The battle began in an instant, like the eruption of a long-dormant volcano. Xyenn lunged forward, his Dark Sun Sword roaring to life as it ignited with brilliant dark flames, the jagged edges glowing with a hellish radiance. His feet slammed against the blood-soaked ground, sending splashes of crimson ichor into the air as he closed the distance between himself and Zerzoth. The demon’s twisted grin widened, its grotesque humanoid form shifting slightly in anticipation.
“Entertain me, little Jotyin boy!” Zerzoth screamed.
Xyenn thought, ‘Ever since me and Yuuna devoured the dragon god of the Sun, I’ve gained this sword, created from the flames I absorbed from hun, I couldn’t come up with a damn name…so it’s just Dark Sword. If I was merged with Yuuna, the skills of the Sun-Drake and Yuuna’s would merge and make me even more powerful. But.. I let my guard down letting this demon take advantage of my emotions, but no more..I’m not some kid! I even have a child dammit!’
Xyenn’s first strike was brutal—he swung the massive blade in a wide arc, aiming directly for Zerzoth’s chest. The blow connected with a sickening crunch, the jagged blade ripping through the demon’s thick black flesh. Bright flames of the dark sun spilled out from the wound, burning like molten lava as they hissed and crackled, eating away at the edges of the gash.
Zerzoth stumbled back, his clawed feet scraping against the ground, but instead of roaring in pain, he laughed—a deep, guttural sound that echoed through the distorted domain. “Yes,” Zerzoth snarled, his jagged teeth glinting as his body began to shift. “Yes! That’s it! Show me what you’re made of!”
The demon’s form twisted grotesquely, its body swelling and warping. The red strands on Zerzoth’s head flared outward, writhing like living flames. His chest split open, exposing a second face—a child’s face, eerily resembling Xyenn as a boy. The child’s face had pitch-black eyes, endless voids that wept tears of blood, the crimson streaks running down the demon’s torso. The sight froze Xyenn for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching as the grotesque mimicry of his childhood self let out a mournful, wailing cry.
“You’re still just a scared little boy,” Zerzoth growled, his voice morphing into a perfect imitation of Xyenn’s as a child. “You’ve always been weak. Always afraid. And now, you’re going to die afraid. I never thought I’d battle a crybaby Jotyin. Haldrek would’ve been a better option—.”
Xyenn forced himself to focus, shaking off the horrifying image as he gritted his teeth. He surged forward again, his sword carving through the air with a deadly whistle. Zerzoth met him head-on, his massive demonic arm morphing into a beast-like appendage, shaped like the jaws of a massive wolf, its teeth razor-sharp and dripping with red-black demonic energy. The two clashed in a bone-rattling impact that sent shockwaves through the blood-soaked ground, splattering gore in every direction.
Xyenn twisted his blade, using the jagged edge to tear through the beast-like arm, but Zerzoth countered, swinging his other arm—now a massive clawed hand—directly at Xyenn’s exposed side. Xyenn barely managed to twist his body, the claw grazing his ribs and tearing through his armor, leaving deep gashes that bled freely. He grunted in pain but didn’t slow, pivoting on his heel to bring his sword up in a brutal uppercut. The blade slashed across Zerzoth’s jaw, splitting it open and spilling more of the demon’s molten blood.
Zerzoth roared, his beast-like arm snapping at Xyenn again. This time, Xyenn ducked low, his wings flaring as he used the momentum to leap into the air. He spun mid-flight, bringing his sword crashing down like a guillotine. Zerzoth raised his clawed arm to block, the blade biting deep into the demonic flesh, but not enough to sever it. The demon used the opportunity to swipe Xyenn with his free arm, the claws raking across Xyenn’s dragon-scaled chest and sending him flying back.
Xyenn skidded across the blood-soaked ground, his boots digging furrows into the crimson muck. He coughed, blood splattering onto the ground as he clutched his side. His dragon arm, encased in the black-gold brace, throbbed with pain, but he knew better than to rely on it—it couldn’t take much more punishment.
Zerzoth charged, his massive claws tearing through the ground as he closed the distance in an instant. Xyenn barely had time to raise his sword before the demon’s beast-like arm slammed into him, the force of the blow cracking the ground beneath his feet. Xyenn blocked the attack with his blade, but the impact sent a jolt of pain through his arm, nearly forcing him to drop the weapon.
