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Metempsychosis VII – Sovran and Nashim/Rubber

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Part I: Darkness

There is one crucial chapter that I have deliberately avoided until now.

I held back partly to preserve the chronology of the dreamspheres as they unfolded, but mostly because some memories are still painful to revisit. Speaking about them feels like reopening old wounds. Yet the time has come. This piece belongs here—not only because it ties directly into everything I described before, but because it finally makes chronological sense.

As I mentioned in the very first pages, most dreamspheres followed a familiar pattern. They would begin in that vast, empty wasteland I call the neutral state: a barren, featureless expanse under a colorless sky. Gradually, shapes and structures would emerge, characters would appear, and entire worlds would unfold as my mind settled into that particular sphere. The dream would play out until the landscape dissolved and the cycle reset.

These spheres would cycle through my nights in no fixed order—sometimes guided by my waking emotions, sometimes with no discernible reason at all. By the time I reached my thirties, my dream life had become as rich and eventful as my waking one. I lived several alternate existences I could escape into whenever the real world grew too heavy.

But there was one important detail I had omitted.

Occasionally, what began as an ordinary reset into the neutral slate would twist. The landscape would warp and corrupt, dragging me into something far darker. These were not ordinary nightmares. Most often they resembled my everyday life, but filtered through a hellish distortion. Familiar streets and buildings appeared half-demolished, with peeling paint, rusted metal, and an overwhelming sense of decay. If you’ve ever played Silent Hill or seen similar horror, you’ll understand the atmosphere instantly: rank, metallic air that clings to the throat, empty corridors echoing with distant rumbling, rattling pipes, low growling, and far-off screams that never quite reveal their source.

These nightmarish spheres began very early—probably when I was only four or five. I was a classic night-terror child. I didn’t usually suffer full sleep paralysis (though my parents claim it happened a handful of times), but I would wake drenched in cold sweat, trembling violently, sometimes running a mysterious fever that doctors could never explain. I was put on every medication imaginable and dragged to countless counselors. Nothing helped. In fact, most treatments only made things worse.

Through years of painful trial and error, I discovered why. Many sleeping aids and anxiety medications didn’t simply suppress the nightmares—they blocked every other dreamsphere entirely, leaving only the nightmarish one free to dominate my nights. The result was pure torment.

When Nevlaan first appeared, I truly believed the nightmares were finally over. For the first time in years, my dream life felt safe and welcoming. Relief washed over me. Then, one night, the corruption returned.

This time, the nightmare wore a cruelly familiar face: an alternate version of Nevlaan, twisted with rage and something almost demonic. That false Nevlaan hunted me relentlessly through the decaying landscape. In one particularly vivid encounter, he tried to drown me. I barely escaped. It took me a long time to speak of it to anyone. Nevlaan was the first I trusted with the truth, and his unwavering belief—and patient guidance—kept me from shutting myself off completely from the dreamspheres.

I won’t detail the horrors the others brought. Storm, Sorvaa’hr, Alswaram… each left me with memories of violence and blood that still make my stomach turn. No matter how hard I tried to push the nightmare sphere from my mind, it kept returning, dragging me into a personal hell I could neither understand nor escape.

As I grew older, I turned to horror movies. I couldn’t even explain why at first—it simply felt… natural. Familiar. In the back of my mind, I hoped the exposure would desensitize me and drive the nightmares away. It didn’t work. Yet, paradoxically, I found comfort in them. After each film, a strange calm would settle over me. In high school I moved on to horror novels, and I still read them today.

Around the same time—around the late ‘90s, as the internet began opening new doors for me—I stumbled into Wicca and other alternative spiritual paths. I devoured everything I could find about spiritism, magick, energy work, and esoteric traditions. The more I practiced, the more I felt a tangible spiritual energy flowing through me: calm, focused, deeply satisfying. Whether you call it chi, prana, or lifeforce, it became my “soul food.” In my waking life, it was often the only thing that brought relief from the frustrations of school and the constant irritation of people around me.

Through online forums and word of mouth, I discovered a small pagan store in town. I quickly befriended the owners and regulars, and soon became actively involved in a local circle dedicated to supporting pagan and spiritual seekers. For the first time, I felt genuinely useful. The store had an impressive shared library, and I believe I read nearly every volume before the shop eventually closed its doors forever. I still miss those days deeply.

That store, however, also became the gateway to much darker territories.

I began with the left-hand path. I won’t go into the specifics here, but my reasons were never childish rebellion or a desire to seem edgy. I was drawn to it because the spiritual energy I could draw from those practices was significantly stronger and more potent than anything I had experienced in Wicca or lighter forms of magick. More importantly, the deeper I went, the more the nightmare sphere seemed to retreat. For a while, the nights grew quieter.

I went too far.

Nevlaan noticed almost immediately. He sensed the subtle shifts in my energy and behavior. When he confronted me, it was a much-needed reality check. Reluctantly, I stepped away from those darker practices. Almost instantly, the nightmares returned with a vengeance. I was back at square one.

During my time exploring those paths, one quote from a practitioner of high magick stayed with me:

“There is no darkness without light, and no light without darkness. Light and darkness are not mere metaphors for good and evil. Neither is inherently more evil than the sentient being who wields it. There are beings of light who would kill without hesitation, and beings of darkness who would selflessly lay down their lives for another.”

Those words made me pause.

What if the nightmare sphere wasn’t simply trying to torment me? What if it was trying to tell me something? After all, every other dreamsphere had revealed itself to be far more than it first appeared. Running from the corruption had never worked. What if, instead, I stopped fleeing and faced it directly?

The idea both terrified and intrigued me. I had already survived far worse visions—Nevlaan chasing me like a predatory beast, or Storm eviscerating me with massive metal claws. A distorted landscape, no matter how hellish, suddenly seemed survivable by comparison.

I decided to confront it.

After careful research, I found a dispelling ritual described in one of the more advanced texts I had collected. It carried risks, and when Nevlaan sensed what I was planning, he was far from pleased. Still, I prepared myself.

A few nights later, the nightmare sphere began to manifest. This time, I was ready—or at least I believed I was.

I entered the dream fully aware, clad in the ritual garments I had visualized during my waking practices, my athame gripped firmly in hand. (For those curious about the system: I started with D.J. Conway’s Dancing with Dragons and later moved on to its much deeper, evolved counterpart, High Draconia.)

