Cecily looked at her son as her life flashed before her eyes, from growing up in the countryside to becoming a nun, to attending the city church to meet him. Frustration flared and ebbed like waves. She hated him, but the memory of him was a calm tide, softening the edges of her memory. It was that kind of hate that tugged at your heart. She remembers his smile, his face and that night. Cecily felt herself drifting into that memory. That was the night she told him she was a nun. The irritation on his face was obvious, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, one that makes your blood run wild.
He trapped her against the stone, eyes aflame with an unreadable intensity, and the air between them crackled with unspoken threats. "You are mine", he said, and in that space of time, she saw his true form; he was a demon. The very being she spent her whole life learning how to destroy, yet it seemed so beautiful and perfect. "Please be mine", he begged, and that's when the anomaly happened. Cecily closed her eyes as familiar scenes played in her head his lips brushing against her skin, the way he sucked her nipples the way his tongue covered her entire breast, his ripped body a work of art she cant get tired of, the taste of his lips the way his tongue finds it way in her mouth ."mmm" she couldn't help but moan the nurse who helped her deliver thought she was in pain.
Something about the way she shifted made the nurse pause. She thought, She's hiding something. Then aloud: "I need to know if you're in pain. Can you tell me exactly where it hurts?"
No words came from her lips. She studied the baby, his gaze unnervingly sharp, as if he already knew too much. The mischievous curl of his smile was magnetic, but the pale, innocent glow in his cheeks reminded her he was still a child. She held him closer, a silent plea in her heart: Let him be human, let him be safe…don't give him to the underworld
Speaking of safety in the Underworld was a fleeting notion, for nothing here was ever safe. From the shadows of the obsidian halls, a faint, otherworldly glow emerged, subtle yet impossible to ignore. It hovered silently, hidden from the gaze of every demon, even Asmodeus himself, whose sight pierced deeper than most dared imagine.
The light pulsed like a heartbeat, alive with a will of its own, and drew the eye toward a lone pillar carved from blackened stone. Upon it, etched in lines that seemed older than creation itself, was a symbol—twisted and alien, yet deliberate. No demon, not even Satan, could recognize its meaning; the shape defied all known infernal alphabets, as if the universe had whispered a secret that mortals and immortals alike were never meant to hear.
It was the Sigel of the Forbidden, the mark of the Dinx, born not of heaven nor hell, but of a power that existed beyond both realms. Even the air trembled around it, as though the walls of the Underworld itself dared not speak its name. Legends spoke of it only in fragments—stories half-burned in the memory of angels, hints scattered in the ashes of demonic lore—but none dared approach it.
For those who gazed upon the Sigel, even from afar, could feel a pull: a whisper in their minds that promised knowledge, power, and terror in equal measure. And yet, they understood instinctively that some truths were never meant to be grasped. The Dinx had been marked before birth, a being whose very blood carried this secret. This symbol—ancient, forbidden, and unyielding—was a reminder that some creations were never meant to exist, and some powers, once awakened, could rival gods themselves.
While worry clawed at her chest, the cavernous sky above trembled with a clash of unimaginable power. One being, impossibly radiant, descended like a shard of living light. His form was statuesque, flawless, eyes like molten gold, wings unfurled in dazzling brilliance—every movement carried the calm authority of creation itself. The aura of divinity that radiated from him was so pure it made the shadows quiver, bending light around his perfectly carved features.
Opposite him, a figure of darkness emerged from a swirling tempest of smoke and fire. Horns spiralled from his head, jagged and black as obsidian, while crimson eyes burned with a furious, malevolent intelligence. His body was sculpted like a nightmare, sinews rippling with raw strength, and a cruel, angular grin curved across his face. Flames danced around his feet, licking the ground, yet his presence had a magnetic charm, dangerous and intoxicating.
And between them stood the boy's father—a being unlike either god or demon. A creature that gods feared, if you were told he was once a devil in hell, you wouldn't believe. His hair was a silver-black fusion, strands glinting with both light and shadow. His eyes were neither fully golden nor fully red, but a storm of amber and crimson that seemed to pierce through the soul. His frame radiated power, yet there was a restraint in his posture, as if he alone could balance the chaos of Heaven and Hell. In that moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath, acknowledging that this was no ordinary duel—this was a battle that could tip the scales of existence, and the child she held might one day inherit the consequences.
"Anton, you cannot let the boy live," the god declared, his voice reverberating like a law etched into reality itself. "Stand aside. Let me end this."
Anton did not move.
"If you strike me down," the god continued coldly, "the child will not survive. You are a demon—your life is bound to hell just like his. You cannot outrun fate forever."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then Anton smiled.
It was not a smile of confidence, nor madness, but one born of understanding. He knew the god was right. He had always known. Yet from the moment the boy had drawn his first breath, something had been… wrong. No—different.
Anton had searched for him through instinct, through blood, through every infernal sense he possessed.
And found nothing.
The boy carried no demonic signature. No echo of Hell. No trace that could be followed, bound, or claimed.
Which meant only one thing.
He was not a demon.
And that alone was reason enough.