Blood doesn't lie… but it does betray.
The sky cracked like shattered glass.
Red lightning danced across the heavens, illuminating a ruined stone temple at the edge of the world — a forgotten place, swallowed by vines and ash. Fire flickered along the crumbling pillars. The moon above was wrong — too big, too close, bleeding across the sky like an open wound.
And beneath that bleeding moon, they fought.
A boy and a girl.
Twins — once born under the same breath, now trying to end each other with every blow.
Dell stumbled back, breath ragged. His shirt was torn, soaked in sweat and blood. His left arm dangled limply at his side, bones cracked. His right hand still clutched a blade that flickered like dying starlight — his last hope, his last stand.
Across from him stood Delila.
No longer the girl he remembered — not fully.
Her silver hair whipped like a storm behind her. Dark horns curved upward from her temples, faintly pulsing with infernal power. A crown of shadows sat crookedly on her head, forged from the screams of forgotten gods. Her eyes — once soft, now a blazing red — locked onto him, not with hatred, but something colder.
Pity.
"Still breathing?" she said softly, tilting her head.
Dell spit blood onto the cracked floor. "You think I'll die easy?"
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I know you won't. That's what makes this hard."
She raised her hand. The air rippled.
Dark magic surged — not like smoke or flame, but pressure. Like the weight of a thousand sins collapsing in on him.
Dell roared and charged.
His blade screamed against her magic as he slashed downward. For a moment, their powers collided — light and dark fighting for breath.
Then Delila whispered:
> "Bloodline: Sinbind."
A black chain erupted from her palm, wrapping around his sword, his arm — his heart.
Dell gasped as it squeezed. His magic recoiled, collapsing in on itself. He felt the pressure snap something inside him.
His knees hit the ground.
She walked toward him slowly, her footsteps the only sound in the silence. The fires around them died, bowing to her presence.
"I warned you," she whispered, kneeling beside him. "You can't save me, Dell. You never could."
He looked up at her — eyes dazed, lips trembling.
"Then why… are you crying?"
Delila froze.
She reached up. Her fingertips brushed her cheek. Wet.
She stood abruptly.
"Because I remember who you were," she said. "And I hate that it still hurts."
She turned away.
"Goodbye, brother."
And with a snap of her fingers, the chains shattered his sword.
Dell collapsed face-first into the stone — defeated, broken, breath shallow.
The world went dark.
Absolutely! Here's Chapter 2 of Future Fantasy. This continues from the dramatic flashback opening of Chapter 1. Now we slowly pull away from the past — without directly telling the reader it was a flashback — and ease into Dell's present situation, his mental and emotional aftermath, and the world he lives in now.
-----
The wind whispered through the dead forest like it remembered pain.
Dell sat alone on the edge of a cliff, staring into a vast chasm below — a scar in the land left by one of their battles. The scent of smoke and burnt wood still lingered, even though the fire had died weeks ago. Trees stood like skeletons; the earth was cracked, and the sky above remained a pale gray, as if mourning.
His fingers reached for the necklace around his neck — the broken pendant, cool against his chest.
He clutched it.
The other half was still with her.
Delila.
He hadn't seen her in almost two years. Not since the day she broke everything. Not since the moment she stood above him, victorious, her crimson eyes unreadable — and let him live.
Let him crawl away, shattered but breathing.
He wished she had killed him.
"You're quiet again," said a voice from behind.
Dell didn't turn. He didn't need to. The footsteps were too light for Max, too gentle for any threat.
Yuka.
She sat beside him, cross-legged, her white boots muddy, cloak trailing behind her like a whisper.
"You had that dream again, didn't you?" she asked softly, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear.
He didn't answer, but his silence was enough.
Yuka sighed. "You know… you can't keep doing this. Sitting out here, waiting for memories to answer questions they'll never ask."
"I'm not waiting," he said. "I'm remembering."
"Same difference," she replied, plucking a stone and tossing it into the abyss. It vanished without a sound. "You still think she can be saved, don't you?"
Dell closed his eyes.
"I know she can."
Yuka didn't speak for a long time. When she finally did, her voice was quieter than the wind.
"She's the Demon Empress now, Dell. The Council wants her gone. So does everyone else. Even Grey Wolf's hunting her."
"I don't care what the Council wants," he said. "I care about her."
Yuka flinched.
Dell stood, brushing off his jacket. "I'll stop her if I have to... but I won't kill her."
"You might not get that choice."
A pause.
"You think I don't know that?" Dell whispered. "But I made a promise."
"To her?"
He looked at Yuka for the first time — and the weight in his eyes made her look away.
"No," he said. "To myself."
---
Meanwhile, somewhere far darker…
In a fortress carved from obsidian and shadow, a woman sat on a throne of thorns.
Delila.
The Demon Empress.
Her eyes, once soft, were now sharp like bloodstone. Her dark hair flowed down her back like ink, and she wore a crown shaped like twisting black wings. Power hummed in the air around her — wild, dangerous, ancient.
At her feet, a dozen soldiers knelt, their armor scorched and dented.
"You failed to find him," she said, voice cold.
The leader tried to speak, but choked on fear.
Delila stood. The hall darkened.
"I'll find him myself."
Her hand touched the half of a broken necklace tucked beneath her collar.
Just for a second — only one — her expression cracked.
Then it was gone.