The air smelled of roses and blood.
Aurelia's veil—woven with Imperial gold and the last prayers of a dying world—trembled around her shoulders. The scent of crushed petals followed each barefoot step across the marble aisle. Every bloom beneath her heel was a sacrifice. They bled pink and red into the stone, soft and sticky, like wounds refusing to close.
Her tunica nuptialis clung to her skin, heavy with heat and grief. Fingers clenched around her father's arm, as if she could anchor time—stop this day from happening, stop this mockery of joy.
She should have been weeping with happiness.
But the world was ending.
The cursed Wall—older than Rome, older than memory—had fallen. Demons, blacker than the void, poured through. Cities crumbled like burnt parchment. Smoke choked the heavens. The gods remained silent. Rome split like overripe fruit on the altar of its own hubris.
None of it mattered.
Not to her.
Because Marcus was waiting.
He stood beneath the shattered columns like the last light before dusk. Bronze armor gleamed as if kissed by the sun's dying breath. The red sash of Legio VII Victrix slashed across his chest, and the laurel crown sat—slightly askew—on his dark curls. Behind him, the ruins of the Temple glowed like embers refusing to die.
And his eyes—gods, his eyes—found her through the smoke.
Everything else disappeared.
She remembered him as a boy, tucking wildflowers into her scrolls. As a youth, laughing as he poured perfume into his gauntlet so her scent would follow him after training. He once told her lavender reminded him of her breath when she was happy.
Now that scent curdled into smoke.
Still, he smiled—as if none of it had touched him. As if they were children again, playing in olive groves, untouched by destiny.
She wanted to run to him.
But a voice cracked the sky—making every one turn,
"FUGITE! RUN!"
A scream sliced through the air like a thrown dagger. One guest collapsed, gurgling—his throat a red canyon. The marble beneath him turned slick, a mirror of blood.
Panic shattered the crowd. Screams burst like firecrackers. Robes tangled. Chairs splintered. Guests stampeded like cattle. Someone shouted prayers. Someone else sobbed, "Not today—not now—" before vanishing beneath the rush of feet.
Then came the howling.
The demons.
They didn't charge—they slid in like oil. Silent. Smiling. No horns, no warning. Just death.
A child vanished beneath the shadow of wings.
A noblewoman's skull shattered like pottery.
A harpist fell mid-note—ribs pierced by claws, strings screaming in his place.
Aurelia's father yanked her back—his grip iron.
And then—he was gone.
Her hand—empty. The warmth—ripped away.
She turned—too slow.
A demon, skin like glistening obsidian, dragged him into the shadows. His eyes met hers once before disappearing. Not fear in them—just apology.
What's in the hell is this..
She wondered in shock.
Although she didn't like her dad a bit , It hunted more than she expected.
She ran—blood slick beneath her feet—then fell hard. Her chin slammed the marble. Copper flooded her mouth. She spat.
"Pater!"
She screamed.
Like an animal being beaten,
No one answered–he was dead.
She pushed herself up—only to see her mother.
Once regal—now a tangle of silk and limbs and torn flesh. Her chest hollowed. Bones snapped like dry branches.
Aurelia gagged.
But worse—worse—was the creature crouched over the body.
It was feeding.
Its jaws, slick with black ichor, suckled her mother's breast like a babe.
Aurelia's knees buckled.
Her breath hitched. Blood dripped from her lashes but her body… didn't move.
She cried like the world had already ended.
And waited to die.
Just then—
Marcus emerged through flame like a war god. His shield slammed down in front of her. His sword rose—burning with vengeance.
"RUN!" he roared.
She didn't. Couldn't.
He shoved her behind him. Steel clashed with bone. A skull cracked. A demon wailed.
Another lunged. He met it mid-air. Blade to eye. It collapsed in smoke and rot.
He turned—bloodied, magnificent.
"GO!"
She staggered back.
And then—
CRACK.
A claw—like a blade forged from hate—burst through his chest.
She saw it before he did.
Blood sprayed across her face. Hot. Real.
His sword clattered to the floor.
He looked at her. Hands reaching.
"Aurelia…"
She caught his hand.
It trembled.
Then fell.
"No—no—no—please—"
His blood soaked her wedding gown.
She pressed her face to his chest.
"Wake up. Please, wake up."
But the warmth was leaving. Her prayers remained unanswered.
And she knew—he was gone.
She sobbed into the firelight, into the smell of blood and burned silk.
She clung to him until the heat forced her away.
Why today? Why now?
Questions swirled in her mind—unanswered, unforgiving.
Then—
She ran.
Through bodies. Through smoke. Through death itself.
A mother curled over a child, both burned black.
A senator dragging himself—jaw gone.
A soldier cleaved in half, still clutching a standard.
She didn't stop.
She couldn't, how could she...
How had they found them? The wedding had been planned in secrecy...
The gates—burnt down.
She saw them, attacking and taking life's like it meant nothing.
Almost there—she gasped , almost escaping into the woods.
Did she really think she would escape without a fight?
Talons.
Meat-hook hands seized her. She screamed—struggling for breath as if the world had no mercy left to give.
A claw raked her side.
She howled.
A blow struck her temple.
And then—down she went into:
Darkness.
---
When she woke, the sky was burning.
She lay on cold stone.
Her tunic—torn.
Her side—bleeding.
Smoke soaked her lungs. Her mouth tasted of ash.
The temple was gone.
Marcus—
Gone.
Her mother. Her father. Her life, every thing she cared about..
Gone.
Aurelia sat up slowly, dazed. Every joint screamed. Her vision swam.
Around her—other women. Young. Bloodied. Shackled. Dressed in what once might've been silk.
Blank-eyed. Breathing.
And someone watching them—
A figure.
Cloaked in black.
Silent.
Aurelia blinked, tears scalding her vision.
She had lost everything. And now… she didn't even know where she was. Or where she was going.
She remembered Marcus's hands—warm and gentle, offering violets. Perfume bottles smuggled into her sandals. Letters stained with wine and pressed flowers. All the softness she knew she'd never feel again.
And now—
Only this man – or should I say this monster.
Watching.
No words.
Just a gaze that claimed her,
he smiled looking at the ladies like something that worth wealth, a treasure...
And just then she knew—
This wasn't survival.
This was the beginning of something worse than death, pain beyond explanation.
Something that those that escape spread .
THE AUCTION
To be continued...