Chapter 39: The Demon of Pain

The echo of battle still reverberates through the fragments of a world falling to pieces. Where there were once certainties, now remains only the dense silence of disillusionment.

There are moments when pain does not arise from the body, but from certainty—the brutal recognition that everything you were, or believed yourself to be, is no longer enough.

Edén has seen many things. Too many for someone who has only just begun to live. But there is one lesson neither time nor scars teach: what it means to be left alone.

Because true hell is not a place of eternal fire, but a broken conscience. An empty heart. An unkept promise.

And now, in the midst of that darkness trying to swallow everything, someone opens their eyes—not to see the world as it is, but as it has been torn apart.

Because there is no greater monster than the one forged inside the soul when hope no longer helps, when love is not enough, when rage… is all that remains.

A new demon is about to awaken.
But not one born of another’s shadows.
One that was always there.
Sleeping.
Waiting.
Bleeding.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The shadows of Helheim tremble as Iss plants herself before Edén, her voice heavy with determination and sorrow.

“I’ll give you one last chance,” the woman warns, holding back a breath. “Either you join us… or I’ll take you by force.”

The boy hesitates. Words get stuck in his throat.

“I…”

But there is no time for answers.

A hum. A chill.
A portal opens, ripping Helheim’s air like a fresh wound.

Iss spins around.
“What the hell…?”

From the rift steps a thin, elegant figure with a presence so unnatural that even the air seems to shy away. His footsteps make no echo, yet each one leaves a scar in the atmosphere.

“You…” Iss mutters, barely containing her fury. “What the hell are you doing here, Puppet?”

The newcomer smiles with perverse courtesy.

“The boss made a few small changes to the plans,” he says as if commenting on the weather.

“Changes?” Iss steps forward. “What are you talking about?”

“He didn’t like you taking initiative on your own. So he sent me… to carry out his will,” Puppet answers in a soft voice, as if speaking of something sacred.

Edén watches in silence, a shiver running down his spine. That energy… he thinks. It’s the same as theirs. It’s Black Lights.

Iss narrows her eyes.
“What do you mean by that?”

The answer comes instantly. Puppet drives his hand through Iss’s stomach with a brutality so swift that even time has no chance to react.

Blood bursts from Iss into the air like a silenced scream.

Edén freezes as his mother falls to her knees, her face pale as the moon.

“What have you done…?” she whispers, lips trembling.

Puppet looks at her with feigned remorse.

“I’m sorry, Iss. But no one stands above the boss. Everything he says… is truth. He is our prophet, our savior. If anyone walks before him, and is not our god… then they must die.”

Iss’s body hits the ground. Blood spreads beneath her.

Edén’s cry rips the silence.
“Mother!”

Puppet turns to him, still serene.
“Now then… it’s time to fulfill the mission. My god, we will take you to your true place.”

Edén does not answer—with words.

A dense darkness begins to well up from his body, like a flame consuming him from within. The chains that bound him snap with a dull roar. His energy overflows like an uncontrolled storm.

“How beautiful…” Puppet whispers, ecstatic. “This is the power of our god…”

Inside his mind Edén hears a laugh—one that does not belong to him.

“Well, well…” mocks the voice of the chained demon. “So you came back.”

“Shut up,” Edén growls.

The demon smiles.
“I like that look…”

“What must I do to make you give me your power?” the boy snaps, blunt and raw.

Another voice intrudes—rougher, older.
“I will not allow that,” warns the elderly presence.

“Shut up,” Edén replies with fury. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“You’re more insolent than your grandfather…”

“Don’t you dare speak of him!” Edén shouts, then returns to the original demon. “You… answer me.”

The being’s grin widens.
“My power is not for weaklings like you. If you use it, you will die.”

“Did I ask you that?”

“Do as you wish,” the old figure mutters. “But I will not let you touch that demon.”

“Your opinion means nothing to me,” Edén says with a broken voice. “I will kill it. No matter the cost.”

A resigned sigh.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The demon’s chains snap one by one.
“It’s my turn,” it declares with a laugh that chills the blood.

Back to reality.

Edén’s eyes are no longer his. Red has devoured everything.

Puppet barely contains his excitement.
“Incredible… So this is why they call him our god… his power is… glorious.”

“Come, say something, my—”

But before he can finish, a fist lands squarely on his face.

Puppet’s body flies like a rag in the wind, crashing into a distant wall. He drags himself along the floor, bleeding, but still smiling.

