Chapter III

  Darkness surrounded him. Then, warmth.

  Cain stood in the middle of nothingness, yet he felt safe. Familiar arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

  His mother.

  Her scent—earthy, like pine trees after rain. Her fur—soft, just like he remembered. He barely reached her waist when he last saw her, but now…

  She pulled away just enough to cup his face, golden eyes filled with pride.

  "You’ve grown so much."

  Cain’s chest ached. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

  She smiled softly, pressing a hand to his forehead.

  "You’ll find the answers soon. But don’t lose yourself, my son."

  Cain’s eyes widened. What did she mean?

  Before he could ask, a searing pain shot through his stomach.

  Cain gasped awake—just in time to take a direct kick to the gut.

  "What the—!"

  His body instinctively reacted before his mind caught up. He tried to roll away but instead tumbled right off the bed, landing hard on the cold stone floor.

  A shadow loomed over him.

  Still winded, Cain looked up to see Princess Amon standing above him.

  She pressed one foot against his chest, pinning him down. Her golden eyes practically sparkled with amusement.

  "Good morning, sweetheart."

  Cain groaned, rubbing his ribs. "Yeah, real sweet of you—kicking me in the gut."

  Amon shrugged, shifting her weight slightly as if daring him to fight back. "You didn’t want to wake up peacefully, so I had to use force."

  With a flick of her wrist, she tossed something at him.

  Cain barely caught it before it hit his face. He unwrapped it, already dreading what he’d see.

  Salted fish.

  Cain sighed, tilting his head back. "Even here, it’s haunting me?"

  Amon smirked, stepping off him. "You should be thanking me. I didn’t have to bring you anything."

  Cain sat up, stretching. "Oh, believe me, princess, I’m touched."

  She grinned. "Good. Now eat up. I need you to be in full strength for what comes next."

  Cain frowned. "And what comes next?"

  Amon didn’t answer right away. Instead, she gave him one last, unreadable glance.

  "You’ll see soon enough," she said, turning on her heel. "Enjoy your meal, Cain."

  And just like that, she was gone.

  Cain sat there, staring at the fish.

  "Crazy woman," he muttered.

  From the next cell, a deep chuckle.

  Cain turned to glare at the lion.

  "Not a word," he warned.

  The lion just smiled. "Oh, I wouldn’t dare."

  Cain sighed, leaning against the wall.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Cain had nothing better to do, so he decided to keep talking to the old man while chewing on his fish.

  “So, what are you in for?” he asked between bites.

  The lion didn’t even glance up from his book. “Illegal immigration.”

  Cain nearly choked. “You ran away from the Ring of Pride? I heard it’s the most luxurious of them all.”

  “When you have a sword to your neck from Lucifer herself, no luxury can make you stay.”

  Cain coughed, wiping his mouth. “You were playing with the Princess of Pride? You’ve got some guts, old man.”

  The lion finally turned a page, as if the story wasn’t even worth his full attention. “It’s a long story.”

  Cain’s eyes landed on the book in the lion’s massive hands, and only now did he realize—it was a Bible.

  He smirked. “I don’t think that’s gonna help you here.”

  The lion chuckled softly. “It’s not about where I am. It’s about remembering where I’ve been.”

  Cain snorted. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

  The lion leaned back against the damp stone wall, staring up at the ceiling as if looking past it, beyond the prison, beyond the world itself.

  “Earth,” he said simply.

  Cain frowned. Earthsouls weren’t rare in Hell—his own friend Goliath was one—but for some reason, he had never really asked him what it was like up there. Maybe it never seemed important. Maybe he just assumed it was another miserable place full of weaklings who ended up down here anyway. But this old man… he spoke like it was something worth missing.

  “What’s it like?” Cain asked before he could stop himself.

  The lion smirked, closing the Bible with a quiet thud. “It’s the best feeling ever. The birds waking you up in the morning, the sun warming your skin…”

  Cain tilted his head. “And yet you decided to come here after death?”

  The lion exhaled. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  Cain narrowed his eyes. “Try me.”

  The old man just smiled, unreadable as ever. “One day, you’ll understand.”

  Cain scoffed and leaned back against the cold wall. He had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time they spoke.