I began the ritual, tracing the boundaries of my protective circle in the air while pouring every ounce of focused energy I could muster into the working. The usual terrifying sounds—growls, rattling, distant screams—grew louder, clearly trying to break my concentration. I kept my eyes down, refusing to look.

The deeper I went into the spell, the more violently the dreamsphere reacted. The ground trembled. The air itself seemed to scream. When I finally risked a glance upward, an invisible force slammed into me, hurling me sideways with brutal strength.

Everything around me began to shift and warp in real time, like watching a grotesque time-lapse. The sky bled into an ominous, sickly purple. Darkness swallowed the landscape faster and faster until true night fell. Then, abruptly, every sound cut off.

Dead silence.

I had disturbed something ancient and powerful.

Shaking, I forced myself back to my feet and resumed the ritual, fighting to maintain focus even as the encroaching darkness pressed in from all sides. It grew thicker, heavier, until it completely smothered me. I was standing in absolute blackness, as if I had stepped into a sealed void. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. Something was choking me, invisible hands crushing my throat.

Then, two enormous reptilian eyes—glowing a venomous yellow—pierced the darkness. They were larger than my entire body, ancient and utterly alien. A low, wet hiss filled the void.

In one horrifying instant, a massive maw opened before me, revealing four gleaming, snake-like fangs. Before I could scream, it lunged.

I was swallowed whole.

I woke up in my bed, drenched in sweat, heart hammering, still shaking uncontrollably.

Part II: Demon

When I told Nevlaan what I had seen, he was more than alarmed—he was quietly horrified. To him there was no question: what I had witnessed was no illusion. It was something alive, something that had tried to swallow me whole. “It was feeding on the ritual’s energy,” he said, “trying to consume you from the inside out.” At first I believed him. Nevlaan had never lied to me; he’d always watched my back. But this time a small, stubborn voice in my chest whispered that he was wrong. Not lying—just wrong.

I didn’t tell him. Instead I went hunting on my own.

The books in the restricted section of the Pagan store were exactly as frustrating as I expected. Most of what I found on snakes and serpent symbolism was thick with Judeo-Christian venom: temptation, fall, evil. I have nothing against religious people, but I’ve always lived by balance—light and dark, equal and necessary. Constant sunshine rots the soul just as surely as endless night does. I wanted truth, not dogma.

Still, that same stubborn voice kept insisting: whatever this was, it wasn’t trying to destroy me. It was trying to tell me something.

So I went deeper.

One thin, black-bound volume on advanced visualization caught my eye: Summoning Your Archetype. The exercise promised a journey past the ordinary layers of self, straight into the deep where the spirit guardian waits. I had always avoided that particular door. Part of me hadn’t believed in it. Another, quieter part had been afraid of what might answer.

This time I needed answers badly enough to risk it.

Saturday night, apartment empty, lights low. I knew the meditation steps by heart after reading them until the words blurred. I lay on the floor, let my breathing slow, and drifted.

When I opened my eyes again I was somewhere else.

Dank air, heavy with wet stone and old earth. The darkness pressed close, humid and alive. A cavern, I realized—symbolic, obvious, but no less real for it. No pastel new-age meadow here. No unicorns. Just cold, dripping rock and the faint, coppery taste of fear on my tongue.

I walked.

Torches eventually flared to life along a narrow corridor, throwing long shadows that danced like things with spines. I walked until my legs ached and my patience frayed, then stopped dead.

“All right,” I called into the dark. “Whoever’s watching—show yourself. I’m not here to play games.”

The torches guttered out. Total blackness swallowed me.

Then two bright, yellowish reptilian eyes ignited inches from my face.

I didn’t flinch.

“Stop trying to scare me,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “I’m not backing down. Show yourself.”

A low, rasping chuckle rolled through the cavern, smooth as velvet over gravel. The sound slid down my spine like warm fingers.

“Sssome gratitude,” the voice drawled, male, calm, faintly sultry. The sibilants lingered just a heartbeat too long, teasing. “I wasss only having a little fun. You know I won’t be able to sssave your ssorry ass every time, human… though I do enjoy the view when you squirm.”

Curiosity—and something hotter—prickled along my skin. I lifted my chin, refusing to step back. “Who… or what are you?”

“Someone on your side. For now.” The pause after “now” felt like a slow caress.

“For now?”

“Yesss. As long as my praetor allows it, I am… assigned to you.” His tone dropped lower, almost intimate. “And I must say, the assignment is far more appealing than I expected.”

“What’s a praetor? And who the hell are you, really?”

“A praetor is our word for the one an agent like me answers to. You will know my name when the time is right. For now, you need to learn control. The seventh-sphere demons are already circling. They can smell your power… and so can I.”

“My power?” I laughed once, sharp and breathless. “Demons? Look, this isn’t the eighties and I’m not in a horror movie. Wait—are you a demon?”

A slow, amused hiss. “Good call.”

“Holy shit—”

“Speak not of ‘holy’ to me, human.” The voice hardened for a moment, but amusement—and unmistakable hunger—threaded through it. “And spare me the zealotry. Sssome of us would flay your mind and skin you alive for sport. Others will gladly help… or do much more pleasurable things.” He let the implication linger. “Same as your own kind, yes? Fortunately for me, my praetor is rather fond of humans. Especially ones like you.”

I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. “Why do I have a demon roaming around inside my soul?”

“Why not?” The reply was so casual, yet so loaded, I almost laughed again. “Perhaps because you taste… delicious on the inside.”

“Fair. Then what do you get out of this? Everyone knows your kind doesn’t work for free.”

A low chuckle, almost fond, almost predatory. “True. Most of the time. My praetor, however, is very interested in you.” His voice lowered to a purr. “And I find myself… sharing that interest.”

“You mean interested in my ability to regress. In metempsychosis.”

Hissing laughter filled the cavern, rich and approving, wrapping around me like coils. “You have done your homework. That is part of it, yesss.”

“There’s more?”

“Surely you have noticed how different you are. You do not belong among the holy, do you?”

I thought of every Sunday I’d skipped every church door I’d walked past like it might bite me. Dark ambient music in my headphones, black candles on my altar, books in dead languages stacked on my nightstand. “No,” I admitted. “I never did.”

“Then look closer at your own soul, human. It is steeped in aether—the energy of Sitra Ahra (ed: an esoteric concept, the “nightside of Eden”). The other side.” His tone turned velvet-rough. “Your aether calls to me. And I… call back.”

The darkness rippled. And then I saw him.