‘Don’t stop, Xyenn!’
The two clashed again, their movements a blur of brutal strikes and counters. Xyenn ducked under a swipe aimed at his neck, spinning on his heel to slash at Zerzoth’s legs. The blade cut deep, severing one of the demon’s tendrils, but Zerzoth retaliated with a backhanded swing that caught Xyenn across the face, sending him staggering. Blood dripped from a fresh gash on his cheek, but he didn’t falter, using the momentum to swing his sword in a wide arc that slashed across Zerzoth’s torso.
The demon roared, molten blood spraying from the wound, but it didn’t slow him. Zerzoth’s beast-like arm morphed again, this time into a massive serpentine head with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp fangs. The serpent lunged at Xyenn, its jaws snapping shut inches from his face as he leapt backward. Xyenn flared his wings, propelling himself into the air as the serpent head lunged again. This time, Xyenn twisted mid-flight, dodging the attack and slamming his sword down into the serpent’s skull. The blade drove deep, the dark sun flames erupting and consuming the demonic flesh.
“AGHHHHH!” Xyenn screeched.
Zerzoth howled in pain, his body convulsing as the serpent head disintegrated. But the demon wasn’t done. His remaining arm morphed into a massive hammer-like fist, and he swung it upward with incredible force. Xyenn barely managed to block with his sword, but the impact sent him hurtling into the ground, the force of the blow creating a crater in the bloody terrain.
Xyenn groaned, his body aching as he pushed himself to his feet. His left eye socket throbbed, the missing eye throwing off his depth perception and making it harder to read Zerzoth’s movements. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.
‘My left eye and left arm are my biggest issues…I have to be able to keep this demon in my field of view and away from my left side! If not, I’ll get hit every time, but I keep messing up!’
Zerzoth lunged again, his beast-like appendages swinging with relentless ferocity. Xyenn dodged and parried, his movements precise but strained. The two traded blows in a brutal, bloody exchange—each strike aimed to kill. Xyenn’s sword carved deep gashes into Zerzoth’s flesh, while the demon’s claws and beast-like arms left deep wounds across Xyenn’s body.
Blood sprayed with every clash, painting the already crimson ground in fresh splatters. Xyenn’s breathing grew heavier, his body screaming in protest with every movement, but he refused to back down. He grit his teeth, his grip on his sword tightening as he surged forward, slamming the blade into Zerzoth’s shoulder. The demon roared, his claws raking across Xyenn’s chest in retaliation, but Xyenn didn’t let go, twisting the blade deeper into the wound.
Zerzoth’s massive claw came down, slamming into Xyenn’s dragon arm. The **brace** cracked under the force, sending a jolt of searing pain through Xyenn’s body. He cried out but refused to let go, pulling his sword free and slashing it across Zerzoth’s face. The blade carved through the demon’s eye, molten blood spraying as Zerzoth howled in rage.
The two combatants staggered back, blood dripping from their wounds as they glared at each other. Both were battered, bruised, and bleeding, but neither showed any sign of backing down.
Zerzoth’s mocking grin returned, his chest heaving as he chuckled. “It’s been ages since I’ve fought someone like you,” he growled, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Let’s see how much more you’ve got, little Jotyin.”
Xyenn tightened his grip on his sword, his pitch-black eyes burning with determination. He took a deep breath, steadying himself despite the pain coursing through his body.
The demon laughed, his beast-like arms twitching in anticipation as he lunged forward again. Xyenn didn’t move. He stood his ground, his sword at the ready, his dark sun aura flaring around him as the battle continued.
The air between Xyenn and Zerzoth grew heavier, denser, as the demon’s muscles rippled and his grotesque form expanded. The cursed domain around them—the endless darkness, the blood-soaked ground, and the screams of Hell—seemed to intensify with Zerzoth’s shift in presence. His mocking grin twisted into something darker, more menacing, as his voice deepened, reverberating like the growl of an ancient beast.
“You think you’ve proved something,” Zerzoth snarled, his glowing red eye narrowing with sadistic amusement. His voice rumbled, guttural and commanding now, the childlike mockery gone. “But you haven’t even begun to understand where you stand, little Jotyin.”
