In the deepest part of Hell, far beyond the reach of the Sinner Streets and the Blood Markets, stood a crumbling tower of black stone and ragefire. The spires reached up like claws trying to scratch open the sky, and atop one of those jagged ledges stood Kikidori Morningstar.
The wind howled with the cries of the damned.
Fire crackled in the distance, and the screams of tortured souls echoed from below, carried upward like cursed music.
He stood alone, his coat whipping in the scorching wind, arms folded, eyes burning with both fury and boredom.
His full name echoed silently in his head.
**Kikidori Morningstar.**
He hated it.
He didn't just dislike it. He *despised* it.
The name came with weight. With chains. With expectation. With *blood*.
No one dared say it to his face. Not because it was forbidden. But because they knew—*he hated it that much.*
"Kikidori Morningstar," he muttered under his breath, spitting off the tower. "Sounds like I'm a damn celebrity. Sounds like I should be signing autographs and kissing babies."
He scoffed. "More like incinerating babies and punching gods."
He turned and walked along the broken parapets of his ruined fortress. Inside the halls of his castle—his "inherited" home—were the dark relics of a history he never asked for. A giant, charred portrait still hung crooked in the main hall: three figures—one tall and regal, one wickedly beautiful, and a child with glowing eyes between them.
He never touched it. Never moved it.
But he never looked away from it either.
That child… that was him. Back before his fists learned to crush bone. Back before he told Heaven to burn and Hell to shut the fuck up.
Still, the name lingered.
*Morningstar.*
Just the thought of it made his fists clench. That name was whispered across all of Hell. Spoken with fear. With awe. It was a symbol. A curse. A crown.
And none of it was his doing.
*He* had to carry it, live under it, suffer for it.
"People always assume I'm just a junior version of *him*," Kikidori growled, pacing now. "As if I care about his throne. As if I want to carry his damn torch."
He picked up a demon skull and threw it through a stained-glass window. It shattered like it was made of ice.
He stood in silence for a moment.
The name kept ringing.
*Kikidori Morningstar.*
He turned toward the abyss, toward the lands where demons tore each other apart in meaningless power games. Toward Earth, where humans fell farther from Heaven by the day. Toward Heaven itself, where Haruna's face would not leave his mind no matter how hard he tried to purge it.
That stupid angel.
She made him *think*.
And he hated that more than anything.
Suddenly, behind him, a low voice called out:
"Yo, Kiki."
He turned sharply.
A low-level demon messenger stood behind him, shaky and wide-eyed. "S-sorry. It's just—someone on the upper levels said you were needed. They said something's happening. On Earth."
Kikidori stared at him. Hard.
The demon flinched. "Sir?"
Kikidori walked forward slowly until he was nose-to-nose with the trembling imp.
"Don't ever call me 'Kiki' again," he growled.
"Y-y-yes, sir!"
The imp vanished in a puff of smoke.
Kikidori sighed, turning back to the edge of his tower.
He looked up.
He could already feel Heaven stirring again. Something was coming. A war. A shift. A choice.
Whatever it was, he'd face it with his middle fingers raised and a grin on his face.
Let the worlds burn.
He was *Kikidori*.
And nothing else mattered.
The end of chapter 13.
If someone links this book to Hazbin I'm crashing out THEY ARE NOT CONNECTED IN ANY WAY :P