  Cain’s ears twitched at the sound of heavy boots striking the stone floor. The dungeon doors groaned open, and armored soldiers flooded in, their movements precise, disciplined. One positioned himself before each cell, standing rigid as statues. Then, without a word, they turned in unison and unlocked the doors.

  Chains clinked as prisoners were dragged out one by one, their wrists bound in iron cuffs. Cain tensed. This wasn’t normal. He turned his head slightly, whispering to the lion beside him as they were led down the corridor.

  “Are they gonna kill us out there?” His voice was low, almost hesitant—not out of fear, but because he hated showing it.

  The lion walked with steady, powerful steps. Now that Cain got a better look at him, the old man was massive—easily over two meters tall, his shoulders twice as broad as Cain’s. A living wall of muscle and fur. But his voice, deep and steady, carried none of Cain’s uncertainty.

  “No,” the lion rumbled. “It’s speech time.”

  Cain blinked. “Speech time?”

  “Every living being in Wrath must attend.”

  Cain exhaled sharply. He had always skipped these things, never seeing the point in standing around listening to some princess talk. But this… this was different.

  The prisoners were marched through the city streets, past crowds of people gathering in the open square. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and metal, the ever-present heat of Wrath casting an orange glow over everything. As they approached the towering walls of the city, Cain realized where they were being taken—the stage.

  The stone platform jutted out from the highest part of the city’s fortifications, offering a full view of the kingdom below. The entire city was gathered, a sea of figures staring up in anticipation.

  Cain frowned. “Why are we on the stage?”

  The lion, for the first time since they met, looked uneasy. His golden eyes scanned the soldiers, the crowd, the ominous air thickening around them.

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  “Get ready, youth,” he muttered. “Something’s off.”

  Cain’s breath quickened as his eyes darted across the platform. Lined up in a perfect row were fifty guillotines, their gleaming blades catching the fiery light of Wrath’s sky. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

  That stupid bitch is about to kill us all.

  His mind raced, searching for an escape, but before the lion could say anything, they were separated. Guards yanked Cain toward one of the execution devices, forcing him forward with rough hands. The prisoners were being positioned, one by one. To his right, a man screamed for help, thrashing against his captors.

  He’s panicking. Bad move.

  One of the guards snarled and slammed the hilt of his spear into the man’s head. His body slumped, and they threw him onto the plank like dead weight, locking him in place. Cain clenched his jaw. He knew better. If they knocked him out, it was over.

  The guards shoved him down onto the wooden frame, cold steel pressing against his neck as they slammed the heavy lock in place. The stench of sweat and fear was thick in the air. Cain tried to glance around, but his view was limited. He couldn’t see the lion anymore. Couldn’t see anything past the execution row.

  Think, Cain. You’re not dying here.

  His hands were still bound behind his back. Useless. He had no weapon, no way to fight back. But then—he felt the familiar weight twitch behind him. His tail. His long, flexible dragon tail.

  He exhaled slowly. That’s my way out.

  Moving as subtly as he could, Cain curled his tail upward, the tip brushing against the massive lock holding him down. It was clunky, old—held together with a simple latch. He had picked locks before. Never like this, but there was no choice.

  The sound of metal screeching filled his ears. The first guillotine dropped. A wet thunk followed. A roar of cheers erupted from the crowd below.

  Then another. And another.

  Screams of terror. Howls of excitement. One by one, the blades began falling.

  Cain’s heart pounded. Faster. Come on, come on.

  The lock was tough, but he could feel it shifting. If he could just—

  Cain barely had time to breathe. As his blade plummeted toward him, the lock finally gave way, and in one fluid motion, he threw himself backward, snapping up to his feet just in time to avoid a gruesome end. The audience gasped in unison, stunned into silence. Even the guards hesitated, their expressions caught between confusion and disbelief.

  Then—crack!

  The sharp sound of splintering wood cut through the air. Every head turned toward its source.

  Standing amidst the wreckage of a shattered guillotine was the lion. His massive frame heaved with power, his muscles no longer just for show. He had broken free using sheer strength alone.

  Another gasp rippled through the crowd.

  The delay didn’t last long. The guards quickly snapped out of their shock, drawing weapons as they surged forward.

  Cain knew he had no chance alone. Without thinking, he lunged toward the lion, moving as fast as his still-bound hands would allow. The old warrior met his gaze and gave a sharp nod.

