Upon the throne of Tartarus, where the deepest darkness is not mere absence of light, but a living, breathing entity—seeping, hissing, and shrouding every corner with a touch that freezes the soul. The very air feels heavy, thick with the whispers of cursed spirits forever trapped within the blood-soaked walls of this throne room. There, upon a throne carved from the heart of a volcano, dead and petrified for millennia, all the evil and nightmares of the world reside. And it was there that the three Generals of Hell returned, not in glorious triumph, but cloaked in failure like a damp shroud, their hands grasping nothing but emptiness and shame.
Tartarus itself felt their return. The darkness roared in a deafening tremor—a raspy sound born not of wind or creature, but a sorrowful vibration from the very core of the earth, echoing a shame that pierced the bones of every being within.
And there, upon the obsidian throne that absorbed and reflected the torment of the most wicked souls, stood Azraelis. Every contour of his form was a silhouette of seething rage. The hellfires surrounding him were no mere decoration, but flames embodying his ancient wrath, burning with a fury that twisted reality itself. Anger and shame crystallized in his eyes, like two emerald-green embers hiding venom, ready to devour everything.
"FOOLS...!" he roared, his voice like an earthquake cracking the foundations of heaven and earth. "I commanded you to destroy the cities of mankind... to raze them to dust and despair! Not to fight some damned Assasin there!" His hand, forged of darkness dense and cold like a starless night, struck the arm of his throne. The obsidian stone, which had witnessed the birth of gods, shattered instantly, like glass under a giant's hammer, releasing a long-held groan trapped for thousands of years.
"If you're so strong..." Nekron charged forward, ignoring all decorum and hierarchy. His eyes, two boiling pools of volcanic hatred, burned so brightly they illuminated the shadows on his battle-scarred, fierce face. "Then why didn't you come down there yourself, you bastard!"
"You dare challenge me, FOOL?!" Azraelis bellowed, and the entire chamber shook violently, its walls bleeding more fiercely. "You ungrateful wretch! Have you forgotten who saved you from the brink of death?HAVEYOU FORGOTTEN WHO GAVE YOU THE POWER YOU NOW POSSESS?!"
"And you... A DOG who talks too much!" Nekron shot back, unflinching, his chest puffed with wounded pride. His voice echoed, shaking the very order of Tartarus from its darkest core to its silent edges. "Have you forgotten who stands before you?Have you forgotten the three brothers who helped you build this empire! BASTARD! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WE FACED THERE...! YOU ONLY SAW THE DARK FOG CRACKLING WITH LIGHTNING... BUT NOT THE WAR STROM RAGING WITHIN IT... IF YOU WERE THERE, YOU'D BE DEAD... TORN APART BY THEIR BLADES!"
Belial, who had been silent all this time like a statue carved from the oldest patience and wisdom, slowly raised his hand. He placed his palm—cold as a gravestone on a frosty morning—on Nekron's trembling shoulder. His touch was not soothing, but warning, freezing the rage about to erupt.
"Danteus and Hector..." he said, his baritone voice deep and resonant, like an echo from the deepest abyss. Each word was sharp and measured, piercing straight through Azraelis's veil of arrogance and silencing him momentarily. "They have returned... and now you know... why we failed there."
Azraelis stared at them for what felt like an eternity, his breath hissing like a giant serpent digesting its prey. Then, with a sudden, powerful movement, he turned. He approached the blood pool at the center of the room—a thick, dark liquid constantly churning, reflecting visions from the human world and endless suffering.
Upon its turbulent surface, a vision emerged, starkly contrasting the darkness of Tartarus: Danteus, Hector, Ken, Liora, and Seraphina. They were sitting in a simple, bright noodle shop by a human roadside. Golden light washed over their smiling faces as they enjoyed steaming bowls of noodles in peace and calm—a luxury never known in Tartarus, a direct insult to the lords of darkness.
"These wretched creatures..." Azraelis hissed, his voice suddenly low and venomous, filled with millennia-deep hatred boiling in every syllable. "They are the source of all this trouble... the source of all our shame..."
Without warning, his black hand—the same one that had shattered his own throne—plunged into the blood pool, churning it violently with unrestrained rage. The vision of peace and laughter shattered, turning into chaotic, furious red ripples before vanishing completely, leaving only the dark, churning surface reflecting his own uncontrollable fury.
The silence that enveloped the throne room now felt heavier, thicker, brimming with plans of vengeance beginning to simmer in the darkness. The eyes of the three generals were fixed on Azraelis, who now stood tall, a new, crueler darkness gleaming from his very being. The battle may have been lost, but the war was far from over.