Xyenn stood his ground, his Dark Sun Sword gripped tightly in his hands. Blood dripped steadily from the wounds that riddled his body, pooling beneath his feet. His dragon arm throbbed painfully, the black-gold brace barely holding under the strain of Zerzoth’s relentless attacks. His chest rose and fell, his breaths labored, but his determination burned brighter than the dark flames that licked along the edge of his blade.
“Then enlighten me,” Xyenn growled, his voice sharp despite the pain wracking his body. His black eyes burned with defiance.
Zerzoth’s laughter was low and cruel, his jagged teeth glinting as he raised a clawed hand. The air around him began to ripple, warping as a surge of blood and darkness magic poured from his body like a crimson-black tide. The ground beneath him cracked and bled, the ichor rising into the air and swirling around him in a grotesque dance.
“You’ve fought enemies before,” Zerzoth said, his deep voice dripping with contempt. “But I am not like them. I am Hell’s Herald, the voice of the First Monarch. And I wield power you cannot fathom. And I’m in a low rank. If you can’t beat me fast like this, you won’t stand a chance against Hell’s forces.”
“All I need…is Yuuna. And it’s over for all of you!”
“You REALLY think so?”
The swirling magic around him condensed, shaping itself into two spheres—one of blood, raw and pulsating, and the other of pure darkness, a void that seemed to devour the light of the domain itself. Zerzoth raised his clawed hand higher, and the two spheres merged, twisting and writhing together until they formed a single, chaotic mass of blood-dark magic that radiated malice.
Xyenn braced himself, his wings flaring as he prepared to dodge, but Zerzoth didn’t attack immediately. Instead, he began to chant in a low, guttural language, his words ancient and incomprehensible. The ground beneath Xyenn’s feet quaked, and a series of glowing red-black runes appeared, spiraling outward in intricate patterns.
“Let’s see how well you fight when your body betrays you,” Zerzoth growled, his voice taking on a sinister edge.
The runes flared to life, and curses erupted from them, latching onto Xyenn’s body like chains of fiery venom. His muscles stiffened, his dragon arm seizing in agony as dark tendrils of cursed magic burrowed into his flesh. He gasped, his knees buckling slightly as the pain shot through him like shards of glass.
“AGHHHH!”
‘Curse magic?! Of fucking course! Gotta press on, no matter what! Keep on the offensive!’
Xyenn staggered, his sword trembling in his grip. His vision blurred, and for a moment, it felt as though the cursed magic was trying to rip him apart from the inside. But he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright.
“I’ve fought… through worse,” Xyenn growled, his voice strained but defiant. “Your cheap ass tricks won’t stop me.”
“Haha! You little delinquent Jotyin! I like you! I see why the First Monarch wants your soul!”
Zerzoth’s grin widened, his massive claw forming a jagged spear of blood-dark energy. He hurled it at Xyenn with incredible speed, the projectile tearing through the air like a cannonball. Xyenn barely managed to twist his body, the spear grazing his shoulder and leaving a deep, bloody gash. He countered immediately, surging forward with a burst of speed and slashing his Dark Sun Sword in a deadly arc.
The blade connected with Zerzoth’s side, cutting deep and unleashing a burst of dark flames that burned through his flesh. Zerzoth roared, but instead of retreating, he used the momentum to swing his massive clawed hand upward, catching Xyenn in the ribs and sending him flying.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Xyenn slammed into the ground, coughing up blood as he rolled to his feet. The curses still weighed on him, his movements sluggish and his body screaming in protest, but he refused to back down. He steadied himself, his black eyes locking onto Zerzoth with unyielding determination.
“I’ll keep fighting,” Xyenn spat, wiping blood from his mouth. “No matter what you throw at me.”
“Why…why do you keep fighting? Knowing you’ll lose? You won’t claim victory by torturing yourself!” Zerzoth smiled.
“My ability to keep fighting..is my victory.”
He remembered when he was killed over and over by Haldrek. But he didn’t give up. He used that as fuel all the time during fights.
Zerzoth chuckled darkly, his form rippling as something new began to take shape behind him. Glowing crests—intricate, radiant symbols—manifested in the air, each one pulsating with a unique energy. There were seven in total, each glowing with a hue that seemed to eclipse the blood-soaked domain.