He rose from the black like living night: a massive naga-like form, easily three times my height, coils thick and powerful stretching twenty, maybe thirty feet behind him. A cobra hood flared wide, edged with sharp spines that caught what little light remained. Horns curved above glowing reptilian eyes. His scales were an impossible, iridescent dark purple that shifted like oil on water—beautiful, hypnotic, dangerous. So very beautiful.

I stared like an idiot, pulse racing.

“Holy—shit. S-Sorry!”

He tilted his great head, maw parting in a fanged grin that should have sent me screaming. Instead, a thrill shot through me, low and electric. “No harm done,” he purred, voice dripping with amusement. “I am pleased you did not run. Most would. But you… you look at me like you want to get closer.”

“I’ve seen worse,” I said, and meant it, though my voice came out huskier than intended. “Truth is… I feel drawn to you. Somehow. Strongly.” Back then I had not yet seen Rubber. I didn’t understand why but I found him… attractive.

“Good.” The word slid over me like warm smoke, promising things I shouldn’t want. “Cooperation will make this far more… pleasurable for us both.”

He let the silence stretch just long enough for me to feel the weight of him—of all of him—then spoke again, slower.

“You carry a darker side, little human. An ancient demon sleeps within you. It has been quiet until now, but it grows stronger. It feeds on your emotions, on the rituals, on the nights you chase the edge. Left unchecked it will devour you. Harnessed… it will become you.” His eyes gleamed. “And I would very much enjoy watching that transformation.”

“Become one with it? Like possession?”

“More or less.” He sounded almost amused, almost hungry. “Shouldn’t you be running? Most mortals would have lost their minds by now… or fallen to their knees.”

I shrugged, reckless heat pooling in my stomach. “I’ve helped people with spirit leeches. I’ve worked with the Ars Goetia. Never your particular flavor of demon, though.”

“Do not lump me in with those petty imbeciles who amuse themselves by riding mortals like cheap horses. Humans are far more useful when you cooperate.” His coils shifted with a soft, heavy rasp, inching just a fraction closer. “Provided you ask nicely… or beg prettily.”

I felt my mouth curve despite the flush on my cheeks. “You’re doing a fantastic job of ruining every expectation I had about demons. You’re almost… polite. Dangerously so.”

A rich, rumbling chuckle. “Flattery will get you everywhere, little one. Keep it up and I might just show you how polite I can be.”

“So what are you, then? Goetic?”

“Not quite. I serve one of the Clavicula’s own (ed: Claviculae Salomonis, the key of Salomon). I hail from the second lower sphere. Lust is my domain. I feed on sexual energy—what some of your kind call kundalini, or hevesa.”

The word landed low in my belly. Heat crawled up my neck and spread. “That… explains a few things about me. The way I feel around you right now, for instance.”

“Hah. How kind of you to notice… and admit.” His tongue flicked out, tasting the air between us as if savoring my reaction.

I hesitated, then pushed, voice teasing. “Your praetor—he’s one of the seventy-two?”

“Correct.”

“Now I’m curious.”

“Everything in good time, human.” His eyes half-lidded, amused and inviting.

I smirked, emboldened. “Need-to-know basis, got it. So… how do I earn your real name? Do I have to blow you or something?”

The temperature in the cavern dropped. His eyes narrowed, suddenly predatory, coils tightening with a slow, sinuous motion. For a heartbeat I wondered if I’d gone too far—then a spark of dark delight flashed in his gaze.

He leaned in closer, breath hot and scented like smoke and spice. “You have spine… and quite the mouth. I like that. Very much.” His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “Very well. You may call me Sovran.”

“So your name translates to “sovereign”? Cute. Not your real name, though.”

“Of course not. A demon rarely gives his true name.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating through the space between us. “But I think we will get along splendidly.” His tongue flicked again, closer this time. “And just so you know… I will take the offer if it still stands. I am always in the mood… and I am very good at making it last.”

My face burned. I opened my mouth, closed it, then managed, voice shaky with defiant humor, “You’ve got coils. Do it yourself.”

Sovran hissed a laugh that sounded almost affectionate, almost wicked. “You are no fun… yet. Bah, ’tis about time you return to the waking world, either way. But know this—I will be thinking of that offer. Yesss…”

“Wait—this was a dream?”

“Not exactly. This is the space between. Only you can walk here. Some call it the hyperconscience.”

“Lucid dream, basically.”

“More than that. But close enough for now.” His voice softened, almost gentle, yet still laced with promise. “I will be in touch soon… perhaps in more ways than one.”

“Sovran—those demons you mentioned. Are they the ones giving me the nightmares?”

“Yes. They want what sleeps inside you. Our kind is like yours: some crave power at any cost.” His coils flexed once, protective yet possessive. “Do not worry. I am watching. You will learn to deal with them. Soon. And when you do… we can discuss that offer properly, perhaps?”

The cavern dissolved.

I woke on my apartment floor, heart steady but skin tingling with residual heat. Calm, but unsettled in the best possible way—restless, aware of every inch of my body in a way I hadn’t been before.

Demons. I had never truly bargained with one before. Not like this.

And yet the first meeting had been… intoxicating. Strange, charged, undeniably magnetic. Sovran had pulled me out of the nightmare the other night in the most surreal way imaginable—being swallowed by a massive serpent maw should have been horrifying. Instead it had felt like being wrapped in living midnight and set free, his presence lingering like a forbidden touch.

His voice still echoed in my ears: low, soft, sultry. The kind of voice you could lose yourself in… and maybe wanted to. I sat up, rubbed my face, and reached for my notebook, thighs pressed together against the lingering warmth. More research. Because if there really was something ancient and demonic sleeping inside me, I needed to decide whether to cage it… or set it free and see where Sovran’s coils led.

And I had a feeling he was going to enjoy every second of watching me figure it out.

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Part III: Misplaced frustration

Even though I was already deep into the dark arts and advanced esoteric concepts, there were still subjects I had only skimmed—hermetic Kabbalah, Gnostic mysticism, Luciferianism, hermetic Sufism, and especially Goetia and demonology. I needed to understand the full extent of the mess I was in.

I gathered stacks of obscure books from every hidden corner I could access. The more I read, the more my energy shifted. My rituals grew bolder, my aura darker, heavier. Nevlaan noticed immediately and he was furious.

Steam literally curled from his nostrils as he loomed over me, eyes blazing with a mix of fear and rage. For a terrifying moment I couldn’t tell if this was the Nevlaan I knew or some nightmare distortion of him. His voice came out in a snarl.