  Back-to-back, they stood together, hands still shackled, surrounded on all sides.

  Cain smirked. Now this is interesting.

  Cain, still trying to catch his breath, looked at the old man with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What’s your name?"

  Lion’s massive frame paused mid-swing, as if the question surprised him. He glanced down at Cain, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

  "After all this time, you want to know my name?" rumbled, his voice deep and booming.

  Cain shrugged, a bit sheepishly. "Better late than never."

  The lion's expression softened, but only for a moment. With a casual flick of his arm, he snapped his chains with ease. The sound of metal snapping echoed through the air. Tough guy cracked his knuckles, his muscular frame radiating raw power.

  "Samson," he said simply, his tone flat. “But you'll need more than a name to survive this."

  Without waiting for a response, Samson hurled himself into the fray, his massive claws slashing through the air. He tore into the wasp soldiers around him, each blow landing with a sickening thud, sending bodies flying.

  Cain barely had time to process this before he found himself surrounded by more enemies. He kicked one of the wasps in the chest, sending it stumbling back. As another lunged at him, he swept its legs from under it, using the momentum to twist and slam the soldier into the ground.

  But despite their efforts, the odds were quickly stacking against them.

  One of the bulls—massive, broad-shouldered, with thick horns—charged at Cain with a force that could knock down a wall. Cain barely had time to react, jumping to the side just as the bull’s horns grazed his chest, leaving a tear in his coat. He scrambled back onto his feet, breathing heavily.

  Samson took out another opponent, his claws tearing through the air with deadly precision. But despite the lion’s brutal strength, more enemies kept appearing.

  Cain gritted his teeth. "Stay focused, Cain," he muttered under his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears.

  Just as he steadied himself, a loud roar echoed through the battlefield. The ground shook beneath them as a dozen massive bulls, each more terrifying than the last, stampeded toward them. They were almost as big as Samson, their thick, muscled bodies charging with the force of a freight train.

  Cain’s heart skipped a beat. "Shit," he hissed, backing up. "We're surrounded."

  The bulls circled them, their eyes glinting with bloodlust. Cain’s eyes darted around, but there was no escape. Every direction was blocked.

  "Looks like this is it," Cain said under his breath, trying to hide the nervous tremor in his voice. "I should've known this wouldn't be easy."

  Samson growled low, his golden eyes narrowing. "Just stay close," he said. "We’re not done yet."

  Cain tightened his grip on his spear, readying himself for the inevitable onslaught. The bulls were closing in fast, their muscles rippling as they prepared to charge.

  The situation was dire, but Cain couldn’t help but admire the lion's confidence. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for sure: this was far from over.

  The sound of clapping echoed through the air, cutting through the chaos of the battlefield. The bulls parted, making room for a figure to approach. The crowd of enemies shifted aside as Amon stepped forward, her presence commanding attention.

  Cain’s heart skipped a beat, though it wasn’t out of fear. He had expected this. Her cold smile was as sharp as ever.

  "I have to admit, I kind of hoped you would escape," she said, her voice dripping with amusement as she moved closer. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if savoring every moment of his helplessness.

  She stopped just inches from Cain, her face unnervingly close to his. He could feel her breath against his skin. “But now you need a punishment,” she added, her fingers suddenly gripping his cheek, pulling it cruelly.

  Cain’s expression remained defiant, but as she continued to play with his face, he spotted something in the distance. A shadow. A large, black figure moving swiftly through the sky. His smile widened.

  Amon narrowed her eyes at the smile on Cain’s face. “I didn’t know you had a fetish for being punished,” she teased, her fingers still pressing into his skin. “How quaint.”

  But Cain’s eyes never left the shadow, and with a grin, he replied, his voice tinged with playful defiance, "That’s not the only reason I’m smiling."

  Before Amon could react, the shadow dove towards them, the air crackling as it neared. A sudden rush of wind blasted through the battlefield, and just as Amon’s eyes widened in realization, the Magpie—Ezra—was already there.

  In one smooth motion, Ezra grabbed Cain by the shoulders, lifting him off the ground as his wings beat the air. Cain’s feet left the earth, and the two of them shot upward, leaving Amon standing below, her expression frozen in shock.

