Raven: Shadowy Sorceress by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Raven-Shadowy-Sorceress-1094885682

The air was thick with the scent of brimstone as Raven floated silently over the jagged cliffs of the Netherworld, her dark cloak billowing around her like a shadow caught in the wind. Below her, the endless abyss yawned open, a sea of crimson clouds swirling with malevolent energy. This place reeked of her father’s presence—every gust of sulfuric wind, every flicker of flame felt like a whisper from Trigon himself. But she had no choice. She had to face what lurked in these forsaken lands.

Raven’s violet eyes glowed softly as she focused on the task ahead, her emotions tightly controlled, as always. Here, in this realm of darkness, letting her feelings surface could be a death sentence. Her father’s influence crept in through the cracks, ready to seize any moment of weakness. She could already feel the oppressive weight of his power pressing down on her mind, a familiar but unwelcome presence.

“This is where it ends,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper as she descended toward a twisted temple carved from the black stone of the cliffs. It was ancient, covered in runes that pulsed with the same dark magic that coursed through her veins. This was the place where Trigon’s essence had anchored itself to the material plane. And inside, she knew, was a manifestation of his malevolent will—an enemy unlike any she had ever faced.

The temple doors were massive, towering over her like the gates of some primordial beast. As she approached, they groaned open, as though beckoning her inside. Raven’s heart pounded in her chest, but her expression remained calm, her mind sharp. She knew better than to be lured into her father’s games. Steeling herself, she stepped inside.

The interior of the temple was dimly lit, the only light coming from torches that burned with a strange, eerie green flame. The shadows danced along the walls, shifting and moving as though alive, whispering her name in soft, seductive tones. The deeper she ventured into the temple, the louder those whispers became, until they filled the air like a chorus of tormented souls.

“You can’t escape it, Raven,” the voices hissed. “His blood runs through you. His power is yours to claim. You are his daughter—destined to reign by his side.”

Raven clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had heard these lies all her life, had fought against them since the day she learned the truth of her lineage. But even now, even after all the battles she had won, there was a part of her that feared they were right. That no matter how hard she fought, she would never be free of her father’s influence.

“Azarath Metrion Zinthos,” she whispered, the familiar mantra grounding her, calming the storm that raged inside her mind.

As she reached the heart of the temple, the whispers fell silent, replaced by an oppressive stillness that made her skin crawl. In the center of the chamber stood an altar, and on it, a single figure knelt in prayer.

Raven’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the figure—a man dressed in dark robes, his face hidden beneath a hood. But she didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. She could feel the darkness radiating off him in waves, a sickeningly familiar energy that made her stomach turn.

“Father,” she said, her voice steady but laced with contempt.

The figure slowly rose to his feet, his hood falling back to reveal a face that was not her father’s, but something far worse. It was a face twisted by dark magic, his features gaunt and hollow, his skin a sickly gray. His eyes burned with an unnatural fire, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

“Raven,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “I have been waiting for you.”

Raven’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm. This was not Trigon, not truly. This was one of his creations—a being imbued with a fragment of his power, sent to test her, to break her.

“You won’t win,” Raven said, her voice cold and defiant. “I’m stronger than you think.”

The figure chuckled, a low, sinister sound that echoed through the chamber.

“Stronger? Perhaps. But you cannot deny what you are, Raven. You are your father’s daughter, born from his blood, his power. No matter how much you fight, how much you resist, you cannot escape your destiny.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed, her hands beginning to glow with dark energy. She had heard these words before, had been told her whole life that she was doomed to follow in Trigon’s footsteps.
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