When Azriel finished, no one said a word. They all just looked at him in silence.
Azriel hadn’t spoken to gain their sympathy or approval. He simply wanted to tell them the truth—what had really happened in the Void Realm. But as he met their faces, he realized he might’ve already said too much.
Or maybe too little.
They had noticed the parts he deliberately avoided, which only made it worse. People were terrifyingly good at imagining things.
“Well, shit. You really are one unlucky prince, aren’t you? That god couldn’t have tossed you anywhere else except Europe?”
It was, of course, Solomon who broke the silence. His voice was light, but his expression twisted in a mix of displeasure and faint delight.
“Ah, but I suppose if that hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here like this, would we? I guess I owe the God of Death quite a bit.”
Azriel didn’t like the way Solomon’s eyes gleamed as he spoke, focused solely on him. It made his skin crawl.
‘Oh, great. He’s entering his pervert mode again.’
But to Azriel’s relief, Solomon’s grin faltered, shifting into something more serious—or at least trying to. The tension barely lasted before he let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Originally, I came here for a much more delicate matter. But since we’re all trauma-dumping now, I might as well pile on… Though it’s not really my trauma—it’s yours. Probably.”
The others, who had been lost in their daze, snapped back to reality as a recording device appeared in Solomon’s hand. Without warning, he tossed it to Azriel.
Azriel caught it mid-air with a quick motion, just above Iryndra’s head. He frowned as he inspected the device.
“You should listen to it,” Solomon said. “It’s your choice whether to do it here or in private, but since you’re feeling so open today… maybe it’s better if everyone knows. Before something tragic happens.”
The room went still again. Azriel glanced at the others, who still looked shaken. Deciding not to drag it out, he was about to press play when a sudden chill crawled up his spine.
His gaze shifted, finding Nol at the edge of the room.
Nol’s face was frozen in a cold, unreadable mask, but his lips were pressed so tightly together they bled.
And his eyes…
Azriel’s breath hitched. He recognized those eyes.
“Calm down,” Azriel said, his voice low.
“Don’t let your emotions get the better of you. There’s nothing left to take revenge on.”
Project New Eden was gone. Doctor Arthur was dead. Even the Voidwalker blood of his had been destroyed.
Nol’s shoulders trembled, but his eyes dulled slightly. His jaw unclenched, though his face remained cold.
“…I apologize, Master,” Nol said quietly.
Azriel smiled wryly.
“It’s fine.”
Turning back to the others, Azriel found them watching him. Before anyone could speak, he pressed play on the device.
As the recording began, Solomon leaned back, adding casually, “Found this in Fortaleza del Sol. No bodies, nothing. Just this.”
His words didn’t ease the tension. If anything, they made it worse.
Azriel’s frown deepened as he listened. The room grew heavier with each passing second. Thoughts raced through his mind, each more frantic than the last.
‘This stupid clown couldn’t have given me this before I said all that?’
Goosebumps crawled over Azriel’s skin. He wasn’t the only one. The others sat rigid, their eyes glued to the device as the recording played on.
A chill ran down his spine again when the distorted voice on the recording screamed:
“A-A-AZZR-RIE-LL!”
Azriel’s teeth clenched, shivers running down his body.
‘I really should’ve kept my mouth shut about the Titans.’
When was the last time he’d faced something as simple as a regular monster or demon?
Simple.
Even thinking of those horrors as “simple” made him sound insane.
The recording then ended, leaving only a deafening silence behind.
And those final words…
The Crying Fog really had to say that, didn’t it?
Azriel’s gaze shifted awkwardly to his father. His father stared back, his expression completely blank—like an empty canvas.
“…I take it back. You really do have a way of surprising me, son.”
Azriel scratched the back of his head, laughing weakly. He avoided looking at his mother or sister. Instead, he shot a hateful look at Solomon, who was grinning like an idiot.
“Well, I had more to talk about, but I think I’ll take my leave now,” Solomon said, standing. He glanced at his wrist—empty—and feigned surprise. “Ah, look at the time!”
With that, he stepped into a purple rift that appeared before him, disappearing without another word.
“….”
Ragnar cleared his throat and stood.
“I suppose I should leave as well… I should check on my wife and daughter,” he murmured that last part, his eyes softening as he glanced at Azriel.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to me this time. Instead of Thomas.”