“These,” Zerzoth said, gesturing to the crests with a clawed hand, “are the marks of the draconic deities who have already come to Hell’s guidance. Their souls now belong to the First Monarch, their power feeding his will. The draconic deities that wish to escape the Cycle of Rebirth, the source of it being in Yuuna’s heart. They realize how much stronger you and her have gotten, so some of them are going the dark route and trying to use cursed runes to be reborn through pregnant Quen women.”
“….Quinara..”
“Though, there are draconic deities still wanting Yuuna’s heart and are stubborn, not giving in to our call. But none of the dragon gods who have made contracts with us know they’re bound to Hell now once they are killed by you and Yuuna.”
Xyenn thought, ‘They have to be killed by us in order to be claimed by Hell…? Of course…it’s because if we kill a draconic deity, they can't be reborn…! But if it’s by someone else, they suffer the Cycle of Rebirth once again.’
Zerzoth smiled, “So keep killing those draconic deities! Killing them is the only way to orient your little Yuuna! Killing them will be the only way to save worthless humans!”
Xyenn’s heart sank as he stared at the floating crests. Each one was unique, a complex design of glowing lines and shapes that pulsed with the unmistakable presence of ancient power. He didn’t recognize them, but the sheer weight of their presence was undeniable. But he knew they belonged to dragonic deities. Those claimed by Hell.
Zerzoth continued, “The draconic deities of Kyrrin have already begun their descent into Hell’s embrace. Contracts have been made. Their power now serves a greater purpose.”
Xyenn’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white. “Even if that’s true,” he growled, “it doesn’t change anything. I was created to defeat the First Monarch. To conquer Hell itself. That’s what I’ll do.”
Zerzoth’s grin widened, his jagged teeth glinting. “Oh, you poor, deluded fool. Do you truly think you can stand against the First Monarch when even the elder dragon gods have bowed to him? You’re nothing but a pawn, a failed experiment clinging to a destiny you’ll never fulfill. A premature seed of the Ohnupilath!”
The crests behind Zerzoth flared brighter, their glow casting long, ominous shadows across the domain. They hovered above him like a crown, a constant reminder of the power Xyenn was up against.
Xyenn’s body ached, the curses sapping his strength with every passing second. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, pooling at his feet. He could feel the weight of Zerzoth’s words pressing down on him, the doubt creeping into his mind.
But he refused to give in.
“You talk too much,” Xyenn snarled, his voice filled with raw determination. He raised his sword, the dark flames along its edge burning brighter despite the pain wracking his body. “Let’s finish this.”
Zerzoth’s laughter rumbled like an earthquake, his clawed hands crackling with blood-dark energy. “As you wish, little Jotyin. Let’s see how long you last.”
The two lunged at each other again, their movements a blur of speed and ferocity. Xyenn’s sword clashed with Zerzoth’s claws in a shower of sparks, the force of their blows shaking the ground beneath them. Blood sprayed as their attacks landed, each strike more brutal than the last.
The glowing crests behind Zerzoth pulsed ominously, their presence a constant reminder of the overwhelming power Xyenn was fighting against. But he didn’t falter. He couldn’t.
The battle was far from over.
‘I’ll use my skills now..to end this. Using them early would’ve drained me heavily since I’m not merged with Yuuna…but now I can let loose. Since I’m not contracted as a vessel of the Sun-Drake, it’ll take time for me to tame his power. I have to keep fighting with this sword. I hope this sword doesn’t fail me. I went through a lot to get you!’
The air trembled with a suffocating weight as Xyenn gripped his Dark Sun Sword, his bloodied body screaming in protest. The pain from Zerzoth’s curses clawed at him, his muscles spasming under the strain, but he refused to falter. His breath was ragged, his left arm throbbing as if it were being crushed from the inside out, but his black eyes burned with unyielding determination. The glowing crests of the fallen dragon gods hovered ominously behind Zerzoth, their intricate designs pulsating with an otherworldly power that mocked Xyenn’s resolve. Each crest seemed alive, radiating faint whispers of forgotten deities who had already succumbed to Hell’s grasp. Zerzoth stood tall before him, his grotesque form rippling with demonic power, the two red strands** atop his head writhing like living fire.
“Do you see it now, little Jotyin?” Zerzoth growled, his voice deeper, more guttural—a voice that seemed to shake the very foundation of the domain. “You’re nothing. Even your precious draconic deities have bowed to the First Monarch. You’re not a savior. You’re a child playing with a sword too heavy for your hands.”
