If Cole had been able to form a coherent thought, it would have been this: the figure before him looked like the devil himself smiling at him. No—two devils, two sets of twisted smiles, and eyes so cold that his body shuddered involuntarily.
In a way, it was obvious why the resemblance between the two was so striking—they were father and son.
Cole swallowed nervously, taking a cautious step back. The corner of Azriel’s mouth twisted further into a grin. Joaquin, on the other hand, stopped smiling. He shifted, and with a subtle gesture, a throne forged from pure darkness manifested behind him. He sank into it, resting his cheek on his hand, watching everything unfold with an unsettling curiosity.
Yet, this did not ease Cole’s panic. Joaquin’s mere presence radiated an unspoken threat; if Cole made the wrong move or tried to flee, death would be the least of his worries.
Cole’s eyes darted between them, but Azriel drew his attention as he stepped forward, his movements deliberate, almost lazy. Despite the gnawing terror, Cole knew Azriel was only dangerous because Joaquin permitted him to be. Otherwise, he would have killed the young prince himself. But now, helplessness kept him paralyzed.
Azriel stopped just an arm’s length away, the dark amusement in his eyes intensifying. His voice was low and mocking, dripping with condescension. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
“What did my dearest sister call your kind? Ah, yes… dogs.”
Cole’s jaw clenched as he forced himself not to react, every instinct screaming at him to fight back. But he knew better. Obedience was the only path that might let him survive this encounter with these two predators.
Azriel’s smile widened cruelly.
“Now, since I am such a selfless and honorable prince, I’ll give you a simple task. Perform it well, and you’ll be free to go. Fail, and…”
His expression darkened, and Cole stumbled back unconsciously, eyes widening as the realization hit him: he was terrified of this brat. The thought gnawed at his pride, but words caught in his throat as Joaquin’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, observing Azriel. Yet, he remained seated, a silent endorsement.
That tiny glimmer of approval twisted Cole’s gut. It meant Joaquin agreed with whatever cruel game Azriel had devised.
With a dry, shaky voice, Cole spoke, doing everything he could not to provoke the prince.
“What do you want me to do… my prince?”
Azriel’s eyes lit up, his grin turning wicked.
“Oh, nothing much. Just…”
He pointed to the massive white tree behind Cole, its twisted branches danced across the forest floor.
“Go over there and stab that tree.”
The words left both Cole and Joaquin momentarily stunned. Cole, because he instinctively knew the tree was no ordinary part of this forsaken forest, and Joaquin, because he recognized it for what it truly was—a Leviathan bound by ancient spells.
Yet, Joaquin remained seated, silent, though his gaze grew sharper with interest.
Cole’s heart thudded against his ribs as he gripped his trembling hands into fists. Turning, he forced his feet to move toward the colossal tree, each step echoing with the pounding of his heart. The weight of two gazes pinned him in place, Joaquin’s was suffocating, more so than Azriel’s.
The ancient white tree loomed above him, its bark like bone, carved with veins of something deeper and unsettling. It stood silent, unmoving. Cole’s breath came in shallow gasps, and for a heartbeat, he dared to hope. But the hope was fragile, fractured by the small knife that materialized in his hand as he tapped his storage ring.
Gritting his teeth, Cole glanced back one last time. The father and son watched with inscrutable expressions. Taking a breath to steel himself, he turned back and plunged the knife into the tree’s bark.
The blade sank in effortlessly, and a thick, golden liquid oozed from the wound. Its scent was intoxicating, heady, as if the finest nectar of the gods had been spilled. The metallic sweetness coiled in the air, making Cole’s head swim as he involuntarily took a step back, eyes wide in awe and confusion.
But then his heel caught on something.
‘Huh?’
He glanced down to see a pale root, thin yet strong, coiled around his ankle. Before he could react, it tightened and spread, crawling up his legs. More roots erupted from the ground, snaring his arms, pinning him in place.
“Sh-shit!” He strained against them, but they only tightened, cutting into his flesh.
The branches of the tree moved, rustling as if waking from a long slumber. They wrapped around him, forcing a muffled scream from his covered mouth. His eyes darted wildly to Azriel and Joaquin, pleading for help, but neither moved. They watched, their faces now serious as the tree’s roots climbed higher, constricting Cole’s chest and arms until he couldn’t move or even summon the strength to command his soul echo.
And then, the sharp, searing pain began as the roots burrowed into his skin, merging with his flesh. He wanted to scream, to thrash, but only a stifled, demonic groan of anguish escaped his bloodied lips. His vision blurred, darkened as he felt the blood being drained from him, faster than he could comprehend. The world turned cold, blackening at the edges as his heart faltered.
The last thing he saw was a pair of crimson eyes, watching without mercy.
And then there was nothing.
His final thought whispered through the fading corners of his mind.
‘I should never have been drunk…’
*****
‘Well, shit… I didn’t think it would be so cruel, but he got what he deserved.’
Azriel watched as Cole’s body was dragged toward the towering white tree, inch by inch, until it reached the bark. Then, as if absorbed by the tree itself, Cole vanished—gone, dead.
‘So… now it should work, right?’
At least, that’s what the book said.
Azriel took a cautious step forward, but he felt Joaquin’s gaze, narrowed and cold, cutting through the air.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Azriel stopped, meeting Joaquin’s stare. Joaquin’s expression was one of confusion and unease as he watched his son inch toward the same tree that had just claimed Cole. But the tree remained eerily dormant, as if Cole’s blood had been an instinctual response—a trigger for something deeper.
“I want you to trust me, Father. I know what I’m doing.”
Joaquin’s face twisted with displeasure. His son was walking toward a sleeping leviathan, something that defied all reason. But he said nothing, his instincts warring within him. A father’s caution pulled him back, but curiosity urged him forward.
