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Chapter 13 - LEGENDS NEVER DIE

The screen goes black. The sound echoes into the void.

The revolver's click still echoed in the dark when the scene cut—

A lone figure sprinted across the academy's stone courtyard, boots slamming against the cobblestones. His hair, long and white as snow, whipped behind him, catching the moonlight like strands of silver fire. His eyes—steel-blue, sharp and storming—burned with panic.

DAMION (gasping, under his breath):

"It… it can't be true. No… no, Murphy…!"

The phone call replayed in his head like a curse, each word laced with finality. The tone in Murphy's voice hadn't been casual, hadn't been normal—it was farewell.

Damion pushed harder, ignoring the stitch in his side, his heart hammering like a war drum. He tore through the empty halls, shoving open door after door, his voice cracking as he muttered to himself.

DAMION:

"No… don't you dare… you're too stubborn to go like this. You can't…"

Finally, he reached the office door—the old oak frame looming before him. His hand hovered over the handle, trembling. He pressed his forehead against the wood, whispering through clenched teeth.

DAMION:

"Please… tell me this is just one of your cruel tests…"

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The light inside flickered faintly, the cigarette still burning in the ashtray, smoke curling into the air like a spirit escaping. The revolver rested on the desk.

And Murphy—

Damion's pupils shrank. His voice tore free in a strangled cry.

DAMION:

"Noooooooo!

The room was still. The smoke from Murphy's cigarette curled lazily upward, glowing ember collapsing into ash.

Damion's steps were unsteady as he staggered into the office. His breath caught when his eyes fell on the desk.

Murphy slumped forward, the revolver limp in his hand, his head bowed as if in sleep—but the dark stain spreading across his shirt told the truth.

DAMION (voice breaking):

"Dad… please… don't go. No, no, noooo…"

He dropped to his knees beside the body, clutching Murphy's arm with shaking hands, shaking him as if force could drag him back from the grave.

Tears blurred his vision until the shapes around him warped—but then he noticed it. A folded piece of parchment on the desk, weighted by the revolver. His name scrawled on the front.

With trembling fingers, Damion unfolded it. The ink was rushed, the words almost carved into the paper.

MURPHY'S NOTE (read aloud by Damion in choked whispers):

"To Damion… Axel… Dylan…

I am sorry about this. I have made mistakes I cannot atone for. Some sins follow a man no matter how many lives he gives to repentance. Mine have caught me at last.

To the Infernals—my people—I have failed you. To those I leave behind, I leave only this warning: Avoid any man called Xerion Black. If you see him, run. If you hear his name, forget it. He is the end of all things.

—Murphy"

The paper slipped from Damion's hand. His chest heaved, his sobs raw.

DAMION (whispering, broken):

"Why… why would you leave me like this…? You carried the weight of all of us… and now…"

He pressed his forehead against the desk beside Murphy's still hand, the sound of his grief filling the room. The note's last line caught the candlelight—two words underlined twice, so hard they had torn into the paper:

XERION BLACK.

 

 

The bells tolled at dawn.

Their deep, hollow cries rolled across the Infernal dominion, echoing over stone spires and smoke-stained streets. Each strike carried not triumph, not warning — but loss.

Murphy was dead.

The news spread faster than fire. From every vendor's stall, newspapers were waved in trembling hands. Headlines screamed in bold, ink-black letters:

"MURPHY FALLS — THE INFERNALS LOSE THEIR SHIELD."

Children clutched their mothers as tears fell into their hair. Soldiers stood silent in the streets, helmets in hand, unable to meet each other's eyes. Even the merchants, hardened by years of coin and survival, lowered their stalls in respect.

Murphy — the unshakable, the man who had steadied the Infernals through endless wars, through betrayals, through famine and fire — was gone.

The obituary printed by the dominion was brief, too brief, like trying to cage a storm in a jar:

Status: Leader of the Infernals.

Marital Status: Single.

Children: None.

The line cut like a blade. None.

It meant the Infernals had lost not just a leader, but a legacy. The man who had carried them with his gravity — literal and figurative — had left the world without heirs, without anyone to inherit his burden. Or so the papers claimed.

But behind the stone walls of the academy, a boy sat with the paper trembling in his hands.

Damion Snow. White-haired, twenty years old, forged from Murphy's blood though the world knew nothing of it.

His throat tightened as his eyes burned over the line.

DAMION (to himself, voice cracking):

"No children… none… You let them erase me."

He slammed his fist on the desk, the paper crumpling beneath the blow. The silence of the academy dormitory pressed in around him, suffocating. His chest ached with grief, but also rage. He had trained day and night under his father's shadow, believing one day he would stand at his side. Now Murphy was gone — and the world didn't even know his son existed.