“You’re playing with forces that will eat you alive!” he hissed, fangs flashing. In his anger he snapped too close—accidentally, mostly—and sank his teeth into my shoulder. Pain flared hot and sharp. Then the venom hit.

His saliva, I learned the hard way, was potent—like that of a Gila monster or komodo dragon, only much worse. It burned through my bloodstream with a sickening fire. Thankfully, Nevlaan carried his own antidote: a thick, bitter, oily fluid that protected his gills when he left the water. If you thought cod liver oil was vile, imagine that mixed with pure citric acid and regret. It was nauseating in the moment, though I later discovered it could be… strangely intoxicating in far more intimate contexts. He immediately regretted it. We stared at each other in heavy silence, the first real crack forming between us. We agreed to pretend the bite never happened and move on.

What I didn’t expect was that Nevlaan would start his own research. He dug into ancient Sirian lore and came back pale and grim. The Sirians spoke of entities that made Lovecraftian horrors look like playful kittens—primordial things with names that twisted the tongue and curdled the soul. Strangely, much of it felt familiar: threads of Indo-Slavic myth, Sumerian epics, Mesopotamian shadows, Persian daevas. The deeper I went, the more questions multiplied. Answers only led to bigger, hungrier mysteries.

It was time to consult my demonic “friend.”

I returned to the meditation, slipping easily into that in-between space I now thought of as Sovran’s lair. The cavern greeted me with its familiar damp musk and flickering torchlight.

He found me faster this time.

The massive coils shifted in the shadows before I even called his name. Those iridescent purple scales caught the low light as he rose, hood flaring slightly, golden eyes gleaming with lazy amusement.

“Back already, little human?” His voice rolled over me like warm smoke, the sibilants teasing. “How goes the research? You’ve been very… busy.”

“How do you—”

“Know?” He chuckled, low and intimate, sliding closer. “Come now, do you take me for a fool? I told you I’ve been observing you for a long time. Your sea-serpent friend did not appreciate your little dark endeavors, did he?”

“You know about that too?” I sighed. “Nev’s just upset he can’t control it. He’s being protective. He’ll get over it.”

“If you say so.” Sovran’s tone dipped, playful yet edged. “I’ve been asking questions on my side as well. Every time I mention this matter, doors slam shut. It seems this entity rarely chooses a human host… and when it does, the host rarely lasts long.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” I rubbed my face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” he purred, “but the fact that you’re still here, your dark energy stable and even growing… that is a very good omen.”

“I’d hate to hear what you consider a bad omen.”

His eyes sparkled with wicked delight. “Why yes… yes you would, human.”

He cackled, the sound eerie and rich, wrapping around me like invisible coils.

“Stop creeping me out, jeez…”

Sovran’s amusement vanished in an instant. He became surprisingly gentle, a soft hiss escaping him as he lowered his great head.

“My apologies. I truly do not mean to come across that way.”

The sudden shift caught me off guard—his voice softer, almost tender. It made something flutter low in my stomach.

“It’s alright, Sovran… I’ve just never actually dealt with demons before. I don’t have that zealot mindset you hate, but I still get a little on edge.”

“I know.” His golden eyes half-lidded, warm. “I will do my best to make every experience with me… positive. Memorable, even.”

Before I could respond, his massive coils slid around me—slow, deliberate, enveloping. The first loop pressed warm and heavy against my back, then another slipped around my waist, pulling me flush against the smooth, heated scales of his underbelly. His body was surprisingly supple, radiating a deep, living heat that sank straight into my bones and spread lower, making my skin tingle wherever we touched. The leather-smooth texture glided over me with just enough friction to feel teasing rather than restrictive. A soft reptilian musk rose from him—earthy, with hints of sandalwood and distant sulfur—heady and masculine, wrapping around my senses like an invitation.

He nudged me lightly with his snout, hot breath ghosting over my neck and collarbone. “Relax for me,” he murmured, voice a low, sultry rumble that vibrated through his coils and into my chest. “You carry so much tension… let me take some of it away.”

I hadn’t realized how quickly I was drifting, my body melting against him almost instinctively. His eyes felt like abysses drawing me further and further away. Was he… hypnotizing me? I was still conscious but the embrace felt far too good to be normal—possessive yet gentle, the thick coils tightening just enough to remind me how easily he could hold me completely, how little effort it would take for him to crush or caress. Heat pooled low in my belly, a dangerous, traitorous warmth that had nothing to do with the cavern’s humidity.

“I will send you back to your bed now,” he whispered, tongue flicking lightly against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver racing down my spine. “You need rest. Staying here demands focus… and my praetor calls for me.”

“I don’t get to meet him?”

“Soon, perhaps. Be patient for me.” The way he said “for me” carried a velvet promise that made my breath hitch.

“Alright… thanks.”

“Thanks?” He sounded genuinely surprised, then amused, his coils giving a slow, sinuous squeeze that pressed me more firmly against him. “For what, little one?”

“For being nice to me. Not treating me like some annoying little human.”

A soft, hissing chuckle escaped him, rich with dark delight. Then he pulled me even closer in a full, deliberate embrace—coils winding higher, one loop brushing deliberately along my thigh while another cradled my shoulders. The warmth of his scaled chest pressed against mine, his heartbeat slow and powerful, matching the growing rhythm of my own. “Not to worry,” he purred, voice dropping to a intimate whisper. “I will do my best to be a very good demonic companion… and perhaps something more, if you keep looking at me with those hungry eyes.”

He smiled—playful, fanged, showing a teasing glimpse of those four enormous, fearsome fangs. The sight sent another thrill straight through me, equal parts fear and forbidden want.

The next moment I was back in my bed, eyes fluttering open. I felt oddly calm, almost… satisfied. Like I had just finished a feast that left me full and glowing, every nerve still humming from his touch. At the time I didn’t fully understand it, but looking back, I think it was the first unconscious step toward embracing the darker side sleeping inside me—and the dangerous pull Sovran exerted on it.

Unfortunately, Nevlaan was nowhere near as calm.

The gap between us widened. In the eternal balance of light and dark, Nevlaan leaned hard toward the light, and my growing comfort with the shadows unsettled him deeply. It made me sad. I knew it hurt him too—he was only trying to protect me the way he believed was right. But there were nights his fear turned sharp, scaring me in return, which only made him feel more helpless and me more defensive.