  "Enjoy your punishment, Princess," Cain called out over his shoulder with a grin. "But I think it’s time for me to fly."

  Amon’s eyes burned with fury as she stood amidst her guards, her words lost in the wind as Cain and Ezra disappeared into the sky, leaving the battlefield behind them.

  As Cain and Ezra soared through the sky, the chaos below seemed to fade into the distance. Yet, as they ascended higher, the reality of the situation didn’t escape him. Samson’s voice echoed in the back of Cain’s mind.

  “Really is a charismatic guy, isn’t he?” Samson commented, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

  Cain’s face twisted in irritation as he glanced down at the lion, who was now surrounded by guards. “Shut up, old man,” Cain muttered, his gaze cold.

  Amon stood, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “You can’t really expect him to be the one to escape, can you?” she sneered as the guards closed in and handcuffed Samson. The lion didn’t struggle; he simply let them bind him, as if he didn’t care about the outcome anymore. He had long given up on the idea of fighting back, seeking only the quiet solitude of his cell.

  Meanwhile, high above, Cain and Ezra cut through the air in silence. Finally, after a few moments of uncomfortable quiet, Cain broke the stillness. “How did you know I needed help?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

  Ezra didn’t look at him, but his voice was filled with dry humor. “Maybe it’s because the whole freaking town was watching your execution, you genius.”

  Cain grimaced, realizing just how much attention had been on him. “Right,” he muttered, then frowned, his thoughts turning to Lilith. “Did Lilith tell you something?”

  Ezra’s sharp eyes flicked to Cain. “About what?”

  Cain sighed. “She kept her mouth shut.”

  Ezra was silent for a moment before he shrugged. “Well, if she didn’t tell me, she must have her reasons. Not like I care.”

  Cain’s mind raced. “I need to tell them... We have only three days left,” he thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. It was something to figure out later, something that weighed heavily on his chest.

  “Oh, are you deaf?” Ezra quipped, pulling Cain out of his thoughts. “Just messing with you. Anyway, let’s go home.”

  The rest of the flight passed in a heavy silence, each man lost in his own thoughts.

  As they neared their destination, the familiar sight of Cain’s apartment came into view. “Could you tell the rest to meet tomorrow at noon near the river?” Cain asked, already thinking about the next steps.

  Ezra nodded, his voice steady. “Sure. Until tomorrow, then.”

  Cain gave a small nod, then released a deep breath as he descended towards the ground. When Ezra finally landed, Cain gave him a final look before heading off toward his apartment alone. The weight of the mission pressed on his shoulders, and with every step, the reality of what lay ahead seemed clearer.

  Cain pushed open the door to his apartment, expecting the usual mess—the half-eaten canned fish, the crumpled paper, the faint smell of dust and neglect. But instead, he was met with... cleanliness.

  He blinked. Then blinked again.

  The countertops were wiped down, the empty food cans were gone, and even the air smelled fresher, like someone had let the wind in. His couch—where he had collapsed so many nights in exhaustion—was no longer covered in old clothes. The place looked so foreign to him that, for a moment, he wondered if he had walked into the wrong home.

  And then, as if on cue, Lilith emerged from his room, tying her hair back.

  Cain stared at her, speechless.

  "You’re back early," she said casually, as if she hadn’t just transformed his apartment into something livable.

  Cain crossed his arms. "What the hell happened here?"

  Lilith raised an eyebrow. "It’s called cleaning, Cain. You should try it sometime."

  He scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck as he surveyed the room again. “I just... wasn’t expecting this.”

  She smirked. "Yeah, I figured. Took me half the day to get through all that mess. You’re welcome, by the way."

  Cain opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t used to this. To people doing things for him just because they wanted to. He felt something tighten in his chest—a strange, uncomfortable warmth.

  Before he could think twice, he took a step forward. Then another.

  Lilith tilted her head. "Cain?"

  He ignored her, slowly closing the distance between them. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug.

  She stiffened, caught off guard.

  For a second, she didn’t move. Then, slowly, her arms found their way around him.

  Cain closed his eyes, pressing his forehead lightly against her shoulder. "...Thank you."

  Lilith didn’t say anything. But she didn’t let go, either.

  For a moment, Cain forgot about the outside world—the enemies, the battles, the chaos. In her arms, the weight of it all seemed to fade away.

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