“Impressive…” he pants. “Impressive…”

A sphere of dark energy smashes into him, burying him against the rock.

Edén advances toward him. Slow. Unstoppable.

The echo of Edén’s footsteps merges with the crunch of shattered rock.
His gaze—red like freshly spilled blood—never leaves the half-buried body of Puppet.

“Yes! Yes!” the fanatic shouts, laughter trembling in his throat. “This is what I wanted! Show me everything, my god! All your power!”

But there are no words from Edén. Only action.

He grabs him by the neck without hesitation, lifts him as if he weighed nothing, and begins slamming his head against the wall—again and again. The dull thud of each impact mixes with the blood dripping, thick and red, down Puppet’s forehead… and still, he smiles.

He throws him to the ground violently. Then the storm begins.
Punch after punch, blow after blow—tens of them. Each one deeper, more ruthless, more savage. Gradually, Puppet’s body sinks into the floor, as if the earth itself wanted to swallow him whole.

But there are no screams. Only laughter.

A hollow laugh. Empty. Unhinged.

Edén stops. He stares down at him, his breathing ragged. His fingers curl around the hilt of his sword. Without hesitation, he drives it down toward Puppet’s head.

The blade cuts cleanly.

The body falls to one side… but something doesn’t fit.

Puppet’s head lies a few meters away, intact—and yet his lips move.
He smiles.

“I’m sorry, my god,” he whispers mockingly, “but your time for fun is over. Now… it’s my turn.”

In an impossible flash, Puppet rises. He grabs Edén’s face and slams it into the ground, burying him completely.

“Our prophet will understand,” he says in a monotone voice.

And without waiting for a reaction, he begins his assault.
Closed fists. Knee strikes. Kicks.
All landing on an increasingly defenseless Edén.

The boy tries to stand, but a hand stops him cold. Puppet kicks him square in the neck, sending him flying. Edén’s body hits the ground like a rag doll. His demonic form begins to fade.

Darkness.
Blood.
Pain.

The energy surrounding him scatters slowly… like ash carried off by the wind.

“Though I’ll admit,” Puppet says, wiping blood from his lips, “right now, you’re far too weak. Even for me.”

Edén spits blood.
Am I really that weak? he thinks, feeling his strength slip away. Can’t I even avenge my mother...?

Inside his mind, laughter breaks the silence.

“What have you done, you damned demon?!” bellows the furious voice of Unknown 16.

“Did you really think I’d give him my power?” the demon sneers. “I want to see him die. This brat isn’t worth anything.”

“Son of a—”

The connection cuts.

Back to reality.

“Well then…” Puppet murmurs, stepping back. “It’s time to go.”

But then—the unexpected.

A sword pierces his stomach with brutal force.

Blood bursts from his lips before he can utter a word. He looks down, staring at his hand stained red.

“What… is this?”

And then he sees him.

Standing before him—a man clad in black armor. His presence commands respect… and fear.

“Sorry for arriving late, Edén,” says Hades, his voice cold as death.

Puppet spits blood in torrents. He staggers, his body shaking from the wound, but arrogance still lives on his lips.
“I didn’t expect this…” he murmurs, lifting his gaze. “The very god of the Underworld has come all the way here.”

Hades, clad in black armor that seems to swallow Helheim’s darkness, looks at him with ice-cold calm.
“A father does whatever it takes to protect his son.”

There’s no time for answers. From the shadows, Vali and Ve’s puppets launch their attack with unnatural speed. With a single movement, Hades pulls the sword still lodged in Puppet’s abdomen free and twists it to halt the assault.

The clash is brutal—metal on metal, power against precision. Helheim’s ruins tremble with each impact.

So this is the type of man… Hades thinks while dodging a kick and countering with a swift thrust. Does he truly control puppets so effortlessly? No wonder he’s one of Black Lights’ heads.

Seizing an opening, the god of the Underworld sends a shockwave from his blade. Vali and Ve’s figures are flung like ragdolls, smashing through distant walls.

“Even if you’re strong,” Hades says without raising his voice, “I don’t think you can control them from so far away.”

Puppet drags himself toward a wall, gasping—teeth clenched to keep from screaming.
Damn… he thinks. In two seconds he took control of the fight. This is why they call him one of the most dangerous. With this wound… if I fight, I die.

“Is that all?” Hades asks, advancing step by step. “I expected more from the famed Black Lights.”

Puppet’s smile stretches as if he doesn’t know pain.
“I hope to see you soon, god of the Underworld… Next time I won’t be careless.”