I don’t know whether it was Sovran’s influence or the ancient thing awakening within me, but for several months afterward, Nevlaan’s presence in my dreamsphere simply… froze. The connection went cold and silent, like ice sealing over deep water.

And through it all, Sovran’s warm, teasing coils and that sultry voice lingered in the back of my mind—promising answers, power, and something far more tempting than either.

Part IV: Darkness versus evil

The nightmare dreamsphere returned sooner than I expected.

It started with a few nights in a row, then every single night—sometimes multiple times before dawn. At first I felt strangely confident. Sovran was watching over me, after all. I was determined to confront whatever this thing was and force it to reveal its intentions.

But the entity—if it was sentient—seemed to sense my growing resolve. This time it changed tactics completely.

Instead of warping my everyday life into something grotesque, it dragged me through a series of short, razor-sharp scenarios designed to exploit my deepest anxieties. One night I was walking across a narrow, translucent glass bridge suspended between two skyscrapers at the 40th floor. Wind howled around me, the glass creaking under my feet while the city lights blurred far below. My deathly fear of heights turned every step into pure terror. Another night I stood on a stage in front of a massive crowd, notes in hand, only to realize the pages were filled with gibberish. Laughter erupted, then jeers, then objects flying at me—tomatoes, papers, anything the mob could throw. Public speaking and crowds had always been my personal hell; the dream made it viciously real.

At first it almost felt like twisted entertainment. Scary, yes—I woke up drenched in sweat, heart hammering—but manageable. Until the entity realized fear alone wasn’t breaking me. Then it cranked the intensity to eleven.

Blood and death flooded my nights. I watched family members die in slow, agonizing detail. Plagues swept through streets, bodies piling in gutters while I stood helpless. Other times it was pure carnage: bullets tearing through flesh, rivers of blood, piles of corpses with sightless eyes staring at me. The scenes carried that unmistakable weight of night terrors—the kind where everything feels horribly, inescapably real. And Sovran? Nowhere to be found.

“So much for protection,” I thought bitterly after yet another brutal awakening. Frustration and a strange ache of missing him pushed me to act. That night I slipped back into the meditation and returned to his lair, desperate for answers.

This time the cavern was wrong. The torches were dark. The air was cold and damp, carrying a heavy silence that pressed against my skin. For a moment I wondered if I had messed up the exercise and fallen into a nightmare version of the place. But I remembered every step clearly. No—this was deliberate.

“Sovran?” I called, voice echoing unnaturally. “If this is some kind of test, it’s not funny.”

A low hiss slithered through the darkness. Then came the sound—a high-frequency squeal so piercing it felt like needles drilling into my skull. I clapped my hands over my ears, teeth clenched against the pain.

“Sovran, quit that shit! Show yourself, dammit!”

A voice answered, but it was horribly distorted—garbled syllables that warped and twisted like static from another realm. I couldn’t make out the words at first. I shouted again, anger rising.

“Sovran? What the hell is this? Stop messing with me and show your face!”

The distortion cleared just enough. To most people it would have sounded like meaningless noise, but I caught one clear word in Sanskrit: asura—demon. It wasn’t Sovran’s smooth, sultry tone. This voice was harsher, colder, far more unsettling.

I stumbled forward through the pitch-black cavern, hands outstretched, feeling the darkness itself pressing in like living tar. Something was watching me, circling just out of reach. Oppression weighed on my chest.

“I know you’re there!” I yelled, voice cracking. “I can feel you! Show yourself, whoever you are!”

The air suddenly thickened with the sharp, acrid scent of sulfur mixed with heavy frankincense.

“Sovran! Cut the shit, man. I’ve had enough!”

Twin red, slitted eyes ignited in the dark—snake eyes, glowing like embers. Another deafening hiss erupted, followed by more garbled syllables. This time I caught two more Sanskrit words: manusya (human) and sarpa (snake).

Dim, sourceless light bloomed, revealing the creature.

It was another anthropomorphic naga, but bigger, more heavily muscled than Sovran, with a banded scale pattern I now recognized from hours of late-night browsing on snakes. A death adder—cobra-like hood, powerful build, deadly presence. Definitely not Sovran. Not his praetor either; this thing didn’t match any Goetic signature I knew.

The hiss came again, so loud I thought I might pass out.

Then—a blinding flash of white light.

The cavern vanished. I was suddenly underwater, riding the broad back of a giant, feral manta ray. The water felt impossibly real, yet I could breathe without effort. Soft echolocation pings filled my mind at first, then slowly resolved into clear, elegant words.

“You were fortunate this time, mortal.”

“Who…?”

“You have come back from the lower spheres of the netherworld.”

“Who said that…?”

“Am I not big enough for you?”

I laughed despite everything, a slightly hysterical sound. “Now I think I’ve lost my marbles. I’m underwater, riding and talking to a giant talking manta ray!”

“I assure you, your sanity is intact. However… ‘for how much longer?’ is the question I seek to answer.”

“Who are you…? A demon?”

“Yes. Your kind knows me as Forneus.”

“You’re Sovran’s boss?”

“Praetor, if you don’t mind,” he corrected smoothly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“No harm done, mortal. Now, how are you feeling? Any residual negative emotions? Sadness? Anger?”

“Not really… no, I don’t think so. Not at the moment.”

“Excellent. Describe to me in detail what you saw.”

I recounted everything—the distorted voice, the Sanskrit words, the massive death-adder naga. Forneus listened in silence, the gentle undulation of his wings the only movement.

“Hmm. Interesting. It spoke Sanskrit, you say? Fascinating. There is no question: this is the manifestation of an ancient demon. Which one remains the question. Did it try to harm you?”

“No… it scared the hell out of me, but it didn’t actually attack. Now that I think about it, it seemed like it was trying to communicate.”

“I see.” A thoughtful pause. “I will have Sovran watch over you more closely for a while. I will do some research and… knock on a few doors, figuratively speaking.”

“You’re… surprisingly friendly for a demon.”

“I have always been interested in humans. Your kind can display incredible power when backed into impossible corners.” His tone warmed slightly. “Moreover, I do believe we have met before, haven’t we? It comes as no surprise to me that your special skill would eventually bring you misfortune.”

I gasped. The memory slammed into me.

Years ago, when I was desperate and exhausted, I had summoned Forneus during one of my early experiments with the dark arts. He was known as a master of languages and a generous purveyor of knowledge. In exchange for answers, he had only asked to monitor my dreams. I had made a pact without thinking—stupid, reckless. But he had sensed something unusual in me even then.

