw, so powerful that it shook him to his core.

Then, as if the world itself had split in two, the figure reached out, its hand stretching toward him. The moment it touched him, the room erupted into a blinding light.

"NO!" Lucas screamed, but the scream was cut short. The red diamond in his forehead exploded with light, and everything went dark.

Lucas gasped, his body jolting upright. His chest heaved, and he felt the sweat soaking through his shirt as his eyes snapped open. The quiet, sterile room of the orphanage greeted him, the faint light from the window casting long shadows across the walls.

His hand shot up to his forehead. There it was. The diamond. It was real. The cool, unnatural surface pressed against his fingertips, nestled beneath his skin, pulsing faintly as though it had a heartbeat of its own. He winced, pulling his hand back as if touching it might ignite the searing pain again.

The dream––no, the memory––was still fresh. His parent's voices, the chants, the figure in the shadows, the music. He could still feel the heat of the circle, the burn of the diamond as it fused with him, and the terrible sound of that instrument, a sound that felt more like it had carved itself into his soul than simply entered his ears.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. The room was silent now, but the memory of the music echoed faintly in his mind, haunting and distant. The diamond on his forehead pulsed once, softly, and his chest tightened.

Lucas's hand clenched into a fist. He didn't understand why any of it had happened, why his parents did what they did. Why did he have to carry this thing? But the one thing he did understand, the one thing he couldn't ignore, was the weight of their sacrifice. Whatever it was they had died for, it was now part of him—whether he wanted it or not.

He leaned back against the thin pillow, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the orphanage. In the room's stillness, the silence felt heavy, yet he swore he could still hear faint strains of the instrument in his mind—taunting him, calling to him.

It always did.