Me and the Devil: I sold my soul

That night, the Ravensword estate was cloaked in a darkness so still, it barely seemed to breathe. Behind fogged-up windows, the moon showed only half its face—as if refusing to fully witness the burden the night carried.

In the study, the dim glow of an oil lamp swayed gently with the draft. Hugo sat alone in front of a pile of old documents. His eyes scanned the yellowed pages wearily, fingers trailing down each line with growing tension.

"The Falacy... always hiding in the shadows," he muttered under his breath. "But even shadows leave footprints if the darkness is deep enough."

He reached for a folder with a broken seal and opened it carefully. Inside, a report dated nearly two decades ago.

"It is reported that a group of masked men were seen gathering in a small village along the Thames River... Wapping Marsh."

Hugo narrowed his eyes. "Wapping Marsh…"

He stood slowly, leaning against the table. Rain had begun to fall outside. His fingers tapped the wood rhythmically, as if trying to summon a forgotten memory.

"If there's one place they considered safe… perhaps that's where their ghosts still lie buried."

---

The next morning, Hugo departed without guards. Without telling anyone. Only a heavy coat wrapped his body, high leather boots strapped tight, and a small leather satchel in hand.

His horse-drawn carriage creaked softly down misty roads. The farther from the city center he traveled, the colder and quieter it became. The fog thickened, and the cobbled roads gave way to muddy terrain.

At last, he arrived.

Wapping Marsh.

The village was nearly lifeless. Crumbling wooden houses leaned sideways as if moments away from collapse. Broken roofs, doors creaking open in the wind. No human voices—only the sound of wind and the cawing of crows perched on dead timber.

But one building stood out: a stone church with a small tower, remarkably well-maintained compared to the decaying houses.

Hugo stared. "In the midst of this ruin… why is the church the only building untouched?"

He stepped inside.

A bell chime rang softly as the church door opened. The interior was dim and dusty, yet the altar was still pristine. Candles flickered faintly. The air was heavy and sacred.

Suddenly, from behind the altar curtain, an old man appeared.

He walked slowly. His back hunched. His skin like rotted bark, with pale clouded eyes and a voice rough with time.

 "Good afternoon… Sir?"

Hugo nearly stepped back in surprise. For a moment, he truly thought he saw a ghost.

"Good afternoon… Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Hugo replied awkwardly, trying to offer a polite smile.

"Not many visitors come here… in the past two decades," the priest murmured as he shuffled toward a wooden pew.

"May I ask you something?" Hugo stepped forward.

"Of course, young man. This church may be old… but God's ears remain open."

"Why are you still here? In a village that's practically dead?"

The priest sighed deeply, then slowly sat down. His hands clasped a small wooden cross.

"I can't leave. This church… is a place of atonement. Much blood was spilled in this village. I can't close my eyes or pretend ignorance. Someone must remain, to pray, to keep the door open—for those who've lost their way to know… there's still one place that won't cast them out."

Hugo's eyes wandered to the back wall, covered in faded paintings and wooden panels. One large painting loomed in the shadows—robed figures depicted in shades of crimson and violet, a familiar symbol etched beneath them.

 "This symbol…" Hugo whispered, stepping closer.

The old priest offered a faint smile, though his eyes stayed heavy.

"Ah… so you've come because of them. The Falacy."

Silence blanketed the room.

"So… it's true. They were here?"

"Not just were. They built this place. Beneath this church… remains a tunnel they once used."

Hugo's heart pounded.

"And you know where it is?"

The priest didn't reply. He only stared long and hard before finally rising and walking toward the altar.

"Follow me… but if you truly seek the truth, prepare to see things… even God refuses to witness."

---

Wapping Marsh Church — Underground

The stairs down were like a descent into a tomb. Damp stone walls and the stench of mold and old blood filled the air. The tiny candles held by the priest lit only fragments of the darkness.

Hugo gripped his lantern, eyes sharp. Each step echoed like a knock on ancient graves.

"Why hide this beneath a church?" he asked quietly.

The priest halted in front of a rotted wooden door marked with a circular symbol—twisted and unnatural, sending chills through Hugo's skin.

"Because sin cannot reside on sacred ground," the priest whispered. "This place… is the tomb of an old faith."

The door creaked open. Inside was a bare stone chamber, save for a large altar covered in dust and archaic symbols. Atop it rested a thick, black leather book.

Hugo stepped forward, scanning the room. He touched the book. Dust scattered into the air.

"Is this… a record of The Falacy?"

The priest sat slowly on a stone bench. His breathing labored.

"I once believed we could overturn this world from the shadows. That a single cut in the right place… could topple a king without spilling a drop of common blood."

He gave a bitter laugh. "But we were wrong."

"You… were one of them?"

"Father Barlow. My old name no longer matters. But yes, I once stood among them. I swore allegiance in hatred, not hope."

"And this… is my punishment. To outlive my brothers. To watch them hunted, slaughtered, or vanish one by one."

---

Wapping Marsh Church — Nightfall

The wind crept through broken beams of the old church. Candlelight danced on cracked pillars. In the middle, Hugo sat across from Barlow—his eyes clouded, skin sunken, a man halfway into the grave.

"I have seen many things, Lord Hugo," Barlow murmured. "Lies that were called truth… and truths even demons dared not hear."

Hugo said nothing, watching the man closely.

"Do you know… of the prophecy we carried in our blood?"

"A prophecy?" Hugo gripped his notebook tighter. "Explain."

Barlow smiled faintly and stood. He walked behind the altar, pulling up a floorboard—revealing a hidden compartment. From it, he retrieved an animal-skin scroll, ancient, brittle, reeking of earth and time.

"We called it: Verba Incendia Regni."

> The Words That Will Burn the Crown.

He unrolled it. Old symbols, written in dried blood now turned black, formed a haunting Latin verse—translated by Barlow in a rasping whisper:

 "When a child is born of a woman torn from life,

And raised amidst lust and sin,

His blood shall darken,

And his tongue shall summon ancient shadows.

He shall walk as a man,

But his soul… belongs to Hell.

And when the crown stands upon rot,

That child shall burn it,

Until only ash and curse remain."

Hugo held his breath.

"That's Charles," he finally said.

Barlow didn't answer. He just stared with lifeless eyes.

"Why did you keep this?"

"Because we didn't know whether to stop him… or let him finish what we never could—the destruction of the system." He smirked bitterly. "Funny, isn't it? We, worshippers of power… now rely on a little devil to finish our work."

"So the child fated to burn the crown… is real?"

Barlow sat back down. He stared at the flickering candle flame.

"Prophecies aren't truths. But they are fears passed down through generations. And that boy… is fear given form."

---

Silence settled.

Hugo looked once more at the writings. Then he stood. Wind blew through a broken window, carrying the call of an owl outside.

"Thank you for your honesty, Father Barlow."

Barlow didn't turn. "Be careful, Lord Hugo. The fire that burns the crown… may also burn the hand trying to save it."

---

Outside the Church — Midnight

Hugo stepped outside, clutching the book tight. Overhead, the moon was nearly full. The village lay quiet, like land long forgotten by time.

But in his heart… Barlow's words echoed.

"I stayed here… not out of faith."

"But because there's no other place for those unworthy of forgiveness."

Hugo looked out over the ruined village.

And he knew… this was only the beginning of his journey.

---