“You’ve been watching me ever since?”

“A demon never forgets, mortal. You asked questions. I answered. I told you I felt something unusual within you… and that we would meet again.”

The pact had seemed harmless at the time. He was fascinated by my effortless (if uncontrolled) metempsychosis. In return for information I desperately needed, monitoring my dreams felt like a small price.

“So is this thing true, then?” I asked, half-sarcastic. “Are you coming to reap my soul?”

“Ah, your sarcasm is as sharp as your tongue,” Forneus replied with dry amusement. “No. I simply wanted to hear the account from your own mouth. What you described is… unusual. If this entity were purely malevolent and wished you harm, it would have acted already. I do not believe it gains anything by merely toying with you. Your situation is… delicate.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means the entity likely wants to use you as a vessel… or it wants something you possess. If provoked carelessly, it will defend itself—and that could be devastating for you.”

“So you think it’s after my ability to regress? This metempsychosis?”

“Indeed. It is a very rare and valuable gift. Many mortals carry the potential, but few ever awaken it—and even fewer to the degree you have.”

“Fucking shit… everything keeps circling back to this damn skill.”

“A curse it may feel like,” Forneus said gently, “but surely it has brought you some enriching encounters by now?”

My heart sank. The first face that rose in my mind was Nevlaan’s.

“Don’t mention that…”

“Ah. An unfortunate misunderstanding, I take it?”

“You could say that…”

“I should remind you that darkness does not equal evil—a misconception your kind clings to far too tightly.”

“I know that! But Nevlaan… he thinks it’s evil. And now he probably thinks I’m turning evil too.”

“If you truly care for each other, he will listen. Be confident.” His tone shifted to something more practical. “You are also in urgent need of training. The energy of the lower astral spheres—the aether—can be overwhelming. You must learn to contain it so it does not spill over and infect those around you.”

“Infect?”

“Yes. It amplifies negative emotions in others just as it does in you. You are no stranger to depression, are you?”

“Fucking hell… so all this time, it might have been this thing causing most of my troubles?”

“Perhaps not directly, but the aether emanating from it has been influencing you poorly. You need mastery over it before we can even consider loosening the leash on the entity inside you.”

“What exactly is aether?”

“Surely you did not think we demons lack our own life energy? What you call prana or lifeforce, we call aether. Both must remain in balance. Yet aether is more volatile—emotions can twist it into something darker. What you mortals call madness, we call soul sickness.” He paused, the water around us growing calmer. “Sovran will help you train and control its flow. I will be in touch.”

The underwater realm began to fade like a watercolor left in the rain. I woke in my own bed, staring at the ceiling.

Oddly calm.

Help had finally come.

Part V: Communion

I dreaded falling asleep the next night.

Part of me was convinced that if the entity knew I was “conspiring” against it with Sovran and Forneus, it would make my nights even more miserable. Yet when I slipped into the dreamstate, I found myself standing in that familiar Silent Hill–like distortion of reality… and Sovran was already there, waiting.

He hissed softly, the sound quickly melting into a low, amused snicker that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Your mind conjures some rather eerie things, you know,” he purred.

“That’s rich, coming from a demon.”

“Your tongue is as sharp as ever… Jon.”

He had started using my name. Every time he said it, something warm and dangerously intimate coiled low in my belly.

“Where the hell were you?” I demanded, frustration and relief tangling together. “My nights have been worse than hell without you.”

“I know, and I am truly sorry.” His golden eyes softened, though the smirk never quite left his maw. “I was busy doing research… and chasing off some rather unwanted attention that was circling us both.”

“I see. So why bring me here? You dragged me into this place for a reason, didn’t you?”

“How do you know it was me?” he teased, coils shifting with lazy grace.

“It feels different. Less oppressive. And the smell…” I inhaled. “It smells like your lair. Like you.”

“Very good.” His voice dropped, sultry and approving. “Your control over your senses is improving nicely.”

The warped surroundings suddenly washed away like paint in rain, revealing the familiar cavern. It had all been an illusion.

“Nice trick,” I muttered.

“Heh. I am surprised you saw through it so easily. Your power is growing.” He lowered his great head, eyes gleaming. “Now, stay still. Time for a basic exercise.”

I nodded. Sovran brought his clawed hands together in a receiving gesture and hissed softly. Between his palms a swirling ball of pure blackness materialized—dark energy condensed into tangible form, whirling like a miniature storm about to strike.

“This is what we call aether,” he explained, voice low and intimate. “Dark energy given shape.”

I stared, transfixed. “I see…”

“Do you feel anything emanating from it?”

“Anything bad?” I shook my head slowly. “No… I feel drawn to it. Almost… hungry for it.”

“It figures,” he chuckled, the sound vibrating through the air between us. “Come closer. Pick it up as if it were an ordinary orb.”

I hesitated only a moment. My previous experiences with the dark arts had been mostly theoretical. This was hands-on, dangerous, and undeniably tempting. I stepped forward, sliding my hands beneath his. He slowly withdrew, leaving the pulsing mass of aether resting in my palms.

Warmth flooded me instantly. A deep, soothing heat rushed through my body, making me shiver uncontrollably. It wasn’t aggressive—it calmed the constant knot of anxiety in my chest, easing tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying.

“Yes… well done,” Sovran murmured, watching me with half-lidded eyes. “Stay calm. Do not let negative emotions surface. Aether can soothe them… or amplify them if you lose control.”

“Alright. It feels warm… heavy, like it’s sinking into my bones.”

“Good. You respond well to it.” His tone turned instructional yet teasing. “Now think about the nightmares. What do they make you feel?”

The moment fear flickered through my mind—the glass bridge, the jeering crowd, the blood and death—the orb intensified. It crackled like a thunderstorm, dark tendrils lashing out. Panic surged through me, heart hammering, throat tightening as if invisible hands were closing around my neck. Sovran dispelled the aether instantly. I gasped, knees weak.

“Now you understand why you must master your emotions,” he said softly.

“Yeah… that was alarming. I felt like I was being choked.”

“That was only a glimpse.” His coils shifted closer, almost protective. “We have much work to do.”

From that night onward, Sovran was there every single time I entered the dreamstate. For weeks he trained me relentlessly—teaching me to handle the raw flow of aether, to quiet the energy cravings that had first driven me into the dark arts. Gradually I learned to pull myself out of the nightmare realm and back into neutral space with nothing more than focused will. I started feeling stronger, more confident. Maybe a little too confident.