“Am I not already breaking my promise?” Joaquin murmured. Again, he was letting his son tread too close to danger. But this… he had to know. Kings think differently, and Joaquin was no exception. No one, not even Azriel, could fully understand him.
Azriel took Joaquin’s silence as approval and moved closer, feeling his father’s vigilant eyes on every step. His own heart hammered as he reached the wound Cole had left on the tree. Golden blood still trickled down its bark, glistening on the white grass below.
Swallowing, Azriel’s hand twitched with a strange thirst. The blood called to him, intoxicating and forbidden. But he fought it back, steadied himself.
‘Blood for blood.’
The ritual was complete. It should be enough. He had to believe it was.
Under Joaquin’s watchful gaze, Azriel dipped his fingers into the golden blood, feeling its strange warmth as he smeared it across his right palm. His skin sizzled, steam rising as his flesh burned, and he bit back a groan, enduring the pain.
Joaquin’s scowl deepened at the sight, ready to step in, but Azriel pressed his palm to the bark. The tree responded instantly, siphoning his mana with such ferocity that he could barely stand. Azriel gasped, feeling his strength drain until his legs buckled. Before he could collapse, he felt a strong arm steadying him. Glancing up, he found his father’s steady gaze, concern hidden behind his stoic expression.
Against the white bark, a golden handprint gleamed, etched by his blood. The tree trembled, and soon, the entire island shook. Azriel, leaning against his father, looked up, awestruck as shimmering white leaves began to drift down.
‘Beautiful…’
The leaves glided gracefully, each movement imbued with an ethereal glow. Joaquin, momentarily mesmerized, watched the display in silence, but soon his gaze shifted back to Azriel.
“What did you—”
His words were cut off as a golden glow enveloped Azriel, a warmth that seeped into his skin, wrapping him in a comforting embrace. Joaquin watched, his eyes narrowing, and then his face shifted in shock.
“So that’s what’s happening…”
He took a step back, watching as the glow intensified, encasing Azriel in a brilliant aura as the white leaves drifted around him.
The warmth transformed into something sharp, almost electric.
A dark substance, blacker than shadows, seemed to solidify around Azriel. An armor materialized in silence, void-like plates forming around him, polished with streaks of blood-red veins. Each piece fit him perfectly, from the pauldrons down to the intricately carved greaves that whispered with a sinister grace.
Azriel flexed his hand, now clad in dark, impenetrable gauntlets. Even his burned hand was now fully covered.
Joaquin’s mouth parted, his usual composure shattered as he took in the sight. His eyes, unblinking, were filled with disbelief.
“A sleeping leviathan just gave you a soul armor for the price of a single human life…?”
It was absurd. Joaquin had seen many soul armors, but this—this was something else. He almost wanted it for himself, were it not for the fact that it was his son standing there, armored in that forbidden aura.
Azriel grinned.
“Cool, right?”
Joaquin watched his son, a bit taken aback by the look in Azriel’s eyes—bright, almost childlike. For a moment, he felt a sense of pride. It wasn’t often that his son showed this kind of excitement, and seeing him so thrilled was… rare. Joaquin’s lips curled into a smile as he let out a light laugh.
“Yeah, it’s really cool.”
Azriel spun around, admiring his new soul armor, his face a mix of awe and eagerness. Joaquin watched him with a quiet smile, though it slowly faded as he furrowed his brow, a question dawning on him.
“Wait… is this why you never took any of the soul armors from the Crimson Vault? Because of this one?”
He could tell at a glance that this armor was different, but still—why had Azriel turned down every other soul armor until now? The question had nagged at him for some time.
Azriel, snapping out of his daze, tried to keep the excitement from his voice but couldn’t entirely hide it.
“Yeah… I didn’t want to risk it. If I’d accepted another soul armor, this one might’ve rejected me. Honestly, I was already nervous it wouldn’t work, considering I have a soul weapon. This tree, if I’m right, it binds to the soul itself and grants armor only when… my soul is pure enough? I couldn’t risk it rejecting me if I had something else bonded to my soul.”
Joaquin raised an eyebrow, struggling to follow the explanation. He glanced at the massive tree, still and silent, then muttered, “But… isn’t it sleeping?”
Joaquin’s gaze drifted back to the tree. It stood quiet and unmoving, yet… he could’ve sworn he saw one of its branches twitch, almost as if it was waving. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he felt a strange sense of unease creep over him.
He looked at Azriel, his tone dropping to something dark and foreboding.
“It seems your mother forgot to teach you not to accept strange things from sleeping trees…”
Azriel blinked, feigning offense.
“It’s not strange. Just look at it! And it worked, didn’t it? I finally have soul armor that suits me.”
Joaquin sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t even bother to ask how Azriel knew all this. He understood his son well enough to know he wouldn’t get an answer. He’d have to wait.
“Fine,” he relented.
“Are we done here? Your sister’s probably worried by now.”
Azriel’s eyes widened as if he’d only just remembered.
“Right, we should head back.”
Joaquin cast one last wary glance at the tree before they started toward the white door. Or at least… that was the plan.
Ahead, embedded in the bark of a smaller tree, was the white door. Beyond it lay the dark sea. And in that sea…
an eye.
A single, massive eyeball loomed in the depths, its pallid white surface stretching wide, void of any pupil. It was colossal, dwarfing the tree, its surface rippling as it stared at them. The intensity of its gaze was paralyzing, a primal force bearing down on them.
Joaquin’s face darkened, and beside him, Azriel’s expression twisted in pure terror. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
The eye just stared back at them, silent, waiting, alive.
In that single moment, Azriel finally understood why they called void creatures—Horrors of Hell.