ELICIA UNDER THE MOONLIGHT AND STARS
Beneath Elicia's star-strewn sky, the glow of the full moon swept gently across the vast meadow, stretching out a silver path as if guiding lost souls home. The night wind whispered, brushing blade after blade of green grass swaying in a soul-soothing rhythm, dancing under the silvery shine. In the heart of nature's harmony, two figures—Danteus and Liora—chased each other like children freed by time. Their bare feet touched the cool, soft earth, moved only by a pure, childlike impulse of love, forgetting all burdens and the weight of their years.
"Catch me if you can, Danteus...!" Liora's voice was carried by the wind, soft yet clear, like a sweet melody floating and blending with the nightly rustle that swept through her moon-woven silver hair.
"Is that a challenge?" Danteus replied, and in an instant, his speed shifted drastically. He moved like a shadow carried by the wind, closing the distance between them and stopping right in front of Liora. Without a word, his strong hands pulled her into a tight embrace, freezing all motion in one crystallized moment.
Liora gazed at him. Moonlight swept across the lines of Danteus's face, carving him into something too perfect to be real. Every angle of his features told stories of countless adventures, of deep longing, and of a peace only found in each other's arms.
Danteus...
How are you so handsome... Liora whispered in her heart as the moonlight fell perfectly upon his face, beautiful like a painting.
What kind of grace has God given me, that I could find you?
Danteus returned her gaze. His eyes, which often reflected the bleak emptiness of desert ruins, now glowed warmly like the morning sun. In them, Liora saw the reflection of their fate—two stars finally finding their orbit after centuries lost in darkness.
This tomboy again...
Even my heart can't withstand this tremor of love...
Lost for hundreds of years, only to find this women...
God... This isn't just a reward for redemption. You've returned the part of my soul that had long been missing...
Then, a surge of unbearable shyness and love burst within Liora. With a muffled laugh, she used all her skill, flipping Danteus gently onto the soft bed of grass. They tumbled together down a gentle slope—a whirlwind of laughter, happy sighs, and fluttering clothes. Two bodies entwined in a vortex of joy, damp with dew, and shimmering under starlight that twinkled as if laughing along.
Finally, at the bottom of the hill, their motion stilled. Danteus lay beneath her, gazing up at Liora who rested above him, their breath forming faint mist in the cool air. Their faces were only a breath apart. Moonlight silhouetted Liora's hair like a silver crown.
Liora smiled, her warm fingers tracing Danteus's cheek, feeling the coolness of his skin. "Told you I'd catch you."
Danteus hissed softly, his strong hands gripping her back, pulling her closer until they shared the same breath. "You caught me. A long time ago."
And then, without another word, the moon began to smile.
He didn't rush. Danteus lifted his hand, touching Liora's cheekbone with fingertips both strong and gentle, brushing away stray strands of hair from her face. His movement was full of tenderness, like a painter lovingly stroking his canvas.
Only then,slowly, did he draw her near.
The meeting of their lips was not a collision, but a merging. Like two rivers finally converging after flowing through separate valleys, their waters blended until they could no longer be told apart. The kiss was soft yet certain, filled with all the pent-up longing, all the unspoken promises, all the countless sacrifices.
Liora felt the world spin faster, but in Danteus's embrace, she felt safer than anywhere else. Her hands gripped the collar of his coat, unwilling to let go, afraid this might be a beautiful dream that would fade at dawn.
But Danteus tightened his hold, assuring her this was real. That they were real. In that kiss, they spoke without words—of lonely endless nights, of tireless searching, of joy finally found.
When they finally parted for air, their foreheads remained touching. Danteus's eyes, now the color of honey warmed by moonlight, gazed at her with an intensity that made Liora tremble.
"Liora," he whispered, his voice so deep, so calming, and addictively irreplaceable. "Huh... I remember someone once told me I would remain lost with all my sins. But now... I found you. Bright path God gave me to bring me home."
Liora couldn't speak. She only nodded, eyes glistening, before hiding her face in the curve of Danteus's neck. There, she could hear his heartbeat—strong, steady, and beating in rhythm with her own.
And the night wind whispered on, carrying the tale of two lovers who had finally found their way home—not to a place, but to each other. The stars above shone brighter, as if celebrating the reunion of two souls long parted, while the moon continued to bathe them in its silver light, a silent witness to the eternal promise they had just carved into space and time.
