CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Drusilla, the granddaughter of Elphaba, stood in front of a massive black cauldron, its edges adorned with intricate symbols and sigils. The air crackled with an otherworldly energy as she began to chant in a myriad of languages, her voice fluctuating and resonating with power.

As she continued her incantation, a gust of wind swept through the chamber, tugging at her long lacy gown and causing her raven-black hair to whip around her face. Her eyes, closed in deep concentration, shimmered with an inner glow.

With her arms outstretched, she balanced clay pots upon her fingertips, their contents a grotesque mixture of blood, hair, fingernails, and even her own eyelashes. The concoction churned within the vessels, emitting an unsettling odor that permeated the room.

"Let him possess me!" Drusilla's voice reverberated, filled with both desperation and determination. As she uttered those words, she could feel the surge of power coursing through her veins, causing them to pulsate visibly, and her voice to crack and distort with an otherworldly resonance.

Drucilla was a witch who had long been an outcast within her own clan due to her peculiarly human-like emotions and compassion. It was her empathy that had led her to release a captured human alongside her best friend, Aurora, an act that defied the traditions and expectations of her kind.

Consequently, both Drusilla and Aurora had been banished, forced to venture deep into the enchanted woods, where they sought solace and refuge from their harsh reality. It was in this secluded haven that Drusilla received a summoning from her grandmother, Elphaba.

Elphaba, the most formidable and dominant of all witches, was known for her lack of emotions and her ruthless nature. She had even committed the unimaginable act of slaying her own daughter, Drusilla's mother. The summons from Elphaba was a testament to her unforgiving wrath, an attempt to exert control over Drusilla's fate.

However, Drusilla, fueled by her grief and a burning desire for revenge, defied the summons, refusing to bow down to her grandmother's dominance. In an act of retribution, Elphaba resorted to taking away Aurora, Drusilla's only remaining companion, leaving her utterly alone.

Tears streamed down Drusilla's face as she clutched onto the shards of her shattered life. But amidst her pain, a newfound determination kindled within her. She knew that she couldn't exact her revenge or retrieve her best friend without the aid of the demon of hell, Samhain.

Samhain, a legendary demon whose powers surpassed even those of angels, was renowned as one of the sixty-six seals binding the fallen archangel, Lucifer. While not particularly known for his intelligence, Samhain possessed a cunning that allowed him to orchestrate his escape from the depths of hell, manipulating his minions to carry out his bidding.

However, when faced with someone who was immune to his dark powers, Samhain's arrogance led him to engage in a direct confrontation, ultimately resulting in his banishment back to the fiery depths from which he came.

Drucilla was determined to possess Samhain despite his reputation for ruthlessness, and knew she needed his power to outrun Elphaba. With trepidation but unwavering resolve, she had embarked on the ritual once again.

She Positioned herself before a clean table, Drucilla carefully laid out a towel as the foundation. She Placed a glass of oil and a glass of wine side by side, she focused her attention on the task at hand. This ritual had become familiar to her, but each attempt carried the weight of anticipation and uncertainty.

"Samhain," she called out, her voice tinged with helplessness. She yearned to regain control over herself, to become something more. As the sound of her own voice faded, a sudden transformation seized her being.

Her eyes, wide open, took on an intense crimson hue that seemed to reflect the very essence of spilled blood. A surge of pain coursed along her spine, causing her body to convulse involuntarily. The trembling in her legs and hands mirrored the turmoil within her.

In that moment, Drucilla's mouth gaped open, releasing a frothy foam, while her body defied gravity, rising towards the ceiling. Suspended in mid-air, she became a vessel for otherworldly forces, an embodiment of Samhain's power.

The towels and equipment Drucilla had meticulously arranged for the ritual lay scattered across the room. The fair table, once a symbol of elegance, now lay broken into pieces, shattered under the weight of Samhain's power. The true nature of the greatest demon that ever lived was made evident in that moment. As Drucilla's lacy gown tore apart, her body was exposed to the chilling wind, vulnerable and fragile.

In the midst of the disarray, a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the room, piercing through the darkness. Its electric charge found its target, striking Drucilla's bare chest with an intensity that reverberated through her entire being. Waves of excruciating pain wracked her body, causing her to convulse and scream in agony. The once-lit room plunged into darkness, the only source of light being the ominous flashes of lightning that continued to streak across the sky.

In the shadowy abyss, a strange transformation took place. Wings beat against the air, as wild hawks and eagles materialized, their piercing cries filling the chamber. They circled around Drucilla, their presence adding to the horrible spectacle unfolding before her. Tremors wracked her body, her screams blending with the haunting symphony of the avian creatures.

Abruptly, as if the storm had exhausted its fury, the wind ceased its howling and the avian creatures dispersed, vanishing into the night. The room was left in an eerie stillness, a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned just moments before. Drucilla's screams, filled with anguish, slowly faded into a haunting silence.

With an unexpected force, Drucilla was cast down, falling flat on the floor. Her once-lacy gown, now reduced to tatters, clung to her naked form. She lay there, vulnerable and powerless, the weight of her exhaustion and the toll of the ritual bearing down upon her.

In the aftermath of the tumultuous ordeal, a profound sense of uncertainty enveloped Drucilla. The pain that had wracked her body had subsided, but the question lingered in her mind, lingering on her quivering lips. "Did I do it?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the lingering stillness.