Hector's eyes widened. The son of Arnhild was in disbelief as he stared up at Arnold and Atlas, the commanding Titans of the Golden Dawn.

"Alexander Lane... is dead?!" he asked.

He was sitting at a single, simple desk in his room within the subterranean levels of the fortress, one where he usually sat to think, for alone time. That made this event, this incident a notable outlier, as two Titans loomed over him and brought him the news.

Atlas nodded in response to Hector's question, while Arnold flashed his teeth with a wide grin. "Stabbed through the heart. It's funny. I spent so much time thinking of him, thinking of the most entertaining way to bring out the best in him and kill him all at once, but... It seems such ideas will never be brought to fruition. His own world, his own people have wrought his literal downfall. He was stabbed through the heart."

"What a waste," the Titan of the Skies spat out. "He deserved a better death. A bloodier one, with greater purpose."

"The fuck are you saying?" Atlas questioned, turning and facing his fellow Titan.

"Alexander died in a pointless battle. It would have been far better for him to fall in a battle with meaning. A battle of his ideals, not just him being assassinated."

Atlas didn't understand Arnold's point. He rarely did. But the simple truth was, "He's dead either way. And that's good for us all."

Hector still processed each word slowly and carefully. His eyes were widened, his mouth agape for a moment before he stammered out, "He- He's really dead? Like, deceased?"

Again, Atlas nodded. He shrugged with a slight smile, a toothless grin and told Hector, "Just wanted to let you know, considering your past with him."

The Titan tapped Arnold's shoulder and turned away. That was all either of them had to say, and so, Arnold only smiled at his nephew. He ruffled Hector's dark hair as his thoughts shifted to him. A magic-less boy in complete contrast to the Titan of the Skies himself.

But before he said anything, Hector only slapped off Arnold's hand. The boy clenched his fist.

Arnold's grin widened as he turned away in silence and walked off with a wave.

Hector dropped his fist and pounded it onto a book on his desk. 'Alexander Lane...' he thought.

Even now that he was alone, he kept himself quiet and lost in his thoughts, his memories. He thought back on the horrifying sights he was met with each time he encountered that black-haired boy. He had met Alexander only twice, and he was a troublesome opponent each time.

The first, was in the cave on Asgard. He had one order: kill the Demon-Born. And so, he prepared his blade and coated it in poison. A surprise attack was all that was needed, all to plunge his knife into the boy's chest. A proper impact would force the poison to his heart and kill him in seconds.

Instead, Alexander Lane reacted too quickly, leaving only a sharp graze on his skin. It was still enough poison to kill a normal human in minutes, but Alexander was anything but. The Demon-Born got back up. The Demon-Born attacked and fought against his family members, against his siblings and his mother.

The second was on Vanaheim.

Another simple objective. Retrieve the God Crystal from the grasp of the Heavenly Virtues. Hector may have succeeded but... Alexander hunted him down to the last moment. He chased after him from portal to portal, even after he was bleeding and bruised. And how did that end?

He shuddered at the simple memory burned into his bones. The memory of a brilliant white light that crashed into his arms and shoved him away. His right arm had shattered, his left cracked apart. His ribs were broken and his entire being was shaken.

Ever since then, Hector had been afraid of Alexander.

He may have been a Demon-Born, but he was raised as a human. Everything he thought, felt, and acted upon, was human. Everything Hector saw in those battles was the frightening force of human will.

He may have been raised as a human, but he was a Demon-Born. He had gotten his arms broken, but he didn't stop until he had won. He had been stabbed through the leg, and kept running. He had lost the battle, but he kept fighting.

And then just a few weeks ago... Mammon ascended unto Midgard. With the use of his mother's familiar, Hector watched the clash firsthand. He witnessed firsthand what Alexander was capable of.

Right as the battle seemed lost, the Demon-Born surpassed himself. He became a devil, one that Hector can't even dream of stopping. Not now, at least.

To think that such a monster could be brought down by a single man.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that thought. He smiled through his unsteady heart. Maybe, just maybe, his worries of the Demon-Born were finally over. The worries of the Titans as well.

Just like the gods intended, Fate has smiled upon them by ridding them of a problem.

Even as the two Titans trekked through the stone corridors, their conversation still lingered on the Demon-Born who laid still. The boy who was already a corpse.

Atlas asked Arnold, "What's your obsession with the kid, anyway?"

"You remember when I killed the girl, yes?" Arnold asked back.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Atlas fell silent. That statement didn't narrow any of it down. The number of people he had witnessed Arnold kill in the past year alone... He only shook his head in response.

"Well..." the Titan of the Skies sucked in air through his teeth. "Basically, back on Vanaheim, I killed a friend of his. An Asgardian girl, clearly, no more than eight years of age. That filled him with an inhuman rage."

The Titan of Space furrowed his eyebrows. "I mean, yeah. He's a Demon-Born."

as he and Atlas continued walking.

"Indeed. And that had always interested me. Maybe it's something wrong with his Curse, maybe it's fate, but... His life hasn't been as hellish as other devil spawns, don't you think? All he's had is a bit of bad luck here and there, a dead mother, a dead uncle, and an absent father. You've gone through far worse."

Atlas' dull, dark gaze shifted to Arnold. "You're seriously bringing that up?" he asked as they continued walking.

"I have a point to make. Back then... His eyes were glowing like fiery coals. White flames, white starlight. And it was beautiful. He's worth much more than I saw back then. I know he's gotten stronger by now, and he's dead. What a waste. By the time the final devils would ascend to Midgard, he could've reached the levels of strength to rival me." Arnold clicked his tongue in disappointment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a sigh.

"Well, that's life," he spat out. They halted at the end of the hallway and were faced with a pair of golden doors.