“Swords not even that heavy, bitch.” Xyenn replied.
Xyenn’s jaw clenched as he glared at the monstrous figure before him. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to give up, to collapse under the weight of the curses and the overwhelming power that Zerzoth radiated. But he refused. He couldn’t give in. Not now. Not ever.
“I’m still standing,” Xyenn spat, his voice low but laced with venom. “That’s more than you can say for them.” He motioned toward the crests behind Zerzoth, his bloodied fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade.
Zerzoth’s twisted grin widened, his jagged teeth glinting. “Then stand, boy. Stand and die.”
With a roar, Zerzoth lunged forward, his massive, clawed arms morphing mid-strike into grotesque beast-like limbs, one shaped like the maw of a wolf and the other a massive hammering fist. Xyenn sidestepped the first strike, the wolf-head snapping inches from his throat, but the hammer-fist came down like a meteor. He raised his sword, the impact rattling his entire body as he blocked, the force of the blow cracking the blood-soaked ground beneath him.
Xyenn gritted his teeth, his knees buckling under the pressure, but he twisted his body and deflected the hammer-arm, using the momentum to spin and slash at Zerzoth’s exposed side. The Dark Sun Sword bit deep into the demon’s flesh, unleashing a torrent of dark flames that burned through the grotesque flesh like molten lava. Zerzoth roared in pain, but his clawed arm lashed out in retaliation, raking across Xyenn’s chest and leaving deep, bloody gashes.
Xyenn staggered back, blood dripping from his wounds, but he didn’t stop. He planted his feet firmly and drove his sword into the ground, summoning the first of his true powers.
“Singularity Vein: The Heart of Despair.”
The ground beneath him cracked, glowing veins of crimson-black energyspreading outward in jagged lines. They pulsed with a heartbeat-like rhythm, the glowing light growing brighter with each pulse as they snaked their way toward Zerzoth. The demon hesitated for a moment, his red eye narrowing as he realized something was wrong.
The veins converged beneath Zerzoth’s feet, and with a deafening roar, a singularity erupted—a small, shimmering black hole surrounded by chaotic tendrils of light and shadow. The pull of the singularity was immediate and overwhelming, dragging everything around it toward its center. The blood-soaked ground twisted and cracked, chunks of stone and debris being pulled into the void.
Zerzoth roared in defiance, his claws digging into the ground as he fought against the pull. But the singularity wasn’t just distorting space—it was distorting time. Zerzoth’s movements slowed, his roars stretched into eerie echoes as his massive form was dragged inch by inch toward the void.
“You think this will stop me?” Zerzoth growled, his voice warped by the singularity’s pull. “You’re a fool, Jotyin!”
The singularity collapsed with a thunderous explosion, sending out a shockwave of fragmented reality that ripped apart everything in its path. The shockwave slammed into Zerzoth, tearing through his flesh and sending chunks of his body flying. But the demon still stood, his twisted form regenerating almost instantly as he snarled at Xyenn.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Zerzoth spat, his voice dripping with malice.
Xyenn thought, ‘Shit! I need to make that skill stronger! Gunjo and Mertha can help me!’
Before Xyenn could respond, Zerzoth raised his clawed hand, summoning a torrent of blood-dark magic that surged toward him like a tidal wave. Xyenn leapt into the air, his dragon wings flaring as he avoided the attack, but the magic shifted mid-air, chasing him like a living storm.
Xyenn twisted in mid-air, slashing his sword to release arcs of dark sun flames that collided with the magic, igniting it in a brilliant explosion. The force of the blast sent him hurtling back, but he used the momentum to spin and land gracefully, his boots skidding across the ground.
As Zerzoth charged again, Xyenn summoned his next skill.
“Bloodlit Elegy: Choir of the Forsaken.”
The Dark Sun Sword resonated with an otherworldly hum, releasing arcs of blood-red light that coalesced into five ghostly figures around him. The Forsaken Choir—spectral warriors with flickering, ember-like forms—mimicked Xyenn’s movements, each wielding spectral blades that mirrored his own.
Xyenn rushed forward, the Choir following in perfect synchronization. He slashed at Zerzoth, his blade carving into the demon’s chest, while the spectral warriors attacked with delayed timing, their strikes creating ethereal ruptures that tore into the fabric of reality. Each rupture emitted bursts of sharp, deafening sound, staggering Zerzoth and leaving him open for more attacks.