One night, tension and loneliness had me feeling bold—frisky, to be blunt. After another successful session, Sovran praised me.

“Not bad, Jon. You have done very well today.”

“Thanks. Mostly thanks to your… mentorship,” I replied, smiling as my gaze wandered shamelessly over his powerful coils, the iridescent purple scales, the broad hood and dangerous elegance of his form. Nevlaan was still distant, and the pent-up frustration was becoming impossible to ignore.

Sovran noticed. Of course he did. His smirk widened, tongue flicking out to taste the air.

“Is there something you wish to say, little human?”

“Umm… no?”

“You are a terrible liar.” His voice dropped to a velvet rumble. “Your musk is thick in the air tonight.”

“Don’t comment on my musk!”

“Oh? Why shouldn’t I?” He leaned closer, golden eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “It smells delicious.”

“Because it’s creepy! And my body doesn’t belong to you!” The words felt hollow even as I said them. “Besides, you can just please yourself. It’s easy for you. You’re a snake—you’ve got two cocks, for fuck’s sake!”

“So that’s what this is about,” he purred, clearly delighted. “You miss him. And you are aching.”

“That’s none of your business! Stop picking through my mind!”

“I am right here, Jon.” His coils shifted invitingly. “My offer from before still stands. I may not be him… but I can relieve that tension. Leave you warm, spent, and lightheaded.”

He was right. I was still raw from the growing distance with Nevlaan. I missed his comforting presence… and the intimacy even more. Sovran’s presence—dangerous, magnetic, undeniably tempting—made the offer far more appealing than I wanted to admit.

“Well… you’ll have to be gentle,” I muttered, face burning. “You’re a lot bigger than me. And don’t snakes… flare or something inside their mate when they… you know…” I made a vague, suggestive motion with my hands, blushing furiously.

Sovran cackled, low and playful, swaying closer. “Spare me the shy virgin act. Yes, they will flare when I reach orgasm. You will definitely feel it if one is inside you.” His voice turned deliciously wicked. “But the advantage of my size is that I can reach places you didn’t even know could bring you pleasure.”

“You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Humans are far too constrained by your silly dogmas. Sex is beautiful. It makes you feel gloriously alive.” He opened his coils in clear invitation. “Now… come closer.”

His hiss softened into something deep and hypnotic. Before I could second-guess myself, his coils slid around me, strong yet careful, drawing me flush against his warm, leathery scales. I lost myself in his golden eyes—piercing, endless. I’m almost certain he hypnotized me again; although I remained conscious, the details that followed blurred into a haze of pure sensation.

I remember his twin cocks sliding free from their horizontal slit—both strikingly large, blood-red, and shockingly beautiful in their alien perfection. I worshiped them with hands and mouth, drawing loud, intense hisses from Sovran that vibrated through his entire body. He tore my boxers away with casual claws, leaving me exposed and achingly hard. The way he pressed those thick, hot lengths against mine, rubbing and teasing, had me gasping.

His musk—thick, intoxicating, laced with sandalwood and sulfur—flooded my senses, driving my arousal higher. I teased him right back until his coils squirmed with pleasure. At one point I reached inside his slit, coating my fingers in warm, slippery fluids, then licked them clean while staring up at him. The thick musk in the air grew heavier, dizzying.

Then his hood flared, fangs dripping with venom. For a heartbeat pure nerves shot through me—until the hypnotic haze deepened and pleasure took over completely. He sank his fangs gently into my shoulder.

The venom hit completely different from Nevlaan’s. Sovran’s venom felt like liquid lightning wrapped in molten ecstasy. A blinding wave of euphoria exploded through my veins, far stronger than anything I had ever felt. Every nerve ending ignited at once—my skin became hypersensitive, every brush of his scales sending sparks of bliss racing straight to my core. My mind flooded with overwhelming affection and raw, aching lust. Sovran suddenly seemed impossibly beautiful, every iridescent scale glowing, his golden eyes the most captivating thing in existence. I felt madly, deliriously in love with him in that moment—heart pounding with adoration, body trembling with desperate need. Pleasure amplified tenfold; even the simple press of his coils against my skin made me moan helplessly, hips bucking involuntarily as wave after wave of orgasmic heat rolled through me without release.

It was addictive. Overwhelming. My thoughts dissolved into pure sensation—warmth, desire, and an intoxicating haze that made the entire world narrow to him. I gasped, arching against his body, every inch of me singing with euphoric fire.

Sovran cackled softly when he pulled back, fangs dripping with a mix of blood and venom, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

“W-What did you do to me…?!” I managed, voice slurred with pleasure, body still shuddering.

“I am a servant of lust, human. I have no purpose for traditional venom. My venom is a cocktail of hormones and chemicals that stimulate the secretion of your own sexual hormones while making you exquisitely sensitive to my own pheromones.” His voice was a low, seductive growl. “Yield to temptation, Jon. Give in to your lust.”

His words ignited the fire even hotter. I felt hornier than I had ever been in my life—not crudely or frantic, but deeply, soul-shakingly aroused, every touch from him sending me spiraling higher into ecstasy. His claws tracing my skin made me cry out in pleasure, each stroke feeling like pure bliss. Sovran became the center of my universe; I wanted nothing more than to lose myself completely in him. I mostly lost track of what ensued, but what I do know is that we mated over and over—coils wrapped tight, bodies moving in a frantic, blissful rhythm. I reached climax after climax, far more than should have been possible, each one crashing through me like a tidal wave of euphoric fire, leaving me shaking and gasping his name. I had no more seed to give and still the pleasure continued, prolonged and intensified by the venom coursing through my system. I floated in a vast sea of bliss, breathing in his thick musk, lost completely to the overwhelming, addictive high.

When the initial storm finally subsided, we lay tangled together. I rubbed his hood lazily, contentment humming through me, body still tingling with residual euphoria. A strange red haze now floated around us. Sovran absorbed it slowly, looking blissfully satiated.

“What’s this red haze, Sov…?” I asked, voice hoarse and dreamy.

“Your kind call it kundalini. Sex energy.” He nuzzled me gently. “I feed on it, just as light workers—those you call angels—feed on other forms of energy. We are simply two sides of the same balance.”

“I don’t really believe in angels. At least not the way scriptures paint them.”

“Good. Most are nothing like the pretty pictures in your books. But they exist, and balance is necessary for Ain—the Void, the All, the Cosmos.”