The elevator. Atlas pushed the button and began to wait, staring at the massive golden eagle embedded into the doors that split in half and spread apart as the doors opened.

"I just don't understand you here, honestly. There's plenty of strong people in the World, and a few that can 'rival' you," he said throwing up air quotes as they spoke. "So you could just focus on someone else. Just pick another of those chosen kids. Better yet, pick a Paladin. They're all strong and you already killed that one chick. And the only other Paladin you've met before... Well, he could kill you in seconds if you try some shit again," Atlas said with a laugh.

"That's not the point."

"You could just get stronger, you know," Atlas spat out as they entered the elevator. He pressed the buttons to the main levels of the Eagles' Fortress. "That way you'll be able to kill Charles Archibald. Seems like a good idea to me, but you're too spoiled to put yourself through the trouble of training and improving yourself."

Atlas grit his teeth as he stared at his own reflection within the golden door. He always hated looking at himself. It wasn't as if his face was repulsive- far from it. But the demonic Titan would never be able to think of himself as deserving of existence. His heart was filled with disgust for himself, not for what he has done, but for what he hasn't done.

At the same time, Arnold Norr was always amazed at his self-image.

In nearly every aspect, the two were opposites, even now with what they wore. Atlas was always dressed in all black, the same color as his hair and eyes and in complete contrast with the standard uniform of the Golden Dawn, while Arnold remained stuck to it. The only variation between the Vice-Commander and the rabble was the coat that he wore instead of the usual cloak.

Arnold's yellow, golden eyes were nearly glowing as he spoke again. "You don't get it, Atlas!" Arnold groaned, flailing his arms out of his pockets. "Don't you recall the character evaluations of each of the Virtues and the Paladins?! Alexander Lane is... good! His heart is pure, practically burning to do what is right and to bring down what is wrong. He is- He is-" Arnold stammered out, quickly trying to find the words to bring his point across.

"He's a hero," Atlas said plainly.

"A hero!" Arnold yelped out, snapping his fingers at once. "And regardless of anything, his mind is human. Do you know what that means, my friend?"

Again, Atlas shook his head.

And a wicked smile grew on Arnold's face. His lips curled upward as his eyes lit up with joy. The very words he was about to utter brought him pleasure and gratification. "It means he's breakable. I want to see how far I can push him to his limits. I want to destroy everything he has, even his hopes and ideals, and I want to see what happens next. I want to see if he'll crack and crumble and collapse like every hero in history." Arnold clenched his pale fist. "I want to see Alexander Lane's story unfold, just to end it myself."

The Demon-Born placed his hand over Arnold's and brought it down. "You wanted. Past tense. He's dead."

The light of Arnold's golden eyes faded away. "That's true."

And now, the two of them stood in silence as the dimly lit elevator carried them through the fortress. There weren't ten seconds of silence before Arnold spoke again.

"Don't you know anything? You're a devil spawn, after all."

Without speaking or asking, Arnold understood his friend's confusion.

"Let me reiterate. Would you know what region of the UnderWorld he's in?"

Atlas laughed. "You said it yourself, Arnold. Alexander Lane is good. Considering that, he probably ended up in the OverWorld. That's a place even we can't access. Unless..."

"Unless?!" Arnold's eyes widened as he yelped out at Atlas. Was there really a way to enter the OverWorld?

Atlas noticed Arnold's glowing eyes and guessed his train of thought. He shook his head rapidly to dissuade the Vice-Commander. "No, no, no," he spat out. "There's no way to do that."

"Oh."

Arnold slouched over, his arms drooping as he kept his head up to stare at Atlas. "So what was that 'unless' for?"

"Unless... Alexander Lane isn't in the OverWorld. His grandfather's a demon, meaning... Well, there's a chance that his 'grandfather' took his soul and forced it into the UnderWorld. It makes sense, considering how the demonic connection between them is stronger now that Alexander awakened his true being."

"You think whatever demon he's descended from possesses his soul in the UnderWorld?"

Atlas rubbed the slight stubble growing on his chin. "Possibly. And considering the kid, he might try to cross the Gates of Death."

Arnold's eyes widened.

Again, Atlas noticed and judged his friend's reactions. Arnold's thoughts could easily run amok. And so... "Just take what I say with a grain of sand. It's all possibilities."

"Grain of salt."

"Huh?"

Arnold turned his head and faced the ornate golden doors of the elevator. "You said grain of sand. The phrase is, 'Take it with a grain of salt.'"

The Titan of Space scoffed. "What difference does it make?"

"None. It just shows how much of an idiot you are." Arnold's lips curled upward.

Atlas kept himself silent until the elevator halted and the doors spread apart. He stepped forward and outward, and only turned back when he noticed Arnold staying behind.

Before he could ask anything, Arnold initiated. "I need to speak with my sister. Our efforts within the realms must be more... proactive."

And without a second more, the elevator doors began to shut, leaving Atlas standing alone.

"Jesus, he creeps me out sometimes," the Titan mumbled to himself, turning around and sliding his hands into the pockets of his black trenchcoat. He stood out within the crowd of white-clad men and women around the floor.

'I never should've gotten his hopes up,' he reminded himself.

But alas.

As Arnold's elevator ride continued, he couldn't contain himself and his emotions until his smile widened, his grin flashing in the golden reflection before him.

His thoughts still lingered on Atlas' words. He slid his fingers through his soft, white hair as he muttered aloud. "There's a chance he'll return. Let's just hope the cursed boy has good luck," he said, scurrying his words along with his light cackle. "If he makes it out," Arnold said. "He'll emerge as a being far stronger, far more dangerous, and far more burdened."

The future was looking bright once again. Arnold was hopeful. After all...

Arnold pressed his thumb against his lip and wiped off the drool that trickled down as he was lost in his thoughts and concentration. "Alexander Lane... is not done yet."