Zerzoth roared in frustration, his massive arms swinging wildly as he tried to fend off the spectral warriors, but their flickering forms absorbed the brunt of his attacks, protecting Xyenn as he pressed his assault. The Choir converged on Zerzoth, their forms detonating in a symphony of destructive energy that sent the demon crashing to the ground.
Zerzoth struggled to his feet, his body battered and bleeding, but his laughter echoed through the domain. “You think you’re winning?” he growled, his voice dripping with venom. “You’ve seen nothing.”
The glowing crests of the dragon gods behind Zerzoth flared brighter, their ominous presence a constant reminder of the power Xyenn was up against.
Xyenn gritted his teeth, his body screaming in protest as he prepared his final skill.
‘He’s keeping them there to mess with my head..to try and show me it’s hopeless. Showing me that…if I kill them, I’m just fueling Hell! It all seems impossible…killing then destroys the world of Kyrrin one way or another…but Yuuna just wants to live.. and why does everything seem so unfair and against us?!’
“Oblivion Engine: Blade of the Devouring Sun.”
The Dark Sun Sword transformed, its blade becoming a swirling mass of molten metal surrounded by a halo of corrupted solar energy. Xyenn swung the blade in wide arcs, tearing open fiery rifts in the air that spilled out streams of plasma-like light. The rifts collapsed after a delay, pulling everything nearby into them with immense force.
Zerzoth roared as the collapsing rifts tore into him, ripping chunks of flesh from his body. Xyenn charged forward, his blade burning brighter as he prepared the final strike. He brought the sword down in a devastating downward slash, the force of the attack splitting the ground beneath them and tearing through Zerzoth’s torso.
But before the strike could finish him, Zerzoth’s form shifted. His massive, grotesque body shrank and twisted, and when Xyenn’s blade stopped inches from his neck, he saw the face of a child—his own face, bloodied and crying, staring up at him with pitch-black eyes.
“Please,” the child whimpered, its voice trembling. “Don’t kill me. I’m just a scared little boy… just like you.”
Xyenn froze, his breath hitching as his hands trembled. For a moment, his mind raced, doubt clawing at his resolve. But then, he gritted his teeth, his black eyes narrowing with determination.
“I didn’t go through all of this for nothing,” Xyenn growled. “You’re not me.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me! Haha! When demons die, they go back to hell! And are remade without our current memories! We seem to have our own cycle of rebirth. So come on! Do it!”
With a swift motion, he swung his sword, severing Zerzoth’s head from his body. Blood sprayed in a gruesome arc as the demon’s head rolled to the ground, its mocking grin still etched on its face.
Xyenn stood there, his chest heaving as he stared at the lifeless body. But then, he looked up—and froze.
In the distance, under the light of a dark blood moon, he saw them: massive thrones, each one covered in shadow, with demonic beings sitting atop them. Their forms were obscured, but their presence was undeniable—ancient, powerful, and watching. Behind the thrones, a corrupted visage of the Ohnupilath Tree loomed, its branches twisted and blackened, dripping with crimson ichor.
Xyenn, covered in blood and barely able to stand, pointed his sword at the thrones. “I’m not done yet,” he muttered, limping toward them.
The screams of Hell grew louder with each agonizing step Xyenn took, the weight of them pressing against his body like a thousand invisible hands trying to drag him down. His vision blurred, his bloodied body trembling as he limped forward, his boots squelching against the blood-soaked ground. His left arm throbbed with unbearable pain, the black-gold brace barely holding together, and every breath felt like fire in his lungs. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His Dark Sun Sword, heavy with the weight of his will, dragged slightly against the ground, leaving a jagged, molten trail in its wake.
“I’m…a man,” Xyenn whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and cracked. His lips trembled, blood dripping down his chin, but he kept going.
The closer he got to the shadowed thrones, the louder the screams of Hell became. They weren’t just sounds—they were living, tangible things, wrapping around him like chains, clawing at his mind, trying to shatter his resolve. The cries of the damned echoed in his ears, their despair threatening to drown him.
‘Those look like the same figures I saw around Yuuna during the ritual with that witch in Soulcaris…the strongest Monarchs of Hell itself on that Throne..’
