Arlen’s knees finally buckled.

  Not from weakness—no, that word didn’t apply to him anymore—but from the sheer weight of what had just happened. The room still stank of blood, fear, and the rotting sweetness of Ianthe’s perfume. The silence felt heavier than any battlefield.

  Cornea stepped toward him; her expression stripped of its usual dangerous seduction. No sultry smirk. No teasing glint.

  Only a cold, solemn heaviness that Arlen had never seen on her face.

  “We’re leaving.

  Her voice carried none of her usual velvet menace.

  “Back to the Underworld. We’ll regroup there and decide our next move.

  Arlen frowned slightly.

  Cornea… subdued?

  Cornea… ?

  Something was wrong. Something deeper than exhaustion. But she didn’t give him time to ask.

  Nyx’s voice broke the silence.

  “Arlen… what about the corpses?” She pointed at the butchered remains. “If you drink her blood now, you’ll qualify for another relic. Are you

  you don’t want that?”

  Arlen didn’t even look at the bodies.

  “No.

  He said it flatly, like the idea itself insulted him.

  “Her blood won’t strengthen me. It’ll poison me. That woman—”

  His jaw clenched.

  “—was an insult to every mother who ever existed.”

  Aura clicked her tongue. “Tch. What a waste. But if that’s your choice, sweet boy, I won’t argue.”

  Arlen didn’t reply. Something else stirred inside him, something cold, sharp, calculating.

  His demonic eye flashed

  “Aura.”

  She perked up. “Hm?”

  “You like insects. You keep them as pets, right? The more poisonous the better?”

  She smiled, proud. “Of course. Venom is adorable. But why are you asking? Need a new species for battle?”

  Arlen’s smirk spread slowly—hungry, wicked, brilliant.

  “Yes. They’ll be useful later. But insects need to grow stronger too.”

  He pointed at the shredded corpses.

  “And what better way to strengthen them than feeding them divine flesh?

  Nyx’s jaw dropped.

  “WHAT?! Arlen—that’s… that’s insane! Even for you! And what if Dryas finds out? She’ll—”

  “She won’t.”

  Arlen didn’t blink.

  “Ianthe and her child existed only to harm others, manipulate others, or be used by others. Letting their bodies rot helps no one.”

  His voice dropped into a cold whisper.

  “This is the only mercy I’ll ever give them. At least they can be useful now.

  Aura’s eyes gleamed like a predator.

  “As expected of you… absolutely deliciously cruel.”

  She raised both hands.

  A swarm

  …and descended

  Wet tearing.

  Chittering frenzy.

  Divine meat disappearing piece by piece.

  Dryas turned her face away, unable to watch. Nyx flinched. Even Grom looked unsettled. But deep down they knew, this is what the goddess of love deserved.

  But Arlen?

  Arlen didn’t even blink.

  When the feeding finally finished, Aura’s swarm retreated—fatter, stronger, venom boiling with divine corruption.

  Arlen turned away.

  “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  Cornea opened a gate to the Underworld, her expression unreadable, her energy strangely dim.

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  Together, they stepped through—

  leaving behind only bones, silence, and the echo of a goddess’s last scream.

  The Underworld gates closed behind them with a low, rumbling growl.

  “Rest. All of you.

  Cornea’s voice echoed through the throne hall.

  Her tone wasn’t commanding.

  It wasn’t seductive.

  It wasn’t amused.

  It was .

  That alone was enough to silence everyone.

  One by one, the demons dispersed.

  Nyx dragged Aura toward the recovery chambers.

  Grom lumbered off, muttering something about sharpening his blade.

  Dryas followed the others with a quiet bow, still shaken by everything.

  Arlen made to leave as well, but his eyes followed Cornea.

  She walked deeper into the palace—not with her usual predator’s glide, but with a strangely slow, heavy pace.

  Arlen began following her.

  In the next corridor, she vanished

  A tap on his shoulder.

  He didn’t even flinch.

  “You caught me, hm?”

  Cornea appeared behind him with a forced smirk.

  “I wanted to talk. Or…” she leaned forward, purring, “…did you follow me because you wanted a second taste of my blood?”

  The tone was right, but the flavour wasn’t.

  Her danger was gone.

  Her seduction was hollow.

  Her smile was shaking.

  Arlen saw right through her.

  “No need to act tough,” he said quietly. “Something rattled you today. And let me guess—Mortis.”

  Her smile froze.

  Then, slowly… painfully… melted away.

  “Follow me,” she whispered.

  She led him to her chambers—dark, elegant, draped in obsidian silk. With a flick of her fingers, a wall panel slid aside, revealing a massive painting

  A demon stood in the portrait.

  Posture proud.

  Presence overwhelming.