In the streets below, mourners cried openly. Wails rose with the tolling bells, some calling Murphy's name, others cursing fate itself. The Infernals had lost more than a leader; they had lost a father, a shield, a presence that had made them feel untouchable.

Up on the academy's rooftop, Damion stood with the newspaper clenched in his hand, the wind tearing it apart piece by piece. His voice shook as he whispered into the night.

DAMION (soft, breaking):

"You carried us all… but I couldn't carry you. Father… why did you leave me this way?"

He thought of Murphy's last note, written in that firm, steady hand:

"To Damion, Axel, and Dylan — I am sorry for the mistakes I cannot atone for. For the Infernals, for my people — beware any man who bears the name Xerion Black."

The note had been tucked quietly into Murphy's desk. Only Damion knew. Only Damion had read it.

The council printed lies, the bells rang with sorrow, and the people mourned a hero. But Damion knew the truth. His father had carried regrets heavier than the world itself. His father had left him not just grief, but a warning — and a war to finish.

Damion's tears mixed with the rain as the bells tolled again, louder, emptier, like the whole dominion wept.

Scene: Hakari Castle, The Infirmary

The rain had not ceased since dusk. It fell in relentless sheets, rattling against the castle windows as though the heavens themselves mourned. The corridors of Hakari Castle carried the sound like a dirge, every drop echoing grief.

Dylan lay upon the futon, his breath thin, his chest wrapped in bandages that bore faint stains of red. The healers moved around him, whispering incantations, burning herbs that left the chamber thick with smoke.

Hakari sat at his side, uncharacteristically silent. His usual light-hearted grin was gone; his hands, balled into fists, trembled against his knees.

The door opened, and Ryōma Hakari entered.

The clan leader's presence alone made the healers bow and retreat to the corners of the chamber. His broad frame and white-streaked hair commanded the room, but there was something different tonight—his eyes carried the storm within them. In his hand, a folded parchment. The seal broken.

Hakari looked up, unease already rising.

"Father… what is that?"

Ryōma stepped forward, his face hardened but his lips quivering. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, as though his resolve cracked, a single tear slid down his weathered cheek.

Hakari froze. His father had faced lightning storms, Espada raids, and wars that broke kingdoms—but never once had Hakari seen him weep.

He snatched the parchment from Ryōma's hand and scanned it. His eyes widened, his breath caught, and the paper fell from his grasp.

"Murphy… dead?"

The words escaped as a whisper, as if speaking them aloud would make them real.

Dylan stirred weakly, hearing the name through the haze of pain. His eyes flickered open, his voice hoarse:

"Hakari… what's wrong?"

Hakari hesitated, his throat tight. He wanted to lie, to shield Dylan until he was stronger. But Dylan's stare—weak yet demanding—forced the truth out of him.

"It's… Murphy, Dylan. He's gone."

The silence that followed was unbearable. The only sound was the rain pounding against the stone. Dylan's eyes widened, then filled with tears. His lips trembled as his voice broke.

"No… not him. Not Murphy… he promised me—he promised…"

His hand reached for the air, as if searching for the man who had once lifted him from fire and chaos. But there was nothing. Only absence.

Hakari bowed his head, his teeth gritted, tears threatening to spill.

"This can't be real… the old man was supposed to live forever."

Ryōma finally spoke, his deep voice strained as though each word weighed a hundred tons.

"Murphy was no ordinary man. He bore sins and burdens no mortal could. I fought beside him once—his gravity could crush mountains, yet his heart carried more weight than any of us. If he has fallen… then the balance of this world has fallen with him."

His hands, scarred from countless battles, trembled as he wiped his face, but more tears followed.

"For a man like Murphy to die… Kaine-sama, even the gods should grieve."

Dylan's body shook, not from wounds but from despair. His tears streamed freely now, his voice cracking as he whispered into the storm:

"Dad… why did you leave me in the dark? Why did you say only God could save us… and then go without me?"

The chamber fell heavy with sorrow. Even the healers lowered their heads, their chants faltering. The castle itself seemed to mourn, every creak of timber and every crackle of torchlight echoing loss.

Hakari slammed his fist against the floor, his voice hoarse with rage and grief.

"If he's gone… then whoever forced his hand will pay. I don't care who they are. I'll drag them into the storm myself."

But Dylan, slipping back into the haze of unconsciousness, whispered one last broken plea:

"Murphy… Dad… don't go…"

And the storm outside answered with thunder.

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