“Yeah… I remember reading about that once.” I smiled up at him, strangely shy after everything, body still buzzing with aftershocks of pleasure. “Hey, Sov? Thanks. That was… wonderful.”

“Heh. You can ask for a repeat anytime, Jon. I enjoyed myself immensely.”

We kissed—slow, deep, surprisingly tender. As we embraced, the energy around us shifted again. Red haze turned darker, swirling into threads of aether. Sovran noticed instantly.

“Stay calm,” he murmured, voice steady. “Remember what I taught you.”

The aether poured out of me in waves, dancing freely around us like something finally released from a cage. I tried to contain it, but the overload—combined with the lingering euphoric high from his venom—was too much. I soon learned humans aren’t built to channel it for long.

The last thing I remember is passing out safely in Sovran’s warm coils, his low, soothing hiss following me into unconsciousness, my body still humming with the delicious, addictive afterglow of his venom—and my balls purple from so much solicitation.

---

---

Part VI: Embracing the darkness

After that intense, venom-drenched night with Sovran, I expected to resume training the very next evening. Instead, when I slipped into the dreamstate, I found myself plunged straight back into the nightmare. The oppressive weight hit me instantly. Sovran was nowhere to be seen. Loneliness and fear crept in fast, tightening around my chest like invisible chains. At first I told myself he was testing me again, pushing me to stand on my own. But the darkness grew heavier, more suffocating. It pressed down from all sides until I felt paralyzed, crushed beneath an invisible force that forced me to my knees.

I was back to square one.

Everything turned cold and crushing. The air itself seemed to squeeze the breath from my lungs. I tried to call out, but my voice came out weak and broken. A loud hiss cut through the void, followed by low, guttural muttering in a language I didn’t recognize—harsh syllables that vibrated through my bones.

When I finally managed to open my eyes, he was there.

A pitch-black death adder, larger and more imposing than Sovran, loomed over me. His banded scales were deep anthracite and bluish-grey, gleaming faintly in the gloom. He was clearly in the middle of some kind of energy working—clawed hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, a low incantation in forbidden language rolling from his maw. The oppressive darkness recoiled as if burned, shrinking away until the nightmare dissolved into a blank, empty black space. Only the two of us remained. I didn’t dare speak and after a moment, he turned toward me. His red eyes were every bit as piercing as Sovran’s, yet somehow older, heavier with authority. The fear that had gripped me moments ago faded. He had just pulled me out of whatever that thing was trying to do.

He hissed softly, then spoke with a thick, rolling Hindi accent that gave his words a commanding weight.

“Did the shadows get your tongue, Jon?”

“N-No…” I swallowed hard. “Thank you. For whatever you just did. You… know me?”

“Obviously.” A low, amused hiss. “We have always been together, after all. The enmity veil those cursed demons cast was strong this time. It was trying to swallow you whole.” He studied me for a moment, hood half-flared. “It seems you are finally strong enough to summon me. Impressive, for one of your kind. Few mortals can withstand this level of aether flow, even briefly.”

“The enmity veil…? Is that what you call these nightmares? What is it, exactly?”

“A conjuration spell. Designed to scare you. To break you.”

“Why?”

“To steer you away from the dark side. They did not want me freed.”

“Why?”

“You will know everything… in time.”

I took a shaky breath. “Alright. You said I summoned you. I don’t remember doing it consciously. So… who are you?”

“You may call me Nashim.”

The name clicked instantly. “I remember hearing that… that was you the other night. Are you a demon?”

“Obviously.”

“I see…”

“There is still time to run, if you wish.”

“No.” The word came out steadier than I expected. “I want to know. What do you want with me? You gave me your name freely.”

“I have no reason to lie to you, Jon. I need a vessel.”

“What for?”

“I am not at liberty to tell you that just yet.” His red eyes held mine without blinking. “But I am not your enemy. I need you, so I will do whatever is necessary to protect you. Now that you have summoned me, I will not leave your side.”

“I see… and what do I get out of this?”

“You?” He sounded almost surprised, then let out a low chuckle. “You have guts. Very well. What should I do?”

“Well, if we’re going to be stuck together… then make yourself more appealing or something.”

Nashim hissed, a sharp grin splitting his maw. Before I could react, his form shimmered and changed. His scales softened, turning matte and squishy, the texture shifting into something that looked and felt like warm, stretched rubber. He flexed experimentally, letting out a loud, high-pitched squeak that echoed through the empty space. A pungent, rubbery scent filled the air—warm, slightly chemical, strangely comforting.

At the time I had never encountered anything like “living toys” in my waking life, so the sight was bizarre. I almost laughed. Almost. But something about the smooth, yielding texture and that distinct squeaky smell tugged at me in ways I didn’t fully understand.

“Well?” he asked, voice still carrying that thick accent, now laced with dry amusement.

In retrospect, my Rubber had been there long before I realized it, long before Cerulea showed him to me and before that first shift – or rather, our first fusion. I was oblivious to it back then but thinking back, that night, that first fusion into becoming one with Rubber was why everything with Cerulea had felt so natural and good. It looked like I had been into “squeaks” long before I ever met my last waking life mate—I had simply buried it deep within. I was now ready to open up to it.

I’ve mostly come to terms with that part of myself now, thanks to Cerulea gently bringing it back to the surface. Since then, my relationship with Nashim – or rather, Rubber, as I call him now – has only grown stronger. I know a lot more about him these days, though his true motives and reason for his presence remain partly veiled. Honestly, that matters less and less to me. He watches over my sleep, dispels the shadows whenever they creep in, and sometimes—even now—he lets me snuggle against his warm rubbery form. He feels incredible. We’ve become close friends… although sometimes it slips into something more. As for Sovran, he’s still around, keeping watch on Forneus’s orders. He drops in for the occasional “fun time” and continues to act as my demonic mentor—teaching me about demonic hierarchies, emotional control, and practical ways to protect myself from spiritual aggressors. I’ve also learned that Forneus is my governing demon—the demonic equivalent of a guardian angel.

I’ve made peace with being rooted in darkness. I understand now that true evil has nothing to do with which side of the balance you stand on. Some people will never understand that, and I’ve accepted it. I simply chalk up their judgment to ignorance. Those who truly know me can see that evil is the last thing I’m involved with. That said, back then I desperately wished Nevlaan would understand. We eventually made up and grew close again—almost as close as before—but it took a long time, a lot of patience, and hard work from both of us.

Perhaps one day I’ll tell more of that story…