But instead of succumbing, Xyenn used it. He clenched his jaw, his black eyes burning with a fierce resolve. The screams were fuel, each one igniting a fire inside him. “You don’t scare me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice growing stronger. “I’ve walked through worse. I’ve bled through worse. I’m still here.”
The thrones loomed closer now—massive, ancient structures carved from blackened stone, each surrounded by a suffocating aura of dread. The beings seated upon them were shrouded in shadow, their forms immense and unknowable, but their eyes—dozens of glowing, unnatural eyes—watched him with an almost predatory interest.
“I’m a…man,” Xyenn repeated, louder this time, his voice cutting through the screams. He forced his legs to move, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through his battered body. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound deafening in his own ears. “I noticed…Being a man isn’t about being fearless. It’s about pressing forward, even when Hell itself is trying to swallow you whole.”
As he walked, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A small figure, walking beside him. He turned his head slightly and froze for a moment. It was himself—a younger version of himself, no older than six. The boy’s face was pale and bloodied, his eyes wide with fear, but there was a flicker of determination in his expression that mirrored Xyenn’s own.
The child stumbled slightly, his small, trembling hands clutching at an invisible wound on his chest. Xyenn watched him for a moment, his throat tightening, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He turned his gaze back toward the thrones, his resolve hardening.
“You don’t scare me,” Xyenn growled, his voice rising. “You think you can take me? You think you can take Yuuna?” He gritted his teeth, his grip on his sword tightening as he pointed the blade at the shadowed figures. “You’re wrong. I’ll kill every last one of you. I’ll tear you off those thrones, and I’ll burn your Hell to the ground. You don’t get to decide my fate. You don’t get to decide hers. You’re not taking her. Not now. Not ever.”
The shadowed figures didn’t move for a moment, their oppressive silence hanging heavy in the air. Then, one of them—the largest, seated on the central throne—shifted slightly, a glimmer of white teeth visible beneath the shadows as it smiled.
“Good luck,” the figure said, its voice deep and resonant, dripping with malicious amusement.
In that instant, the shadows around the thrones shifted, and for a brief, horrifying moment, the faces of the demonic monarchs were revealed.
Xyenn’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze locked onto them. Their appearances defied comprehension, grotesque and alien in ways that twisted the mind. He couldn’t process what he was seeing—his brain refused to make sense of it, as if the very act of looking at them was an assault on his sanity.
Time seemed to slow as the images burned themselves into his mind. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing louder and louder, drowning out everything else. His hands began to shake, his grip on his sword slipping as his knees buckled.
The screams of Hell grew deafening, merging with the pounding of his heartbeat until it was all he could hear. His vision blurred, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as the trauma overwhelmed him. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t. His body was frozen, his mind trapped in the moment.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of his heartbeat filled his ears, faster and faster, until it felt like it might burst from his chest. His chest tightened, his lungs burning as he struggled to breathe. The faces of the monarchs lingered in his mind, seared into his very soul.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“You’re still a little child,” a deep, otherworldly voice rumbled through the domain, cutting through the chaos like a blade. The voice was ancient and commanding, dripping with malice and power. It came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating in Xyenn’s very bones. “I will claim you, little Jotyin.”
Xyenn’s body trembled, his legs giving out as he fell to one knee. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. His black eyes widened, his breath hitching as the voice seemed to wrap around him, suffocating him.
And then, the domain shattered.
The screams of Hell vanished in an instant, replaced by the faint hum of runes and the gasp of familiar voices. Xyenn blinked, his vision clearing as he found himself kneeling on the cold stone floor of the stronghold. His body was still bloodied, his wounds still fresh, but the oppressive weight of the domain was gone.
Around him, Illyana, Draeven, Vektor, Faera, and the clerics stood, their faces pale with shock and concern. The glowing runes on the walls flickered weakly, their light barely illuminating the room.
Xyenn exhaled shakily, his body trembling as he forced himself to his feet. Blood dripped from his sword as he gripped it tightly, his black eyes scanning the room.
But even as he stood there, surrounded by his allies, the faces of the monarchs lingered in his mind, haunting him.
Illyana yelled, “Xyenn! Are you okay?! We did our best out here! What happened?!”
‘I’m sorry…I’m so sorry Xyenn!’ Illyana poured in her mind, her heart grieving with guilt as she believed she did this to him by bringing him along.
Xyenn thought, ‘Why does everything…seem against us…?’