But Hades’ reply is not verbal.

The god appears before him with an imperceptible leap and unleashes a downward cut so powerful the earth itself splits. A chasm rips through Helheim, devouring walls as if the world were torn in two.

Puppet’s body is gone.

Far away, perched atop a cracked rock, the wounded man still smiles.
“I think there will be a next time…” he says, placing a bloodied hand on the ground.

A black pulse expands from his palm. The Underworld trembles. Pillars crack. Caverns collapse. Rocks rain from the roof. Helheim begins to crumble.

“Damn it…!” Hades growls.

Puppet crosses the portal with his body in pieces, but his face keeps that near-euphoric expression.
“See you, god of the Underworld…”

He disappears among the shards of darkness he summoned.

Hades stands motionless for a few seconds—breath controlled, pulse quickening.
Should I go after him? he thinks, clenching his fists. No. There are more important matters now.

He looks back. There are Edén and Isaac—fallen, vulnerable… still alive.

And that, for a father, is reason enough to stay.

The portal’s glow fades as Puppet vanishes into the dark, taking his broken laughter and the lingering threat with him.

Hades stands silent.
There is no victory. No relief.
Only ruins.

Helheim’s walls tremble. Rocks collapse from above like a rain of death. The ground splits. The abyss opens beneath their feet.

Wasting no time, Hades crouches and carefully lifts the battered bodies of Isaac and Edén. One unconscious, the other barely breathing.

Then—
a faint, broken sound… a sigh.

Hades spins. There, among rubble and blood, Iss still breathes.

“What do you think you’re doing…?” she whispers, voice barely alive. “Go… leave… now.”

“I can’t,” he replies, moving closer.

“What do you mean…?” she coughs—scarlet drops stain the stone—“If you don’t leave now, Helheim will crush us all…”

Without another word, Hades takes her firmly and seats her on his back. He tears part of his shirt and ties it tight to secure her.

“Hold on,” he says, never taking his eyes off the front.

“Idiot… let me go…”

“After all you did to these children, I won’t let you go to the other world that easily.”

A weary smile traces Iss’s face.
“Seems you never stop ruining my life…”

“Yeah… seems so.”

She braces herself. Hades runs.

Shadows close behind them. The fissures chase like tongues of death. Obsidian pillars tumble and Helheim’s sky roars as if all hell collapses.

Endless minutes. Ragged breaths. One last leap.

Then… silence.

The god of the Underworld collapses to his knees, still holding the three bodies. The surface air tastes different… but it’s soaked in loss.

“Why…?” Iss asks softly, almost defeated.

Hades looks at her.
“What do you mean?”

“Why did you save me, really?”

“I wanted to give you back… at least a small part of everything I owe you.”

Iss lets out a short, barely audible laugh.
“You’re an idiot… You never knew how to say what you feel…”

“Yes… I know.”

“But it’s too late…”

“Don’t say that…”

“Puppet pierced all my vital organs…” her voice trembles—“I only have minutes left…”

Hades shakes his head. Desperation begins to boil under his skin.
“Shut up… I’ll save you. By any means. And then… you’ll live your life free.”

“No…” Iss’s gaze turns warm, nostalgic.
“Right now… I’m already living my dream…”

“Your dream?”

“Yes…” her eyes cloud, but a smile forms on her lips.
“It’s the first time… the three of us are together…”

Blood wells again. A thin crimson thread trickles from the corner of her mouth.

“Iss…”

“Seems… our son brought a friend…” she smiles tenderly, barely a whisper of who she was.

“Not yet…” Hades’s voice cracks. “Not yet…”

“There’s no time…”

The god of the Underworld takes her hand.
“Ask for what you want…” he says with a shattered soul.

“Protect him…” she whispers. “Protect our son. Don’t let them take him… they mustn’t have him…”

“Them? You mean Black Lights? Do you know what they’re after?”

Iss closes her eyes. Her breath fades slowly.
“I leave everything… in your hands…”

And then—silence.

No more words.
No more moans.
No more breath.

“Iss…?” Hades’s voice drowns into nothing. “Iss?! Not yet! Don’t go yet!”

But it is too late.

In the last corner of her mind, Iss sees an image—a small creature in her arms. A baby. Her son. Her light.

“Take care, my son…” she thinks, and fades away.

Hades’s body trembles. Gritting his teeth, he holds back a scream. There is no room for pain. Not now.
Not yet.