Scene 1 – The Hanging Fist

The world stopped.

Jemil's fist trembled inches from Selene's chest, glowing veins pulsing with molten light. The heat radiated off him in waves, warping the air between them, golden sparks crackling from his clawed knuckles.

Selene's gaze didn't waver. She stood tall, her body battered, blood streaking down her temple, but her blade remained sheathed at her side. Her hands—burned raw from clinging to him—hung open, palms facing him as if to say: If you must strike me, then strike me. I will not move.

Behind them, Lyra's fire clashed against her phantom double, the hall lit like a furnace. Kaela's snarls echoed as claws shredded stone. Astra's storm cracked overhead, lightning tearing the ceiling apart.

But none of it mattered. The battle faded to a dull roar at the edges of Jemil's senses.

All he heard was the Mistress.

"Yes…" Her voice slid through the air like silk against skin. "You've already chosen. Look at your arm. Look at your eye. You are mine, summoner. End this charade. Break her… and bind yourself."

The golden chains inside him rattled violently, a rhythm that synced with his pulse. His heart slammed in his chest, each beat sending another shock of heat down his cursed arm.

His wives' voices broke through the haze—distant, desperate.

"Jemil, no!" Lyra's scream cracked as flames licked around her, threatening to consume her entirely.

"Stay with us!" Astra's voice strained under the storm, her barrier faltering.

"Don't let her take you!" Kaela howled, her claws sparking against phantom steel.

But their pleas felt muffled, drowned beneath the seductive pull of the Mistress's whisper.

"One strike," she coaxed, her words curling into his ear like smoke. "That's all it takes. One moment of release, and the chains will hold you forever. You'll never have to fear weakness, betrayal, or loss again. I will cradle you in power… and in desire."

His arm moved an inch closer. Selene's breath caught, her eyes glistening, but still she didn't flinch.

"Jemil," she whispered, voice shaking, "if you're going to fall… then take me with you."

The golden glow surged. His eye blazed. The chains inside him screamed.

And for a heartbeat, Jemil wasn't sure if the fist would fall on his enemy…

…or on the one who had sworn to stand by him forever.

The fire crackled in Jemil's eyes, heat rising from his skin as though he were about to combust with Selene's fragile neck in his hand. The air itself recoiled from him, thick with the weight of the curse and his wrath.

"Jemil!" Lyra's voice rang out like a blade of flame. She stepped forward, her red hair whipping around her face, firelight reflecting in her furious eyes. "That's enough!"

The inferno she carried didn't come as an attack—but as raw defiance. Her hands shook, not with fear, but with the memory of how close she had come to losing him once before. She had watched him vanish, watched their bond severed, and she refused to let the same rage claim him again.

"You think this is strength?!" she spat, fire blooming at her shoulders like wings. "No! This is the curse talking. You're letting it control you. Not your will. Not the man I—" she bit her lip, choking on the last word, "—the man we love."

The flames around her roared as though answering her heart, but they burned with sorrow as much as rage.

"Don't make us your enemies," she whispered, voice breaking. "Because if you keep down this path… we'll lose you again."

Jemil's grip didn't loosen. His jaw was set, shadows writhing across his face, the curse pulsing like a second heartbeat. For a moment, it seemed Lyra's fire hadn't reached him at all.

Then another voice cut through, calm, sharp, and unyielding.

"Enough, Jemil."

Kaela's sword scraped against the stone as she stepped forward, the sound deliberate, grounding, cutting the tension like steel. Her silver eyes locked onto his, unwavering, and her stance was that of a commander standing against a monster on the battlefield—even if that monster was the man she swore herself to.

"You taught me what it means to wield a blade without letting it consume me," she said, voice cold but steady. "And now look at yourself. You're strangling her like prey. You're losing everything that makes you you."

Her fingers tightened on the hilt, but she didn't raise her weapon. She didn't need to. Her conviction was sharper than steel.

"If you want to keep calling yourself our summoner, our anchor—our Jemil—" her voice grew heavier, emotion bleeding into her calm tone, "—then prove it right here, right now. Let go. Before you force me to stop you with my blade."

The silence after her words was suffocating. Only the hiss of Lyra's flames and the trembling sound of Selene's ragged breath filled the void.

Jemil's grip trembled, the curse burning hotter, veins glowing faint gold. Kaela's words cut into him, but the shadow within refused to yield. His breathing turned ragged.

Then Selene spoke, her voice fragile but resolute.

"Jemil… please. You're hurting me."

Her pale fingers brushed his wrist, not in resistance, but in trust—a plea instead of a struggle.

The beast inside snarled at that trust, twisting it into temptation.

From the edge of the circle, Mira stepped forward, her foxfire tails swaying uneasily. Her tone was soft, almost mournful.

"You always promised us freedom, not chains. If you keep gripping like that, you'll shatter the bond we built with our own hands."

A cold laugh—half curse, half mockery—rose from within Jemil's throat, not his own but something deeper. Still, his eyes flickered.

That was when Astra's voice rang out, fierce and unrelenting.

"Don't make us choose between saving you and stopping you." She pointed her glaive directly at his chest, her knuckles white. "Because if you force my hand, Jemil, I will cut you down before I let this curse claim you."

The air itself seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. One more push—and the outcome would snap either way.

And then, from behind them all, a low, seductive whisper that wasn't theirs at all slithered through the chamber:

"Let it burn, summoner. Let it consume. Only then will you be mine."

The Mistress's voice.

The mark flared violently, searing through Jemil's skin. His body jolted, caught between his wives' desperate pleas and the Mistress's poisonous promise.

The chamber trembled.

Would Jemil break free—or break them all?

The chamber quaked, dust raining from above as Jemil's glowing veins seared with the curse's golden fire. His wives' voices pulled at him—pleas, threats, love, trust—while the Mistress's whisper coiled like a knife in his ear.

The choice wasn't waiting for him anymore.

It was already here.

One heartbeat.

One slip.

One mark away from shattering everything.

The battle is no longer only against the Mistress's phantoms—now the true enemy may be Jemil himself. The curse flares beyond his control, threatening to twist his devotion into dominance, his love into chains. His wives are torn between saving him and stopping him, and Astra steps into the storm with her weapon raised.

Will their unity endure, or will the bond finally break under the weight of betrayal, temptation, and burning desire?

✦ Call to Action ✦

The storm is breaking, the Mistress is watching, and Jemil's fate hangs by a thread. ⚡

Don't miss what happens next—drop a comment, share your theories, and stay with me as we dive deeper into the fire of Chapter 85! 💎🔥

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