  Eyes blazing with freedom.

  He looked like a god who refused to kneel.

  “This is my father.

  Cornea’s voice trembled.

  Arlen sat beside her on the bed, silently waiting.

  Cornea took a long breath.

  “His name was Lysander—the First Demon Lord, the true God of Freedom. A being so mighty that even Solon respected him as an equal. Heaven feared him, not because he was strong… but because he refused to let gods enforce worship on mortals.”

  Her fingers brushed the painting’s frame, shaking.

  “He fought Mortis. He fought all of them. Alone. And he won.”

  Her voice cracked.

  “But when he returned from that war… he didn’t remember me. Or mother. Or any of the generals. He just wandered like a shell—laughing one moment, screaming the next. He killed himself within the year.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “And now I know .”

  A single tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Silent Weaver. Mortis erased my father’s memories. Stole everything he loved. Everything he stood for. He destroyed the strongest being I ever knew… without lifting a blade.”

  Tears began falling faster—hot, furious, helpless.

  “He was the third being to pass Solon’s trial. He could have taken a relic. But do you know what he told Solon?”

  Her lips trembled into a broken smile.

  ‘Just give my daughter your blessing, old man. And invite me for a drink sometime. That’s all I want.

  She covered her face with her hands.

  “What a fool he was… What a beautiful, foolish demon…”

  Arlen stood.

  He turned to the portrait.

  A god who didn’t act like a god.

  A being who fought for freedom instead of worship.

  A father who wanted nothing but a future for his daughter.

  Arlen exhaled.

  “…Your father sounds like what a god should be. just like the feel Dryas gave me when the forest accepted her even without her divinity.”

  Cornea looked up, eyes swollen, vulnerable—like a girl who had carried grief for centuries without ever speaking of it.

  “But don’t worry,” Arlen continued.

  His demonic eye ignited with crimson hunger.

  “Mortis will pay. Before Chronos. Before any other god.”

  He leaned forward slightly, a devil’s promise burning in his voice.

  “I’ll make Mortis grovel at your feet, Cornea. I swear it.

  For the first time since the confrontation with Chronos, Cornea’s eyes regained their fire—dark, predatory, but softened by something else.

  Something warm.

  Something dangerous.

  Something like trust.

  Their gazes locked—crimson and obsidian—and for a brief moment, the room felt too small to contain the fire between them.

  Morning in the Underworld never brought sunlight—only a quiet ripple of blue flames across the cavern ceiling, marking the passage of time.

  Everyone gathered in the throne hall.

  Arlen stepped forward, expression sharp, voice steady.

  “Our next target… is Mortis.

  A heavy silence fell, thick with shared hatred.

  Arlen continued:

  “Originally, I wanted Chronos first. I wanted him dead more than anything. But killing him now—when he doesn’t even remember the crimes he committed—would be pointless.”

  His fists clenched.

  “That bastard destroyed my life, my home, my family… and Mortis wiped it from his mind. If I kill Chronos now, he dies without regret. I want him to remember. I want him to .”

  His demonic eye glowed like a furnace.

  “So we kill Mortis first. We force Chronos to regain what Silent Weaver stole. I’ll carve my revenge into him.”

  The room pulsed with tension.

  Nyx stood tall, jaw set.

  Grom cracked his knuckles, eager for blood.

  Aura’s wings fluttered with excitement and anger.

  Dryas—normally a beacon of kindness—didn’t defend the god of death. Not even a whisper. She had seen enough.

  Arlen drew a breath, voice dropping into strategy.

  “But Mortis is too strong for us right now. We need two things:”

  He raised two fingers.

  “First—

  “Second—

  Everyone leaned in.

  “Mortis is targeting other gods’ domains. He’s making angels into breeding tools and aiming for Tethys next—the Water Goddess. We stop that. If Tethys can be reasoned with, we recruit her. If she’s rotten like Ianthe or manipulated like Chronos…”

  His eyes hardened.

  “…we end her.”

  No one objected.

  No one hesitated.

  The plan was clear.

  The target was chosen.

  The war for freedom had begun.

  Arlen stepped forward, his presence swallowing the hall.

  “Pack your things. Rest your blades. We're heading for Aquaria

  Grom grinned like a beast ready to rampage.

  Aura fluttered her wings, hungry for the thrill.

  Nyx cracked her neck, eyes cold and sharp.

  Dryas clutched her wooden sword, no longer a goddess—just a girl following her conviction.

  Cornea watched Arlen with a fire only he could ignite.

  A half-demon God Slayer.

  A demon queen.

  Her three royal guards.

  And a former goddess reborn as a mortal.

  A strange party.

  A terrifying one.

  Their next destination—

  Aquaria, the city on the sea.