Upon the soft, rain-scented grass, they lay side by side. Liora rested her head on Danteus's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—like a royal war drum, strong and reassuring. Her cheeks were still flushed with a strange, unfamiliar warmth, something unusual for a tomboy like her, but this time, she let it be. Here, in Danteus's embrace, she didn't have to pretend to be anyone else.
_ _ _
The night wind whispered softly, stirring strands of their dew-dampened hair. Danteus gazed up at the sky, his eyes tracing the clusters of twinkling stars as if they were calling to him, whispering ancient tales of constellations and nebulae.
"What's your biggest dream, my love?" Her voice was soft, tinged with a shyness unusual for her, but tonight she found the courage to speak these words to the one who held half her soul—her face burning with a blush that made her want to hide forever against his chest.
Danteus was silent for a moment, his long, gentle fingers unconsciously stroking Liora's silk-like hair. "Since along time ago," he began, his voice low yet tender, lost in a dream, "I've wanted venture to the star. With my old friend... Leviathan."
Liora lifted her face quickly, her eyes shimmering with curiosity like two gems gleaming in the dark. "Then why didn't you?"
A faint smile touched Danteus's lips. He looked at Liora, and in his gaze lay the majesty of the entire universe. "Because," he whispered, his voice growing deeper and softer, piercing straight into the deepest chambers of her heart, "I've already found my own star."
Liora felt her chest tighten with overwhelming emotion—like a patch of sky filled with a thousand shooting stars streaking all at once. Danteus continued, his thumb gently caressing her flushed cheek, warming her skin chilled by the dew.
"And also..." Danteus looked at her with an intensity that made Liora feel she could drown in his eyes forever, lost in a desert ocean full of secrets. "Someday, I want to have the small family I've always dreamed of. Two sons... And I'll name them V and Nero..."
Liora held her breath, picturing the scene Danteus painted. She could almost see them: two little boys with wavy hair like their father and adventurous eyes like hers, running around a garden with bright smiles and mud-stained pants.
"And... let's not forget the tomboy beside me," Danteus added, his voice trembling with emotion, "who will be the mother of my children... who will teach them how to fight and how to love with the same courage she taught me."
"You hardly ever say 'I love you,' Liora..." he half-protested, though his heart couldn't deny the overwhelming wave of love brought on by Danteus's words. Her eyes glistened, and she bit her trembling lower lip, fighting back tears.
He leaned down, kissing Liora's forehead with a tenderness only the two of them could understand. "Words aren't important, Liora." he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, like the morning sun. "I may not be good with sweet words, but I'll spend the rest of my life showing you my love."
Liora finally surrendered to her tears. Crystal droplets streamed down her cheeks, gently wiped away by Danteus's fingers. She took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent—a mix of wet earth after rain, cedarwood, and something uniquely him, a fragrance that had become her definition of home.
_ _ _
But the universe, which for a moment had felt like it contained only the two of them, suddenly cracked.
"Boy...! Where did you put the room key...? I'm locked out!" Hector's rough, noisy voice cut through the trees, shattering the sacredness of the moment.
Danteus sighed, his chest rising and falling with slight irritation. "Why now, of all moments..." he grumbled, more at himself for still keeping the key in his pocket. He reached in and tossed the key toward Hector's approaching shadow.
Hector caught it swiftly, and though the darkness hid the details, they could sense his broad, knowing grin before he disappeared back into the shadows.
Silence fell again, but now tinged with slight awkwardness and a shared joke hanging between them. Liora looked at Danteus, and for the first time that night, she smiled. A light laugh, like the rustling of leaves, escaped her lips.
"Hehemm..." she hummed, her eyes sparkling mischievously and full of affection. "Seems like V and Nero are going to have a careless father here..."
Her laughter was sweet, beautiful, soothing—like a clear river reflecting moonlight in every ripple, carrying Danteus away in a current of simple, perfect happiness.
She then laid her head back on Danteus's chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually calming, falling into rhythm with her own. "Tell me more about V and Nero," she requested, her voice drowsy and content. "Tell me how Nero's hair will be as messy as yours in the morning. And how V will have my stubborness."
Danteus could only smile, his eyes wandering to the stars—but this time, he didn't see distances to be crossed, but a future waiting to unfold. His voice softened, blending with the rustle of the wind, weaving dreams for two children yet unborn, for a home they would build, for a love they would nurture. And under the moonlight, two souls who had once searched and waited for each other finally found peace in one another's arms, falling asleep with the names V and Nero mingling with the whisper of the wind, carried into dreams both beautiful and full of hope.