The door creaked open.
Cassius stepped into the cottage, bootheels damp with forest mud, his coat heavy with gloom. Shadows clung to his frame, curling off his shoulders like smoke, but he said nothing as he entered. Sabine turned from the fireplace, brow furrowed.
"I thought you weren't coming back."
He didn't answer.
Instead, his eyes swept over the cozy, dimly lit space—one bed, a gently crackling hearth, and the faint scent of herbs in the air. Then they landed on the small cradle tucked beside the wall. The child was fast asleep, tiny chest rising and falling, utterly unaware of the storm gathering beyond these walls.
"We need to leave," he said at last, voice low and clipped.
Sabine's brow creased. "What?"
"This place isn't safe anymore." He took a step closer, the edge of his coat sweeping the ground. "We need to go. Now."
But Sabine stood her ground, folding her arms across her chest.
"This is my home. Always has been. You don't get to just waltz in and demand we leave."
He exhaled slowly, biting back the irritation rising in his chest. "Some of my old enemies know about the child."
She blinked.
"If anything happens—" he paused, jaw clenching. "They'll kill him."
There was a beat of silence. Then she tilted her chin up rebelliously. "Of course you'll protect us. Won't you?"
His hands curled into fists at his sides. "This isn't a question of if I can. It's when they decide to make their move. And if they do before I'm ready…"
Her eyes shone, but her voice was steel. "You're the Demon King, Cassius. If you can't keep your own son safe, then who can?"
He didn't answer. Just stared at her, something wild and ancient twisting in his gaze. The silence stretched, hot with emotion. Finally, he spoke, voice rough. "Just… wait for me."
Then he turned and walked out the door.
***
Hell's Kitchen
Darkness rose like smoke. It coiled around his legs, swallowed his frame, then consumed him whole. He emerged in silence—no footsteps, no echo—as the gloom peeled away.
Before him stretched a cavern deep beneath the earth. Jagged rock and rusted metal lined the walls. The air reeked of blood and wet stone. Below him, a pit churned with murky black water. Something moved beneath the surface—something vast.
The girl from the woods hung above the pool, suspended by thick iron chains. Her arms were outstretched, wrists raw and bleeding. Blood dripped steadily from a cut on her collarbone, disappearing into the pit below.
Cassius said nothing, eyes fixed on the water. Ripples spread slowly, unnaturally slow. The monsters down there—they were always watching. He turned his head, shadows flickering across his face.
This place.
The last time he'd stepped foot into Hell's Kitchen, he was still a prince eager to explore. Still… naïve. Now, he walked its halls like a ghost, a god among the damned.
Cries echoed from the far end of the room. Other prisoners—some loyal to the Church, others just unlucky souls caught in his web—groaned, whimpered, or lay silent, bleeding and broken. He moved past them like they weren't there.
Further down the hall, a faint golden glow broke the monotony of red and black. A slender figure stood near a table covered in weapons, knives arranged in neat rows that shimmered in the torchlight.
"Dahlia."
She turned sharply, nearly knocking over a tray.
"C-Cassius!" she squeaked, straightening instantly.
Her long blond hair was tied in a messy braid, wisps sticking to her face. Small black horns peeked through her hair, curling back like thorns. Her eyes were too big for her face, soft violet, and glowing faintly in the gloom. She was still in her bloodstained apron, hands gloved in leather. "I wasn't—uh—I didn't expect you so soon."
He stepped closer. Her blush deepened.
"Relax," he murmured, voice low.
Her hands fumbled over the hilts of the knives, accidentally knocking one to the floor. She winced. "Sorry! I—I didn't mean—"
Cassius smirked, just slightly. His fascination lingered. She was always this way around him—clumsy, stammering, awkward. It was almost endearing. Almost.
"She's still alive?" he asked.
Dahlia nodded quickly. "Yes. And… she's strong."
"How strong?"
"She has powerful magic. Deep. It's like—like something old is living inside her. But there's something else too…" Dahlia bit her lip. "She's protected. Some kind of sigil on her spirit. I can't get deeper into her mind."
"But you got something."
"Yes. Her name—I think it's Minerva."
Cassius's eyes narrowed.
"She mentioned the Bishop. The prophecy. She knew too much." His gaze dropped to the blood still dripping from the girl's bound form. "I need to know what else is locked in that head."
"I-I'll try again," Dahlia offered softly. "But I don't want to damage her too much. If the sigil triggers—"
"I don't need her broken," Cassius cut in. "I need her empty."
Dahlia swallowed hard and nodded, glancing nervously toward Minerva's still form.
Cassius stepped away, his voice a whisper now—more to himself than anyone. "They think they can take my son." His hands curled, and shadows began to crawl once more. "Let them try."
But deep down, he had a feeling that something like this was bound to happen. Of course, if his brothers knew about his misfit with a mortal woman, they'd want to overthrow him from the throne. The only reason why he left the Demon Capital in the first place was because he wanted a moment to breathe, a moment away from the politics and also a moment for him to just torment humans for the sake of it. Little had he known, he'd end up being the one tormented.