He turned and left quickly, way too quickly, shutting the door behind him.
And just like that, the room was quiet again.
Azriel let out a sigh, watching them leave. There was still much to discuss after everything he’d revealed, but as a great king and a clown, they knew when to read the room.
It must have been awkward for the two of them.
A faint smile appeared on Azriel’s face as he turned to his parents and older sister.
Before he could say anything, Jasmine spoke.
“That… killing the Heptarch. Was it for revenge?”
Azriel furrowed his brow slightly at her question.
Revenge?
No, it wasn’t revenge—not at that moment.
Zoran’s death had been nothing more than a consequence of circumstance. He’d been unlucky, fooled by Azriel, Nol, and Dante. It could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been no one. It had been pure chance.
Azriel hadn’t orchestrated Zoran’s death, nor had he destroyed Neo Genesis’s plans to attack the students and civilians for revenge.
It had all been driven by one thing—a desire to destroy the future.
Now, with his memories as Subject 666 returned, he couldn’t deny there was a certain satisfaction in knowing he’d taken down a Heptarch.
He looked at Jasmine and spoke softly.
“I suppose I did want to hit Neo Genesis where it would hurt. Killing Zoran was the best way to do it.”
At his words, Jasmine fell silent, her face twisting as if she’d realized something. Her eyes trembled furiously as she looked at him.
“You said you gave your life to destroy that place—to kill everyone responsible. Were you never planning to come back to us? I don’t understand… I don’t understand what a mana contract is, and I don’t really know much about the Ten Gods like you do, but… you made a deal with the God of Death, right? Why didn’t you make one that would ensure you’d return to us? The only reason you’re even here… it’s because the God of Death showed mercy, isn’t it? That wasn’t part of the deal, was it?”
The faint smile on Azriel’s face disappeared.
Her voice trembled, and tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she tried to hold them back. She stood behind the couch, gripping the backrest so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Azriel didn’t know what to say.
Because he didn’t want to lie.
And if he told her the truth…
She was right.
Azriel was supposed to die that day.
…On his birthday.
“It wasn’t,” came Joaquin’s voice.
Everyone turned to him.
Aeliana’s face was pale, as devastated as Jasmine’s. But Joaquin… His expression was unreadable as he stood, walking toward Azriel with eyes that betrayed nothing.
“Forming a mana contract is a terrible thing,” he began, his voice calm but heavy. “No matter the conditions, each one is enough to destroy you. Losing control of your emotions and going mad. Sacrificing someone you truly love—or yourself. Prepared in losing the ability to use mana forever. And after meeting even one condition, there’s an almost guaranteed chance of failure.”
“….”
“The fourth condition must’ve been even more hopeless. Meeting any of them could kill you. Forming the contract could kill you. And the price itself… That could kill you too.”
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Iryndra, Jasmine, Nol, and Aeliana stared at Joaquin, their shock written across their faces.
“You never planned on coming back alive,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You were ready to die that day, as long as that doctor and Project New Eden died with you.”
He stopped in front of Azriel. Iryndra teleported from his lap to sit beside him, her face pale as she, too, realized the truth. Azriel had never planned to return to her, either.
Joaquin’s eyes fell to the mark on Azriel’s left arm.
“…So the Ten Gods… they’re alive?”
Azriel followed his father’s gaze.
“Yeah… I think they are.”
Joaquin’s eyes locked with his son’s.
Azriel held his gaze, trying to read him.
Was he angry?
Was he disappointed?
Azriel didn’t know.
“The Voidwalker blood they injected you with,” Joaquin said, breaking the silence. “Is it still in your system?”
Azriel shook his head lightly.
“No. If it was, I wouldn’t have much time left—or even be able to move around.”
“Yet you fell into a coma. One of its side effects, perhaps?” Joaquin murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
But in the oppressive silence, everyone heard it.
Aeliana and Iryndra’s faces paled even further.
Azriel opened his mouth to deny it, but before he could, Joaquin turned away and walked toward the door.
He stopped just before leaving, turning his head slightly. His voice was as cold as the void itself.
“The Supreme Archon placed a bounty on your head, offering anything as the reward. It’s only fitting that the Crimson Clan does the same to him and his Heptarchs.”
Azriel’s eyes widened at his words, but before he could respond, Joaquin opened the door and left.