Sinful Obsession

49. 48 - Epilogue

A smodeus

I wake in the dark, alone, a haunting absence where once there was warmth. The silence is suffocating, but it’s not the silence that bothers me—it’s the emptiness. I can still feel her, though, the echo of her presence deep in my bones, in the very marrow of my soul. Lilith. My queen. My love.

I close my eyes, the memory of her face, her voice, so vivid that it burns, like fire coursing through my veins. She promised me then, just before the nothingness took her, before the realm of shadows ripped her from my arms once more— “You’ll see me again in your dreams.”

Her words carry weight, a promise I’ve held onto for centuries, for eons. Each cycle, each rebirth, she slips through my fingers just when I think I’ve found her again. She’s always there, always just out of reach, like a flame flickering in the distance, dancing and teasing me with its warmth, but never enough to touch.

I had to let her go. I had no choice. The angels pulled her from me, sealed her away in their light, and I was left in the shadows, waiting. Always waiting.

But I will find her. I always do.

I shift, the dark fog of the void still clinging to my form as I rise from the ashes of what’s left of our last world. Our last fight. Another victory, another fall. Time has never been kind to us, but it has always been on our side, hasn’t it? Always.

I inhale deeply, my senses awakening to the scent of the world. The world has moved on, as it always does, untouched by the chaos that rages just beneath its surface. The mortal realm keeps turning, unaware of the forces at play behind the veil. But I feel it in the air. The cycle is starting again. I know it. I feel her. She’s close.

The first time I find her, I’ll make sure she never slips through my fingers again. I swear it.

Weeks Later

The night feels different tonight. There’s a twinge in the air, a sense of something that I cannot quite place, something that pulls at me, drawing me in. I’m not sure if I should trust it or if it’s another false alarm, another false hope. I’ve been wrong before.

But tonight... I don’t think so.

I stand in the dark alley, my eyes drawn to the dim light of a bar, the flickering neon sign buzzing lazily overhead. The place looks like nothing special—a rundown building, a relic of some long-forgotten time—but I know better. I’ve been tracking her for centuries, watching, waiting. Her essence, her presence, is unmistakable. Even in this life, she calls to me.

I don’t enter immediately. There’s a tug at the back of my mind, a hesitation in the pit of my stomach. She’s here. I know she is.

But who is she this time?

I enter the bar, and the scent of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something deeper—older—hits me like a physical blow. The place is nearly empty, save for a few patrons scattered at the bar. The air is thick with the hum of low conversation and the clinking of glasses. It’s all noise, but none of it matters.

I scan the room, but it’s her I’m looking for.

And then I see her.

She’s behind the bar, her long, dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her back turned as she reaches for a bottle. There’s something about her—something familiar, something I can’t quite place. My heart twists. She’s there, the same dark eyes, the same fire. But different, too. More human, less divine. She hasn’t awakened yet, not completely. I know that. But she will . I’ve seen it before. I will make her see it.

I step closer, and my gaze fixes on her with an intensity that makes my skin burn, makes my heart pound against my ribs. She senses me, even before she turns. I know she does.

And then her eyes meet mine, brown, warm, but with a flicker of something ancient, something far older than any human being should ever possess. I freeze. For a moment, I think I’ve made a mistake. This is not her. It can’t be.

But then she smiles.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but I feel it in my soul. That smile is not just a greeting. It’s recognition. She knows me. She remembers me.

Her voice is soft, teasing, and full of a knowing that makes my heart skip a beat. “Been waiting for you,” she says, her words like honey, thick with the promise of something darker. She pulls a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, uncorks it with a practiced hand, and pours a drink without breaking eye contact.

I don’t move at first. My feet feel as though they’re rooted to the floor, my gaze locked onto hers, and I realize then that I’ve waited for this moment for centuries, for this perfect, cruel reunion. Every second of agony, of torment, of endless waiting was for this.

My queen. My Lilith.

“You’ve been waiting for me?” I ask, my voice low, the rasp of centuries of longing and rage clear in every word. My hand twitches at my side, ready to reach for her, to pull her into my arms, but I force myself to wait. She’s not ready. She doesn’t remember yet. But she will.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she studies me, like she’s searching through the fog of a distant dream, trying to place where she’s seen me before, trying to unlock the memory buried deep inside her soul.

“I have,” she murmurs softly. “I’ve known you’d come.”

I step closer, slowly, letting the tension build between us, feeling the air shift. This is her. She may not remember yet, but she feels it. I know she does. The pull between us is undeniable, the bond that time cannot sever, the bond that will always bring us back together.

But this time... this time , I won’t lose her.

The last of the patrons trickle out of the bar, leaving us alone in the dim light. I can feel the others—the horsemen—close behind me, waiting for the signal. This is not just a reunion. This is the start of something greater, something unavoidable .

She’s still holding the bottle of whiskey, her fingers delicate around the neck, but there’s a strength in her presence that calls to me, like a fire just waiting to consume the world.

“What’s your name?” I ask, though I already know the answer. It’s a formality. She’s Lilith. Always has been. Always will be.

She smirks, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Does it matter?”

I take another step, my hand finally reaching for her, my fingers brushing against hers. “It matters,” I say, voice dark with meaning, “because I’ve waited too long for this.”

She pulls her hand away from mine, placing the bottle of whiskey on the counter with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t know if you understand yet,” she says softly, her voice low, almost seductive. “But I’ve been waiting for a long time, too. And I’m not sure how long I can hold on this time...”

There’s a moment of silence, and in that silence, I know what she means. She’s already slipping. She feels it too. The call. The pull. The darkness. It’s all coming back. The earth will crumble beneath our feet. Humanity will fall again. And the cycle... the cycle will begin anew.

I reach for her again, but this time, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into me, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers, “Are you ready to see this world burn again, my love? Because I am.”

And with that, I know that nothing will stop us. Not this time.

The others are waiting. I can feel them, close, ready. The horsemen, the storm, the chaos, all of it. The end of everything. We will bring the world to its knees again, and this time, I will never let her slip through my fingers.

“Let’s start the fire,” I say, and the world burns.